Grieving Gardener

My New-Life news have, at times, been overwhelming in the past 9.5 months. New from the foundation up, life changed in one big Cancer diagnosis, declared Cholangiocarcinoma by the oncologist 7 days before VST died. During the eight weeks before, sickness had taken hold, an obvious fact. Cancer and death weren’t expected until they appeared, bringing devastating and miraculous experiences to me.

Breathing was still a necessity, although it became different through tears of grief. Panic’d days brought a rapid rhythm, while deep thought stop my breathing all together. Moving boxes and furniture at 6,200 ft. caused me to struggle for breath quite often. Putting together the memorial book of VST often left me breathless. Revisiting memories staring back through hundreds of pictures, I looked for just the right ones. Months later, as new things challenge me, my breathing remains steady. My heart rarely skips a beat. My body is learning this new normal of living, while repairing a battered heart. Thank goodness it could run on auto pilot these past few months.

“WINTERPAST” was the best “NEW” I could’ve chosen. Moving couldn’t be stopped, and for me, shouldn’t have been stopped. New ways of thinking and doing were embraced, as every bit of advice I received told me to stay put. New walls waited for aged pictures and paintings. Like old friends, many have been with me since I was a babe in arms. Guardians of my past, my new home offered the perfect places for them to rest, watching over me still. New ground, new plants, new spring life, new hope, in my new season of life.

Yesterday, I was thinking about VST’s office and the pack-rat way he had stuffed two closets with his belongings. Not an inch to spare inside, they were full to the ceiling with belongings reflecting a rich and full life. Some things hold their secrets tight, as he is no longer here to add stories we would’ve loved to know. New discoveries hid amidst his treasures in things I didn’t know he had secreted away. His treasure trove of memories dear to him became new to me. Each new office document I discover, less than a year old and inked with his left handed writing, is a new hug in message form that I can handle this stuff.

New town. New friends. New street. New house. New routines. New. New. New. This against every bit of advice I received when VST died. Discarding old, while embracing new, I ran into the forest of widowhood with scissors. Tripping, scraping my knees, falling, face first, but always getting up, I kept going. Pretty soon, the scissors were dropped for safety, and I kept going. After awhile, I didn’t need to run so fast. Today, here I am, having survived my wedding anniversary yesterday, while almost arriving at the milestone of my first year without VST. New. Faith anew.

Yesterday, I continued viewing the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies about fantasy heroes that have outrageous abilities. There are over 20 movies in the series, so, it’ll take me awhile to finish. This genre of movies, new to me, took some time to embrace. After watching six, I find I’m enjoying the story lines of each one. The bedroom television provides a new location to watch them. My own private and comfy movie theater has become part of a new routine, with jammies the required attire. Popcorn optional.

A few days ago, while trying to explain the events of this personal tragedy, I envisioned my former life as my neat and tidy doll house. Everything was dialed in, just so. Things clicked along by design, with two happy people enjoying the fruits of their labor. On a cloud free winter’s day, cancer took that life and turned it upside down with the fury of the universe. I was left to scurry around, grabbing at bits and pieces of broken-everything, with the need to put things right immediately. Today, new experiences are beginning to gel into life, after the old life was swept away forever, now memorialized on the pages of scrap books, keeping sweet memories alive.

Today, embrace your New, examining it for redeeming changes it has presented in your life. While widowhood is certainly not a deliberate choosing of our own, sunshine follows any storm. Find a little ray and bask in it. Grief’s darkest hour will lighten as the days roll on. Don’t forget to look for the true beauty of new life. That’s my news for the day.

Thirty-three years ago today, January 23, 1988, VST and I exchanged vows before family and friends. It was a small and sweet ceremony, made meaningful by our own little touches. We were in our early thirties, grabbing at golden rings and hanging on for dear life. As we become one, our family grew into a whirling blend of two eleven year olds (VST’s Twins), two eight-year-olds, (one from each of us), and a six year old, (mine). Five wonderful kids that made our life exciting and full throughout our years together.

That morning, I remember being the classic jittery bride. With the important women in my life giving me strength, the morning was full of all the normal preparations. I remember lots of laughter and fun putting the last minute finishes on everything. Auntie TJ added sparkle to the morning, along with Bestie Friend and CC. They were all there to celebrate the day. As I waited for our moment to arrive, the beautiful reflection in the mirror was someone I had yet to meet. So beautiful and young. Hopeful, I was scared out of my mind.

All the hassles of months before melted away that morning. Remembering the day we went to tell our parents made me smile. VST’s parents were gracious and welcoming. His mother told me many times over the years she knew the very moment VST fell in love with me. He changed. She could see it in his eyes. Who’s to argue with your mother-in-law, right? She soon changed her title to Mother-In-Love. Through the years, she became my mom, too.

On the day we told my parents, my dad wanted to know if this was one of those “Spur of the Moment” things. I really don’t know what he meant, as communication with dad was never very clear. Everyone quietly counted on fingers, sure the speed in which we married had to do with a sixth child. We fooled them all. The stork had no deliveries at our house. Our family was complete at five.

My mother was aghast that I wore a traditional wedding gown, but wear it I did. No, I rocked it. VST wore an amazing grey suit that was tailored to fit him perfectly. There we were, two kids at the alter, vowing to love and cherish each other until death. Taking on life, we’d both give our marriage undivided attention and focus. We weren’t going to allow anything to derail this new union, honoring and respecting each from that day on. That’s exactly what we managed to do for over 32 years. Not always in the most graceful manner, but, that’s life, right?

Our parents and friends quickly came to admire all the things we loved about each other. Blessed with their support and love, they watched us find our way through life. For that, we were so very grateful.

Last week, I found the anniversary card VST gave me 365 days ago. Through the years, we had abandoned reciprocal gifts, but, always found just the right cards to exchange. He always took me, his Darlin’, for a celebratory meal. We held hands, just a year ago. He still turned my head as he held my heart in his heart. He was the last person I wanted to see before dreams came, and the first person I wanted to greet in the morning. He was the best person with which to share morning coffee while exchanging opinions about the morning news. He remained my groom, and I, his bride, even though we were no longer those kids at the alter.

Today, I’ll embrace peace and quiet as I reflect on our years together. Blessed to have the marriage we did, we shared so many wonderful adventures. I know he’ll be with me today, his angel wings surrounding Oliver and me, in Winterpast, the home he bought for us. God frosted my world in snow today, reminded me of that afternoon at 2 PM, when I was the girl in white.

I love you sweet, VST. Happy Anniversary. Save me a spot next to you in heaven. Until then, fare thee well.

This song is worth a listen. I send it to you, VST.

10,000 Miles

Sung by Mary Chapin Carpenter

Fare thee well,

My own true love.

Farewell for a while

I’m going away.

But I’ll be back

Though I go ten thousand miles.

Ten thousand miles,

My own true love,

Ten thousand miles or more.

The rocks may melt

And the seas may burn

If I should not return.

Oh, don’t you see

That lonesome dove

Sitting on an ivy tree:

She’s weeping for

Her own true love,

As I shall weep for mine.

Oh come ye back,

My own true love,

And stay a while with me.

If I had a friend

All on this earth

You’ve been a friend to me.

Oliver and I are in eager anticipation of our day, packed and ready to roll. Ollie will be visiting his friends at Doggie Day Camp, while I will be visiting two of my Besties to shop! It was brought to my attention that if asked to accompany someone to dinner, I have but three dresses. Three. Worse than that, they’re all summer dresses. Currently, the weather is anything but spring-like, with morning temps starting at 25 degrees.

Last week, my VC neighbor, Glass Wizard, phoned to see if I might want to go with another VC friend, Della Rio, on a shopping adventure. In my past life, I wasn’t a patient or thoughtful shopper. It seemed whatever I needed in the way of clothing could be found, purchased, and worn right off the stacks at Costco or Sam’s Club. Face it, VST and I were glampers. We lived in hoodies and jeans, or tees and shorts as we traversed the country. Seldom did we dress up when we were traveling.

VST, on the other hand, did involve us in a service organization in which it was necessary to own a tuxedo. He always looked so handsome as he left to attend meetings. I looked nice, too, when I dressed up to accompany him. We were a snazzy couple when we chose to be. Otherwise, we were just a cute couple of travelers that preferred casual fun.

I find myself looking in my closet and taking notes of everything that I need to replace. From dresses to shoes to everything in between. I haven’t even started with new makeup trends. I need an entire make-over, and tomorrow will be the day this begins.

Shopping for a new look is something every widow can enjoy. It’s been easy for me to spend too many days in my comfy fleece PJ’s, while staying in because it might snow. Note, I said it MIGHT snow. It hasn’t. It has been beautiful weather. There are so many reasons I can convince myself to stay inside and avoid venturing out. Today, my schedule will be infused with spring fashions and lunch at a tasty and tony Mexican restaurant in a lovely shopping center south of the city center. The three of us gal pals have lots to chat about.

After a day of shopping, I’ve decided to spend the night in town, rather than heading back to my little desert villa. One of the perks of living near a resort town is that there are resorts. Oh Happy Day. Reserved just for me, I’ll have a suite with a hot tub. I’m looking forward to room service and soaking. If I close my eyes long enough, I might be able to believe it’s the olden days, when VST and I would do something like this often. I plan to soak up resort life during my waking hours. I might even visit the spa for a wrap, just because.

Attending a virtual service group meeting last night, an interesting proposal was made by a housebound member. She requested that the group meet in person, with those having Covid concerns having the option of remaining virtual. The group agreed that being housebound is not necessary for everyone. I, for one, cannot remain housebound anymore. Tomorrow will be the first of many days I need to venture out and find normal for me. Solitary confinement is worse than any disease I can think of while killing my spirit.

Remember, as you head out, follow new protocol. Have a mask at the ready, with an extra along, just in case. Be sure to use lots of hand sanitizer and don’t touch your face. Keep six feet away from everyone else at all times. All that being said, find something outside the house to do today. Enjoy yourself and choose happiness. It’s a universal size and looks great on us all.

Busily, I’ve been working on computer analytics. As a new blogger focused on writing, I’m now working on growing my audience. Each day, I spend more time learning about analytical programs that show trends with my readers. NOT being a computer geek, the going is rather slow. Each time I conquer another step, I’m victoriously thrilled.

Back in September, inspired by a podcasting friend, I really thought all I’d need to do was write. There were a few steps in between. Looking online for recommendations, Blue Host and Word Press were recommended for ease of use and cost effectiveness. I found this to be true on both counts. Then, I was off and running. When boredom would rear its ugly head, I’d write or work on my site. Suddenly, writing until lunch each day, I’ve found my best and last career. As of this morning, I have 1300 readers who have read 4450 blog posts, being from 38 countries. Even from Nepal!!! Hi, Nepal!! I love you Serbia!!! Hey, Moldova!!! Wait, sorry, I’ll continue here. If you’ve a desire to blog, don’t wait. Stories need to be told. Hearts need to be heard. Every writer makes an impact on the world, even in the most remote villages of Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, or Moracco.

Months ago, I messaged an online gentleman from Sacramento. Immediately, I was offline and back at my work after his two words of communication.

“I’m bored.”

How unattractive! How unimaginative! How unstimulating! How….well….for lack of a better term……BORING. Definitely not my type. VST and I never had time to be bored, jetting through life devouring every second. People marveled at our accomplishments. Full throttle was our normal.

Traveling through month after month of widowhood, boredom has reared its ugly head at times. Taking charge of the problem, an ongoing list of tasks was created. Whether I want to or not, I choose one when boredom strikes. Being busily bored I can accept, but idle whining is not in my wheelhouse. Forward movement cannot occur when distracted by boredom and self pity.

Boredom causes struggles at the helm of one’s personal ship. Kick it overboard. Think of it! As Senior widows, we can decided what to do, when and where. We can have lunch at 9AM or 5 PM. We can paint our bathroom in hot pink, if we choose. We can decorate our garage. Make our entire house a SHE-SHED. Sad? Yes! Of course! But, bored??? There’s always a choice better than boredom.

I love the challenge of learning something new and productive on the computer. While not easy, often eating up hours without success, it’s proving I can do something new and enjoy it. I’ve amassed many activities on my list of TRY’s. Publishing my first book. Painting in water colors. Landscaping with new varieties of plants. Vegetable gardening in the high desert. Photography. Planning my wardrobe. Revisiting Makeup. Driving across the United States myself, just once. There are so many new things I want to do, my dreams go on and on, while BOREDOM has no place.

Daily schedules keep me mindful of time and accomplishments. If lunch is at 11:30, my morning is used more efficiently. On days when boredom is lurking, I stay busy, marking things off when done. Before I know it, it’s dinner time and the finished projects cause a smile.

There are also so many ways to improve a boring day. Take a walk in the fresh, crisp winter air. Watch a movie that transports you to another place and time. Listen to your favorite music and dance a little. Call a friend and see if they want to meet for coffee. The list is endless. Just don’t revert to the “I’m Bored” statement. Once it’s uttered, it like an infection, spreading through body and mind.

What happened to Bored Guy??? I assume he’s still idling in PARK while whining that life isn’t as stimulating as activities during his childhood summer camp. Avoid that mistake! Pick yourself up, dust off the cobwebs, and find something new to occupy your thoughts and time. Life is gone in the snap of a finger, one minute at a time. Don’t waste it.

Feeling a little blue this AM, I reflect on my word of the month and think on it awhile. Respect is a word that can be used in a many situations, all conjuring up a different mental image. In the writing world, this is delicious. If I’m writing about the respect a child shows for a parent, the image is different than that of a homeowner showing respect for their home. Right now, we might all show respect for the country that has served us well, and the changing of the political scene.

I respect our flag and everything it stands for. My two sons gave 40 years of their lives serving our country, often in harms way in the desert. Having traveled to ten countries myself, I didn’t run across one in which I’d have liked to live out the remainder of my years. Even Switzerland, in its parklike beauty, wasn’t home. Not in the least bit.

Traveling through the country over three years and 50,000 miles, I learned so much. Beauty surrounded us at every turn, I learned that my American roots run deep. There are indeed prairies where the deer and antelope play. I’ve watched sunrises there, hand in hand, with VST. Until you have seen Big Sky, you have no idea what that phrase means. The feeling in your heart when you stand in the middle of Big Sky in the darkness and see the stars is overwhelming. A spiritual experience found nowhere else.

Breathtaking, the beauty of the Grand Canyon leaves me speechless every time. There really is a main street Winslow, Arizona, full of pretty girls in flat bed Fords. Wild bison still roam in South Dakota. But the best thing of all is our people. Fellow Americans. We are different, and yet not. We all have a love of country. Our core beliefs are different, but we all love our home passionately. That’s an important trait we all hold in our hearts. Somehow, we have embraced wildly different ways of expressing our ideas on the emotional way we feel about America. Respecting our home and country, it’s a prayer from my soul that we can find commonalities in which to start meaningful conversations again. The shouting needs to stop as we find respect in the art of listening more than talking.

VST, being one of the most respectful people I have known in my life, always listened more than talked. At work, farmers would come in like boiling tea pots, frothing while whistling in a whiny kind of way. VST would just turn off the fire, listening the entire time, until they cooled off. Then, he’d have thought up a way to turn their gaze towards a solution to their problem. He was masterful at this and did it in all aspects of his life. Never losing his cool, he knew how to really listen, searching for solutions, and never breaking a frown or sweat. I miss that.

Today, I’m going to start by respecting my peace and quiet in this age of Covid. The television will remain off, as I plan my spring garden and the new flowers that are going to grow there. I may step into the sunshine and prune some roses. Oliver and I will play frisbee a bit, while looking for birds that are doing their best to find a little warmth in the trees these days.

Respecting my body, I plan to take a walk in the sunshine. Respecting my neighbors, I’m going to smile and wave with an open hand to everyone I pass. I’m going to plan a diet friendly meal and get back on track, because, bathing suits are unforgiving, and my spa days are right around the corner. Respecting my own feelings, I may just need a nap later today, because stress negates energy. Listening to my own bio-rhythms, I’ll know what I need to do.

In respect for VST’s memory, I may work on my scrap booking a little later today, placing pictures in the order in which they were taken, year after year. Remembering that we were respectful to each other makes me feel even luckier than ever before. Respect was a cornerstone of the success of 32 beautiful years. Our differences of opinion, ways of completing a task, or ways of showing our love to each other were always a source of respect and awe. It kept things new and exciting. Valued and cherished.

Today, please, find things respected in your life. Things respect worthy. Spend some time with a person you respect, and tell them you do. Drive respectfully. Try to think of just one thought about our country with respect. Wave at a neighbor. Perform a random act of kindness. Today is the perfect day for it. Time’s a wasting.

Moving to a new town as a total stranger has left me with little human contact, leaving me a little sad. Because of this, it became apparent early on, that I would need to find some friends. I decided join a community club. Covid has rendered many groups inactive, due to stringent requirements regarding meeting places. Many seniors aren’t comfortable in large groups and internet meetings are often technologically stressful. My new group is struggling with these very problems, leaving everyone remembering and wishing for the olden days. With turmoil in the world, many after suffering from anger, sadness and fear.

Political service groups in this day and age are a hotbed of emotions. Without going into the politics, my group’s no different. Members are taking names and sides. Feelings are easily hurt, and frustrations are running high. This, coupled with the fact that I hardly know any of the members, led me to an interesting situation last week.

Publicity Committee Chair sounded like a fun little assignment when offered to me. A simple release of meeting times and speaker topics once a month to the media. Nothing too heavy there. It sounded like something I’d sandwich between my days of writing and be quite happy with my contribution to the group. I should’ve asked a few more questions.

On my first assignment, I made a few errors, leaving the women that were watching over me scrambling to fix things. Emotions were running a little high, and quite frankly, it overwhelmed me. In fact, I emailed the two ladies that I’d be resigning. Thankfully they are more experienced, wiser, and not in the new widow category. Concerned and supportive, they both came to see me and we worked things out.

During this meeting, the obvious cause of my unhappiness became apparent to me. My actual frustration and decision to leave the group had nothing to do with the group itself. It had to do with Anger, Fear, and Sadness. Carefully examining my own feelings, I found, for me, they are divided equally. When anger flared, flames were fanned by underlying situations in the daily news. When my sadness oozed out, it was complicated by anger and fear. When my fear surfaced, it was compounded by anger and sadness. The three amigos of unhappiness, were feeding an emotional bonfire.

As I talked to these sweet new friends, it became clear that I hadn’t considered the real reasons behind my ultimate frustrations. When I did, it was like deflating balloons. While chairing the publicity committee, I need to be mindful as I make press releases and club notices. That’s all there is too it. Thank goodness these women were wise and really anxious for me to stay in their group.

After they left, I reflected on these three emotions and how they’ve haunted me through widowhood. Intertwined like a ball of snakes, one could easily be misidentified for another. They’ve stolen from the quality of my life, at times, blocking out happiness. Now, when feeling one, I look for the other two hiding in the background. When examining the three together, appropriate life adjustments have come a bit easier.

My ultimate goal is to choose happiness, but not if the other three feelings are hiding behind the door, unresolved. That wouldn’t work anyway. They are very sneaky little emotions, clouding everything and ruining a lot.

Publicity Chairperson is going to be a rewarding position that I’ll complete, as agreed. When meeting other members that are either angry, fearful, or sad, we can join hands and talk about our feelings together. This world needs everyone stop and to count to ten. Just breathe. Things will be better each day, as we find our way. The sadness comes with the realization that normal is different now. In the meanwhile, put on a pot of coffee and have your Besties over for a visit. Try not to spend to much time with Anger, Fear, and Sadness. Hear them. Thank them. Show them the door. Happiness and laughter are waiting right around the corner for an invite.

Many days had expired since the 5th, and no longer were VST and I under the spell of a magical September night of dancing. Busy with life, we weren’t thinking about what might have been, being too entrenched in what was. Make no mistake about this. We were both starving for love, with deep emotional wounds, and empty places in our hearts. We just hid that underneath very attractive exteriors, buried deep within. Bachelor and Bachelorette, we were.

Receiving my lunchtime update, I took down numbers of new clients from my Answering Service Angel (ASA). Business was picking up, that being a very good thing. In just a few months, Christmas would arrive, along with taxes and the ongoing expenses of owning a very old house. When done giving me contact information, ASA schooled me in the most devilish terms.

“Now. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know you didn’t ever return VST’s calls. Why is a puzzlement to me. We’ve never met, but, I know your situation. You sound smart. You seem like a good business woman. Intelligent. Savvy. But, you’re as dumb as a box of rocks in the ways of the heart. Joy. This guy’s a nice guy. You need to call him today. I know your schedule and you aren’t too busy. This is rude. It’s insane. Are you listening to me?? I’ve been around the block a few times. Do it TODAY.”

I did listen, after finally hearing her, and she was absolutely right. He hadn’t called back in 24 hours. What was I thinking? I knew him a very long time ago and we were good friends. I needed to find out what was behind that dance. All at once, there was nothing else I needed to do more than call him. So, I did.

Awkward. Chilly. Not very interactive. That was the reception I received for about the first 15 seconds, until the icy conversation melted into something more. With only a little time in our work day, he would telephone later that evening. I would definitely answer the phone.

The conversation went late into the night, with laughter and quiet pauses while digesting stories exchanged. Magic traced the lines between his home and mine. Back and forth like electrical currents. Minutes conversing were stolen at different times of the day, until on Thursday we decided it was time to share a dinner date at my house. It was a weekend the boys would be home and he could meet them. 7:00PM at my old house on the very wrong side of town. I would cook.

Friday morning, with an important dinner date on my mind, I received a call from a desperate CC. She needed a favor. She had a date and her babysitter wasn’t available. Could I please watch her daughter?????? Friday night? 7:00 pm?

My thoughts immediately went into Bestie mode and mom mode. If VST couldn’t handle three little kids all under 5 feet tall, he wasn’t the guy for me.

Yes.

With that, I planned dinner and looked forward to my first date in awhile with a guy that I found not so annoying. The solid friendship we’d formed in high school unfolded as we told stories and laughed like we had years ago. Shared friends and acquaintance were discovered. He worked with my cousin. His workmates knew my family. An intricate web of connections was already in place, as people we knew cheered when they found out who we might be dating.

It’s difficult to plan a romantic evening with two 8 year olds and a 6 year old runnning around. Really, it’s just controlled chaos in a 900 square foot home on a sweltering September night in the central valley of California. Trying to cook in a kitchen with only a swamp cooler for relief made for a sweaty environment. Barbecued Tri-Tip was the main dish with sides of salad and potatoes, with ice cream for desert. Although very old, my BBQ was efficient, and I knew this was one meal I couldn’t ruin.

The boys were excited to be having a party with CC’s daughter. They played together often and always had the best time. They would tolerate an unknown gentleman, but the real fun would be with their friend. We were all excited about our play dates and with the ring of the doorbell, the party began. CC was thankful as she rushed off, looking like a million bucks. As the three kids spun around fast enough to turn to butter, the doorbell rang again.

VST filled the space, as I opened the door. He stood there with one red rose and two John Deere Teddy bears. A girl and a boy. He wore pale blue and a nervous smile. His eyes said everything you would’ve expected. Crossing through the threshold into my world, things would never return to the normal we’d both known just hours before.

Dinner burned. Sadly, the BBQ let me down, while our conversation proved too distracting. But, no one really noticed. It was the nicest dinner I’d shared with anyone in a very long time, while the conversation continued until he left at a respectable 10:00. CC returned to take a very sleepy little girl home, while two little boys snuggled into their beds and fell fast asleep.

I was left to reflect on the wonderful evening we’d shared, minus the burned dinner. Burned food and fires became my trademark over the years, earning me the nickname Torch. Prophetic, he should have noted my lack of abilities in the kitchen, but here were so many other things to observe. Both of us felt the comfortable way you feel with a most trusted friend. Someone who’s significant in your life. A person you hope will be your ally for a long time to come.

So many precious memories from those first little moments come back to me, even now. Eleven days after that first date, he proposed. That question, asked in such a private and sweet way, will remain a moment secret to us until I die. My answer was YES, as crazy as it seemed. Three months later, I walked down the aisle into his arms and we never looked back with anything but grateful hearts that it was us.

Our story is one of millions shared about the beginnings of true love. It’s the sweetest one I’ve been lucky to know or tell, because it was ours. Take some times to memorialize yours on paper. The sights and smells. The sighs and laughter. The glances exchanged. If you can’t write it, think it. If you can’t think it, dream about it. Don’t put it away in a dusty, forgotten place in your heart. Those we lost live on because we loved them so and can tell about it. So, tell. Remember. And smile.

Thanks for reading about a few precious days in my life. I promise, I’ll return to real time escapades and experiences tomorrow! I love you, Readers! Be sure to tell a friend about Grievinggardener.com.

Sunday, September 6th was a quiet day of reflection. Laundry and house work busied me while preparing for the boys to come home at day’s end. Owning a very small business, I couldn’t afford an office or staff, but did hire a little answering service. A physically challenged entrepreneur ran her business with professional efficiency from her home. I depended on her to screen my business contacts. Although I’d never met her in person, we spoke often throughout the day. She was an excellent first contact for potential clients.

Evening calls from her were infrequent, but not unheard of either. So when the phone rang late in the afternoon, I quickly answered, hoping to pick up another job for the slow week ahead. Her call was not what I had expected.

“Joy, a man called just a few minutes ago. His name was VST. He asked that you return his phone call at your convience. “

I must say, I was disappointed it wasn’t another job, money being a little tight. However, the thought that VST had phoned me also made my heart flutter just the tiniest.

“Thanks. I met him at the class reunion last night. I’ll call him back.”

Truth being what it was, I probably wouldn’t, and certainly not that night. The boys would return home at any second, and the time was theirs. Dinner would be followed by baths and bedtime stories. After that, I would need some quiet time. No. He wouldn’t receive an evening call from me. Besides, he was a man and that spelled trouble.

Monday’s were always hectic. The boys needed breakfast and lunch money before I scooted them off to school. Still hoping for extra work, I had a busy morning with my octogenarians who waited, with hearts a-fluttering, to hear about the reunion. To their disappointment, I gave them very little information, barely mentioning VST. They’d been sure I’d return Monday with grand news of a new love affair, but that wasn’t the case.

Lunchtime came, and again, I received a call from my answering service angel.

“Joy, you just received a 2nd call from VST asking that you please return his call. He sounds extremely nice. I’m pretty sure he isn’t calling to find out about housekeeping rates. You need to call this one back.”

How dare she! The nerve!!!!! What did she know about my life? About struggles I faced every day as a single mother. Complications of a new boyfriend I didn’t need no matter how nice he was on the phone.

“Thanks so much. I have his number and will be sure to get back to him as soon as I have a spare moment.”

I lied.

That night, the slow dance had nearly faded out of mind. Homework, dinner, dishes, baths, tv, and 7:30 bedtime were all packed into a few short hours.. By time the boys were fast asleep, I was right behind them. Thinking of the return phone call that had been delayed two times now, my guilt surfaced. I’d make it right tomorrow and call him. Besides, maybe he did need a housekeeper.

Tuesday morning flew by, with a lunchtime call from my answering angel.

“Joy. You didn’t call him back did you??? He just called. He sounds like such a great guy. If you don’t call him, I will. Please! Don’t be stupid about this. Call him and find out what he wants. Seriously, you’re playing the fool here. I don’t know much, but I know you need to call him back.”

Seeing red, I replied, “Okay.”

At about the same time this conversation occurred, on the other side of town, VST was traveling in his blue and white Jeep Wrangler. He was also seeing red. What the heck??? Had he missed something??? Was their dance misread on his part??? Was she a player??? Had she changed that much from the girl he liked in choir??? With that, he found her embossed business card in his breast pocket. The one that had he’d kept above all the other numbers he’d collected on the 5th. His fingers clinched it. At the next stop light, he ripped it into tiny angry little pieces Rolling down his window, he tossed them out and watched as they fluttered to the road. He was wrong on that one. He’d been played by Miss Blue Eyes. He was glad it was over as the light turned green.

“You win some, you lose some,” he thought, as he drove his Jeep towards fun with PA. No need to wait for her anymore. Ignoring the disappointment that clouded his drive, he was done thinking about the bluest eyes. Absolutely, once and for all, D-O-N-E.

To be continued…..

Closing the front door behind me while kicking off the wicked red shoes, I winced. What had possessed me to wear heels, anyway? Bleeding toes bandaged, I burrowed into my softest robe to think a minute. Tired as I’d been, I wasn’t the least bit sleepy while recounting the evening down to the tiniest detail. Not the sauce smothering the chicken and rice, but thinking about him. VST. The tall one.

My elderly client had nearly driven me to anger only a few days before. On a normal work day, she started outlining the positive points of attending the reunion. After all, I was a beautiful, single woman. She droned on and on about the possibilities of meeting Mr. Right. I had assured her that there would be no Oklahoma Cowboy showing up in surrey with the fringe on top to whisk me away. It wasn’t lost on me that after 61 years of marriage, these elders, Emilie and Bill, sat at the breakfast table gazing into each other’s eyes every morning while holding hands their coffee cups. Although not high school sweethearts, they were certainly octogenarian lovers. They could feel my loneliness, hoping I would find what they had someday.

“Well, you MUST attend. I’ll help you pick out something to wear. You’ve been working so hard. The boys are such a handful. Please. Just go and have yourself a little fun. Just for a night! And maybe…” My body language screamed STOP, while she smiled so sweetly and then did the most infuriating thing. She winked. WHAT. WERE. THEY. THINKING? These two old farts that I loved dearly always shared their opinions freely. Remembering life together, from depression poor to old age rich, they shared their stories. I usually listened. This was different.

Men. I could do without them. I had my DUSTY MONEY, shining wealthy client possessions. I had two little men in my life. They were my soul. Their smiles ignited my will to do my best for them. I had my own house, such as it was. A full set of dishes and towels. A set of my own tools. A new car. My own feet to take me dancing whenever I wanted.

Dancing??? My mind waltzed back to VST. Funny how he dwarfed PA, his new neighbor. PA had all the lines and moves down, avoiding marriage so far. Years of flashing a smile showing perfectly whitened teeth against skin glowing tanned always got the girl. VST might be tall, but PA could reel in the most unwilling woman with his charm. Anyone who’s attended a class reunion understands the difficulty in placing people. Most times those that were hot are not while those that weren’t hot often are. Then, there are those that command looks no matter how many years have passed. VST and PA filled that category.

Remembering VST’s hazel eyes, I wondered whether the kindness known in high school was still there. The blue shirt had showcased youthful skin and soulful eyes. A tenderness could be hidden there. It was when they had shared sheet music during choir.

WAIT. WARNING. WARNING. DANGER. Something was definitely amiss. VST was with PA, who was known to everyone as the cattle baron playboy. STOP. HOLD THE PHONE. VST was now a grown man. A player. Suddenly sleepy, I decided it was time to turn in. There would be time enough to consider this situation in the morning. Staring at the ceiling through the dark, I hoped sleep would find me soon.

Drifting off, I recalled school days choir. Songs sung. Laughter. VST coming to class freshly showered, just finishing PE. Letterman’s jacket boasting athletic awards on school letters. His smile. His dimples. The way his hair curled ever so slightly as it dried. His booming bass voice. His shy friendship with me.

VST, still back at the Ranch, rocked a night dancing with many partners, promising to contact them all. His pocket overflowed with a variety of phone numbers from old friends. Women were so easy. In his telling of our story, that night was tinted with blue after our dance. The bluest eyes he’d seen left him wanting to see them again. I remained on his mind long after the music stopped.

To Be Continued……..

September 5th finally arrived, as it does every year. The one difference was that there was a big party planned for the D & D Ranch in which graduates from two high school classes would be celebrating their 14th and 15th class reunions. D&D Ranch was a romantic little party venue nestled in the heart of a 100 acre parcel. Country Western in theme, there were little buildings spread about, reflecting western heritage. A wide area of lush green lawn grew under the shade of 8 very large fruitless mulberry trees. The trees were adorned with lights, adding to the festivities.

Early in the day, I’d accepted work assignments to cover a few added expenses involved with the reunion. A new outfit wasn’t cheap. I’d worked until 1 PM, before running across town to Macy’s to purchase a denim pencil skirt, cream colored blouse, colorful western scarf, and the reddest high heels I could find. All things considered, it was a miracle that those pieces were found in one short hour. After rushing home to get ready, I raced to Bestie Friend’s house. We’d be going to the party in her husband’s fancy schmansy Porsche. White and expensive. It wasn’t my style, but, I was just along for the ride and would go gracefully. BF take a picture of me in my new outfit, memorializing the moment. Maybe I would use it for my new business cards.

Simultaneously, on the other side of town, a pre-party bash was taking place at PA’s house. VST asked PA to photograph him. VST had gone through the unpleasant task of telling his new girl that she wasn’t invited to the reunion. This hadn’t gone well, with many angry words tossed about. PA and VST would go to the party without dates. What would be the point, otherwise? In that, they were in full agreement. PA’s white Porsche was washed and ready for the night. The parking lot would hold only two Porshe’s that night.

Reunion committee members created a beautiful and inviting atmosphere. There were lights in the trees, and cloth-cloaked tables set for dinner under them. Every detail was well thought out. As BF and I arrived, all I wanted to do was pick a table and sit down. Hot, bright red, new heels were causing flaming red blisters on my little toes. The futility of the evening played on in my head. By this time, I’d given up and smiled blankly as people I used to know walked by. BF chatted on about this person or that one.

It was then I saw him. VST. From across the yard, he stood, his image forever branded on my brain. He wore the palest blue Polo dress shirt, and very tight blue jeans. His belt, a favorite, had his name imprinted on the back, as cowboy belts often did in those days. He wore brown cowboy boots, and RayBan glasses. As he spoke to those around him, he worked the dimple from time to time. He could have graced the cover of GQ.

“Who’s the tall one?” I remember asking BF. She replied, and a memory of the boy in choir came rushing back. Gone was the chubby boy. Here was a very attractive man standing in the glow of the valley’s setting sun. Slowly, VST and PA started towards our table.

Fighting began immediately, as I was in some kind of mood. He sensed that and was in some kind of mood to mess with me. He insisted I was married to my ex-brother-in-law. I corrected him. He rattled on stating facts about all I’d been doing with my life. Uniformed and incorrect, I set him straight. Barbed arrows flew back and forth between us, leaving me focused on my blisters and longing for my dingy little house on the bad part of town. I could be reading or scrubbing the floor. It was going to be a very, very long night.

Chicken and rice was the standard for catered dinners. People at the table visited politely. VST and PA had joined us, and I could tell VST was enjoying any little dig he could send my way. I ignored him, smiling at anyone else but him. As the dishes were being cleared away, guests were encouraged to move into the open sided barn for dancing. Hearing this, and hoping to be one step closer to the BF’s Porshe and our get-away, I was first to snag a bale of hay.

This next point is still in contention, even in my own brain. Sadly, I have no one left to argue the point. I got to the bale first. If VST was here, he would interrupt and say that it was his bale. It was mine. I sat down watching everyone else enter. It was then that VST sat down right next to me, closer than close. He tried to make small talk, receiving the worst replies, of YES, NO, MAYBE, or I DON’T KNOW. My skirt, pincil-ey skinny and tight, was pinching in the worst way. My shoes. Dont’ even get me started. The long sleeved blouse was hot, stiff, and constricting. The scarf was choking me. I just wanted to go home.

With a bevy of beautiful and very hopeful cleavaged women surrounding our bale, VST did the most outrageous thing. He asked if I would like to dance with him. I found myself on my feet and following him to the center of the dance floor. I found myself in his arms, as a very sweet and slow dance played. Prior hostilities vanished and it felt like home should feel. Like I had been dancing with him my entire life, it was a moment that will last throughout my eternity.

He whispered that I had the bluest eyes. My mind snapped back to reality. I couldn’t just let it go. I’d get in one last word telling him he was full of bovine scat, not in terms quite that polite. He laughed deeply with sheer delight at my response and hugged me just a little tighter.

By song’s end, my world was rocked. Stunned, I didn’t know what to do or say. BF was signaling by the door that it was time to leave. VST asked if he might have my phone number. Having a business card in my skirt pocket, I shoved it his way, as I said Good Night, and rushed towards BF. We made our princess escape in one of two white Porsche’s in the parking lot that night. I was relieved. It was over and I had survived. Thank Goodness.

To Be Continued….