MORE MEMORIES

         If our children read Saturday’s post, I’m sure they’re shaking their heads and saying, TMI, TMI, TMI, mom. That’s unfortunate, but it’s a fact John and I had sex before and after our children entered our lives. How else did they come to be if not. In fact, since there’s 10 years between the two, John and I had to practice a lot before Thor came to be.

More memories have surfaced since I wrote Saturday’s post. I remember John chasing me around and us ending up on the bed in our room. AJ would come to see what was going on and John would tell him we were wrestling. Of course, AJ would then want to join in and we welcomed him on to the bed. I believe we did the same kind of thing with Thor. And, don’t be misled here, we weren’t actually having sex, just having fun with our clothes on.

Then, there’s the memories of being together in my apartment. The long weekends…only two days, but they seemed so very long then. John would spend Friday night, we’d have breakfast and go back to bed. If we didn’t go to bed, the apartment came with a very comfortable sofa. I cannot remember how many weekends we spent on that couch under a blanket wrapped around each other.

That kind of weekend probably wouldn’t happen today because there’s television, smart phones and computers. Back then, in the dark ages, unless we listened to the radio which was just music, the only other option was to read. We had absolutely nothing to distract us from each other.

When I met John, he was driving a red Pontiac convertible. After we’d been dating a month, he put it in the garage so he could change out the rings or whatever. During the months…yes, months…it took to rehabilitate the Pontiac, he drove a 1951 Chevy coupe. One day we were having an argument about something. I was sitting on my side of the car instead of next to him (no seatbelts then either) when he got on the freeway at 45^th to go to Northgate to a friend’s house. When the car got up to speed, the hood suddenly flew up and smashed the window…it hadn’t been secured. Scared the crap out of both of us and we had glass pieces all over us. The laughter from being scared took care of whatever the argument was about.

That Chevy also had three bullet holes in the back window. John made up some story about getting shot at, about having a gun under the driver’s seat (he probably did), and I believed him, hook, line and sinker. Those bullet holes were actually decals. John even told me at one point that when he said, “Honestly.”, he was seriously telling the truth…another falsehood. Still, the stories he made up were, for the most part, entertaining.

The Pontiac hit the road by summer that year. This was back when people went out for Sunday drives (I miss those too.). We had such fun, and got sunburned, taking our Saturday and Sunday drives around Seattle and environs in that convertible . I remember John driving through Seward Park and Alki Beach. In fact, a few weeks before John died, we took a drive so we could go through the new tunnel on Hiway 99 (what a disappointment). We decided we’d just keep driving and crossed the bridge to go to Alki. WOW, it had been a couple of decades since we’d made that jaunt and neither of us could believe how much that area has been developed.

I was driving and made my way down what I think was Beach Drive. It was sunny and there were lots of people hanging out, plus there was some kind of an event happening on the beach. When I got around the corner, I expected the road to stop, because that’s what it had done the last time we’d been there. Now, the road continues and it’s a good thing John knows Seattle, because I had no idea which way I should go or where I was when we made it to Fauntleroy Way. I would have had to turn around and go back the way I came.

There are so many places we traveled on our drives. Even though the suburbs and towns like Monroe, Snohomish, Sedro Wolley, have grown and changed, when I drive those roads, there’s always something that I see that reminds me of a drive John and I took together. Even when a particular monument has disappeared, I still recognize the area.

I guess it shouldn’t surprise me since we spent so many years together, but at times it does. I’ll see something new or something gone and want to talk to John about it. There’s the new roundabout on 10^th Northeast, all the new apartment buildings going up on 155^th Street…so many changes I’ll not be sharing with him today or in the future. Still, as I stated in Saturday’s post, I have the memories.

A SPECIAL AFTERNOON

         Friday was a very special day. Twice before I’ve had a single person come visit and we’ve kept our distance on the deck. On Friday, my two bestest friends came to visit. We each separately ordered and paid for food from Briley’s BBQ. Claudia picked it up on her way here.

          After Friday morning’s walk, I picked up the house a bit, sanitized some areas (bathroom) and then moved to the deck. Earlier this week, I had cleaned the deck, so it looked terrific. Only the table looked horrible. It was covered with pollen and dust. I sprayed and cleaned and sprayed and cleaned until it sparkled…well, not exactly since I couldn’t clean the underside of the glass, but it was clean on top.

          All by myself, I moved the table to where I wanted it on the deck. Then I moved the really heavy umbrella stand beneath. Finally, I took the umbrella out of its cover and managed to slot it into the hole without breaking the glass. Sometimes I amaze myself.

          Then, I placed three chairs around the table at a distance from each other. The one on the end would be for Maryanne since she loves to be in the sun. I have to be in the shade, and Claudia’s shaved her head, so she needed shade as well. At various times both Claudia and I moved, keeping our distance, to stay out of direct sunlight.

          Our lunches were delicious. I think we all had pork in some form. I had collard greens and they had French fries. Claudia had her single beer, Maryanne brought ice tea and had a refill out of my fridge. I had an iced coffee and water.

          Even better than the food though, was the company. To be able to sit together after such a long time talking about this and that, contemplate solving the world’s problems, bringing each other up to date on our family members, remembering previous times and other folks we know and sharing laughter. It felt so good and so right.

          Being able to do this Friday was, at least for me, like getting a shot of happiness. I’ve missed those women. Sure, we’ve talked, texted and emailed, but there’s nothing like being able to see each other’s faces, watch our mouths widen in smiles, and open with laughter.  Hopefully, we’ll be able to do this again…and maybe expand our group to include more women whom I miss as well.

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES!!!

Yesterday’s post had to do with hugs and skin to skin contact. It made me think about my physical relationship with John. And, in some previous post, I believe I intimated I would write about my sex life with him. This may be that post. John and I were both extremely fortunate that we both liked making love, having sex A LOT!!! In fact, you’ve undoubtedly read about our instant attraction to each other. That’s something that never went completely away throughout our entire relationship.

I remember as if it were yesterday (and I wish it was), kissing and kissing and kissing and wanting to get as close as I possibly could to John. I don’t think I am the least bit mistaken, but I believe he felt exactly the same way.

Neither one of us had a vast amount of experience in the making love department. Our first time together was two weeks to the day after we met. (I was such a slut, but just for John.) It was at his house, in his bed because I lived with my parents. His mom wasn’t home. Our making love didn’t start out with shooting stars, the earth shaking, or any of those descriptions you read about in those romance novels. It was good, but it definitely wasn’t perfect. I believe the first time is never that way. I think you have to get to know each other and each other’s bodies for it to even begin approaching perfect, i.e.,  simultaneous orgasms and the aftermath of those.

The getting to know is really fun and takes a lot of practice…practice in which we were happy and eager to engage. We practiced on blankets in a number of Seattle’s public parks. I remember one night at Lincoln Park we crawled beneath a tree with branches down to the ground that was adjacent the pathway. It was all we could do to be silent and not laugh uproariously when people went by…especially after our practice was complete. We practiced at John’s house when his mother was gone. We practiced in his car…Lord, but we were lithe and limber back in those days. We practiced at my house on the rare occasions the entire family went off somewhere. Now and then, John even sprung for a night in a motel…that was the best because we could wake up together!!!

I know there are undoubtedly women in the world who have never had an orgasm. I know there are women in the world who do not like sex. I am so incredibly thankful I am not one of them. I also feel very sorry these women are missing out on the very best a relationship has to offer when it comes to physical activity (in my opinion). And, yes, there are other best parts…love, comfort, companionship…but for John and I, it was our wonderful physical relationship that carried us through hard times in our marriage.

We never had a copy of One Thousand and One Arabian Nights or the Kama Sutra, but were I to obtain a copy of one or the other or both, I’m sure there wouldn’t be many examples in there of what we didn’t try. Nothing was out of bounds in our efforts to please each other. And, the best of times was after making love, after orgasming together, when we’d lay there and giggle and laugh for no reason other than we felt so incredible. Just typing that brought a smile to my face…those times were amazing and fortunately for the two of us frequent.

Of course, there were instances when I wasn’t exactly eager but participated anyway, just for the closeness. It wasn’t perfect with synchronized orgasms every single time we made love, but it was an important part of our lives. I miss it a lot.

Even before John died, our sex life had diminished. Illness and medications have an effect on the human body and so it was with us. There was also the fact our relationship wasn’t the best it could have been, and that had an effect as well. Feeling as I do now, I seriously wish I could go back for a do-over. Damn the medication effects, we could still have great sex, maybe not the way we had 10 or 20 years before, but it was satisfying. I’d say yes and be the aggressor a lot more often than I did during those years. I think that old saying about not missing something until it’s gone is very true.

When I think about making love, our sex life today, I’m of two minds. I am so very thankful I had this wonderful man who knew my body so well, and was so eager to please, he could bring me to orgasm almost every single time. It was the absolute best and I’m grateful for all those wonderful memories, especially the laughter and closeness, of how we were together. I will always have those to succor me.

The comfort from those memories is double-edged however. They make me feel good, but they also make me feel bad because I miss John, I miss making love, the closeness, lying beside him after, going to sleep in his arms. I wonder sometimes if our sexual relationship had been more ho-hum, more of a duty on my part, more of a wham-bam, thank you mam on his part if I’d be feeling this way today.

But it wasn’t and I do miss John, his smile, laughter, kisses, his hands on my body, his voice in my ear, my hands on him, the completeness of our relationship in our bed together. I am extraordinarily thankful our attraction and desire for each other lasted for so many decades.

Typing that last paragraph, the words to that old Bob Hope song, leaped into my head…”Thanks For the Memories.”  I do indeed thank John for creating so many wonderful memories with me, and not just about making love, but memories from our entire lives. I am forever exceedingly grateful for each and every one.

SKIN AND HUGS

When I woke up this morning, I didn’t want to get out of bed. I wanted to stay there and let the world go on without me. I didn’t feel as though I could manage one more day all alone except for the doggies. I didn’t feel as though I could go through one more day without feeling the skin of another person. But this is my life now, so I got up. 

When I worked at the University of Washington, I was allowed to take one class free each semester if my boss agreed. I took English classes. In one of the classes, the instructor had us read an article that talked about the importance of skin. I’ve never forgotten it. I may even have already blogged about it, but it’s at the forefront of my mind today.

What the article talked about was how when we are babies and children, we get lots of skin from our parents and other people. When we grow up and fall in love (and lust), we still have lots of skin to skin contact. We have children, and the cycle repeats until the children grow up. Then, unless we are extremely lucky, our daily skin to skin contact becomes less and less.

Not too long ago, I read another article about the importance of hugs. It stated that to be very healthy an individual needed at least 12 (that’s TWELVE) hugs each and every day. It’s been forever since I was able to receive and/or give 12 hugs each day.

Now, with the pandemic, there is absolutely no skin to skin contact, even with my own children or grandchildren. There are no hugs or pats from my friends. It’s all virtual or air hugs and air kisses. To be perfectly honest, IT SUCKS!!!

I have no idea how it would have been if John were still here with me. Perhaps the pandemic would have been really good for our relationship. Perhaps we would have reached out to each other for the skin to skin contact, the 12 hugs we needed every day. I have no idea, but I like to think we would have worked harder at our relationship since it was just the two of us in it together.

There is a degree of envy on my part for my friends and family who have their husbands or wives and children. They do not have to stay six feet apart. They can hug and have as much skin to skin contact as they want. And, in my opinion as a lonely widow, if they aren’t taking advantage of this opportunity to become closer and feed the need for skin, they definitely need to begin working on that.

There is absolutely a part of me that wishes and wants John to be here with me now. I need him now. There is another part that’s grateful he is not here. If he were, he would have ended up in the hospital alone and most likely contracted the coronavirus and died…alone. I’m forever grateful that won’t happen.  

Having Karma and Kaizer does help some. I love the feel of their warm bodies as they lay on me when I’m on the couch. If my bed were bigger, I’d probably have them sleep with me. It’s also good I have them because it means I absolutely have to get out of bed. However, they definitely do not take the place of human skin to skin contact. Today, I miss so much, way more than any words I could use to express, the lack of and loss of skin to skin contact.

For those of you who still have that available…TAKE ADVANTAGE NOW!!! 

FINGERNAILS

We are all born with fingernails. When I was a child, I bit my nails. When I was about 12 years old, my mom had a friend who also babysat us kids now and then. Her fingernails were long and red and beautiful. I loved them. I was envious. She told me if I stopped biting my fingernails, she would show me how to do mine and eventually they would be long and beautiful too.

I did. I stopped biting and she kept her promise. She taught me how to push back the cuticles, file my nails and apply polish. For the next 38 years, every Sunday night I would spend two hours preparing my nails for the coming week. 

In high school, my first two semesters of typing class were taught by a man and he didn’t care how long my fingernails were as long as I passed the tests and moved forward. For my third and final semester, I had this old woman. At the beginning of the first class, she came around and told those of us with fingernails to cut them. I ignored her. Finally, she told me on a Friday if she could see my nails over the end of my fingers on Monday, I would get an automatic fail for the semester.

I went home and whined and carried on to my parents. I don’t believe either of them finished high school. To them, teachers were Gods and I should obey what this woman said. If either of my sons had been given some form of ultimatum having to do with their appearance, I would have been at the school the following day to talk about their rights as individuals to shave their heads, pierce their ears or paint their nails. 

So, Sunday night, I removed the polish and cut my nails back as far as possible. The old bat checked them first thing on Monday. From that point forward, I couldn’t type…I. Just. Could. Not. Type. I failed every single typing test. I was going to fail the class even though I’d cut my nails off. To give that woman her due, she did let me retake the typing tests once my nails grew back. I did pass the class. Eventually, during my career, I believe I typed well over 120 words a minute and still type really fast.

When I turned 50, my body changed in some way. I’d do my nails on Sunday evening and by Tuesday, there would be two to four nails that had broken, peeled or looked horrible. I didn’t want to spend any more time fixing my nails. That’s when my future daughter-in-law introduced me to acrylic nails. Oh. My. God!!! I couldn’t believe how wonderful they were.

For $15, I could go every two weeks and have my nails done…even at three weeks, they still looked good. I found a woman I liked and went to her for years. She moved her salon and I moved with her. One day when I went in for my fill (that’s where they add acrylic at the base of the nail), she wasn’t there. Instead, there was a man (Peter), his wife (Chi) and their three-year-old daughter (Emily). They would do for me they said…and they did.

Their salon was the cleanest and tidiest salon I have ever patronized. I went to them for more than 13 years. Peter did my fingers and Chi did my toes. Emily kept me company when I my fingernails dried under the light. We exchanged gifts at Christmas. I watched Emily grow up into a very smart and pretty young woman who is now attending the University of Washington. I always remembered her birthday because my granddaughter was exactly 11 months younger than Emily. For one month they were the same age. They also knew Haley because on our annual special event...The Nutcracker...I'd take Haley in for a manicure.

The time came where they needed to change their lives around. Peter got a job with the Shoreline School District. Chi could not run the salon by herself, so they sold it. I surely missed having them in my life, but we've stayed in touch which is how I know what Emily is doing.

When I retired, I had Peter remove the acrylics. I was going to go au natural. I tried, believe me I tried, but I simply cannot do stuff without fingernails. Even after enough time had passed for the acrylic damage to wear off, my nails were as they’d become at 50…thin, brittle, peeling. So, back to Peter I went.

When they sold their salon, I tried the new owner, but she did a horrible job on my nails. I didn’t go back. I tried another salon where the owner did a nice job on my nails, but I ended up getting toenail fungus from getting pedicures. Let me tell you that fungus isn’t the least bit fun. I ended up going to a podiatrist and applying a drop of medication to my big toes every night. The medication is expensive and it took well over two, almost three years for my toes to grow back normal. I do my own toes now.

My daughter-in-law continued to get her nails done during this time. We never went to the same salon, so I asked her where she went. Tried it, didn’t like it. She mentioned her coworkers went to a place in Mountlake Terrace. I looked up nail salons and there were three. I chose one and went in. Than is, without compare, the best nail person I’ve ever had. My nails are thin, look completely natural and gorgeous when she does them. She went back to Vietnam for three weeks and I had to go someplace else while she was gone. I tried one of the other salons near her…nope a really bad job.

This brings me to the whole point of this post. It’s been almost three months since I last saw Than. My nails have grown. I’ve filed them back to a reasonable length several times. Now, four of what’s left of the acrylic nails have come off. I have no nails on those fingers. Wouldn’t you know it’s my right thumb, index and middle fingers and the index on the left. I keep trying to pick up stuff with those fingers, but I cannot grasp anything. It’s infuriating. I cannot feel that they’re gone, so I keep trying to grasp whatever it is and the item appears to be glued in place.

Finally, my hands are just plain ugly. People have always commented on what nice hands, nice manicures, etc., I’ve had. They certainly wouldn’t do that now. I’ve seen nothing about when the nail salons can re-open. I have no idea if Than will even be able to reopen her salon. If she cannot, then I’ll need to search out someone again. Or, at my age, does it really matter if my hands look great? Probably not. Surely, I can learn how to do stuff without long fingernails…lots of people do. I guess you could say it’s my one vanity…I’d like to keep it, please and thank you very much.

PROGRESS...NOT A LOT, BUT SOME

           I’m making some progress with the assistance of my granddaughter and two sons. On Saturday, they all came in the morning and cut up the old dead hot tub and put it into Haley’s truck. It was getting warm, but they then took the time to look at all the crap I’d sorted and put on the table.

Amazingly, the table is fairly clear, but Thor’s garage is not. With the exception of the stuff the boys identified as garbage or metal recycling, Thor took the majority of the boxes and trays of junk home. AJ and Haley did pull out some things they wanted, but not much. They kinda sorted through it, but when the garage is heating up to more than 80 degrees, who wants to look at every single screwdriver, drill bit, wrench, screw and nail. Whatever Thor can’t use or doesn’t want, he’ll donate to a place down the street from where he lives.

We didn’t haul any boxes out of the garage attic because it had to be more than 100 degrees up there. There’ll be another time for that. It’s really kinda funny how I couldn’t do anything in the garage because it was too cold, and now, I’m going to have to plan around it being too hot.

I was very impressed by how Haley and her dad worked so closely together. They almost didn’t need to talk. I guess after all the work Haley has done with her dad on the ’57 Chevy pickup and her own truck, she’s come to intuit what her dad needs or wants. Even more impressive (to me anyway), was her knowledge of the tools being used and what was needed to break out the wood surround once it was cut…she just took her foot and gave it a good kick.

It was also good to see AJ and Thor working together. Sometimes AJ’s idea worked and other times, it was Thor who provided the answer to whatever they were addressing. They got the hot tub to the back-garage door. AJ had measured, but it wasn’t going to fit. Thor took the door off the hinges…AJ was thinking he’d have to undo the hinges. It still didn’t fit, so AJ used his Sawzall to remove what looked like an X of fiberglas on the bottom. It was actually two pieces of wood that had been covered by fiberglas. AJ sawed and Thor used a hammer to pry the wood out. They work well together. It also does my heart a world of wonderfulness to hear them laugh and joke with each other about stuff.

Finally, it fit and they slid it through the garage to Haley’s truck. Then, they had to figure out how to get it in the bed. There was a large board on the side of the house they used to slide the tub up into the truck. Then, all the other bits and pieces were tossed into the hot tub itself. The cover was then placed on top and tied down. AJ and Haley took it off to the dump when they finished looking at the stuff on the table. The way it was situated in Haley’s truck, I’m sure people thought they were getting a new hot tub…and wondered why when it was so hot.

Once again, I really have to laugh at John’s inability to do stuff properly either at home or when he wasn’t getting paid. I cannot remember if one of the boys helped him, but at some point, he put Trex boards under the hot tub. I remember when he had the boys help him put the whole thing on a four-wheeled dolly so he could put the Trex down. I didn’t pay any attention…not my project.

Anyway, once the hot tub was removed Saturday, there is an area in the middle of the Trex that doesn’t have any boards, just the old decking. I don’t know why since I know there are three long pieces of Trex on the side of the house. As per usual, it was good enough for the purpose, no one would see it, and John was done with that project. I told the boys I’d clean up the deck, but I think I may have to have one of them come and cut pieces of Trex to fit in the empty area…or measure it and ask my neighbor Dave to cut it for me.

So, I’m making headway with the crap-fest, but just not as quickly as I’d like. I talked to a woman on Sunday who has been a widow for five years. She understood perfectly how much I’d just like to BE DONE, but encouraged me to take my time and be patient with myself. Good advice I do believe.

JOHN'S SISTER JOINS HIM

          The old guard keeps falling to the wayside. John’s sister, Georgia, passed away Monday morning. I’ve written about Georgia and her husband in previous posts and believe I indicated that for a while there, the brother and sister seemed to be having a race as to who would leave the world first. Depending on how you look at it, John won because he was first, or Georgia won because she was last.

When Gordy called me that afternoon to let me know Georgia was gone, my phone registered her name, not his, and somehow, I managed to hang up while trying to answer. I called back and he answered and I said I was calling Georgia back because she’d just called and I hung up on her. He wasn’t expecting that and it led to tears. I felt very bad. He said he’d left a message on the land line, but I’d been outside all morning and hardly ever check those messages.

I told Gordy how sorry I was, that it wouldn’t matter what I said or did, it really wouldn’t help. I also told him I wasn’t going to say it will get better, because it doesn’t really. Then we chatted about how John and Georgia were probably interacting wherever they are.

          “Ha ha, I got here first,” says John.

“I don’t care. I got to stay longer,” Georgia replies

But beneath all that, I know that John is both sad and happy to see her. I also know Georgia was glad to know he was there and to walk into his open and loving arms.  

I counted up and it’s been one day short of nine months since John died. Gordy got an additional nine months. He got to have her at home, see her every day, and be by her bedside when she passed. He was nine months luckier than me.

For me, though, it’s sad, it hurts, it leaves another huge hole in my life. Sure, it’s all part of life, of living, but, goshdarnit, it doesn’t get any easier. It brought back the pain I’ve spent nine months trying to cure. Still, I can hear John saying, “Sister,” the way he always did when he phoned her. I can see them together, smiling and laughing and talking about us…that does bring a certain amount of comfort to me.