FRIDAY THE 13TH...AND GOD

         Whoa, it’s Friday the 13^th, the first one for this year. The 13^th has always been a lucky number for me. I met John on the 13^th, we got married on the 13^th, our granddaughter was born on the 13^th, and there’s other stuff that’s happened on the 13^th that’s buried somewhere in the filing cabinet of my brain. Those are the important ones that head the list.

          Being superstitious isn’t something that I am. I don’t worry about ladders, black cats, mirrors or anything else that’s supposed to bring you bad luck. I do have to admit that in my youth, whenever it seemed as though something awful was going to happen or was happening, I’d immediately send prayers up to God. I eventually came to believe that those prayers were just another sort of superstition.

          I was raised Southern Baptist, but not the strict kind that didn't allow dancing, makeup or stuff like that. I was sent to Sunday school every Sunday and mom and grandma sometimes went to church services. My dad never went, even on the holy days of Easter and Christmas. My grandma and mom did definitely go those days.

          What I remember most about those Easter services was getting a new Easter outfit. A new dress, shoes, purse and even a hat and gloves. Since I haven’t been to church on Easter in decades, I don’t know if they still do that. The Easter outfit was more important to me than the Easter candy. I sound pretty shallow, don’t I.

          In any case, I was raised to believe that God was good. My crisis of faith came in my late teens. It started with a photo of a child on fire in Viet Nam. This was a small child and I felt so heartbroken by the look on this child’s face. I questioned my parents and eventually the clergy at the church. No one could provide me with a satisfactory answer. If God was good, how could he allow such a small child to suffer so? The answer everyone seemed to fall back on was, “God has his reasons.”

          It was at that point I stopped going to Sunday school or church. With the exception of my own wedding, my eldest son’s wedding and the weddings and funerals of other people, I haven’t been inside a church or attended any services. I know it bothered my mom, but even her entreaties to attend Easter sunrise services couldn’t sway me.

          That’s not to say that when trouble comes, I don’t find myself praying to God, i.e., “Please God, please, please, please….” for whatever it is that I need to have changed for the better.  I also know, even as I’m reciting the words to myself, that if there is going to be any kind of a change, it’s up to me to make it happen. God isn’t going to point his finger and fix whatever it is that’s wrong.

          I do find myself wishing, however, that I hadn’t lost my faith. I know people who attend church, live the kind of lives of which God would approve, and who practice the Golden Rule. To me they seem stronger and more certain about their lives and their afterlives. Their faith and church attendance appear to bring them a lot of comfort as well as comradery with their fellow church members. There’s a sense of brotherhood/sisterhood in those folks.

          I find now that I’m alone, it would be good to belong to such a group. My inclusion wouldn’t be based on my belief in God, but the need for a sense of belonging, a sense of being part of something larger. That’s not to say I’m going to get up on Sunday mornings and start checking out the various churches in my area. It’s just something I think and wonder about now and then.

          What I will do today, though, is take myself to the store to purchase a lottery ticket. After all it is my lucky day and this might be the one time I could win something. I do know that when the Sunday paper comes, before I check the numbers, I may silently be saying, “Please God, please, please, please let me have a winner.” 

          Like I said above, pretty shallow aren’t I?

THE HONEYMOON, PART II

         What a wonderful place Acapulco was to honeymoon. We had some terrific adventures and saw some things I’ve never forgotten. We also learned the hard way that not drinking the water wouldn’t keep Montezuma’s Revenge away if you also ate salad and used ice cubes. So young and stupid were we.

          Our first order of business was to get me a bathing suit. Oh, me of little faith, I didn’t pack the one I had. I also didn’t expect John to go swimming because of the smaller left calf his bout with polio had given him. He was very sensitive about that. He brought a pair of cut-off pants he used for swimming.

John figured out how we could take the bus from out cottage into downtown. So, we did. We wandered around and found a place that made swimming suits. We went in, they measured me and we waited…can you imagine that? In no time, I tried on a two-piece bathing suit, one that would have been just a trifle too sexy for Seattle. It was a red and yellow print. The top was an actual bra with underwires…this wouldn’t come to Seattle for ages. The bottom was more of a brief than a bikini, but I still felt a bit overexposed.

          On the way back to our lodging, we began to notice some things. First, it was a building of several floors that was being taken down by hand. John talked to someone and the reason for all this hard work was the rebar in the concrete. John told me that because Mexico was a poor country, rebar was expensive. It was cheaper to save the old to use in a new project.

          We saw other evidence of a poor populace. It’s very warm there and we began to notice these little hovels in the bushes alongside the road. I was aghast that people, entire families, were living in these thrown together shacks. No electricity. No running water. Some were built of all kinds of odd-sized pieces of wood. Others had pieces of tin or metal that had been hammered flat.

          John found out there was to be a bullfight. I think it was on the weekend, but I cannot really remember. He got tickets and we went to what had to have been the most horrifying show I’d ever seen once an adjacent attendee told us how it worked. The bull is kept in the dark and not given any food or water. When he’s let out into the arena, he can barely see because it’s so bright and he’s weak. It was the picadors on horseback that inserted the knives into the bull’s neck while the matador waved his cape around. Once it was pointed out, I could see the blood rolling down the bull’s neck and side. Eventually the bull becomes so weak, the matador or a picador kills it with a final knife thrust to the neck. The only saving grace about this whole thing is that our knowledgeable attendee said the bull would be butchered and its remains given to the poor.

          As I mentioned above, we were foolish enough to eat salad and ask for ice cubes. As a result, we became quite familiar with one another’s bathroom needs. Whoever had the room key had best have it handy if the other became in immediate need…and I mean IMMEDIATE. If I had it, John grabbed it and away he went and vice versa. No discussion before or after unless one of us said, “made it, thank God.” Any embarrassment we felt at the beginning of this experience soon evaporated because it was a daily, and often more than once, need.

          I also had the best Coke I’ve ever had in my entire life there. We were out walking and it was hot. We went into some little shop and John bought two cokes. We took them outside before we opened them. Once opened, the entire contents turned into a 7-11 Slurpee…it became filled with little pieces of ice. It was so cold and good and refreshing. I’ve tried to duplicate that Coke at home, but never managed to do so.

          Ah, the water. I simply cannot say enough about the clarity or warmth of the Pacific Ocean in Acapulco. We spent a lot of time in the water and it was fun. Toward the end of our stay, we decided we’d swim out to the raft in the middle of the bay. Now, neither of us could swim all that well, so we decided we’d swim alongside the big rope that keep the raft in place. I don’t remember how long it took us to get there and back, but John’s back and shoulders were baked to a hot and sore doneness.

          I’d also developed a problem. Somehow mosquitos were getting into our cottage. The windows were all screened, but every morning I had new bites that itched like the devil. The day before we were to leave, we realized there was a chimney in the bathroom that you couldn’t see unless you stood on the toilet that allowed for fresh air and it wasn’t screened. With one more night to sleep there, I counted 45 mosquito bites just on my left leg. The rest of my body was covered. One good outcome of this experience is that mosquitos never bit me again. I do get maybe one or two the last couple of years, but I enjoy scratching them a lot.

          So, for the last few nights, we made use of both the twin beds. John didn’t want me to touch his back because it was so sore. I didn’t want him to touch almost any part of me because I itched so bad.

          Back in Mexico City, we stayed in the same wonderful hotel except this time we had a double or king-sized bed. We were there only for the night, but once again John tried to figure out how he could steal our room key. It would have made a nice wall mounted piece of art.

          I’ve looked back at the photo album and found very few actual pictures. Most are in black and white and we are very small. I also tried to find the name of the hotels, but after 53 years, I’m sure they’ve either been rebuilt or renamed. So, no photos today.

          Amazingly (to me), once we got back to Tijuana, our car was still there with all four tires and an engine. We got in and headed for the United States. Barely across the border, we stopped for gas. Also, back then, the gas station attendants checked everything. This one raised the hood and afterward said, “You guys must be newlyweds.” I was surprised because I was sure our “newness” had to have worn off. I asked how he could tell and he responded the engine compartment was filled with rice. John’s buddies apparently hadn’t missed anything when it came to decorating the car.

          Our next stop was a hamburger place. Again, I’ve never tasted anything quite as good as that hamburger, French fries and milkshake. That was our last indulgence because we were getting low on money. Yes, we still had a gas card to get us home, but actual funds were in short supply.

          That’s when John decided I needed to do some of the driving. He didn’t like the way I drove…he was a professional, after all…so, he critiqued everything I did. I actually didn’t mind because I wanted to be a good driver, plus, it came in handy when Haley and I went to Glacier National Park a couple years ago. I was able to teach her about passing, curves, etc., just like her grandpa had taught me.

          Back home by Sunday, family and friends came to our apartment to watch us open our gifts. It was such fun taking turns and oohing and aahing over the various items we received. When it was time to do thank-you notes, John even helped with those.

          Then, it was on to our real married life. We didn’t stay long in that apartment. The couple that introduced us told us about a house in Ballard just a door or so away from theirs. I’ve some good stories and funny memories of then I’ll share as well as I continue to make these posts.

THE HONEYMOON, PART I

         We drive away from my aunt’s home and head for the freeway. I’m so tired, I would have been happy to go back to our apartment for the night, but John had the bit between his teeth. Besides all the rice and shaving cream or whatever they put on our car, we should have had a sign, “PORTLAND OR BUST.”

          It seemed to take forever to get to Portland, but finally, John pulled off and registered us for the first time as man and wife at some hotel just off the freeway. At the room, he opened the door, picked me up and carried me across the threshold. He didn’t set me down until he was in front of the phone.

          “Call your aunt, right now!!!”

          Thankfully, there was information back then because I didn’t have a phone number. I got the number and asked the operator to make the call for me. It took a number of rings before someone answered and I asked for my aunt.

          “We’re here in Portland.”

          “How do I know you’re in Portland?” she responded sleepily.

          “Wait until you get the bill. I called collect. Good night.” and I hung up.

          Then it was into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I came out in my brand new sexy nighty. John was already in bed and almost asleep, but we did the “deed,” and I have to say it was probably not the best time we ever had together. Still, you can’t just go to sleep on your wedding night…right?

          The next morning, we had breakfast and headed down I-5. We had talked about where we wanted to go for our honeymoon. We both loved the idea of Hongkong, but that was way more expensive than we could afford. John decided on Mexico and we got the visas we needed to enter the country.

          Since John drove truck for a living, he did the driving. I talked to him, looked out the window and read my book. When we got to Tijuana, he found the airport and went inside. I stayed in the car until he came back and said, “Come on, let’s go. The plane leaves in an hour.”

          Well, something else that’s changed for the better is how you can dress these days. I was in shorts and a shirt. You didn’t go anywhere in public like that. I had to go into the restroom, get into my suitcase and change. Before I knew it, we were on board the plane headed for Mexico City. I do have to say I still remember the meal we were served on the plane…the best plane food I’ve ever had.

          In Mexico City, John found a cab only to learn the driver didn’t speak any English. I sat in the back seat almost in tears, imagining us in some park surrounded by our luggage. Instead, our cab driver found another one who did speak English and he translated for us. As a result we were taken to this huge, old hotel in downtown. There was a park across the street and the room keys were metal and huge. John really wanted to keep that key, but it simply wasn’t possible.

          The next morning while I got ready, John went and talked to the concierge. This gentleman took us down the street and helped us rent a convertible. He also made plane reservations to and from Acapulco and back to Tijuana. We followed him down the street and for a short guy, he was fast. By the time we got to the car rental place I could barely breath. I’d forgotten how high Mexico City was.

          We drove all around the city and look at the sights. We saw the new housing that was built for people who lived there. The Olympics were coming in a couple of years. The new housing was long rows of concrete blocks with a door in the center and a window on either side. Each family got to paint their blocks whatever color they’d like.

          When it was time to head to the airport, we could see and hear it, but we couldn’t find the road that would let us in. Fortunately, we came to a stop light and John talked to the people in the adjacent car. They explained what he needed to do to get into the airport.

          I don’t remember much about that flight. I do remember stepping out of the plane and my first experience with really high humidity. It was like walking into a wall and I could barely breath. No problems like those in Mexico City. John got us a cab and we were taken to this lovely hotel. It was a series of cottages or cabanas, each with its own entrance. And, as in Mexico City, it had twin beds. I still laugh about that. It didn’t really matter to us because we were both a lot smaller than we eventually became, so a twin bed for two wasn’t a problem…at least until later in the honeymoon when we used both of them.

          Are you getting the idea that John was ever so much more adventurous in his youth. I’m sure some of our friends and family who knew him in his later life wouldn’t have recognized him. Anyway, our honeymoon adventure had just begun. I’ve lots more memories to share as this week progresses. It was a wonderfully happy time and looking back at it makes me smile a lot…just wish I’d had a digital camera back then.

WE'RE MARRIED!!!

         As I posted yesterday, we were engaged. The wedding planning began. John wanted a nice wedding for his mother, Pearl, because his sisters ran away to get married (to get away from Pearl I was to later learn). John lived with his mom and she had suffered a mastectomy the previous year. It was obvious John was very close to and very caring when it came to Pearl. I thought this was a wonderful relationship in the beginning. What woman wouldn’t come to love a man who revered and loved his mom…usually it bodes well for the relationship.

          I reveled in planning our wedding and sought John’s opinions about anything I thought would be of interest to him. My mom and girlfriends helped me find a dress, although it didn’t turn out to be the dress I wore when I married John. The store called me at the last minute to say my dress wouldn’t arrive in time. So, they gave me the pick of what was in the store in my size at a discounted price. I liked that dress even better than the one I originally picked…it was more tailored and suited to my style.

          My daddy was a baker and he took a two-week vacation the beginning of August. He and mom went off and had a week’s vacation out of town. On his return, he borrowed space in his first boss’ shop and made my wedding cake. It was beautiful and extra special because daddy made it just for me. The only other thing my parents paid for were the flowers. I paid for everything else.

          Of course, way back then, people getting married didn’t have huge expensive parties. You got married in the church with the reception in the church basement after. You served tea, coffee, punch, nuts, mints and wedding cake. So, the cost was not huge.

          The church we got married in had a beautiful walkway leading from the doors. I think that’s why we chose it as neither of us attended church or had a reverend to perform the ceremony. Perfect for a bride and groom to dash down through a hail of rice to their car. We paid to use the church and the reverend counselled us for a month before the wedding. We were definitely prepared, or so I thought.

          I think it was June when John confessed he had cold feet and didn’t want to get married. We had a long talk and I told him if we weren’t getting married, then our relationship would be over. By then, he was pretty much living with me in my apartment. His mother had moved some woman into his bedroom and he’d been shunted downstairs to the furnace area…icy cold and more of a crawl space than a basement. John either wanted me or he didn’t. I was so relieved when he decided he wanted me and marriage after all.

          So, the invitations went out and my excitement grew. At the beginning of August, Pearl asked John for the mortgage payment. He’d been paying all her bills for over a year because she had exhausted her savings, sick leave, etc. That was not what John’s sister said however. She said Pearl had plenty of money, but it was a way to control John                                                                                             . In any case, he told Pearl he didn’t have the money because he’d paid the rent on our apartment for August. I could tell he felt bad and was uncomfortable about not being able to help his mom.

          Perhaps Pearl’s way of getting back at John was to leave town with her boyfriend at the time and her granddaughter. She wasn’t sure she’d be back in time for the wedding. She did return in time, however, with beautiful gifts of milk glass, all of which I still have. I believe her boyfriend paid for the gifts. I was glad she returned in time because John wanted the wedding for her. And, when the photographs were circulated, she chose an 8 x 10 of us heading down the aisle. I’m looking straight ahead and John is looking at her.

          We decided we’d have a big party after the wedding rehearsal and invite the wedding party and all our friends. We supplied food and a keg of beer and I almost lost my groom before he became a husband. He was pumping up the keg and something wasn’t quite right. The spigot (or whatever you call it) flew out of the keg with such force it buried itself in the ceiling. If John’s head had been over it, it might have gone right through it or severely injured him. Of course, we were all immortal at that time and just laughed like crazy people.

          The next day was our wedding day. I went off with some of my wedding party to get our hair done. We had decided we’d have the wedding photographs taken before the wedding so we could head out from the reception to our honeymoon. I got there in plenty of time. My maid of honor and my bridesmaids and I all got ready and I managed not to cry. I have a wonderful picture of myself with my dad. He’s in his tux and holding his wallet open as if to show he was completely broke. What made me laugh was the fact it was full of money. I also have a photo of the two of us as we head down the aisle.

          John’s best man became quite irritated with him late that afternoon. They were all dressed and ready to go and stopped at this bar not far from the church to have a little “courage.” I don’t know how many drinks John had, but his best man  was getting desperate to get him out of there when they finally moved on to the church.

          John couldn't have been serious about not showing up for the wedding because when he arrived, he had a gift for me. It was a strand of real pearls. He'd heard me say at some point in time that it would be wonderful to own real pearls. So, he visited Rivkin's Jewelers before the wedding and purchased the pearls you see around my neck in the wedding photos. That's when I gave him the tie-tac made from the rose in my wrist watch and cuff links to match. He couldn't wear them for the wedding, but he did wear them whenever he wore a shirt with French cuffs.

          We had photographs taken and for a few of them, it was very hard to look as serious as the photographer wanted me to look. He couldn’t see John’s right hand, which was behind me, caressing or patting me on the bottom. Naughty naughty boy. Photographs were very expansive back then as well, so I think I only have about a dozen. And, no one ever brought their own camera to the church or reception, so there aren’t even any snapshots. I treasure the ones I do have.

          Finally, we’re married and after the expected kiss, we headed down the aisle and down to the church basement for the reception. We stood in line and greeted our family and friends, then cut the wedding cake. I changed into the hot pink suit I’d purchased to wear as we left the church. But, we weren’t done quite yet. My one aunt was horrified we didn’t have a camera. She would loan us hers if we could stop by her house. She was also hosting a little family get together once they left the church.

          We drove to my aunt’s house in Ballard and once there my other aunt began giving us a hard time about just how soon we were going to consummate our marriage. I don’t think she knew we were already living together. In any case, her many teasing comments annoyed the hell out of John. He told her we were driving to Portland Oregon that night and we’d call when we got there.

          Next up…our honeymoon!!!

WE'RE ENGAGED AND MORE

          Yesterday, I went back through my blog posts and decided I’d spend some time writing about happy stuff with John. It seems I left off after he’d asked me to marry him, i.e., he was saving pennies for rings.

          It was September 1966 when he wanted to know what I planned to do on Saturday. Well, my family was moving and I had to find a place to live. He wondered if it would take me all day; and when I asked why, he responded that he thought we’d go look at rings.

          His mother had always told him that when he found THE girl, she’d give him her diamond solitaire engagement ring. We were at his house that Friday night and his mother took her ring off and tossed it across the room to him. To this day I know she wasn’t happy about that because when he’d told her a month or so before that we were getting married, she laughed and laughed until she realized he was serious. She never liked me, nor would she have liked any woman John married, but that’s another story.

          So, Saturday morning John took me downtown to Rivkin’s Jewelers. He wanted a wedding set that would hold two matching stones, the one from his mom and one from him. The jeweler didn’t have anything like that but showed us a ring in the shape of an

orchid. The larger part of the orchid could hold his mother’s diamond with a smaller one in the other part of the orchid or vice versa. It was an antique gold setting and I LOVED it!!! We also picked out a wedding band for John for which I paid.

          The rings were ordered, and I could hardly wait until my birthday in November which is when John said he would give it to me. I’ve said previously he was a romantic and once he had the ring, he couldn’t wait. My habit was to get ready for bed before he made his nightly call after he got off work. Then, I could go to bed and go to sleep to dream of him.

          There I was in my pjs and a robe, no make-up, my hair all done up in huge rollers when he knocked on the door instead of calling. He wanted me to come out to his car for just a minute. I went, wondering what the heck was going on. In the car, he pulled the ring box out of his pocket and placed the engagement ring on my finger. I was beyond thrilled. A few kisses and I went inside to bed after showing my family my ring, and John went home.

          Now, I thought once I had my engagement ring, I’d be flashing my left hand around, pushing it into everyone’s faces. But suddenly I was shy. I couldn’t really bring myself to shout out, “Hey, look what I’ve got.” Instead, I became very left-handed and absolutely loved, loved, loved showing that gorgeous ring to everyone. 

          Now, I wasn’t supposed to get anything for Christmas that year that cost more than $1.00, including tax. The wedding set had taken all John’s money, so he was broke. That was perfectly fine with me. He could give me penny candy for all I cared. I had his ring, I had him, we were going to be married the following August, so what did I care about an inexpensive Christmas gift. Well, on Christmas morning, he gave me a long slender box, wrapped in shiny green paper. I opened it to find a box from Rivkin’s Jewelers and inside a watch. The band was made of individually crafted roses in antique gold. I looked at that lovely piece of jewelry and said, the first thing that popped into my head, i.e., “This only cost $1.00, including tax?”

          The band was too large for my small wrist, so John had one of the roses removed and a safety chain attached. He also told me he wanted to put a diamond in the center of each rose on every wedding anniversary. I was so touched, but told him I wanted to wear the watch, not have to leave it in a safe. The watch came back and I wore it proudly for decades. I took the rose they’d removed and had a tie tac and cufflinks made in antique gold to match. They were John’s wedding gift from me.

          I never grew tired of my wedding set. I still love it as much today, maybe even more, than when I first received it that October evening. I don’t wear it as much as I used to because I’m older now and my knuckles swell. It started out as a 4.75 size, and I know we had it made larger when the anniversary band was added (another post). If I’m going to keep wearing it, it could probably stand to be enlarged again.

          I never grew tired of my watch either. I wore it on a daily basis until the year 2000. That’s the year I was treated for breast cancer. I gained 20 pounds, and apparently some of that weight went to my wrists because eventually, I could barely close the latch and it was so tight it hurt. Now, I wear a Fitbit and it tells me the time when I need to know.

          John was very generous and giving. I hope he knew and realized how much I loved and appreciated those two gifts, not only in 1966 when received, but for all the years that followed. I do so wish I could tell him so today.

          Finally, may I suggest to anyone out there who still has his/her spouse that you take the time to reflect on what s/he has given/provided and tell them how much you love the gift, the time, or whatever you really appreciate about him or her…don’t do as I did and wait until it’s too late. I hate feeling sorry.

8/13/1966

MOVING ON UP

         Feeling so much better this afternoon (Saturday) since I managed to get help to figure out why the IRS didn’t like my return. Apparently there’s some kind of glitch in the system because it told me the net income for John (no mention of me) in 2018 was incorrect. Well, excuse me, but that’s the number from the 2018 return. The Turbo Tax lady told me that for some reason when a spouse had died last year, this is what happens. So, I can’t file online, I have to print and take it to the post office. She also suggested I send it certified mail so I know it’s arrived. That will happen first thing Monday morning.

          Then, I moved on to the property tax reduction request and what a PIA that was to complete. For some reason, my scanner will only do one page at a time, so I had to import 16 pages into the document. And, yes, I could have imported my tax return, but you’re supposed to black out your SS number. It shows you how, but I couldn’t get it to work for me. So, I had to scan my tax papers as well.

          So, I’ve been singing Halleluiah for the last couple of hours. Now, all I can do is wait and hope that both the IRS and the property tax assessor will be happy with my submissions. If not, then I’ll have to try again. And, if it does go well, supposedly I can file for property tax reduction for previous years, but I’ll only look into that if this goes through without a glitch (pray for me!!!!).

          Then, since it wasn’t raining, I went outside and cleaned up after my dogs. Then, I brought all the bird feeders into the house. Well, I brought them in after I emptied all the rotten seed into the yard waste can. I don’t understand how some of the feeders don’t allow the seed to get wet and others do. I have covers for them, but apparently those don’t always work either. The bird feeders are now in the dishwasher getting a good bath. For today, the birds will have to either eat suet (I had a downy woodpecker on there this morning) or eat seed I put on the ground (big Stellar’s jay out there right now). I love this space and the ability to look out into the garden and see all the activity.

          The downturn that began on Thursday appears to be turning up. It’s not that I got up this morning and CHOSE to have a better day. I got up determined to get the taxes taken care of…and I did. Over the last couple of days though, I’ve thought about how I felt and decided what I really wanted was someone to take care of me. I've been taking care of people since I was 12 years old and really like the idea of someone taking care of me. I know that’s not going to happen (unless I become ill or have dementia), but the idea of having someone who would come in and take care of absolutely everything sounded (sounds) pretty wonderful. I’d just lean back with a bunch of books while whoever that person might be would do the shopping, cooking, cleaning, bed changing, exercising…just every single thing that I have to do now.

          I know, it sounds as though what I want is to be put into some kind of home, but not really. It also sounds as though I should think about another cruise. I didn’t have to do anything on the ship…just play and read and visit without a single responsibility aside from getting myself to my own room at the end of the day. Yep, I’m going to have to mull that over…it could be a definite possibility if the IRS and the assessor like my submissions and provide me with some money.

GRIEVING...DAY TWO???

          I’m sure you’re just dying for a report on how my day went yesterday (and, even if you're not, pretend). First, I went to Costco and my left hearing aid was adjusted while the right one has been sent in for repair…Karma managed to bite each of them last fall when I was temporarily out of my mind and stupid enough to leave them on the table after she ate my previous pair. So, I’m hearing on the left side, but not so much on the right.

          My exercise class was cancelled because the senior center was closed for today and all next week for a deep disinfecting. My comment on that has to do with the fact that no one had the coronavirus there; and, once it’s disinfected, all it will take is one…that’s ONE…person with a coronavirus germ to come in and touch something to expose us all again. Okay, I guess that’s better safe than sorry, but I was just getting into the swing of things after being gone for a couple of weeks.

          I did meet one of my two friends at Bongos (the other one was ill, hopefully not coronavirus) and we had a wonderful lunch. I had a pineapple hard cider, but wouldn’t order it again. I ordered a sandwich for lunch and a plate to go for dinner, plus an order of plantains for dessert.

          Okay, I know you’re wondering about the food I ordered yesterday. I did have the quiche before I went to bed. The German chocolate cake is still waiting in the fridge as is the Jamaican chicken, beans and rice I ordered today. I’ve a feeling I have enough food for dinner for today and tomorrow both.

          Once lunch was over and my friend and I said our farewells, I planned to come home and work on the taxes, but once here, I didn’t want to. The laundry was folded all over the dining room table and chairs…and still is…and I just didn’t want to deal with anything. So, I got myself some water, the book I was reading yesterday and went to the couch with the doggies. I didn’t end up sleeping, or dozing, the afternoon away, but it was close. Instead I read, but I’m sure if you asked me, I wouldn’t necessarily be able to tell you the name of the book, author, or storyline.

          Now, it’s getting into the evening, about 7:00 pm,  and I’m sure I’ll be heading for my bed before long. I checked my fitbit and last night, I slept for more than nine hours…that’s after “dozing” for almost two hours in the afternoon. I guess I’m a bit depressed or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. So, the extra sleep, dozing, etc., is probably good for me even though it annoys the hell out of me.

          Tomorrow is a new day, and I’ve already promised myself I’ll get up and deal with the income and property taxes as well as put away the laundry, and figure out what else I need to take care of since I’ve had a two-day pity party. And, okay, it wasn’t really a pity party, but maybe just some down time I needed. I am reminding myself that I need to be kind to me, myself and I. Still, some days that reminder doesn’t do much at all for me, myself and I. Instead, we huddle together and wait for a better day…that will be tomorrow, I promise me, myself and I.