Grieving Gardener

The Whole is Greater than the Sum of its Parts. Aristotle.

Ari was definitely referring to widowhood when he made that statement. I’m sure about that. Without everyone’s support, there would be a lot of widows laying in puddles of our tears, surrounded by spent Kleenexes. At Christmas, I had a list of every single person or agency that had helped me through, and they all received a card and hand written Thank You. This year, I’m keeping an active list of people that continue to come to my rescue and make up T.E.A.M. Hurt.

As I was reading a bit about the “Whole being greater than the Sum of its Parts” this morning, I ran across the acronym T.E.A.M. In light of preparations for an exciting weekend, I thought it an appropriate topic. Together, Everyone Achieves More = T.E.A.M.

On my TEAM, I am blessed to have the most wonderful group of family and friends. Through the months, I’ve written about most of the key players. Some prefer to stay in the shadows, and I definitely want to respect that. Helping me form plans in my new life, they cheer me on when things go well while comforting me when they don’t.

Two of my supporting pillars are K and T, the kids (that are not kids, but adults). Capable, brilliant adults, I’m blessed to get visited by a twin-fueled jet pack of activity when they roll into town. They come with pre-set ideas of projects they can accomplish. The biggest thing they bring can’t be planned. When here, a connection of energy completes a circuit. It was the three of us that were VST’s caregivers during his fight with cancer. The three of us were part of his last earthly goodbye. When we’re together, through the electricity of love, we connect in a different way. The three of us almost make up one VST.

K reflects the soft, intellectual side of VST. Her daughter’s heart and spirit were born from his heart and spirit. She is analytical and optimistic. There isn’t any task that she can’t conquer, even the hardest of things, like becoming father-less. Her grace and kindness rest inside a fierce woman that is one to be reckoned with. So, when she is here, I get a bit of VST and his creativity, all wrapped up in the best hugger ever. A daughter is a beautiful part of life.

T. Well. He IS his dad’s son. Handsome, funny, quick witted, and beyond gifted in knowing about every system in a house, car, or anything that needs fixing. This was beamed into his brain from his dad. T is masterful at making his dad famous eyebrow looks. T reflects the manly, analytical side of VST. He has a man’s outlook on life, which is so refreshing. VST was a manly-man and T followed in his footsteps. T also has VST’s quiet wisdom and inner sensitivity which he guards. He is a tender-heart just like his dad was. A big old soft-ie. But, he will never admit that to anyone, although it’s obvious to those of us that love him best. VST, all over again.

These two kiddos, (who are not kids, but adults) being twins, have their own communication shorthand. I never know what they are up to, but, I know they have things cooking between them at all times. The last time they visited, they were going to sneak out of the house at 9 PM to go get homemade ice cream at our little shop. This time, I am sleeping with my door cracked. Don’t want to get left behind on their brilliant escapades.

T and K know their dad in a way that I didn’t. He was their father. I knew VST in a way that they didn’t. He was my husband. Together, we complete the circuit with amazing memories and stories. We loved VST best, although they had an 11 year advantage over me.

Together, Everyone Achieves More. I have a list for the two of them. This weekend, in their visit, I’m getting visited by an electrician, spa professionals, a computer programmer, a tax prepare-er, a handyman, a home decorator and design consultant, two therapists, comedians, and dog whisperers. Add in, two of the best people to spend time with, and the weekend will be amazing. Through laughter and tears, we’ll be honoring the tenth month that we’ve been without Dad and VST. Respect will be shown on Monday, February 8th, as we release 10 bright balloons to the desert sky. My eleventh word will be revealed and another month without VST will begin.

Stay tuned for the activities that are about to unfold. This weekend, I’m receiving a delivery for which I have been anxiously waiting. Splish splash, I was taking a soak………

Just a year ago, VST and I were trying to find comfort for his unusually swollen ankles and feet. In the blink of an eye, it seemed my normally healthy, although disabled, husband had become ill. On our first doctor’s visit, the focus was on possible heart issues that could cause swelling. The first line of defense was a heavy dose of diuretics, which did nothing to correct the issue. Many tests later, the doc found VST’s heart to be in perfect health. From there, we started our downward spiral into the world of Cancer.

VST found strength through spiritual comfort. Covid hadn’t become center stage yet. Congregations still met, but because of our remote location and his illness, VST chose to watch a tele-preacher that aired daily. I would find him deep in prayer one minute, and sleeping quietly the next. His naps were a daily ritual, but then, it was winter, with not much else to do. Napping was the one activity in which his ankles and feet would be elevated. This minor set back allowed VST to enjoy the rest and relaxation that retirement brought. Each morning, he would present his ankles and feet to show me they were less swollen. And in the mornings, they were.

We’d both put on weight during the Christmas season, and made a pact to return to healthy eating. We’d resume our low carb diet, knowing it worked wonderfully for us. I lost weight, but, being competitive, VST lost more. VST lost seven pounds in less than a week. Then, he started to worry. Unknown to us, VST was losing muscle tissue with the fat, while retaining fluid. For a time, outward appearances hid the truth that VST was wasting away.

Comfort from fear about the weight loss was found in foods with the highest amount of calories possible. Double Western Bacon Cheese Burgers with an extra side of fries. Kentucky Fried Chicken with all the sides. Three meals a day, with snacks in between. Slowly, he started to gain a little weight back. Little did we know it was the weight of fluids he now carried.

Confusion bothered him as he became a little quieter and his naps a little more frequent. VST wasn’t as sharp as usual. He measured wood for his projects two or three times, and still made errors. Frustrations growing, VST repeatedly searched for spiritual comfort. Haunting signs, all, that we ignored then, and I remember now. We were entering a very dark and scary tunnel, not noticing the light growing more dim as we inched our way further and further along.

One day, I startled VST in his office as he labored over a quiet project. When asked what he was doing, he told me he was writing down a prayer. Correcting his work, he became more frustrated by the moment. Heartbreaking to watch, VST struggled with the transcription from computer screen to hand writing on paper. His doctoral dissertation had not given him this much grief. He asked me to leave, saying I was a distraction to his work. In reality, he wanted no witness to his grief and despair. Respecting his request for privacy, I left him alone to work with God.

It was a few days after his passing that I found the paper he’d been transcribing. It was a prayer that the tele-preacher repeated often on his daily program. VST had labored to write it down as best he could, and the effort it took to do that was obvious on the page. Clutching it to my chest, I wept, while reciting the prayer myself.

During my move, I showed the paper to K, telling her the story and how much comfort it brought me. A reflection of his ultimate struggle with cancer, it showed me things VST couldn’t say. It gave me comfort to know these words were in his heart when he left.

Unbeknownst to me, sweet K had a mission in mind. On simple white cloth, similar to a man’s handkerchief, she had embroidered the prayer, taken from a photocopy of VST’s precious prayer. A most beautiful thread color was chosen, a grey that matched the skies on the morning he went away. She framed this piece in a rustic gray frame, which looked like it came off a wall from a shop in VC. She purposefully left the glass off, so I could stroke the stitches and the words. Only an extraordinary teacher would know the importance of tactile reading. K is that excellent teacher. I stroke the picture often, feeling the strength and comfort from the prayer.

Comfort. We all need it. Some days, it is a plate of lasagna that took hours to prepare. Some days, it is just the right music played during sunrise. And sometimes, it’s holding a moment in your hands, and stroking the words as you read them. Today, find comfort and peace all your own.

I sleep well. Every night. No matter what. Another wonderful gift God has given me, sleep patterns haven’t been destroyed by widowhood. It’s a fortunate thing, because most mornings, I awake rested and refreshed. In the midst of widowhood, or any personal crisis, I can think of nothing more restorative and necessary than sleep. It makes an optimistic and happy outlook on life more possible.

Oliver and I have our morning routine down. He wakes me with adorable little puppy requests. Not a bark, nor a whine. Something in between. He talks and what he says sounds something similar to, “Please, Mom-Oh, wake up”. Waiting patiently, while I use the restroom first, it’s quickly his turn. Yes. Oliver uses my bathroom, too. He learned to use pee pads as a puppy when we RV’d. Truly, he’s the only dog I’ve ever known to have mastered this. Pee Pads and a bathroom? We can travel anywhere without the need for grass or snowy, early morning walks.

Coffee still brewing in the pot and sleepy cobwebs clouding my brain, the first flush of the day was followed by a low growl. Sounding like a dying animal, it came from the front yard. Hmmmm. I could’ve be hearing things. Houses creak and groan. It was Oliver’s turn, the noise had stopped, and it was time for his disposal flush. (No. He doesn’t crawl up on the seat, but his deposits ARE flushed away. No Muss, No Fuss.)

This time, another distinctive groan-ny growl complained loudly from the front yard. OH NOOOOO! My sewage ejection pump wasn’t well. Now. I’m no expert on these things. I wish I didn’t own a sewage ejection pump. It might be a macerator. Really wish I didn’t own any noisy, front yard, sewage related pump-thingy. Whatever the correct name for the little machine, it was out there announcing flushes to the neighborhood at 5 am. Loudly. Crap. Crap. Crap.

Hawaiian cruise sailing away, the price of the repairs would come first. VST would have known. Just known. He’d have been on the problem, and by noon, it would have been fixed. There was no mechanical item he hadn’t fixed, and this would be no different. Small problem. Sadly, there are no service calls from heaven.

Just then, the clouds in my brain parting, I remembered something all important. My Home Warranty!!!!! I’m sure I heard my mechanically minded angel singing as this thought came to me! With the stroke of a few keys, I’m scheduled with a plumber today. Well, my name has been sent to a plumber. We’ll see if I actually get a visit.

As a widow, put aside a few dollars each month for the less pleasant surprises in life. You never know when a groan in the dark is going to have a price-tag of thousands. In the case of a sewage ejection pump, there’s no choice about the timing of repairs. Sewage needs ejecting above anything else I could think of at the moment.

Home warranty policies are a great thing as well. After purchasing the policy, for a small service fee, anything covered in your policy will be up and running soon. It’s one more thing to help you dream your best dreams, as you sleep the night away. Beware of front yard growls. Could be a wild animal. More likely a faulty pump.

Last week, I was really hungry for lasagna. You know the kind. Sauce just the right thickness, flavorful and comforting. Rich and satisfying. The kind my mother would have made if she were Italian. That kind of lasagna. So, while in the frozen food aisle, I picked up a serving for one. The box looked Italian enough. The picture on the front was alluring with the look of deliciousness. I eagerly raced home and popped it in the oven. I wanted the lusciously thick layer of four cheeses to crust a little on the top, while being bubbly and satifying throughout.

Thirty long and torturous minutes passed, as the little plastic tray sat in the oven. A few pieces of cheese covered the top of the noodles. No lovely smells came from the oven. No browning occurred. A very sad example of lasagna emerged at the ding of the timer. No magical transformation happened. There it was. Plastic lasagna in a 2” x 3” plastic tray. One bubble burped, and then, it was dead.

Needless to say, the box lied. It was the most horrible lasagna I’ve ever tried. Rather like cardboard coated with tomato sauce, it was void of a few special ingredients. Patience and care. I’d forgotten to add those when I took it out of the box and shoved it in the oven. It was heated just right, but, that was all I could say. After a few bites, I lost my appetite.

Today, I’m making lasagna from scratch. Or at least from the scratch I can make it from at this time of year. In the past, I’ve made Bolognese sauce with real tomatoes picked only minutes before they started cooking. Heavenly. For this recipe, I’ll use canned tomatoes, but FRESH basil. With my favorite gangster movie playing, I’ll enjoy a morning of nursing the sauce to rich perfection. The recipe suggests mixing sour cream with the ricotta cheese for a creamier blend. I’ve purchased fresh Parmesan cheese, and will grate the mozzarella myself.

Served with this yumminess, Parmesan Garlic Twisted rolls from the shelves of WalMart will be served as the side. It should satisfy my longing for a home-cooked meal. According to the amounts of each ingredient, it should make enough for the entire Corleone gang, so I’ll plan to freeze it in individual servings. The next time I want real lasagna, I can walk to my freezer and take some out. If a gang comes to hit the mattresses, I’ll be ready.

Being single, I often forget to put care and patience into my meals. Usually, I’ve waited too long, and need something quick. By then, it comes down to whatever I can grab. I deserve better than that. This is definitely not the Keto recipe that VST and I enjoyed and lost so much weight eating. That recipe is still in my brain. I can whip it up when dieting is my focus. Right now, I am going to focus on amazing, ooey-gooey, mouth watering, rich and satisfying homemade lasagna, made with semi-fresh ingredients in the middle of a snowy winter’s day in the high desert.

Now, where is my copy of O sole mio??? Looking up the English translation, it speaks to my hope for today. Please enjoy the translation and have a sunny day yourself!!!!

English translation of O Sole Mio.

What a wonderful thing, a sunny day

The serene air, after a thunderstorm

The fresh air, and a party is already going on….

What a wonderful thing, a sunny day..

*** For those of you that love to cook, I‘m using an online recipe.

The Stay at Home Chef — The Most Amazing Lasagna Recipe.

For my Keto friends —

You won’t be disappointed —

“Just Like the Real Thing” Keto Lasagna — peaceloveandlowcarb.com

Enjoy!

Reflecting on my relationship with VST, I’ve been thinking about what it was that made US work so well. Thirty-three years is a very long time to live with someone, while still wishing it would continue forever. Day after day, that’s how we found our lives, until his forever ended. As normal people do, we had our differences and spats, but the underlying desire to be together couldn’t be denied. While in the same space, carrying out totally different tasks, we were at peace. It wasn’t just by chance. We were a match.

A few days ago, it was suggested that I complete an online quiz to identify my Love Languages. I’d heard of Love Languages before, but didn’t exactly know what they were or why they were important. So, I took the quiz. In which the five Love Languages were listed as follows.

1. Quality Time
2. Physical Touch
3. Acts of Service
4. Words of Affirmation
5. Receiving of Gifts.

Before ever beginning the quiz, I knew where I stood. I could answer for VST, as well. Spending time with those we love was our main love Langauge. Gifts or pretty words didn’t sway us one way or another. Time spent with either of us was a true sign of caring. VST and I spent a lot of time with friends and family. Those hours with loved ones gave us many happy memories that we often shared together.

The least important to us was gift giving, and so, we had few traditions in our married life that included wrapped gifts. Christmas Eve was our special day to shop together. Each of us could pick out whatever we wanted knowing it would be the perfect gift, and not require the frustration of return lines. The stores were always quiet on Christmas Eve morning, making it enjoyable and romantic to select gifts for each other and head home to holiday fun.

Birthdays and Anniversary’s were celebrated with a card and meal. Again, the time we spent together was the most beautiful thing we could share. I would rather have been with VST more than anyone else in the world. Going to the dump? I was the first in the truck. To Lowe’s on a lumber buying expedition? Let me get my shoes. The task at hand didn’t matter because we were a twosome. How many times we were house-flippin-grungy, holding hands, and talking on the way into Lowe’s. People would often smile at us, two cute little old senior citizens that were still sweet on each other. True.

Acts of Service came to mind when I thought about all the things VST did for me, just because. He knew I was 100% capable of dealing with whatever needed to be accomplished in our lives. Yet, he would never send me out to handle tough tasks alone. We’d work together. His acts of love and devotion when caring for his parents made their last years on Earth heavenly, as we shared our time and love with them on a daily basis. This was the man I was lucky enough to love.

I patiently took the quiz, with the results right in line with what I already knew. The correlation between the results and the success of our relationship was clear. We spoke the same language during our marriage. 100%.

1. Quality Time –40%
2. Physical Touch –25%
3. Acts of Service — 25%
4. Words of Affirmation — 7%
5. Receiving Gifts — 3%

I had to laugh, as I thought back to the reunion and our first dance together. It was evident in that first 3 minute interaction that we had two of the Languages covered. His comment about the brilliant blue-ness of my eyes never phased me, as I told him he was full of bovine scat. The real character of this man would be reflected in his actions. It was all right there in that first dance and never changed much throughout the years.

For fun, take the quiz, of which are many to choose from online. See if your Love Languages are what you thought they were. I didn’t need the quiz to know VST and I were speaking the same language. I miss the quality time spent with him more than anything else. Thank goodness we made the most of it, going through life.

Happy 2020 Tax Year. Each day, the mail delivers more great news. One year ago, VST drove to Costco to buy Turbo Tax 2019. Each year, he would labor over the taxes, starting with the arrival of the first W-2. Nothing escaped his memory as he worked on the computer. There were be frequent outbursts, but they were always muffled by the office door. He would emerge calm, when it became too much and he needed a break.

Predictably, the preliminary tax amount due was always something that brought us to our knees. It couldn’t be! It wouldn’t be! As VST remembered to enter this and that, indeed, it wasn’t ever as bad as the initial predication. Sparing me the dry run hysterics, he would save the very last examination of the forms for me.

“Darlin’, can you come and look at the taxes with me?” he would ask sweetly. In his office, he already placed a chair next to his, along with forms and supporting documents for joint approval. After a thorough review, together, we would hit the submit button. Team work at its finest.

This year, things are different. I have at least 10 W-2’s, some before death, some after death. IRA documents from the old accounts, and those from the new accounts. The stack is growing day by day. There isn’t a second chair next his his, only Oliver’s dog bed under the desk.

I didn’t run to Costco to buy the latest version of Turbo Tax, but ordered it on Amazon. Shrouded in shrink rap, it sits like kryptonite on his desk, waiting for me. Just me. K and T are coming to visit next weekend, and they’ll give me the strength to begin. Not only is it important that I get this right, it will be an emotional task. This is the first time I need to do taxes alone.

Knowing this year is complicated, I visited a CPA earlier in the year. His answers to my questions weren’t what I wanted to hear. Taxes will be brutal this year, due to some issues that were resolved resulting in additional income. The time to face the tax man is here, and I’m not looking forward it. At least, it will only need to be dealt with once for 2020. I’ll put on my Big Girl Panties, sharpen my pencils, and get to work.

When I open the file cabinet to retrieve documents, the 2019 tax folder glares back. The tab shows VST’s bold-sharpied-notation. 2019 Taxes. Cancer isn’t reflected in the handwriting, but matches 2018Taxes, 2017Taxes, and 2016Taxes. Handwriting doesn’t disclose that within a few short weeks after he wrote out the date, he’d be gone. The folder reminds me how much he loved me and wanted me safe. I remember when he went to Costco, he held his cane tightly. His back had been giving him pain, along with his knees, hand, and neck. There was an urgency that day, when he said, “I need to get these finished. We have all the documents, so, we might as well do them now.” That day, I didn’t understand how few minutes we had left together. I wish we hadn’t wasted them on taxes.

An appointment is made with the CPA for mid-March. Walking in, self-assured, with my completed taxes in hand. I’ll be confident that I did everything correctly, while refusing to make this more difficult than it is. I’ll make VST proud on that visit, but, more importantly, I’ll check off another super-power I plan to master in the next few weeks. Turbo-Tax-Charged, I’m coming for you Tax Man. Don’t worry, VST, I’ve got this. Yes, I do.

Flying in the 1900’s, when it was a special treat to do so, VST and I traveled to some pretty wonderful places. Early in our marriage, while working for a John Deere dealership in the Central Valley of California, VST’s reputation and super powers led us to beautiful places like Nashville, Tennesee, Puerta Vajarta, Mexico, or the Big Island of Hawaii. Rewarded for his outstanding job performance, the trips we took were well planned and a treat for us both. Although never First Class air, we were treated like royalty once we arrived.

Bucket list-ed, I still want to fly somewhere as a First Class passenger. VST and I flew First Class through life together. I’d often notice how few couples spent flight hours talking to each other. Their noses deep into a book, phone, or lap top, if you hadn’t seen them board together, you’d have thought they were total strangers. What a waste of valuable, uninterrupted time for relaxation and enjoyment of each other’s company. VST and I never wasted a minute.

From the moment I met him at the reunion, that September so long ago, our love affair was a First Class Flight. What made it so was our desire to choose seats together. It didn’t matter the menu or destination, traveling together everything was the best it could be. Raising kids, farming, sailing, or just watching a sunset, it was First Class. As the years passed, it was natural for us to carry our baggage together. He knew what I’d packed, I knew what he’d packed, and together, the baggage wasn’t too heavy. We flew through life First Class. It had nothing to do with the amount of money we were earning, or the house in which we lived. We were rich because we had each other. How I miss that now.

When considering destinations for future flights, I realize it’ll be quite different. No one with which to critique the food or service. No shoulder on which to rest my head. No hand grabbing mine at take off or landing. Just me, in very dark glasses. First Class or Coach, the seat next to mine will not belong to VST.

I’m so grateful life is still First Class for me. I have beautiful kids (not kids, but adults) I love dearly. I have my health and interests, such as writing. I’m lucky to have friends, both new and old. Baggage full of beautiful memories, mine to keep. But, no matter all the extras that come with First Class, my travel partner is gone. Just me in very, very dark glasses, looking ahead to the future, while enduring a bit of turbulence. First Class or Coach, VST no longer occupies Seat A next to my B.

On snowy evenings, headphones and a good movie mute VST’s absence. Some nights, grief steals the seat next to me, with incessant reminders of loss. Solitude and loneliness serve grief like eager new stewardesses. Then, a strong and quiet happiness comes over me to reclaim that seat. Some days, my worn and tattered baggage is a little tougher to negotiate. With reflection and repacking, my load is lighter each day.

As the days have melted into months, the journey is becoming easier while choosing my next destination. It’s my job to maintain balance and keep Flying First Class. A blessed woman I’ve been in this life. Memories will keep me on the happy side of the skies, even if I never take that First Class Flight.

Oh, the times in which we live! Splendid! Miraculous, some might say. Computers and phones make everything possible in this day and age. Even avoiding starvation while being trapped by a blizzard.

Snowmegeddon, which will long be referred to as the “Snow of 2021”, has arrived and I have now really screwed things up. VST was our premiere snow removal service. For all of his disabilities, he was up at the crack of dawn shoveling a dangerously steep driveway, a huge deck suspended 15 feet above the ground, and the back drive which involved walking the snowblower down the street, around the corner and up the back drive to our house. In retrospect, he loved the challenge claiming it was great exercise. I always appreciated his diligence and extreme dedication to this important task, all completed at 6200 ft..

I’d often ask him if he could just relax and let the snow fall where it may. Skip a day. For that, my faulty thinking would be mansplaned (new word — look up the meaning). Didn’t I know what would happen???? , he would ask in an amazed way. Not good amazement either. No. I didn’t really know, but it’d be nice to enjoy a cup of coffee with my husband.

The truth of the matter is, I didn’t know. Once you leave snow, it turns to a base of ice. A base of ice takes spring sunshine to melt. Living with VST, there was no empirical evidence to support this, because he removed the snow before the frozen base ever formed. I think you know where this is going.

When the snow started here, I relaxed with coffee in my cup and a movie on my screen. How delightful to just let the snow fall where it may. We’d just see about a formation of an ice-based, snow-covered skating rink. Besides, the snow shovels are stored outside in the shed. My little town receives very little annual snowfall, that being one of the reasons it was chosen. Unlike the feet of snow in VC, my little town gets inches. And not in one storm. Life was good that day. Calm. Un-shoveled, Pristine.

A day went by, and the next morning, things had changed. About 3″ of snow had fallen. Light and fluffy, crunchy under the footstep to the mailbox. Beautiful and smooth. It was a beauty I couldn’t disturb. Besides, the shovels were in the little shed out back. The sun would come out, melting it quickly. I happily retrieved the mail and never went outside again.

Yesterday, an additional 6 feet fell. I’m estimating here. It might be 12 feet. Okay, 6 inches. But, it might as well have been 12 feet, because now, I have an expansive area of ice covered snow, with more snow expected to fall throughout the day until tomorrow. Here I sit, clearly hearing one lone angel laughing his butt off. I can hear his booming voice saying, “I tried to tell her.” VST, you got me on this one.

With coffee creamer dwindling, my serious lack of driving skills in the snow, and ice covered roads, it seemed I’d be enjoying black coffee until that ran out. At that very moment, K called with a marvelous suggestion. Order groceries online. Who would have thought this was even possible?

After spending a short time walking up and down the cyber aisles of the local Raley’s, I finished my shopping with a deliver time of 4pm. Paying online, everything was done, including a generous tip to my delivery angel, yet unknown. I waited, taking time to freshen up my frig. More snow fell, now being too deep for retrieving the snow shovel from the little shed in the back. No safety line had been installed from house to shed. I could be lost in the drifts until the spring thaw. Again, heavenly laughter.

At 4:00 PM, in the middle of what I would consider a blizzard, but in reality heavy snowfall, the cutest woman drove up next to my open garage. She had eight bags of groceries holding the items I had selected earlier in the day. With a smile and wave, she was gone. The groceries were bagged nicely, with everything I’d selected now on my counter. This was truly a January miracle, I promise, I will experience again. No longer creamer-deficient, I have snacks and salads to last until next week when the sheet of ice melts.

Today, I’ll investigate the snow situation and make a path to the mail box. I might take the Jeep out to practice my 4-Wheel-Drive skills. Or, I may just put on another pot of coffee and binge watch Netflix for the day. Those shovels need retrieving, so please come back tomorrow to make sure I survived. This, too, will pass. My town doesn’t get heavy snows, don’tcha know???????

It seems the entire world is on an interrupted journey. Things we took for granted have evaporated. As the television shows play at night, I’m fascinated with the lack of masks. The images don’t represent the real world anymore. Masked individuals hide their smiles and interactions as they hurry in to shops and scurry out to their cars, gelling to sanitize any chance of Covid right out of their lives. Faces are a lovely canvas for expression of soul and self, now hidden like spring’s subnivean crocuses .

It snowed again last night. Another type of masking. Yesterday’s tracks, from an occasion rabbit or bird, are hidden now. Everything’s fresh, while waiting for the day’s story to be etched upon it. As days go by, like you, I’m growing weary of being the main character in a story sans dialogue or direct communication with the outside world. Outside my window, the snow covered landscape is a Currier and Ives vision of a home in the wilderness. As still and flat as the pictures on an ornamental plate, is my life today. Yesterday, there were only two sets of car tracks in the snow. In the entire waking day, only two souls ventured out, or perhaps it was only one that left and returned home. My world is a very quiet one. Even the mustangs have found refuge elsewhere.

Journeys need to be on hold for now. As the decision makers fight over the next requirements placed on their very weary citizens, I think of my cruise in December and how I dream it will be. Everyone enjoying themselves on the trip of a lifetime. Days at sea in which to wrap up in a warm blanket on the balcony and escape into a great book. Ringing up room service and ordering whatever strikes my fancy at the time. A pretty dress for dinner with new friends eager to enjoy a pleasant meal. A show. Dancing. A walk to the bridge after dark to see the black skies twinkling, adorned with billions of stars. I make that journey multiple times a day, as I watch my coffee creamer supply diminish during this storm. Of course, the cruise described doesn’t exist, anymore than a recipe to replace Sugar-Free French Vanilla Coffee Creamer.

VST never wanted to cruise. We could’ve visited so many places, but, it wasn’t his thing. His disease caused paranoia, deep rooted and insidious. He loved the water, especially the ocean. But to let another be the captain was something he would never do. He was the captain of his own ship, charting his own unfamiliar waters until his very last day. When we first started boating in the early 1990’s, charts were on paper and needed studying. Folded maps held all the secrets beneath the surface of places you wanted to sail. Along with everything else his brain absorbed, late in the night, I would find him studying. Charts of Monterey Bay and the Santa Cruz Yacht harbor, spread out and examined carefully, while planning upcoming trips. He was prepared for any and every disaster. A lot to carry in one brain.

VST hated the thought of being trapped in a snow storm. For the last three winters, he was planning journeys at the first mention of inclement weather. Before snowflakes settled on VC, we were gone. The sunshine of Laughlin or Las Vegas provided relief from snow shoveling. Of all the horrible storms VC suffered over six years, we were never snowed in once, thanks to VST. Snowed out, yes. Snowed in, no.

Our journey was so viciously interrupted by cancer. Like a vulture, grief now pecks at the carcass of ruined dreams. My journey has been interrupted in ways I couldn’t have predicted a year ago. His journey was to a place so vast and far, there are no bridges connecting our worlds. Death cramped our style, eh, VST?

Today, I am going to do my best to take at least three mini journeys, in which there will be no interruptions. I plan to journey into the world of the Avengers and watch another fantastical movie, taking my mind off the snow and my house bound situation. A far more productive journey will take me into at least one closet, beginning the task of spring cleaning and the collection of discards for the spring yard sale. The last journey will be into the land half and half, vanilla, and Splenda, to create a new recipe for coffee creamer. Three journeys with three different results. I’ll enjoy this day, while the snow melts, and we are another day closer to leaving our homes and returning to our lives.

Thanks for listening. This widow needs her friends. Choose happiness. Grab a journey in whatever way you can. Through hawaiian music, or a travel show. Get out there and take a little trip. The price is just right.

Focus has been lost the last few days. Derailed by our 33rd wedding anniversary, I’m just now dusting off and finding direction again. First anniversaries of other kinds have been manageable. This one was brutal. Clinging to memories, I became trapped in the past for a little while. With snow piling up outside, I must regain focus on my direction while choosing happiness and peace. The snow will melt just as my grief will subside.

Calendar in hand, it boggles my mind that January’s end arrives Sunday. How this happened, in the blink of an eye, is astounding. Of all my years, one might think, in 2021, time oozes along like cold molasses. Widowed. Alone. Snowed in. Certainly not the case here. My focus turned away from administrative duties for a second and again, it’s time to pay the bills.

VST managed our financials. For years, I carried no purse or credit cards. Always being together, he paid for everything. When working on remodeling, a purse was an annoying hindrance, and so, I didn’t carry one. It worked for us, with his wallet at the ready. On the computer, hawk-eyed, he tended our bills. Alarms on his phone beeped at credit card purchases, while he checked to make sure they were ours. Turbo Tax and he were one, with 2020 taxes completed four weeks before he died. Automatic deposits would cause his phone to chirp on the 1st of each month. He was our financial wizard. Thank goodness, because that was no superpower of mine, or so I thought.

Widow-fogged, in the middle of packing and unpacking, I learned on-line banking in a flash. Practicing together, three weeks before he died, I learned the needed passwords. Beyond that, there were accounts to be managed, eliminating some and creating others due to the move and death.

Credit cards glared at me, right after VST passed. With his name on every account, I started the slow process of letting companies know he was gone. If you’ve done this, you know it’s death by one needle at a time to the heart. Often, while on hold, I had the wrapping paper at hand, packing box after box. With laser-like focus, I dismantled our physical life in the 17 short days after he was gone.

As the weeks passed, the banking became routine. To date, no bills have been missed, or even late, because of my errors. Ira’s were moved and relabeled. New accounts were formed. Investments were created, and now, I’m the Financial Wizard of Winterpast. It’s just taken ten months to arrive at that title.

Directions are funny. Focused on writing, my path is paved with words that rumble in my gut, tumble out of my brain, through my fingers, onto the screen. Some days, I wonder from where they all come, making me laugh and cry with no one else around. The click-ety clack of the keyboard soothes sleepy Ollie at my feet. Like an alarm, he knows when the sound stops, his day begins. Until then, his puppy dreams occupy him. Focus returns to all things business and books today, with limited time to practice lazy . Right now, there’s a business I need to build, and a book that needs a cover designed. More webinars to watch, guiding my focus in the direction of growth, while choosing the happiest route to get there.

Have fun today finding new direction and focus. Prepare for February. Next week!!! Until tomorrow, I love you.

Provo, Utah thank you for reading! I appreciate you. My Cambrian Goddesses, I love you so much. Stay safe. To the Lovely’s, thank you for Winterpast! Have a great day!