Even Me

On What Not to Wear, a women had tears in her eyes after seeing her “new” self, admitting she really was important enough to deserve this, to look and feel amazing.  I didn’t ask, do I deserve this, being alone as a result of my husband’s death, because I know for sure that isn’t the case.  Instead I ask, is that what’s holding me back and stealing my joy, that I believe I’m NOT worthy enough to deserve to feel good about myself?  To feel not important, not worthy is like living in the rain – dripping hair, soggy clothes, standing in the mud, uncomfortable.  Am I moving on, something I need to do to keep living, or just sort of, by staying attached to the  bungee cord of his death, ready to get reeled in if I get too far away?  Do I think about social expectations of what a widow is, what she does and doesn’t do?   Am I staying needy, comforted by the care and concern I receive from other?  Wouldn’t their admiration of the strength it takes to change and find happiness be even better?  Alone or not, everyone deserves to feel good about themselves. Even me.

Not Gluten Free

Gluten is the glue that allows baked goods, made with wheat flour, to hold together, be light and fluffy, not crumbly.  The first gluten-free pie crust I ever made looked like a lunar landscape, patched together because it fell apart when I picked it up.  The second one came out better with less patches, and the third cracked, but didn’t break, only some squishing required.  When there’s no gluten, lots of other additives are needed, like eggs and xanthan gum (yikes!), to make the dough stick the best it can.  Marriage can’t be totally gluten free because it’s something that should stick together fairly easily.  Love is the gluten that keeps it from falling apart.  But marriages have didn’t amounts of gluten.  When there’s less than 100%, which means not perfect, other ingredients are needed, like similar goals and the I-like-you factor; and maybe patches, like forgiveness, and squishing, like date night, to fortify the glue.  My marriage wasn’t perfect, but there was always love, mostly like, similar hobbies, and friendship; the portions changing over time, creating the right amount of sticky.  It sometimes needed patches and squishing, but a pie crust doesn’t have to be prefect to work perfectly. (See gluten free pie crust recipe on the Recipes Page)

Your Face

I had the music going yesterday while cleaning the kitchen.  “The first time ever I saw your face, . . .”  Immediate tears, immediate love bubbling up, needing to find release.  The first time created an instant desire to want to love him and be loved by him.  A handsome, gentle, sensitive, young man, already with amazing life experiences, just starting to discover how to fulfill his dreams of what he could be.  I remember his face throughout our 37 years together.  In the 70’s with tears of joy when I walked down the aisle and holding our son for the first time.  In the 80’s with pride at forestry school graduation, holding our baby daughter, and buying our first home, and in the 90’s at our son’s high school and college graduations.  Then our daughter’s high school and college graduations, their weddings, and adventures in Utah and Alaska.  The joyful face is the one I remember.  He had more than his fair share of trials but he never let them result in an unhappy face for long.  I don’t remember the very last few times I saw his face because there’s no need.  My continual joy in his joys is what matters.

My Own

Cleaning up the yard yesterday triggered lots of memories of making my new home and yard my own.  I remember building shelves, stripping radiators, and creating the rock bank.  I remember living.  I thought about the more than a year I spent in my previous house after my husband died and came up with only a few memories.  Tears, when plowing the driveway or mowing the lawn, and trying to split wood with a splitting maul I could barely pick up.  I must have engaged in everyday activities like cooking, but I don’t remember, and remembering is the difference between just existing and really living.  I don’t remember packing, just moving, bringing me to a place where I could create a new life.  It was a great step to take, but not everyone can pack up and move.  What happens if you can’t?  I don’t know for sure, but I think I would have changed where we lived as much as possible – switched bedrooms and rearranged rooms.  Maybe add a pet to love and care for; making as many things as possible my own, instead of ours. Change me would have happened anywhere but changing my surroundings helped a lot.

Nothing Better Hide

Is it human nature in general or just my nature that makes me take notice, first and foremost, of all the bad?  I keep track, react, overreact, remember, tell my friends, and complain.  Seems like the bad stuff floats around at eye level while all the good collects in the corners or hides under the furniture, not in my line of sight so I have to really look.  Is that where the bad stuff is supposed to live or am I allowing it to?  I’m sure good stuff in general  happens all the time but I rarely take notice.  And if I do notice, I don’t keep track, seldom react, rarely overreact, fail to remember, don’t tell my friends, and don’t complain.  I can’t list all the good at the end of the day, I rarely smile or laugh out loud upon an occurrence, they leave my memory faster than they arrive, and I don’t say, hey you wouldn’t believe all the great things that happened to me today or stop already, I’m on good overload.  All things good, first and foremost, more challenging and better than bring it on, making nothing want to hide and letting the good rise.

Defeating Nothing

So after the first nothing yesterday, I said, so what, you’ll find an even better solution.  Then I bumped the outside of my knee on the coffee table so I came up with, at least I didn’t bump the already painful inside.  Then there was the war with the sewing machine.  I wouldn’t use the words, with peace and serenity, but with persistent determination, I won the battle.  My positive attitude hasn’t prevented bad stuff from happening, but provided a means to hold back defeat and anger.  It would be great if everything that happened during my day went smooth.  I’ll even say it would be great if some things went smooth, but many or some, they won’t matter if I can fight back with all things good, squashing each one like a bug before they’re able to form a team determined to defeat me.  I’ve been allowing them to quickly take sides against me, but today I started building a team of my own with statements that start with, well at least, or sarcastic ones like, so what, big deal.  It might be a while before I can say, bring it on, but what a challenge that would be!

Defeated by Nothing

Yesterday was a day jam packed with clumsiness, mess ups, and stupid stuff happening.  I had the same issue with my sewing machine multiple times, dropped clothespins and clothes while hanging them on the line, dropped food several times on the floor, repeatedly going back upstairs because I forgot what I needed!  Yikes, I must radiate really bad juju for this to keep happening to me!  I realized I was keeping track of all the stuff going wrong and reprimanded myself, but I just kept doing it.  I’m taking all these incidents as personal affronts, a punishment maybe, but for what I don’t know.  Maybe they’re messing with my patience, something I fail at miserably, taunting me and enjoying their success.  Maybe it has nothing to do with me personally, just lots of little random occurrences, not a result of anything I’ve done or not done, lots of little nothings, but held together making them way more than nothing.  As one more thing went wrong last night, I thought, if you’re going to keep track, why not drop and kick each one out of the way by thinking of something good.  I’ll try that today, not letting nothing defeat me.

Distant Me

To get closer still, I have to take a look at me.  My insides.  Not the parts under my skin.  I still have all of those, and in the right places; parts that are the same as everyone else.  I’m talking about the parts that make me, me and not you.  Self-examination, yuck!  Any kind of examination is terrible, but examining myself?  No thanks.  For some things I’m my worst critic.  I have empathy for my friends when they struggle, but not for me.  I don’t want to search, because if I find something that shouldn’t be there or missing, I just might have to fix it.  What would I do about adding  patience, preventing anger from rising so quickly, figuring out how to replace goodies as my reward, my unhappy fix?  These are some of the issues I’m aware of; should be fixed but I’m used to living with them, sometimes referred to as baggage.  It’s commonly known that baggage gets heavier and heavier the longer it’s carried around, so over time I’ve distanced myself from these issues, tossing them into my tolerable-life-patterns U-Haul, so no touching, no examination required.  Shorten the distance, address my issues, make a difference.

Distant People

There’s people I know (Facebook Friends) and people I’m close to (Plain Old Friends).  It’s communicating through social media verses physically close enough to touch someone.  After knowing how much it means for my friends to ask and really what to know how I am, I’ve started asking what’s going on with you and suggesting ways I can help.  When I see them (best) or over the phone (second best) I’ll ask, how are you and after the automatic standard answer of good, are you really good, or just saying so?  What’s going on in your life?  Are you happy?  I really want to know, so don’t feel bad about being unhappy about the same stuff over and over.  It takes time to find a long-term solution to unhappy.  Maybe we can come up with a solution together, and if not, how about a hug?  For me, when there’s things I’m not ready to talk about, just knowing someone’s thinking about me is huge.  Why wouldn’t it be the same for my friends?  A quick text message or e-mail to just say thinking of you lets them know I’m still here.  Shorten the distance, touch a life, make a difference.

Distant World

Bette Midler’s song From A Distance explains how seeing from a great distance creates a false view of the world.  By not shortening the distance I miss social, environmental, and other world issues.  Without stepping in closer I can miss what’s going on in someone’s life, and even closer still, missing what’s going on in my own life.  Taking a closer look results in one of two actions.  The easy one is ignore, pretend I didn’t notice, convince myself it’ll take care of itself or someone else will fix it.  The hard one is doing something about it.  After making a one-time donation to St. Labre Indian School in Montana, and starting to receive information about the needs of the children, I decided to continue supporting the school. The latest request for support was to purchase a milk ticket for one of the students.  I asked my grandson if buying one would be a good idea.  He said, we should buy one for all the kids!  Financial support is great, but there’s also volunteering, becoming a foster parent or mentor, or donating all the unwanted, still usable stuff accumulating in your basement. Shorten the distance; get involved, make a difference.