WOE IS ME

 

       

 It’s probably been a week since I wrote the previous post without posting; however, I’m not feeling all that great. It doesn’t seem to matter how much sleep I get, I’m still exhausted the following morning/day. I do manage to get shit done, but it’s only by forcing myself to move forward. Why does my life have to be so hard…or seem so hard to me since I know others would think I’m crazy to think the way I do. That’s one good reason for not sharing this kind of post.

          Not only am I exhausted, but I’d really like to wipe my calendar clear of all classes and commitments. I’d be perfectly happy to stay at home and not go anywhere that isn’t required, i.e., grocery store. I’d like to forego exercise, meetings, lunches, visiting other folks, etc. Unfortunately, that’s probably not an option unless I decide to actually become a hermit.

          Again, unfortunately, I cannot give up exercise because if I do that, then I’ll become weaker and end up being put in a facility where they’ll care for me until my death. That’s not an option I’d like to have chosen either by or for me. The only other meetings I have are connected with my driftwood sculpture; and again, I think I’d be happy to put all the pieces of wood in my workroom into the fireplace and call it good. Again, I don’t feel it’s an option I can choose because I do the newsletter and have to participate in board meetings.

          All that leaves is friend visits. I make one per week, usually, and receive one per week. At this point, the way I’m feeling, I’d just as soon not see either of these people. To have to make nice and pretend I’m just fine when I don’t feel fine is a real chore. And the visits don’t really do much in the way of making me feel better about anything. Both individuals have husbands and family around them all the time. Moi, I talk to a family member maybe once a week and see one of them maybe once a month. Aren’t I simply lucky though.

          Anyway, I guess I’m having a huge pity party for myself. I know part of it is because I feel exhausted and almost defeated by the chores that await. I know part of it is feeling so lonely I could happily cross the rainbow bridge. I don’t know what’s on the other side, but even if it’s simply emptiness, it can’t be much emptier than life is right now. Pouvre moi…those chores await and there’s no one to do them but moi.

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG DAY

 

     

  Today was the second day we’ve returned to regular time. It has been, just like yesterday, the loooooooooooooooooooooongest day. I don’t know why the time seems to crawl immediately after daylight savings time goes away, but it does. I’m sure I’ll adjust eventually, but I really hate looking at my watch to find out it’s barely after noon when it feels much later.

          And it’s barely 5:00 pm and it’s dark outside already. How/when did that happen? It seems like it was light until well after 6:00 pm just last week. I don’t much like the darkness arriving so much earlier either.

          Whine, whine, whine. I would think that having time slow down and the days becoming shorter would be considered a benefit by an old person like me. I know I’ve lamented how fast time is going in the past, so why aren’t I just sitting back and enjoying the fact the days seem so loooooooooooooooooooong?

          I honestly don’t know. I think I’m dwelling on the negative a bit too much rather than embracing the positive. Need to stand back and re-evaluate how I’m choosing to feel…maybe tomorrow.

ITCHING AND CHORES

 

         

Some days are much better than others. Today is a day where I’d be most happy to cross the rainbow bridge, mainly due to personal problems about which no one can really help.

          Well, okay, when I see the doctor tomorrow, perhaps he’ll be able to figure out why I’ve had a horrendous itching problem in my personal area since June. I’ve tried a wide variety of over-the-counter treatments, all to no avail. One of the prescription medications I take could be responsible because it states it could cause a yeast infection in that location; however, the test in June indicated no yeast. I haven’t itched and been this miserable since then, just off and on; but this past week or so, that description would certainly apply.

          Then there’s the care that’s required for this home and garden. It’s not as easy, if it ever was, as it once was. Yesterday, I almost filled the yard waste bin with leaves only to have the lawn mower folks come and blow leaves right back  into the area I had cleared. I thought they’d simply mow the leaves on the lawn up, but apparently not. So, I’ll need to rake once again before they return in two weeks. Perhaps I can catch them next time and tell them not to fill the clear areas with more leaves. I know it’s easier for them, but it makes it harder for me.

          I still haven’t completed the back garden work and my dahlias have not been cut down. There are at least three, maybe more, peonies that need to be cut back, not to mention other plants that require being put to bed for the winter. There is no one on whom I can call for assistance; and the thought of having to hire the work done is rather frightening since I have a limited amount of funds and have no idea how much longer I’m going to need them. Poor moi.

          Then, there’s the fact my least favorite part of the year is fast approaching. First, there’s my birthday, followed by Thanksgiving and then Christmas. All these used to be such joyful events, but now, in my old age, with so many family members and friends gone, they’ve become more of a chore to just get through.

          I know it’s my own fault that my birthday isn’t celebrated right on that day or close to it. I made the mistake quite some time ago of combining my birthday with Thanksgiving and celebrating it then. I did give myself a birthday party last year when I turned eighty, but that’s not something I’m going to do for myself every year. The family members that are left don’t see my birthday as a big deal and maybe don’t even see their own as a big deal. Disheartening and disappointing since the entire time my daddy was alive, my birthday was a big deal. Ah well, life moves on.

          I gave up doing Thanksgiving only to take it back a couple years ago. I don’t mind doing it, but it’s not a very festive occasion with just my son, his wife and daughter. No one seems to be very happy or engaged, including me. I just try to provide a good meal with everyone returning the next day for leftovers. It’s certainly not the happy and joyous occasion I remember back when John was alive. Perhaps there’s simply something wrong with me and that’s why it’s not festive.

          All too soon after that, Christmas will arrive. I don’t yet know if Christmas brunch will be held at my son’s home. I am assuming it will be there as usual, but they could decide they are done with hosting this event. In any case, I’ll be here alone with Kuma for Christmas Eve and get up with just Kuma on Christmas morning…it’s extremely lonely and depressing. Even in the few years before John passed and we weren’t getting along well, it didn’t feel as hopeless and miserable on that evening and morning as it does now.

          How do other people manage to get through these two months? I have no idea because I don’t share when I’ve just written on a broad basis. I listen to their wonderful plans and wish I could be included, but it’s their families and friends with whom they are celebrating, so I’d just be an odd person out. I often wonder if the few widows I know have a difficult time with November and December. I’ll undoubtedly not be bold and ask, so I’ll never know unless they decided to share. I’m sure that they’re like me; however, and don’t want anyone to know just how sad, lonely, and depressed they are.

PRIDE

        

  There are days when I am so proud of myself for being able to do all that I do. Then there are the days when I wish I had a caretaker who would cook, clean and entertain me. Today I’m sort of on the fence when it comes to seriously considering one or the other. I do think the proud of myself side of the fence would win out.

          I’ve been busy trying to get ready for fall and winter, both inside and outside. Today, I changed out my bed and now have the down comforter in place. The summer bedding is in the washer and will be stored away until next April or May. This was not an easy exercise, but me, myself and I managed to get it done.

          Perhaps most of you know how annoying it can be when you try to get the duvet cover on the down comforter. I finally resorted to clothes pins to hold the top in place while I pulled and smoothed the rest of it in place. I did have instructions on how to do this exercise seamlessly; however, the only time I tried to do it “their” way, it didn’t work and was more frustrating than doing it the way I’ve always done it.

          For the first time in fifty-seven years, the garage is CLEAN. Even after John died and my granddaughter and I emptied it of all the tools and miscellaneous stuff John accumulated, I didn’t vacuum or really sweep. Now, seven years later, I went from the back to the front and vacuumed up all the spider webs that had accumulated as well as all the detritus (I love that word.) that was residing every single place it could find. It’s probably the only time I’ll ever do that even though I noticed today new spider webs in the window. This wasn’t a job I accomplished in a single day…it took more like three afternoons. But the result was worth it and once I visit Goodwill and take the nasty stuff to the haz/mat place, there will be more room than there has been since we moved in.

          The deck has also been cleaned off. The fuchsias and begonias were given a last thorough watering, were clipped back and now reside in the garage. I fully expect that next spring, they’ll be ready to come out and provide me with months of pleasure. The only thing left to do is to clean off the table and move it beneath the covered part of the deck.

          I haven’t yet completed all the work that needs doing in the garden. The front is almost finished, but I haven’t begun on the back with the exception of the deck. On the advice of a gardener who lives in Pennsylvania, I’m not going to cut back my hydrangeas or other plants that provide seeds to the birds. True this isn’t Pennsylvania, but her advice sounds reasonable.

          The tomatoes have been harvested and many of them are hanging in the kitchen window, ripening slowly. I believe there are enough ripe ones now to go in my salad. The tomato crop was a disappointment this year because the yield was so poor. I don’t know why, but for the first time ever, I didn’t have enough to give any away. Me, myself and I ate all that was produced. Usually the cherry tomatoes just explode, but not this time. For the first time, I planted to plants that provided larger tomatoes. One of those did fairly well, but I ate tomato and may sandwiches almost as fast as they turned red. I also learned how to make a tomato pie and, boy, was that delicious.

          The big pots at the end of the driveway, one on each side, did very well. One pot had what turned out to be a gorgeous hot pink hydrangea. I planted impatience around the bottom and they grew so well and provided a complimentary collar of color around the edge of the tub. The other pot had two dahlias left in from last year as well as another hydrangea. That hydrangea grew but didn’t flower…maybe next year. The dahlias and the other plant (forget the name) did very well and bloomed all summer long.

          Well, since my bed is all nice and clean, I’d best get in there and do some dusting…hasn’t been done in months I swear. The floor could also stand a sweep and  mop, but we’ll see just how far my energy lasts today. The mopping might have to wait until tomorrow.

CHANGES IN ATTITUDE

 

Sometimes I just need to slap myself and change my thought pathways. That happened this morning as I was doing my hated exercise program. I was lamenting internally about how difficult it is to keep to this regimen and being pissed off about having to do it at my age. I mean, really, why can’t I simply sit on the sofa, eat bonbons and grow old peacefully.

Well, I know the answer to that, as do we all…I want to remain independent for as long as possible, preferably until the grim reaper shows up to claim me. The idea of having to enter one of those holding facilities for old and ill people scares the absolute hell out of me. The idea that I could lose control of my life, my assets, my choices add to my worry about the future.

Why is it no one told me how difficult being old would be. And, okay, I saw it for myself with my grandmother and my parents as they grew older and lost their right to make choices about how they wanted their lives to be. Why did I not see then what I’m feeling and thinking now? I have no idea aside from the fact I was young and potentially stupid when it came to their reality. Of course, it could also have been the fear engendered by what I was seeing and experiencing. But if that were so, why didn’t I see it then. Why is it that I’m now realizing what I could have known then?

What this whole diatribe is leading up to is the fact the balloon expanded over my head during my exercise program, i.e., I was looking at the whole thing with the wrong attitude. I need/should be thankful I can do all these exercises that allow me to live alone, do my own gardening, cooking, shopping, driving and any other activity that allows me to remain independent.

The result is I am going to begin being thankful every single day for every single task I can perform without assistance. I’m going to be thankful I am able to live alone, cook my own meals, do my own laundry, garden, play with Kuma, shop, type this missive, handle my finances…I guess it means I need to give thanks and be thankful for each minute I’m able to do for myself.

Now that’s certainly a much better attitude…at least in my opinion and that’s what counts.

SO CLOSE, YET SO VERY FAR

 

          It’s been ten months since I’ve seen my grandson, Xander. Today is his twelfth birthday and I sent him a text. Since he didn’t answer, I decided to call him and did so. He sounds much the same as he did since I last talked to or listened to him. It is so hard for me to understand how his father, my son, can allow so much time to pass by without allowing me into his son’s life. I guess things are different now than they were when I was my grandson’s age.

          When I was twelve or even younger, my life was filled with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. No one asked me if I wanted to have them there, they just were. Sunday dinners were held at the grandparents or our home and any one of the relatives who were available were welcome to attend.

          It wasn’t that I absolutely loved all these different individuals, but more that they were simply there, part of my life. As I aged, I came to realize there were some uncles a niece endeavored to avoid because of the booze imbibed and the unwelcome and inappropriate expectations and/or methods by which these relatives showed their interest and/or affection. I also learned there were some aunties who were far more interesting and supportive than some of the others.

          There were always huge relative gatherings that happened at least once a year or more. Every single person to whom I was related showed up and  participated in the potluck and catching up on the latest news about family matters. I was never asked if I wanted to attend, it was simply expected.

          These kinds of gatherings or reunions have become a thing of the past, at least as far as my own personal family goes. It’s been years since the remaining aunts, uncles, and cousins have managed to meet even once a year to look at each other and share a small bit about our lives with each other. I don’t know why these have become so rare, to the point that they are no longer held. I miss them and believe that my grandchildren’s lives are less rich as a result.

          In my youth, there were stories that were shared during these family get-togethers that wouldn’t have been shared otherwise. These days, those stories and family history are no longer shared and are lost permanently. It’s, in my opinion, so very sad. I know that as I’ve gotten older, there have been times and questions I would have loved to have been able to ask about, but the family that could provide answers no longer exist.

          I find myself wondering if my grandchildren will, at some point, wonder about me or my forebears, but be unable to find an answer to whatever their question might be. It seems to me that the more time passes, the more time we and our family members spend online, the less time and effort we make to share what has come before.

          And, speaking of being online, we all know we can trace our ancestry through one of the available services. I’ve done that myself and that’s how I found my half-brother with whom I’ve developed a great relationship. Sure, once I’m gone, my descendants can utilize these services to look for and trace their ancestry, but it comes as words on paper, without emotion or even context. All the stories I’ve gathered in all my years won’t be included. It’s not just my information either, but the information I’e brought forward from my parents, grandparents and other family who passed before me.

          So, at some point, I assume that any information not found online about me will be almost nonexistent. Rather than a fully developed person, I, and the others before me, will be one-dimensional. This is because as time has passed, we haven’t tried to reach out to each other, to know each other, to share our lives in any way, shape or form. I’m sure my grandson knew who I was when I called this evening, but I know, without doubt, that he doesn’t and will most likely never really know me, his Nana, at all. His memories, unlike mine about those in my past, will be few and far between.

          This idea/knowledge makes me very sad.

HARD TO BELIEVE...SIXTY YEARS...

 ago today, I was on my way to get my hair done so I could be a beautiful bride at the close of the day. If anyone had told me my marriage would last sixty years (actually 53.394 when John passed), I would have found that information completely inconceivable. My reason(s) for that wouldn’t be that I didn’t love my husband to be or that I thought we’d end up getting a divorce, but the fact that sixty years seemed unimaginable at the ripe old age of twenty.

          But the fact is time moved on and so did John and I. True, we had some difficult times, but the fact is the happy outweighed the unhappy (at least for me) by tons and tons. The memories I have of our marriage and family life are filled with times and days and weeks of not only special events, but the simple day-to-day lives we led as partners.

          As of yesterday, John will have been gone for seven entire years now. Somehow, I lost two years of that time or didn’t want to admit just how long it had been when speaking of him to family and friends over the last year. And while I’ve managed to get along just fine without John for those seven years, that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss him. There may be days when I don’t even think of him and others where his absence makes me lose my breath with longing. There are even times when I think he’s just in the next room or asleep in bed with me.

          I thought that as time passed, I would reach a point where I didn’t miss him, where I didn’t want to spend another hour or day in his company, but apparently not enough time has passed. I would give anything to be able to wake up with John in the morning, to stumble into the kitchen and have him ask me to make him a latte too, to feel him walk up behind me and fold me into his arms, to hear him laugh, or even to hear him snore.

          No one told me how it would be once I was alone, how the silence grows and grows, how the house, our home, feels so empty without him. No one told me how difficult it would be to crave those hugs and kisses once freely given. No one told me how empty my bed feels, or my body for that matter, when making love isn’t an option. No one told me how hard it is when it’s necessary to make a tough decision and there’s no one with whom I can discuss the options.

          Before John passed, I used to look forward to the weekends. They were a time for us to do “things.” When I think back to weekends long passed, there are so many that still bring a smile to my mouth, a giggle to my throat or a wish it could be repeated. Now, I dread the weekends. They seem to last way longer than two days, forty-eight hours. Family and friends have their own lives to pursue, so my phone doesn’t ring and it’s rare I receive a visitor.

          Seriously, I thought by now John’s absence would be something to which I’d be totally accustomed, and I do admit that there are times and occasions when I rather like not having to consult him about whatever it is I am thinking about, whether it’s a movie or restaurant choice, a decision about our financial status, or even when to get up or go to bed.

          Still, given the option of having John here to share in my life or to continue as I’ve been doing for the last seven years, I would definitely choose the John alive option.

          Happy Anniversary John, wherever you may be!!!