Grieving Gardener

Every day, I feel lighter. This could be compared to a very long back packing trip, where supplies are consumed along the way. Putting on a pack each morning, it feels the same, but as the days go by, you begin to notice a difference. The stress and strain on your shoulders becomes less. You have more energy as you settle into the rhythmic pace of walking from here to there. So goes the journey through widowhood.

Reflecting back on earlier journal posts, I smile at the woman that began emerging ten months ago. Through a spring of widow’s fog, a summer of healing, the fall of exploration and a winter of reflection, along the way, I am getting to know myself on a much deeper level than ever before, while accepting that I am still pretty lost. A new life I’m creating of my own choosing. A journey full of so many twists and turns, it’s only through my own words, journal-ed on very lonely nights, that I am beginning to understand the strength and toll this took.

My studio has always been my secret hideaway. Girlhood trinkets and treasures remained hidden behind closed doors, safe from prying eyes. So much evidence saved from a life rich with wonderful experiences is hidden there. Those precious mementos need to move into plain sight for my own enjoyment. Winterpast is becoming the supreme She-Shed, all my own. I feel the spring bloom just around the corner, and I will blossom right along with the flowers in my garden.

Flowers. Today, I visited Lowe’s and to my utter delight, I found the first spring flowers on display outside the store. Being a wise and seasoned gardener, I know it is too early to plant delicate blooms. Dangerous frosts still await the high desert and these flowers are only a tease of the spring to come. That reflection I need to apply to my own life, so very tentative and fragile. Wanting to dance away from this nightmare is only normal. However, to dance too quickly can cause one to trip up and fall flat.

Writing continues to be an outlet that I am living for. This morning, a marketing webinar carried me deep into social media requirements, newsletters, and more blogging. Marketing my words will bring such satisfaction, for in my own thinking, I won’t be a REAL writer until the first book is published. Silly, as I publish ever day here on my blog. But, the words need to be un-delete-able on cream colored paper, page after page thrilling my new readers or bringing them to tears. 2021 is the year for this to happen, again, creating a new part of life that I haven’t experienced yet.

Friendship and laughter are alive and well inside Winterpast’s walls. Life is coming full circle to rest in a very happy space. Happiness hums me to sleep at night, while past memories bring smiles of a life well lived. As the new pages are written, I know this is what VST would have wanted for me when he asked if I would be happy living in Winterpast. Yes, VST. I am growing in happiness and light.

My marketing webinar had some very good advice for me this morning. In life, we must make short term and long term goals, while scheduling our days to make the most of valuable minutes given to us. One must believe in unique abilities and visualize wonderful accomplishments while staying the course. Then, we need to DO. Just DO whatever it is your heart says is the right thing.

2021. Stay tuned. Ready to take off and fly with my writing, the possibilities are endless. Thank you for reading, and stay tuned.

Days for me are filled with write-able moments becoming the seeds for a wonderful story. When one can just sit for in the moment and soak up the sounds, sights, and smells around her, the stories are endless. Choose something and focus intently, you’ll be amazed.

On Holiday for 24 hours, I visited the most beautiful of spas. Last week, deciding my desert-dry skin needed some real revitalization, I booked a treatment at Spa Italiano in Sicily, Italy. Okay, couldn’t quite make it to Europe, so I chose a close knock off.

I don’t do spas. Well, I might need to change my thinking, as this was something not experienced in my 65 years. I guess I never chose the right one before. The first step was entering a store front. Just your usual overpriced lotions and potions. Wonderfully soft mittens and booties to capture all types of emollients, allowing them to work with the heat of your body. This shop was intoxicating, with colors soft, boxes intriguing. Checking in, I needed to embrace the art of relaxation.

The sweetest people work at these places. Where do they come from? Breathing lavender for eight hours a day softens any bitchiness that can boil beneath the surface. These ladies were the kindest of kind, ready to send me off to the land of nod. After taking the necessary information for payment, which could end a blissful state after treatment, they ushered me into Stage 0ne, the locker room. Presenting me with a robe that was out of the movies, they explained the procedures and left. This robe was like a mini-coccoon. Just the perfect size, luxurious and warm. Heavenly.

When ready, the first group of spa angels sent me heavenward in an elevator, explaining the spa was on three levels. Level one, although elegant, was functional. I wasn’t prepared for level two. The elevator door swooshed open to a retreat of the Italian kind. The lighting was just this side of dark. You could certainly see where you were going, but, the glare of the high desert sun was blocked with the absence of windows. A ceiling to floor waterfall reminded me of Hawaiian nature. Soft music calmed my nerves. This was the inner belly of Spa Italiano, and I had just purchased a ticket to nirvana.

Another spa angel gave me a bottle of water and escorted me to an inner sanctum of relaxation. Large, puffy, white leather chairs held my formally tense muscles, as I started to melt like a warm cube of butter. The world needs to go to a spa. Everyone. All at once. The peace in this room was overwhelming. Closing my eyes, I sipped cool water and listened to the wall of water tinkling its little tune. A true blessing, my world stopped and breathed in the delicate scents in the air.

After sitting at few minutes, the masseuse came through the door and gently called my name. Mrs. Hurt. How long it had been since someone had been thoughtful enough to call me by the precious name of Mrs. Hurt. VST was smiling in heaven, seeing that I was doing something really nice for myself. I felt it.

I followed her like a sheep into the treatment room. With respect for privacy throughout the treatment, she began. I purchased a mineral wrap. That sounds boring. This was anything but. Let me explain. You get scrubbed as one would lovingly prepare a potato for the oven. The application of a warm, scratchy scrub lifts off a layer of dead skin, leaving your skin feeling the softest. Of course, the stuff they use is like a buttery concoction of scents that go into your brain and flip the OFF switch. As I lay on a heated treatment bed that quietly went up and down, she worked on legs, arms and back. The music was attached to the bed, causing it to vibrate softly with the base notes. An immersion of the senses. I went to a place in which I forgot she was there, while nearly falling asleep.

After the application of a second heavenly moisturizer, the next part came. I was wrapped up in a thin plastic sheet conveniently hidden under the sheeting on the bed. I was left to ABSORB for a time. Just absorb the emollients and music, while laying on the warm bed wrapped in warmer towels. Peace. It was tranquil bliss.

When she returned, she went to a computer screen outside the shower and with a few taps of the buttons, she turned on the next part of this adventure. Left in privacy, I entered the shower of all showers, in which I could have remained forever. This shower was comprised for four small squares two on either side of the shower. With the temperature set at 102, these squares randomly showered. I swear it was timed to the music piped into the watery cubicle. The sequence in which these squares emitted water made the experience even better. With the perfect temperature and pressure, this shower rinsed away the first two applications and left me waiting for the third.

After drying, she returned for a head massage, and then the final application of dreamy moisturizer I could feel my body absorb. It was if my hungry skin was feasting on nourishment. Hard to explain. And with that, I was left to rest.

Fifty minutes of sheer heaven. At the end, I was taken through the reverse routine, and allowed to leave. I really wanted to sneak back up the elevator and hide until they closed, just absorbing the peace and quiet.

Not everyone has a Spa Italiano. Especially not a three-story one. Not everyone can go out in a Covid riddled world right now. But, most of us do have a regular shower that can create steam. However it works for you, plan a little spa date. Dim the lights. Start a candle. Warm your towels and take a moment for private relaxation. It seems I lost years of bad in a 50 minute trip to nirvana.

A holiday is a delightful thing to take. It doesn’t need to be days or weeks. It can be less than an hour. Everyone needs one, especially now. Good luck and bon voyage!

Good morning, dear readers,

Every girl needs a little holiday. I will be back tomorrow.

Joy

Widowhood and retirement change this person’s views on weekly life. No longer are there two special days of the week to wait for or avoid. For decades, weekends were the days that held all the things that overflowed from the week. Fun things. Extra work. Chores. Time to think. Time to escape. All of those things wrapped up into two silly little days.

Nightly television programs were like stepping stones to the two days of the week we didn’t have any scheduled. Saturday and Sunday held a rhythmic sequence all their own, and we cherished them. Now, Saturday and Sunday are just two more days inserted into the 300+ days I’ve lived without VST. No meaning or function, they are like all the rest for me. Some days, they are hard to live through.

In the 1900’s, without things like Netflix or YouTube, a person was at the mercy of Saturday or Sunday morning cartoons. With little else to watch, one would be encouraged to actually open the door and see the world outside. Maybe even spend a day in it. Now, we are all easily seduced into hours of entertainment at any time of the day or night. It’s as if the world has turned into the interior of a giant casino. Anything you want to do can be done 24/7. Rhythms I grew up with are gone.

These days, the one constant is the seasons. Thank goodness for the solar ballet, keeping some yearly cycles predictably recognizable. Yesterday, sitting inside my house, the most beautiful day was on display outside. I’ve noticed that my trees, mature and grand, are stretching their buds, getting ready for life, again. It will take a little more time, but, the swelling of the branch tips tells me spring is just around the corner.

Last week, the holiest of time in the Christian faith began with Ash Wednesday. In my state, even the practice of placing a small smudged cross of ash on the forehead is now a distant memory, and ashes are sprinkled on the head. It seems every single tradition we have is being eliminated, all in fear of a deadly virus. At a time when faith is needed the most, it’s being challenged in strange and sad ways. Traditions are being eliminated, leaving many of us wondering what will be left when all the restrictions are lifted. I sat pondering this in my house, as the sun warmed the day.

It was then my something caught my eye at the back fence. A happy little gathering of the cutest kind. The birds have returned. Little ones, big ones. Red breasted robins hopping across the lawn. Little finches meeting up like old friends, deciding who will be lucky enough to move into the high rent district of my two little bird houses. Squawking crows overlooked the entire party. Just like that, the weekend entertainment had arrived on wings. Busily, the new tenants were racing to and fro, carrying little bits of fluff for the new nests. Winterpast slowly comes to life, as the calendar marches on towards March.

Sunshine is great therapy for those of us that grieve. Spring is a time that reaffirms the cycle of new life, after a winter of sadness and grief. There are amazing miracles happening in our own back yards, while we heal. Just open the window and watch. Happiness can surprise you on the wings of new little friends just doing their thing on a beautiful day.

Just a year ago, if someone would have told me what today would bring, I would have said they were crazy. Unthinkable it was that VST would be brought down by cancer. With very minimal pain for a guy that was in perpetual arthritic pain, there was no way we could have known how soon our goodbye would come. A counselor referred to this situation as being similar to death by car crash. In many ways it was just that fast.

As life often does, the sudden finality left us all reeling. Remembering back, it was suggested in the sweetest of words that VST and I would take long walks together and say the proper farewell. That we could have “Love Story” moments, heart-breaking-ly sweet and tender in which we shared our last words with one another. Death had other ideas. There is nothing sweet and tender about cancer. There was no time for deep conversations that tied everything up with a bow.

Two days before VST passed, I had the rare moment to sit and hold his hand. He was slipping into a coma, but still held my hand as he had so often done strolling into Lowe’s with his Darlin’ at his side. Even though he said nothing, he was listening with eyes closed, and an open heart. As we sat quietly, I thanked him for the life he shared with me. For sharing my deepest worries and best successes. For being the one I would tell my secrets to, while knowing he would understand better than anyone else. Talking through my tears, I shared until he had slipped away from me into a world between here and there.

VST died the next day. He took half of me to heaven. Plain and simple, there is no other way to put it. Life went into a strange mode in which I needed to find my way alone. I continued to talk to him every day, while sharing my grief with the one person that would understand. My VST. I talked to him about everything. Wearing a mask while driving, it didn’t look weird as I continued to tell him about the latest problem or success. We had reversed roles, and I was now the driver, while he rode shotgun. Listening.

As the days turned into months and the season rolled on by, the conversations became less. Earthside friends filled in for him. Until I find myself in today.

Grief and widowhood are the strangest experience anyone can ever go through. Truly, a wilderness of the unexpected. The mind plays cruel tricks when you think you might have heard footsteps in the kitchen, or someone in the bathroom. You think of something sweet you just need to tell your loved one, and in a nano-second, you catch yourself remembering that you need to hold that until you meet again on the other side. But, each day, things get better. Slowly, you find yourself again. Little by little, you accept that life is different now that they are gone. You heal.

These days, I find that my sorrow has been replaced by a joy from deep within. There are so many things for which to be grateful. Just this morning, I was thinking of VST and his distrust and dislike for doctors. Having a brilliant and analytical mind, he knew very well how to choose the medical path right for him. I have no doubt, if given two years of medical treatments or one week of Hospice, he would have chosen the one week. He left me on his own terms, quietly closing the door as he escaped on that spring morning last year. As he left, he was no victim, but finding his own path to heaven with God’s help. I know that as well as I knew his scent in the dark, or his hand holding mine.

These days, when thinking about him, I often smile at stories that we wrote together. The kids. The farm. The mountain house. The cabin. VC. RVing. Just being us. The happiness we wrote as our life story is in my heart. I can turn the pages and remember it all any time I want, and now, it is comforting. The focus on what we created brings a peace that quiets the voice of what might have been. There is a comfortable place for the two to exist in my heart now, and that brings acceptance and closure.

No matter where you are in you journey of grief, please know, things will get better. They will never be the same. That’s a given. Somedays you will slide backwards. Somedays you will catapult forward. It is a crazy journey, this path through widowhood. But, as in any journey, it is possible to end up in a place of peace and happiness, with the best memories comforting you. It is this I wish for us all.

Belief in yourself is everything. Listening to a webinar by the prolific and amazing author, Kennedy Ryan, her main advice to new writers was simple. Make BELIEF your #1 strength. It’s an amazing superpower that can allow you to achieve more than you every dreamed you could. Believe IT into existence, whatever IT is for you.

Almost retired from teaching in California, VST and I were busily packing to move to Virginia City, Nevada. We had found our home and each weekend would drive six hours on Friday nights to get there with a load of our possessions. We did this 52 times before we were really able to say we were Nevadan’s. Often our friends would question us. Why? How? When? Few understood our need for a new adventure in a place where we knew no one, nor had family. They were mystified, while we believed in our plan.

One day, I was at a Lobby in a Hobby Store when I found the best coffee cup. White with gold polka dots, the inscription on the cup said, “She Believed She Could So She Did”. It was written for me. Throughout my life, things have happened that seemed insurmountable, if not for a core belief that I could survive and thrive. Sheer belief in my ability to conquer whatever problem stood in the way. VST and I shared this belief.

When VST and I first moved to VC, I was hired as a one year replacement for the science teacher at the VC Middle School. Although I’d taught a variety of classes from K-12, being a middle school science teacher is a whole different animal. I believed I could and I did. Nights that I wanted to cry, I did, but just a little. While drying tears, I buckled up and prepared curriculum for the next day, convincing myself that those kids were lucky to have a superior science teacher. Me. That year, our tiny mountain school of 96 kids had 6 entries in the Northern Nevada Science Fair, with one of my 8th graders taking 1st place in Environmental Science. I believed I could, but, also helped him believe he could. So we did, winning First Place!

When VST passed away, I needed to embrace that statement more than ever. There were many times when boxes way bigger than me needed hoisting down flights of stairs. They needed delivery to a storage area, only to be hoisted and moved again when the new house was mine . Financial issues needed to be handled quickly, but in the correct way. This by a woman that didn’t even know how much my monthly pension was, because VST was our banker. Decisions about the estate needed to be made from a woman that wasn’t a lawyer. Me. Friends needed to be selected when all I wanted to do was pick the first person I saw at Walmart and invite her into my life.

Through all those crazy times, it became clear that the more I believed in myself, the more I could accomplish. Little by little, the decisions that I’d made turned out to be right for me. Friends I picked are delightful. Winterpast became the best home I could have moved to. The new spa now bubbles away in the back yard. Oliver is thriving. My heart is smiling. Everything is okay.

It’s easy to get entangled in the triad of sadness, fear, and anger. I’ve written of these three comrades before, but they encourage a fourth. Self doubt. When those four get together, mental mayhem follows, leaving me to doubt everything. Believe me, when the sewer went down last week, those four had a field day wreaking havoc with my search for happiness. Thank goodness everything is now working as it should, and I am returning to normal.

I’ve needed to believe I could drive in a snow storm. That I could be the lone Hospice nurse. That I could let VST go when he needed to. That I could stand on my own two feet proudly, while honoring his memory. That I could take care of a 1/2 acre yard. That I could find life again, while smiling. That I could be strong enough to cry sometimes, too.

All those things are huge accomplisments of which I am very proud. But, I also found life will continue to throw hurdles at me. I can’t avoid them. I just need to believe that I can get through anything in life, because, quite frankly, I can. With belief, we all can accomplish great things.

The latest test will be my book, self-published later this year. My business waits to be created, about which I am learning by watching webinar after webinar. I’m able do this. I must do this. I will do this. This is the year, because I want it to be. I believe it is. And, so, it will be.

Readers, whatever you are dreaming, believe it IS already. No matter how fantastical you think the vision, just believe it to be attainable. It could be the smallest endeavor. Those are good places to start. Just believe in yourself. The rest will fall into place.

Widowhood has taken me on a trip I never expected. The highest of highs, and lows that seemed subterranean, with ghosts and goblins scarier than giant wolf bats with grizzly teeth. A haunted house freak show, with surprises around every corner. A distorted carnival mirror of life showed me things in wavy form, making it difficult to discern what might be real and what imagined. And yet, I made my way through the last year growing into this beautiful woman, more sure of my steps every day.

My words, I held dearly. For my new readers in all the far away places I’ve only read about, I chose a word a month. These were my life rafts as currents of days and weeks carried me forward. I was an unwilling traveler at times, just wanting to lay down in some leaves and forget about it all. Time had other ideas. These monthly words helped me identify what was real and necessary for healing.

1.Food, Shelter, Clothing

2.Friendship

3.Love Everlasting

4.Adventure

5.Faith

6.Happiness

7.Truth

8.Aloha

9.Rejoice

10.Respect

11.Optimism

When grief attacked my soul, the monthly word would give me focus on the parts of VST and I that were so precious and buoyant. Those words lifted me above snapping alligators and howling coyotes. They held me close to VST’s heart and the life we created as two child-rich but penniless kids in the winter of 1988. They helped me remember what my core values are made of and what VST helped me cherish in life. They healed me from the inside out.

No one can really understand what grief in solitude is like. When I moved to my sweet little town, there were those that made reference to the reputation of the place. A truck stop. A wide place in the road. A haven for addicts. Less than desirable location. My little town had a reputation she just couldn’t live down in the minds of those that had never given her a chance. I moved here and fell in love with every little scar. Every little wind storm. Every tumble weed or broken down mobile home. For, she and I are a lot alike. We’ve been through some stuff, yet we are survivors.

Now, the scariest part of the journey begins, because a year ago, my sweet VST became suddenly ill. I look back at my calendar and weep. His first test was last year on Valentine’s Day. Even then, the doctor was ruling out heart disease, and not the true monster that was cancer. I look at the words on my calendar and can see a difference in the handwriting. I remember the confusion overtaking our lives when VST was losing his mind. Those memories combined with the date on the calendar, one year later, produce a venom that is sadness X a million, and that is grief. That is now. “One Year Ago” is in the next room, waiting. April 8, 2021.

These monthly words are now all around me, and I have a comfy raft of them. I can lay back and bob along when raging rivers come while focusing on the stars. The best of memories that are US, cradle me while covering me from the cold. I’ll make it through, I just might shiver a little in the process.

These words are also doing something else. These are qualities I’ll not live without in my life. As I surround myself with new friends, I find those words are descriptors of the quality of friends I select. Overflowing, they will be abundant in the last chapter of my life. I’m choosing to make that so, with God’s help. When you combine all of them, you find true paradise. That was my life with VST, that is my life now, that is my life until life is no more.

Miss Firecracker and I had dinner last night, after her return from a fabulous trip across the country. She and I talked about our widowhood, and know we’re through the thickest of the forest of widowhood. We’ve both found acceptance in our hearts that life is here and ours to enjoy while embodying calm and happy. Through dinner, we laughed. A Lot.

The restaurant held only one other couple, young and sweet. Before they left, the man came to our table.

“Ladies, Thank You for bringing laughter to the restaurant. It was so nice to hear happiness coming from your table. No one laughs anymore.”

Upon visiting, we found that he and his wife were new to the town, taking a chance on her like I had last April. He was uncomfortable interrupting, but he had to tell us “Thank You”. Miss Firecracker and I cracked a few jokes with them, and immediately, we had two new friends. That’s just how she and I roll.

Our journey is okay now, she and I. We are widows. We were wives. But, First and Foremost, WE ARE WOMEN. Two very strong, beautiful, wonderful women to be reckoned with. Watch out world. We are on the move.

Angels are all around us. Sometimes life is so overwhelming we just can’t recognize them. There are many situations in which women remain vulnerable and at the mercy of the world. Broken plumbing is that such situation. Today was that kind of day.

After visiting with my tele-doc, whom I adore, I handled the medical side of feeling better. Don’t forget that option when an illness creeps up on you. Yes, tele-docs are not for every medical problem, but, for many, they can provide excellent care. From start to finish, I had a prescription in less than one hour.

However, the plumbing problem remained an odorous situation. Around 8 AM, I received the nicest call from the first angel of the day. A receptionist from “A Plumber and a Wrench”. She was ever so kind, informing me that the technician would be arriving around 1 PM to fix the problem. Immediately, I felt a ton of bricks lifted off my shoulders. Although I couldn’t use any water in the house, someone was coming that would remedy my plumbing nightmare.

Indeed, the sweetest guy named Johnny arrived right at 1 PM. He was here to fix the sewage elevator lift pump. After a little while, he came to me to report terrible news. This type of pump cost $4,000 and was manufactured in New York. It would take days for it to arrive and another day to install it. There was no escaping the problem. I would need to budget the fix. Period.

Going back inside, I again felt the weight of the world and realized how vulnerable we all are. In the blink of an eye, anyone can experience a problem in which creative thinking is needed. For some things broken, I know what to do. In this case, I was at the mercy of the plumbing company.

It was then that a mysterious neighbor named Schnauzer Dad walked by and changed the entire narrative of my problem. He informed sweet Johnny that this was a city problem, not a home owner problem. The city would fix it all. Furthermore, he drove home and got the direct name and number of the man to call. The rest was handled by Angels in Overalls. People are so kind when they learn of a widow’s loss. Most can’t begin to understand the true loss, but they want to. They know it must be the worst thing in life that can happen to someone. It surely is. Johnny promised to stay and make sure I was in good hands, even though he could have run home to his baby son and wife.

Truckloads of city Overall-ed Angels flocked to my yard. They fixed the broken pump, which I find out now, even has an alarm that should have gone off alerting me to the problem. I now know that. I also know that I am not alone in this independent state I find myself in. I can ask for help, and help will arrive. An important lesson when one is in the barren wasteland of plumbing problems along the journey of widowhood.

Angels don’t always appear trumpeting on high. They can be found when you least expect them, but always when they are needed the most. They come in all shapes and sizes. Some even smoke cigarettes and have a cross tattooed on their forearm. My angels swooped down in City trucks, clad in blue overalls to save my day. Lots of laundry to catch up on today. Keep your eye out for angels in your life.

Illness of any kind is no fun at all. An ache here. A pain there. Pretty soon, they all get together and insist that you stop and rest. I found myself in this predicament during the last few days. When your body is complaining, it’s easy for your mind to chime right in. Pretty soon, you are a sad sack of pity, having a party for one. Well, I didn’t fall quite that far, but found myself with happiness a fingertip out of reach.

Moving slower than normal, I’ve been sloth-ing around. Watch a sloth. They can’t even reach for a piece of fruit quickly. Wearing my favorite sloth PJ’s, I was that slow when reaching for my coffee. It was then that I decided to retrieve the mail. On my front porch, strange new odor hung in the air. A pungent odor, unmistakable, that can put terror into the mind of any new widow. Even the strongest of the strong widow. Effluent. In layman’s terms, liquid waste or sewage.

Winterpast has an odd design. Although attached to the city sewer system, she sits below the pipes at the street, making it necessary to have a SEWAGE LIFT SYSTEM, (the maintenance all my responsibility, of course), like a very necessary elevator lifting everything away from my house to the street. THIS is broken. For two weeks. And now, it complains loudly, by leaking liquid into my yard. This, I discover, while ache-ing and pain-ing on the way to my mail box.

Along with this disaster, (which I am still trying to mitigate), there is another one. My new spa, pristine and wonderful, sits in the back yard without a cover. I paid for a cover that wasn’t delivered. A windstorm blew in, with and entire night of 60 mile an hour winds. Leaves blew in and found their way into my bubbling vat of soothing jets, (at least 1,052 of them). Right after discovering the problem in the front yard, I discovered that my spa had turned a beautiful color seen in watercolor paintings. The leaves were clogging my brand new dual suction, turbo charged filters. All because, the cover I bought and paid for hasn’t yet arrived.

Plopping down on my couch, I will confess to you, I had a few thoughts that didn’t include happiness. With those, I realized, I had to stop. I first needed to listen to my body and take inventory of what I could do to change either of these situations.

With a phone call, I was on the line with “Plumber and a Wrench” in the next town. Now, I know a lot about a lot. But, a woman seldom has an interest or desire to really learn about plumbing. I could seat a new toilet with the best of them. Sewage Lift Systems are way above my pay grade. When talking, Mr. Plumber gives me the following advice. Wash no dishes. Launder no sheets or towels. In fact, save the Tide Pods for another day. Do not bathe or shower. In fact, run zero water through the house. He assured me they would get right on this. He has now disappeared into thin air. I’m following his advice, but, can only do so a little while longer.

As for the spa, a cleaning was necessary. Soon, the bubbles of happiness were again crystal clear. A call to the spa company gave me answers I didn’t want to hear. It may be another week or two until the cover arrives. But, it will arrive. This will just be part of the crazy story of my first year as a widow.

That left me with one decision. One and only one. My mental state. I could cry. Get angry. Ask “Why Me?” Curse. Yell. Be frustrated. Want to pack a bag and bug out. Yes. I could do all of that, and did some of that. What I needed to do first was STOP. Just STOP. Put on my pajamas. Clear my brain. Have some tea while in the STOPPED mode. I listened to my breathing. And the wind. And Oliver’s snores. Things calmed. Although all the problems, aches and pains were still there, they felt different. Like a warning that life was going at too fast a pace. Sometimes it takes a strange whiff of something in the air to make us take stock.

I feel better today, although not 100%. I plan to lay low and continue to make phone calls to my new best friend, Mr. “Plumber and a Wrench”. I’ll sit in the hot tub and bob for leaves, while allowing the healing nature of the water to soothe my tired body. I need to remember that my widowhood is approaching dark woods. Things are more difficult than I anticipated on these last days before the one year anniversary of VST’s passing.

I need to practice lazy, as my extremely wise and sage God Mom would say. Everyone needs to make sure to use that skill sometimes. Today, it’s me. Today, find some time to stop and take inventory. There is a solution to every one of life’s problems. Some just take a “Plumber and a Wrench” and a little patience.

To my adoring fans. I am truly sorry for the change in routine. For the last few days, I’ve been under the weather. Nothing serious, just not feeling my best. Still choosing happiness, I’ll be much happier when I feel 100 %.

On top of that, a violent wind storm blew through last night. Nerve rattling wind speeds which shook Winterpast as it rolled through. Sleep was not very sound.

This morning, I woke up to plumbing problems of the worst kind, needing immediate attention.

I will return tomorrow. Your concerns about my well being are so sweet. I love you, my dear readers.