Grieving Gardener

Such a fair weather word this has always been for me. My best adventures have always been during or in search of 70, as in degrees or miles per hour. 70. The most perfect temperature known to human kind. 70. The best speed to get somewhere in a reasonable amount of hours. Now I find myself speeding towards another 70, knowing age will define the quality and quantity of my adventures at some point.

My new normal for desert life now is immersed in cold. For those of you in California, this is a different type of cold. The kind that makes old injuries ache, while burning your skin if you are out in it too long. Add wind, and WINTERPAST surrounds me as adventures are limited to indoor activities for this old woman.

Bundled up in my toasty bed this morning, I thought back to that day in August with the word Adventure chosen to define VST and I. Each month, a chosen word helped me when I floundered. Descriptive words of VST and me. Month 4 the word Adventure was an obvious choice. VST and I were always chasing crazy fun in one way or another. The days flew by, because, we were concreting, building, painting, buying, selling, traveling, and using up every minute of every day. Never was there a day to lounge or study navels. We were on the go 24/7. As I’ve mentioned before, our true mission statement was, “We can sleep when we’re dead.”

One of us is now dead. And it isn’t me. I must say, normal life is a wee bit boring. Okay, really boring.

So on this August day, with “Adventure” looming over me, I made it my task to create one for myself. Still new to driving and not wanting to venture too far, I needed to find something that would take up the better part of a day. Quickly, I decided Lake Tahoe would be involved, being close and inviting.

“The beautiful 1966 Million Dollar Classic Yacht has been around the world and now cruises Lake Tahoe’s pristine waters. Measuring over 70 feet. Luxuriously comfortable. Two hours. $90.” The add hooked me, and within minutes I had booked this cruise for one on a Tuesday at 11. Such a deal, it fit the bill for my first solo adventure.

I had a girlfriend that was envious and wanting to join me, but, this adventure was importantly personal. For many, this wouldn’t even begin to qualify. VST had always scoffed at boating in which he wasn’t the captain. Having plenty of boating experience on his own, he wouldn’t have dreamed of this. All the better for my first solo excursion.

Tuesday came, and after the two hour drive to the marina, arriving early of course, I had time to sit by the water and just BE. I had forgotten how much I missed pine trees, and thought of our little cabin was bittersweet. I had forgotten how much I missed hearing noises in a marina, as I listened to lanyards clanking and flags whipping with the wind. Voices take on a mysterious fluid quality when they come from a few docks down. People forget to use dock voices, especially when husbands and wives are airing differences in how to best perform boating tasks. Justing BEING by the dock was worth the drive as I hid behind my mask, smiling.

The yacht was everything promised. An old girl, stately and solid. The captain and Stewardess were uniformed and friendly. Only ten of us boarded, and I went to the highest point on the boat, to a comfortable little perch. There, I stayed during our voyage, unmasked and free to breathe in the freshest air.

The colors that day were just for me. An American Flag flew proudly from the stern staff. The wake churned right beneath where I sat sipping champagne and snacking. The waters turned from turquoise, to blue, to royal blue, and at the deepest point, midnight with the sparkling wake glistening like stars. The other guests disappeared to the bow, and I was left to enjoy the entire two hours alone with my thoughts and a visual feast of pines, eagles nests, puffy white clouds, and a continuous shore line as the highest of the Sierra Peaks watched over me.

The morning filled me with a peace that had been missing for some time. I felt an independence and freedom in this mini-adventure. If I could make this happen, what other adventures would I be enjoying in the years to come? You can bet your bottom dollar, there will be more.

The captain chose to monitor, navigate, and control the yacht from his upper station where I sat and watched him. As we made our way back around the lake, he pointed out things easily missed. A private tour just for me.

With a glass of champagne and the beauty of the day brightening my mood, I decided on a selfie. I despise pictures. I rarely agree to them. I also despise the time it takes away from a moment when one needs to fumble with phone or camera, while finding just the right shot. I much prefer the memorable images stored in my brain, captured while being fully present. But, at this moment, a selfie was what I chose. Just me. Alone. On my very first solo adventure. Planned and executed on the best day in August. On a million dollar yacht. With my own captain right in front of me on Lake Tahoe.

Adventures come in all shapes and sizes. We’re the ones that determine whether the most mundane activity will be just that or qualify as a mini-adventure. Auntie TJ always says, “Boredom is just another word for lazy.” So. Find your own adventure today. They are there for the taking!

Settle. To appoint, fix, or resolve definitively and conclusively.

This week, my autumn of independence blows on towards it’s conclusion. The words “settle, settled, and settling” whirl around my brain. Like the leaves I try to rake, they are important parts of my life as it distills, leaving naked truths and core beliefs I must acknowledge. I am no longer stuttering with sobs of grief, although, I miss VST. I don’t find myself angry about the last year with all its mysteries and revelations. This, a most precious time, has become one in which to make choices that are exciting, self affirming, and mine.

Just as the walls of Winterpast are adorned with memories displayed of my choosing, I must now carefully select values suited for the woman I am, and those that will pave my path as I continue on my journey. The days left cannot be anything but a brilliance of my choosing in every aspect. From morning’s dark covers until evening spreads her veil, my every move must be conscious and deliberate, because my days are now short. Life is my most prized possession. It will not be squandered or carelessly ignored as I am now my own firebrand, cheering my soul, strong and beautiful after suffering through the darkest of days.

Settle.

Agree upon (as time, price, conditions).

The desert and I agree her howling winds awaken feelings in me heart. She and I have have settled upon conditions I need to accept. My hair and skin will always lack in moisture. Sand blasting winds sting a bit, rocking the Jeep as I zip here and there. I need to respect her power, the bitch that is the desert. I have found a stark beauty that speaks to my heart in ways I understand. I love her for letting me come in from the cold to rest. She soothes a battered woman that is rebuilding. She and I have settled on our terms and work well together in this place I love so much.

I have accepted and agreed to conditions in which I find myself. Of course, I would have loved my story to have ended in any other way. But, it ended the way it did. Just as things in life cease, new beginnings are possible. Winterpast is dormant now. Frost has stolen it all. The gardener was removing some bushes and plants a few weeks ago. One ugly, lone bush was bare, so I requested that the dead plant be added to the list.

“But, look, Joy,” he showed me, snapping a small branch, “Life is still here.” Yes. He was so right. Dormancy had come early to this little bush, but life was resting deep inside. My new life is embryonic and fragile. Some days, decisions and choices are intoxicating and wild, possibilities endless and exciting. Agreeing and accepting just the right ones can be exhausting, but also exhilarating as I create my own terms.

With days flying by, I see my past life with VST on the stage of my memories. Right now, some things are still best clouded in a mist of perfection, remembering them in gilded beauty, which was woven throughout our lives. But, as in any real marriage, there were peaceful days fractured as life happened. Broken families mending and blending hold a myriad of challenges and bitter splintered dreams. No man is the perfect version of himself in every aspect at all times. VST was no different.

As a reader myself, loving refreshing and fulfilling words, I often look for beauty and an escape from real troubles we all know and have. Perhaps a bit too much of that Pollyanne-ish syrup is poured over the cornflakes of this, my story. It is the totality of our years that, together, resulted in the beautiful life we experienced.

To settle.

Choosing to become romantically involved with someone who is not exactly right, but convenient to be with, as in the best available, because it is easier.

Now, my life lessons are in review. In this, my final chapter, I will be faced with defining personal boundaries. Surrounding me in safety, boundaries will provide a place in which to enjoy life. New Friends are coming into my life now. Neighbors becoming family. Bank associates learning my financial habits while watching out for me. CPA’s and lawyers tending to things in which I am not well versed.

A special friend of a different kind has entered my life. While offering minutes of quiet in which I can take a breath to feel a sense of safety, I have found kindness in MFP. As familiarity grows in sweet moments, I find a bit of relief from the constant need to divert incoming dangers from every direction. This friendship is a soft space to be present, while we overflow with intelligent conversation, laughter, and peace. Our dates are no longer identified by a number, but by brand new memories that are unfolding, slowly and sweetly, one after the other. Settled by the smile I wear when he is around, it is by total choice that we have shared time together. By total choice that our sweet dates continue.

Settle.

In my next chapter as Woman, I won’t settle, even for a moment, because it is easier or just convenient. Editors and Agents will be selected, not taken at first sight. Professional services will be carefully evaluated and chosen when needed. Unwanted influence will not change what I wear, say, or write unless I concur their ideas may enhance my health and life. Judgement, thrown like darts, will simply bounce off this tough crone while sage observations and suggestions will be up for consideration, the final assessment and choices mine, along with consequences. Trusting my inner voice, I won’t settle just because.

My mother-in-love had a saying that would bring me to teary laughter every time. A sweet and ladylike woman, she was also wickedly funny. When conversations had circled enough times about any subject she would stop, and with a delightful smile tell me,

“Joy. You must remember this. The more you stir a turd, the more it stinks.”

In other words. Stop. Don’t overthink or worry for a moment. Let things settle. What is left will be the essence of what’s truly important in any troublesome situation. Flush the rest down. Repeat. Crystalline truths will appear, springing forth from the muck of confusion.

Settled. Settling In. Never settling, just because. Settled with the New. Settled with time. Settled in very sweet arms. Not settled until more is known. Settled with what is, when everything is settled.

Yup. Just like the leaves outside. Churning, whirling, changing, revealing, and then, gone, leaving stark realities behind. I remain. Strong and resilient in happiness that is my life.

Settled. For this moment in time.

Happy Thanksgiving. This was penned last night. Tell those you cherish how much they mean to you. Enjoy………

I have had the most wonderful day. It started with my Ninja Neighbor needing ice for her brine-soaking turkey. Quickly filling a bowl, I hurried to her door, where her brilliant smile welcomed me. Her home, festively decorated, was as inviting as her giggles while we talked. Time stops when we visit, even though she is the one of the busiest people I know. As we stood at her counter, I talked to her about womanly things that are best left between friends. Even though I am twenty years her senior, in some ways, our roles were reversed, with her knowledge so much more worldly than mine. I am grateful that when the moving van arrived, it was next to her that I unpacked. This loveliest of neighbors is friendly, funny, and wise. I love her.

Some days I am so shocked at my ridiculous insecurities. The smallest details can put me in a tailspin, sometimes difficult to right. Having been brought up with feminine ideals founded way before the 1970’s when I was a teenager, wires are crossed with old fashioned thought that was outdated before I set out on my own. Now, fully capable of fielding any problem in this new solitary new life of a Senior Citizen, many decisions are still fraught with hours of personal deliberation. Debating one’s self is exhausting, because which ever side is chosen, the losing side is right there complaining, as well.

I am grateful for patience I’ve found dealing with emotions in my sweet new relationship. I appreciate, even more so, rationale thoughts about the “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts” with which I sometimes flog myself. Remaining neutral and accepting of each new day has helped me to stay in the present and enjoy every minute. I am thankful for a peaceful heart.

As Oliver sleeps next to me, I’m thankful HE is my dog, sweet and smart. He puts up with my moods and nonsense, while knowing my sense of humor and what will make me perk up a bit. He loves me most sincerely, making sure I get plenty of hugs, as he presses his little body against mine. He listens to my requests and really tries his best to comply, except when garden lights or drip systems are involved, which results in doggie shame. His adorable little soul came to me on a bleak Christmas morning, when I had the ridiculous notion I might find him unsuitable, sending him back home. He was mine from the first hug; the silly puppy he remains.

My kids are slowly checking in with holiday wishes. How blessed I am that they were the ones to be placed in my care. Each one beautiful and sincere. I am so very thankful for their love and worry for me, their mom living so far away. It’s amazing to watch them reflect the parts of their dad and step dad that I miss this holiday, for the very first time. Miles can’t erase sweet memories. I am thankful for their love and concern.

I am thankful for Miss Firecracker, and her wit and wisdom. Today, she will be my dinner guest, as we share turkey and all the trimmings. Although both new widows, our luncheon will be defined by delicious smells and tastes, as we find lots to talk about this holiday. Dear friend that she is, she is such a blessing to me.

I am most Thankful for the woman I am becoming with the sunrise of every new day. I am thankful for every stranger that stepped up this year to hold my hand, or give me a hug when things were at their darkest. I am so thankful for my ability to forge my own path, although blurred through tears at time. I am so very thankful for the day in February when VST and I decided WINTERPAST was to be ours, and ultimately, mine.

I am thankful for the years of being a Wife to my lovable VST. I am thankful for all I have learned as I was forced into the position of Widow, not of my choosing. I am thankful for the my present role as Woman, with many more experiences just around the bend. This is the best of times for us all to be thankful. Blessings do abound, we just need to stop and count them. Giving Thanks on this Thanksgiving Eve has set my brain in the right mode to find sleep and sweet dreams.

For you, my readers, please have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day. For my International readers, a day of thanks always lifts the spirit. Thank you for following my blog and helping my dreams become a reality.

Oliver and I are a lot alike. Doesn’t take much to amuse us or make us happy. This morning, while finishing my first cup of coffee, Ollie had taken real interest in his toy drawer. This drawer hasn’t been opened much lately. It holds toys picked out when Ollie was a puppy. His “brother”, a blue dachshund, only made it this long because I protect him from Ollie’s jaws. I may not have mentioned the fact that Ollie is an extremely destructive dog.

Ollie chews through the indestructible. Nylabones last minutes. Deer antlers take a wee bit longer, but not much. Oliver dismantles the most adorable cloth toys in search of the squeaker inside. No matter how many hours the two of us have discussed this, Oliver cannot help himself. In most ways, he is still just a dog.

This morning, I found his favorite tennis ball and gave it to him. One of his games is to take it next to a cabinet and push it under. He then will stare woefully at me. He turns on the guilt, never moving a muscle. Extreme puppy eye contact will work every time, and he knows this. I always get his ball for him. At this, he finds humor of the best kind. This game can go on all day, so the balls usually get put away with the other toys after awhile.

Chewy’s sells bigger balls that have a squeaker in them. So, this morning, I remembered I had two in the garage. After braving the cold, he had a brand new one. In two minutes, the squeaking apparatus was removed and eaten. Just like that. Even being a dog, Oliver never forgets the important things.

For me, there are the simplest things that keep me entertained for hours, just as the ball does for Ollie. Obviously, the first is my keyboard or journal. If I have one or the other, time matters not. I can amuse myself for hours. As the months have settled me, I have so much to say before my time expires. “Writing is life.” This bold statement opened a 5th Grade student’s essay, penned in class. She had started writing at 5. I took a little longer, however, we both knew our heart’s truth. Writing is life.

Just as Ollie chases his tennis ball until exhaustion overtakes him, I find words and stories waiting to be told. Just the other day, a girlfriend was telling me that she wished she had an exciting life like mine about which to write. We had a long discussion about the fact that plain life is exciting. Everyone has a story to tell. It is in the telling the true excitement lies. The Joy of Storytelling.

Ollie needs very little. Two meals a day. Fresh water. A bathroom with a clean pee pad and a door that closes. A safe place to rest. A toy or two. Me to love him up. Oliver is a happy camper with the basic needs met.

As I count my blessings, and look at what I really need, the list gets shorter every day. Eliminated are most things girly-girls desire, such as jewels, purses, shoes, and other possessions, having tired of those things long ago. I have always been much more interested in a well designed shovel, or leather boots that keep my feet warm when I am outside working. Levi 50l’s were my favorite jeans for so many years, when my figure looked so adorable in them. Much to my mother’s horror, her fourth daughter was a renegade, who shunned the more feminine accoutrements of life.

What I need most of all, I have. My kiddos (which are definitely not kids but successful adults) shower me with their worries and concern, while loving me for no reason at all except that they do. They are there at the ready, letting me find my way. They keep me in texts and GIFS. They hold the memories with me that make us a family. They share my grief, but also our happy memories. I can count on them and they can count on me. A good team we make.

As girlfriends go, mine are the bestest BESTIES in the world. The kind that get a sixth sense and call me when they have no way of knowing I am sprouting shingles. The kind that hold their tongue when I am going off on the road to crazy town, until I get to the turn, where they shout loudly. They giggle when I have new stories about a certain MFP who has the best eyes that gaze rather than avert. Although Oliver knows ALL my secrets, my BESTIES know a good portion and they still like me

I am now thankful that people from around the world are enjoying my writing. Never in my wildest dreams did I think someone from Saudi Arabia, Brazil, or India would find my words worth reading. It is amazing to think my night readers are having their morning coffee somewhere in the world, as they check in to read my words. I am so thankful for you, from wherever you may be reading.

I have every physical comfort I need and more. Plus a great shovel. It doesn’t get better than that. My gratitude journal overflows on this, Thanksgiving week, 2020. AS we all hold on for relief in 2021, counting blessings is a way to pass the time. Oliver is asleep clutching his new tennis ball. Time for me to get another cup of coffee. Oliver and I have the best things in common. Comforting to know I have some things just right.

On this Thanksgiving Week, I am going to re-run my first three blogs. I hope you enjoy revisiting them. Please take time to hug those you love, and save one for yourself. I will return with a new posting on Friday.

As always, I can be reached at Gg202071548@gmail.com. Happy Thanksgiving!

Although we were under the 30 minute maximum time allotment set for the service, it felt like an eternity had just ended. My legs felt jello-ed and unsure as I sank into the chair, welcoming others to take over for me.

When we, as a family, had decided the order of presenters, I had made one thing clear. I could not speak after my sweet Grandson’s song, Amazing Grace. After anyone else, I could find my voice and speak. I was pretty sure after he sang my requested song, practiced for two months with his vocal coach, I would be a sobbing mess. So, I needed to speak first. How unthoughtful I was not to realize anyone speaking or singing after me would be in the same boat.

This charming young man of 16 years, over 6 feet and yet, still the little boy I had watched grow his entire life, stood to take his place. The music started and so did he. Emotions were so raw with the ten of us sitting together. The reality of VST’s passing was something we were all dealing with, each one sobbing at different times during the service. Now, sorrow overtook him and his voice was robbed with tears taking its place. This young man, who had been acting in an adult ensemble for two years, could not act his way out of true, absolute, and raw grief for the Grandfather he loved so much.

It was at that point, I never loved My son-in-love more. For, with a Father’s sense of their son in need, he stood with him, and immediately put his arm around his weeping child. With internal strength and will that came for the depths of his soul, my Grandson started to sing a duet with his dad, after wiping tears to soldier through. Again, he was betrayed by his mourning soul, buckling under the weight of sadness and now, the surprise of the onslaught of these raw and powerful emotions. It was at that moment I could not allow him to be there alone with his Dad. I joined them on the other side. As the three of us cried through the song, we conquered it as a tribute to our family. A final tribute to VST. In that moment, the entire group in attendance, each and every person, was moved to their knees, while witnessing pure love in action. It was a moment that is etched in my soul.

The song completed, emotional surprises continued. K moved to the front with a large gift bag. We had not planned this part of the ceremony together as it was a surprise for me. She began to talk of VST’s love for me, and their love for me as well. It was then she produced a framed picture. Weeks before, she had asked if I would send her a particular picture of VST I had taken at a lake near Mammoth. The picture was one of my favorites, and really, one of the few we stopped to take of each other. We were always so fluid and busy in our outings, that we never stopped long enough to capture ourselves by camera. On this picture, K had inscribed part of the dedication VST had made in his doctoral dissertation.

The inscription read…….

“Words cannot express my gratitude, respect, and love for my darling wife and my best friend, Joy, whose continued support and encouragement made this dissertation possible.”

This beautiful gift was an emotional hug to me. As I sat stunned, her bag wasn’t yet emptied. She went on to produce an even sweeter present. K had made a Hugging Pillow out of one of VST’s dress shirts. How many days had he rushed home the back way, deeply troubled by things he had dealt with at work. Zigging and zagging, he had one mission. To return to me. How many days I had hugged that man-filled shirt and felt the tensions of the days dissipate. I was reduced to sobs as I clutched it to my chest. The beauty of these gifts makes me weep still today. I cherish my sweet daughter so much.

Masonic friends made a special presentation of a Widow’s pin, complete with instructions on when and how to wear it. As they stood encircling me, I felt their presence and the love and respect they felt for their Masonic brother. I am so blessed with the love of so many friendships VST forged.

Finally, the time had come. With my girlfriends bringing out beautiful balloons, it was time to release them into the heavens. Because no matter our grief and wishes that it were not so, it was time to Let Go, and Let God. With a Happy Birthday, we released 66 beautifully colored balloons heavenward. As they danced their up into the bright blue sky, the beauty of the moment stunned everyone. For a moment time stopped, and there a most delicate Good Bye symbolized as their colors became smaller and smaller, until they were finally all out of sight.

The beauty and healing of the ceremony created by my family and I has been fully described through my writing, inadequate and stumbling. The love required to make that day possible, started so very long ago, with a guy not much more than a boy himself and his girlish-gal grabbing love and holding on for dear life. In an explosion, over the 32 years we were together, we created something grand and unique unto its own. Our Family.

We did alright, Dr. H. Smile down and be proud. You are missed every day. We send you love. We will see you again someday, and until then, Fare Thee Well.

With pride, strength, and beauty, I was honored to offer this beautiful eulogy in honor of VST. It was the hardest of things to do, but in my own way, I needed to say Good Bye in this public way. VST was a nickname given by my outrageously funny and wonderful God Mother, TJ. It made him blush when he found out what the letters stood for, and once that happened, it was too delicious of a name to abandon. His name is something I hold very dear and close, and for now, he will remain VST or Dr. H.

My Dr. H was a man for all seasons. Trustworthy and loyal, fun and loving. He touched lives wherever he went. “Don’t Worry, Be Happy!” was his theme song. He treasured every beautiful memory made with his family.

Born on July 15, 1954, he shared his happy childhood memories often. As a boy, he was an adventurous soul. In Kindergarten, he repeatedly fell from his bike cutting his sizable forehead several times. This resulted in wearing a helmet to Kindergarten, and earning the nickname “Crash”.

When VST was in 2nd grade, his family planted their roots in the countryside of Central California. He was brought up to love God and Country, and of course, Country Western Music. During our travels together, in excess of a million miles over almost 33 years, I learned to love so many songs that Terry had listened to as a child with his beloved Grandpa. Some of my favorite titles included “This Old House” and “Great Ball’s in Cow Town”, along with ” On The Wings of a Dove”. Through the years, his love of music grew, and soon he played bass guitar in a garage band with friends.

During these years, his family would often vacation on the Central Coast of California to escape the hot valley summers. He loved body surfing and fishing off the pier with his dad. Through the years, he never lost his love for the ocean, and we visited there often, our last trip being in November, 2019. One of this last wishes, spoken just days before he died, was that he wanted to return to the ocean just once more. Me, too, VST, me, too.

In the 8th grade, a coach realized that he would benefit from football as much as the high school team would benefit from having him. He fell in love with the sport and played on winning teams for four years. He was an immediate star, enjoying football and friends. He earned his Letterman’s jacket quickly and was a leader among the other players.

During his sophomore year, settled with friends and football, he was struggling with his German class. Fifty years ago, in 1970, he transferred into choir. Music AND girls!! Win! Win! It was there he met me, a lowly freshman. Our sweet and golden friendship grew until he graduated in 1972.

Although receiving requests to play football for many colleges, VST had other plans. He started his work career early in life doing odd jobs at the parts house where his dad worked. Being smart, strong, and gifted, he learned about mechanics early on. His super power of analytical thinking allowed him to fix anything after giving the situation thought. He bought his own car and loved having responsibilities and his own money.

VST married at 18, and at the age of 21, became the fathers of twins, a boy and a girl. In 1979, another daughter was born, completing his little family. His children were the light of his life. That never changed through the years and their days together made memories he cherished deeply.

During those years, VST became employed by a John Deere tractor dealership servicing the Central Valley. In 26 years, he rose from Field Mechanic to Service Manager, and then finally, to a trusted and valued Store Manager of a multi-million dollar business. He was known and respected nationally and internationally for his knowledge of all aspects of John Deere tractors. Before retiring, he won many awards and his name is legendary in the farming world of the central valley of California. He was the guy farmers wanted to deal with.

But, as life often does, things changed unexpectedly and quickly, VST was divorced. At 30 years old a new chapter opened and he enjoyed the freedom of new friends and opportunities. While devastated emotionally and financially, he turned to God for strength and moved towards his bright and promising future.

On September 5, 1987, VST was a bachelor with no thoughts of ever marrying again. He owned a brand new home and had settled in as a loving father, enjoying his children when they were together, be it camping or at the beach. He was a tall drink of water, handsome and full of himself.

Deciding to attend our high school class reunion, VST met up with me again. I, too, was devastated by divorce and quite happy in my own solitary life with my own two young sons. Things were about to change.

After a date, in which I burned the dinner while I babysat three active chidren, we both felt this could be something more than friendship. Familiar and safe. Our friendship from long before was alive and well. Eleven days later, he proposed and I said , “Yes!”

We exchanged vows on Janaury 23, 1988 and remained devoted to each other for 32 years. We were best friends, parents, lovers, business partners, confidants, and each other’s hired hand when we couldn’t afford real ones. We were dream makers and doers. To say we were soul mates doesn’t even begin to describe our love story.

As a step father, VST provided a stable, wonderful example to my two young sons. I could never thank him enough for helping me raise them. I can never thanks his three children enough for sharing their dad with us. The seven of us had special times while they were growing up. It was hard for outsiders to decide who belonged to whom. Just a mass of kids getting into the red VW Van to go on adventures.

When we met, VST had three college credits. From 1988-2001. he earned his Bachelor and Master’s degree, both with thesis required. He then became a Doctor of Psychology in Organizational Development in 2003. This was done while working 8-5, raising 5 kids, farming 40 acres of grapes (without hired help), and going to Hawaii or the Sacramento Delta whenever the whim struck us, which was often.

In 1990, we bought our beloved vintage Thompson Seedless vineyard. There, we raised our kids and made a lovely home for his parents to join us. Many nights throughout our 17 years on the ranch were spent enjoying “therapy” on their porch. The four of us were best friends and even better neighbors, only needing to run across the drive to borrow a cup of sugar, or a needed hug. During those days, VST and I could and did count on the kids to come help with the ranch work. He always said, “There’ll be time to sleep when we’re dead.” It became our mission statement.

VST was always the one to wait up for the boys to get home on date nights. He watched to make sure his flock was safe and loved. Farming provided our family with a wonderful life. Soon, the five kids were grown professionals, all on journeys of their own.

We had the dream life of which fairy tales are made. From beautiful children growing up strong, smart, and healthy, to farming grapes and shaking raisins. From sailing in the Pacific to mountain retreat renovations. From western sky sunsets over the vineyard to sipping tropical drinks in Waikiki, when we were the only lovers on the entire moonlit beach. From beautiful new family members welcomed through marriage to gorgeous grandchildren making us proud every day. Blessings showered upon us like spring rains. Steady and Abundant.

During his third career, VST worked in Social Services. For 11 years, he helped countless battered women, foster children, and abused children and elders. He loved his work and was held in high esteem throughout the state.

After retirement and a move to VC, a new adventure unfolded for us. A Street was a stunning and inviting place to enjoy family, friends, and each other. VST walked four miles a day for most of the time we lived there and was known for residents as the Bionic Cowboy, always sporting his heavy knee braces and sharp cowboy hat. He made countless friends throughout our time there with his smooth drawl and great wit.

VST became a Master Mason through the VC lodge and cherished his friendships, duties, and memories. He also became a Knight Templar.

VST’s brief, devastating illness brought an unthinkable reality to us, after three wonderful years of travel around the country as feral parents in our RV. Through our years together, either in our rig, by car, or by plane, we visited Hawaii, Colorado, Minnesota, Maryland, Louisiana, Missouri, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Texas, Wyoming, Nebraska, South Dakota, North Dakota, Montana, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, Florida, South Carolina, North Carolina, Georgia, Iowa, Tennessee, Arizona, Utah, Washington, DC, Kentucky, California, and Nevada. He finally found his real, true dog in Sir Oliver, Gentleman of Ashworth Hall, who grieves deeply when he catches a whiff of VST from an old possession while missing his frequent walks on the pier with his best bud.

In the last days of VST’s healthy life, we found our final home together. We were both excited to start a new chapter. But Cancer won.

In closing, let it be known that a name has been chosen for this, my final home. This home, chosen together, will now and forever be known as WINTERPAST, taken from the Bible, King Solomon, Chapter 2 — 10-14

My beloved said to me,

Arise my love, my beautiful one, and come away.

For behold, the winter is past;

The rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth,

And the time of singing has come.

The voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.

The fig tree ripens its figs and the vines are in blossom;

They given forth fragrance.

Arise, my love, my beautiful one and come away.

Oh my dove, in the clefts of the rock in the crannies of the cliff,

Let me see your face, let me hear your voice,

For, your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.

As I finished this eulogy, this yard, so lovingly created by people I never met, surrounded me with peace and a knowing heart that VST was safe now. It was done. It would be up to my children and grandchildren to finish with the last bit of the Memorial. Because, truly, more was not in me. They took over, and the celebration continued in the most beautiful way I could ever have imagined.

Friends and family are such a beautiful statement of love and support. On this the darkest of days, as I sat in the center of the first row of chairs, I looked upon the loving group of friends that VST and I had gathered through the years. These earth angels had come today for me, out of love. They had braved the Covid storm, and sat waiting for the service we had created. And, we began.

T, the first to speak, introducing all of us. He was eloquent in a controlled and firm voice so like his dad’s. With his heart shattered to bits, he remained strong and deliberate in his welcome and introductions. I was so proud of him, knowing how shy he is and how he protects his heart while playing tough guy in his 6’6″ body. T is the embodiment of his dad’s heart. A reflection of the best masculine qualities of VST. He is K’s other half, literally, as they are twins.

When T finished, My sweet son, J, who was unable to attend due to Covid and the travel restrictions that made it impossible, began. The kids put their heads together and brought J into the service through technology. Through the strength God gave him, he delivered a beautiful prayer of blessing to us. To hear his voice was such a comfort on this the hardest day for us all. His voice projected the strength God promises all of us, as we make our way using FAITH as our North Star.

K was next. She had chosen a poem about her dad, which was eerily written for someone else, while being a perfect description of VST and his role in his children’s life. She read with a strength and love that came from nerves of steel, also a gift from her father. K is and will always be the most crystal clear reflection of the beautiful feminine qualities her dad possessed. VST embodied gentleness, grace, charm, and maternal as well as paternal qualities. He was a blend of his own parents, with a heavier dose of his mom, my mother-in-love. While leaning on K and T throughout this the nightmare of 2020, I have found reflections of their dad in ways they project with no conscious effort. They have leaned on me for many memories of him, created when we were selfishly being our feral parent selves. Between the three of us, we have created a triangle of love and support that is unique to us. As she spoke her words, again, I felt the tears of my angel in the pride he had for this most beautiful of women, his beloved DAUGHTER.

Now, with a prayer to lean on, it was now up to me. When VST had died three months prior, I knew I would be the one to give his eulogy. Who better? We had spent almost every free moment together since that September day long ago when neither of us wanted to be at that Class Reunion. He cocky and bold, with women following him around the venue like flies. Me, a hauty beauty who had built impenetrable walls around my heart after years of trusting untrustworthy hyenas. We had been duel wrecking balls to each others emotional defense lines. A seemingly immediate alliance was forged into something so strong, nothing but death would have ended it, even with the most destructive troubles knocking at our door from time to time.

We were oxygen and acetylene, producing a flame in whatever direction we chose. We cut through IMPOSSIBLES while sculpting WE DID IT’S. We were the unassuming power couple that no one would believe existed anywhere. We may not have always produced the prettiest welds, but, they were real and strong. In those areas that we couldn’t come together, and there were plenty, we accepted our differences along the way. Because, life without an US would be unthinkable. It wouldn’t be life. Not ours, anyway.

Just a man with normal flaws, VST was my everything for 33 years. He never changed from that tall drink of water that I saw from across the way on September 5, 1987. I saved our clothes from that night all those years ago. On mornings I need an extra boost, I wear his shirt sometimes. A hug from the other side, and a memory of our dance that first night, his arms strong and sure, holding me next to his heart. A dance in which there were no others in the universe for a split second, just us spinning towards such a lovely life. Only a second’s worth, because with life’s battle scars, at that time, titles of bachelor and bachelorette were all we embraced while being filled with anger and wounds.

But, with a simple call, and conversation, a burnt dinner, and lots laughter, we had melted together. Like dropping food color in a glass of water, at first the differences sometimes seemed insurmountable. As the years past, we became an exquisite shade of blue diamonds. The hardest compound on earth. Stubborn. Tenacious. Unyielding. An undying love, until death closed our story.

I stood before all these people. His blue urn displayed on a patio table we bought at Costco years before. We, in our grief, were sitting in the very yard VST and I had dreamed in when choosing it on February 23rd, 2020. Present were friends we ate many meals with. We camped with. We laughed with. Did target practice with. Shared political views with. Found respect and love with. Friends and family who were most important to us.

Slowly, I rose to stand before them, script in hand. As I cleared my head of raw emotion, I again found my voice. And I began.

To Be Continued…………

Joni Mitchell wakes me on mornings when I use my alarm. Her’s the sweet voice singing about the Hissing of Summer Lawns has brought me back from slumber for years. Even VST, and his intense Country Western preference, found the song a pleasant way to awaken. July 15, 2020, I would have rather remained cocooned in sleep, but knew the hours would evaporate quickly to bring me to 10am and honors for my late husband.

Caffeine and a steamy shower cleared away dreamy cobwebs, as I remembered back in time. January 23, 1988. A beautiful bride to be, I had a morning full of bath bubbles and pampering. Matron of Honor, Mother, Sisters, God Mother, Aunts, and dear girlfriends brought their love and support to me and my jittery mood. Just as the last few months had held doubts from everyone we knew and loved, it brought pensive thoughts to VST and I, as well. On that day, our two young souls, (not realizing we were kids at the time), were betting everything we had on the future life planned but yet unwritten.

Now, shower fog cuddled me on this a day I needed to hold everything together. My life completed as VST’s wife would be honored today in the richest service family and friends could provide. I refused to be the weakest link in this beautiful chain of love.

As I stood blowing my hair dry, a vision of me gazed back that I would now need to embrace fully. A beautiful new Life Story would be written in which I reach my full potential, racing to the finish line on my own terms. I, quite normal in appearance, would become an embodiment of my destiny. With the focus my own choosing, it was now up to me.

DA Girl and CC were awake, talking and giggling while filling 66 birthday balloons with helium. Life and laughter filled the house as I joined them. Static electricity raised our hair with each balloon as we filled and tied them with long ribbons. Each balloon had it’s own peculiar shape and color, reminding me of the thousands of stories VST and I had lived throughout our lives together. A beautiful rainbow of experiences unique to us were left to comfort my broken heart as they slowly helped patch the cracks. Everyone agreed, it was a rare life we managed to create and nurture. Later today, those balloons would race to the heavens, released in tribute to the fleeting days of life’s song in the instantaneous dance of eternity.

Slowly, layer after layer completed my look for the day. Black on black, insecurity under a facade of “All Systems a Go, Full Steam Ahead.” No matter what occurred, a mural of memories would be the result of this beautiful day.

At 8:00am, with a knock on the door, Toni brought in more life in the form of gorgeous floral arrangements, corsages, and boutonnieres. Through tears I saw that she had captured the essence of the day in flowers, because, as we all know, PEOPLE NEED FLOWERS. Lovingly created for our family, the expression of her skills and love of profession were more than evident. I took her to the backyard to see rows of chairs, tent-shaded family facing South and patio-shaded guests facing North, everyone facing the blue urn between them.

We then visited the RV barn, luncheon ready and waiting for guests. She quietly touched a table cloth and commented on the creative way VST was remembered in this space. We hugged and cried together for the briefest moment in cavernous garage still so new to me. A place where just weeks before, a 2018 Winnebago Intent had been parked. Odometer — 30,200 miles. An RV, in which after such a loss, I could only spend short, painful moments before feeling strangled with grief.

All at once there were kids, grand kids, and friends everywhere. Subway sandwiches, chips, and cupcakes arrived. Bottled water was iced. Family chairs were wiped down, after being sprinkled because I had turned off the wrong controller. Helpful busy hands lovingly finished everything just in time.

When the guests started arriving, T’s adorable wife, M, greeted them with her million dollar smile and great hugs. Documented in the guest book, friends signed a photo mat that framed the most beautiful picture K had captured on the deck of VC. A stunning, cloud filled sunrise with VST’s cane and hat at the rail. At 10:00 am, everyone was in place. Family and friends were all waiting to celebrate this man who held a different role in all our lives. Husband, father, grandfather, and friend. Life mate, help mate, business partner, Masonic Brother, Child of God.

Our beautiful yard, my WINTERPAST, suddenly become a holy place in which the rays of sunshine reminded me that life is so beautiful. The sound of the rustling leaves, deep verdant green, were whispering, “You’ve got this. You go, Beautiful Woman.” Weeping organic tears, we all were there to say Good Bye in our own different ways.

And so, it began………

To Be Continued.

Tuesday was a day of arrivals. DA Girl came first, bringing her light, laughter, excitement, and energy. I have known her decades, sharing every detail of my life as we raised our kids and ourselves through the years. We would have long visits every five weeks, right on schedule. I would save up the most important events to tell her and she would remember, with that steel trap brain of hers, right where we left off. She is the sweetest and most genuine friend a girl could have, my DA.

CC and DA have become friends now, so, the three of us would be staying in the house together. The kids and grand kids would find bunking at the local hotel. It just worked that way with bed space and bathroom accommodations, and everyone was gracious and accepting of our plan.

After T and K arrived with their families, there came a whirlwind of final tasks being completed. The RV barn became a thing of beauty with light blue tables and manly-man centerpieces all ready for guests. On the rungs of an 8 ft. ladder, lay the educational achievements of VST, with his Doctoral Hood, Mortar Board, and gown hanging from the top. His portable table saw held family photos and mementos. Even the snow shovel from VC made the cut.

The walls of the RV barn were now a tapestry of my favorite pictures from the house. Our life was splattered on those high walls. The five kids and their Senior pictures. VST and I on our wedding day, and from that day on. Pictures chronicling our growth and the deepening of that young love that started on a prayer, and ended so cruelly at Cancer’s whim. The whole story was told on the walls.

In weeks prior, each day, I would find myself taking another thing out of the house and hanging it up in the barn. Assessing my progress, I wanted to be sure that every year together was remembered and shared on July 15th. The Sunday before, when I was alone in the barn, having made many trips carrying more and more memorabilia, I crumpled, like a wad of paper. As hiccuppy tears ran down the ugly cry face, it hit me. I was bringing more and more things to collectively represent what I lost when he left. I could cover the 20 x40 wall with every last picture I owned. VST was gone and not going to magically appear when I had just the right number. A cry I won’t ever forget, a widow’s moment so private and tortured, we will let it rest.

With family and friends now in place, and the biggest Round Table package I could order, everyone was eating, laughing, and enjoying each other. Gal in Grace came over to add to the fun. It was as if time had somehow gone back to happier days, with stories and memories overflowing. The grand kids were so perfectly beautiful, each one coming to hug me in just their own way, wide eyed and happy to help. I could feel VST’s pride as he watched this unfold.

Some of our were kids and grand kids were missing, stolen by Covid’s threat. Distance and travel requirements made their presence impossible, and they were deeply missed. We embraced those present and remembered those that were unable to attend, while filling our faces with the best pizza ever.

Finally, the moment I had been awaiting arrived. Through the years, we had collected pictures. Hundreds of them. I had prepared two packets of very special pictures for T and K. Here’s the deal. In a regular family, possessions and pictures are collected from the beginning. There’s no question of their dispersal when the time comes. Everything belongs to everyone. In a blended family, the rules are a bit different. VST and I joined after the kids were born. Some belongings that I cherished for 32 years were not mine to keep. They belonged to the kids. VST’s family heirlooms belonged to his children, not me.

The most precious of these were their baby pictures. Before another hour went by, those pictures would be in the hands of their rightful owners, safe and sound.

As packages were presented and opened, the scene became magical. Everyone clustered together looking at pictures never before seen. OOhhhhh’s and AAAhhh’s from the kids (who are not kids, but very grown-up adults), and grand kids (aged 10-19). Every age found something fascinating. The GK’s were wanting to know stories while the kids were happily sharing them. The love on the patio that summer evening was the most healing thing we all needed. At that point, VST was weeping softly, his heavenly tears felt in my heart. This was a moment from that week that is among the most precious we created. It comforts me on nights that sleep eludes me. It was the first time I saw with my own eyes, physical embodiment of the word FAMILY and the one we had created over the years against all odds. More precious than all the treasures VST left me to care for. This one is eternal.

That Tuesday night, we stood on the Threshold of Wednesday morning in a mass of hugs and tears. Ready or not, there was no turning back.

To Be Continued…………..

July 13th, 2020 arrived like any other high desert day, blue sky-ed sunny. It was going to be a beautiful week of perfect weather. In the back yard, the temperature stayed pleasant in the morning. With a 10:00am service, we would be in the shade of the RV barn by the time it became uncomfortably warm.

Details were checked off the master list. Tables and chairs were in the RV barn, with tablecloths and other essentials still packaged and awaiting placement. Plenty of nervous, helpful hands would arrive to set up the tables and chairs when the kids came the next evening. CC, my dear and beautiful life time friend would be arriving in the afternoon to help assess the progress and advise on what else needed to be finished.

Toni’s Floral was confirmed for a Wednesday 8am delivery. The guest picking up the sandwiches at 9am was on point. Cupcakes were ordered from the Raley’s. My normal Walmart run was full of the essentials needed for a house full of company. The kitchen was going to be used as little as possible until Thursday morning, when all this would be in the rear view mirror.

The centerpieces were a stroke of genius, the most fitting tribute to my Handy Man. VST LOVED his tools, as any guy does, and tools he had. Cabinet upon cabinet of them. Air tools. Hand tools. Plug in sanders. Vices. A Sawzall. Table saws. Hand saws. Saw Horses. The list was endless. For years, we owned multiple houses, with concurrent projects at each one, requiring the purchase of duplicate tools and devices. Hence, the garage was overflowing. His tools were VST’s favorite possession.

The oldest ones were from his days as a mechanic at the John Deere Dealership in Fresno. This was the home of his first career, starting at a young tender age as a field mechanic, and working his way up through the ranks to retirement as the store manager after 26 years of service. During this time, VST would engrave his initials on each Craftman’s wrench and anything else that might walk away. He always prided himself in not needing to buy extremely expensive tools, because a real knowledgeable technician would be able to fix things beautifully with less.

I LOVE these tools. They came to live with me when we married. I have watched, through project after project, as the need for a specialty item would arrive. It didn’t matter, be it automotive or construction, the reaction was the same. He would stop and think carefully. I could see him going through an inventory thousands of items long in that big old brain of his. He would stop and, always, in the same way, a clever smile would cross his face, and he would say, “Hang on, Darlin'”. He would dive into just a certain drawer or cabinet and come out with the exact thing needed. He saved every bolt, nut, and wire, because, in his words…..”You just never know……..” These tools are hard for me to look at some days. Other days, I go in the garage just to be near them again. For me, tools are extremely sexy. Knowing how to use them skillfully, even more so.

Over the weekend, I had found the wrench drawer, packed full with set upon set of wrenches, varying in signs of use. From the tiniest to the ones I needed two hands to lift, I filled a bucket with them and went into the kitchen. Lovingly, I washed each one with Dawn. It cuts the grease off anything, right? Sure did. Then, I filled my dishwasher with the fairly clean wrenches, one cycle leaving them gleaming.

For Centerpieces, each table had a combination of wrenches, sockets, a measuring tape, and a few pliers and other miscellaneous tools. On the tables were snack size bags of Peanut M&M’s, his favorite food to munch on when figuring out his next project. There were also individual bags of almonds, his next favorite food. The centerpieces sat on baby blue tablecloths, bringing a smile to anyone that really knew VST. This captured memories of the beauty he brought into the world with his projects, lovingly designed and expertly crafted.

Monday afternoon, the party began with my bestie, CC arriving first. After such a long drive, we got takeout and enjoyed a terrific visit. It was a special evening for just us two. So many things to talk about and remember, we chatted into the night. CC had been there at the very beginning, she and I being partners in crime since our children were babies.

One of the funniest memories was something that occurred right after VST and I had moved into our first new home in December of 1987. A doctor had built it for his wife in the 50’s and it was a step back in time, down to the blue and white tiled kitchen. One would expect June Cleaver to come around the corner, with every detail decade specific to mid-century modern decor. We had assumed the loan on the house, it being at the outside limit of our budget. With 5 children, ages 6, 8, 8, 11, and 11, the backyard Olympic size in-ground swimming pool complete with diving board was perfect for us.

The Master Bedroom was over the garage, with a set of stairs leading to it from the family room. Upstairs, the large bedroom had a spacious bathroom, also 50’s style. The louvered door going into the bathroom wasn’t sound proof. There were spaces between the slats through which something could be slipped.

With the quick engagement and wedding planned with the speed of light, many were counting on their fingers, sure that baby number 6 would be along shortly. Not to worry. I think that was one of the first 10 questions we covered. “Do you want another child?” The resounding and simultaneous “NOOOOOO!” was comforting to us both. The family we would blend were the exact children sent from God to our care. Our new family was perfect as it was. Five was a wonderful number.

CC had reservations, as did everyone. Two crazy 30-somethings meet at the class reunion, propose and accept marriage, and three months later are getting hitched and buying a house. The betting odds were definitely against us.

On the December day in question, I was upstairs using the bathroom. From the throne, there was a direct view of the closed louvered door. I was in a very intense conversation with CC when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the biggest Rambo Knife I had every seen sliding through a space between slats. Slowly. Deliberately. The knife I had never seen before was sinister. Evil. Grooves for blood letting. At least 18″ long, or so it seemed. Up and down, through the slat it moved without any sound.

“CC”, I whispered in the softest voice. “VST is pushing a huge knife through the door.”

“Whattttttt? Joy, how well do you know him? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

The conversation kept going, all heard by VST on the other side of the door, who was getting boyhood HaHa’s out of the entire situation. He finally ceased and went away. Boy, did he catch hell while he just looked at me. Laughing, he pulled me close, and gave me the best kiss to calm me down. That boy was a prankster, loving every bit of it.

Monday came to a quiet end. Tomorrow, DA Girl would arrive, along with T and K, and 5 of the grandchildren. It would be then everything would start to gel and become more real. There was no stopping this train. The thoughts and plans of the last three months were now visible and a reality. Chairs were in place. Everyone was ready. Was I?

To Be Continued…….