I'm Done With Complaining

I have complained, whined, cried, begged, bargained and denied....for months.  Here's news: it saps your strength and it doesn't work.   Although it is late in the year for resolutions, I vow to complain no more.  

Here's a grab bag of images and quotes from travels more famous than my own to illustrate my point.

“Henceforth I ask not good fortune – I myself am good fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing.

Strong and content, I travel the open road.”

 --- Walt Whitman,  Song of the Open Road

 "Poop, poop!"

--- Kenneth Grahame, Wind in the Willows

I Did It!

My Thoughts on Blogging for the Week

Insight of the Week

Roger and I really used to enjoy home improvement projects.  Every weekend was jam-packed.  Now I realize it wasn’t about the creativity of making a beautiful environment, or the satisfaction of a job well-done; it was just about being together. We were best friends.  We could have been working on a home improvement project, or exploring Mars.  It wouldn’t have made a difference as long as we were together.

Since he died, I’ve gone through the garage and basement as well as every closet and cupboard.  I’ve cleaned, sorted, organized, given away things and re-stored the remains.  I’ve put a new coat of paint on every surface.  I’m exhausted from working so hard and life isn’t getting any better. These organized closets and new wall colors do not bring me joy. I’ve just realized that no matter how hard I work to make our home nice, this frenetic activity is never going to bring him back.  Our home is never going to be “our” home again.  There is nothing I can do to this place to make it feel right.

I have been obsessively filling my time and keeping myself busy so that I wouldn’t have to think about what’s next.  The dawning of this realization has been like Roger kicking me in the butt.  Every hour of effort in perfecting this “home” is time wasted. 

But if I stop working so hard, there is only the vacuum.  Staring into the chasm is probably the most frightening thing I’ve ever done.

Mystery Mail

An extraordinary thing happened on Saturday.  I have no explanation.

A postcard arrived in my mailbox.  The photo was taken by Julia Cameron - an incredibly talented artist/photographer from the mid-19th century.  She was a woman ahead of her time by about a century and a half.

The photo is of her niece, Julia #2 -- Julia Jackson, aka Mrs. Herbert Duckworth, the mother of Virgina Woolf.  This Julia was married early, widowed, remarried, widowed again... and was often described as a woman of strength and grace.  Virginia Woolf used her as model for characters in several of her novels (Notably: To the Lighthouse and Mrs Dalloway) and described her as "searching, sensitive and ever-suspended in thought."  This portrait seems to bear that out.

The postcard is addressed to a 3rd Julia -- at my address, but with no last name to help identify the addressee.  The postman penciled a question mark on it and put it in my mailbox.  I suppose he thought if any Julia had ever lived here, I would know her or know of her.  No Julia has ever lived at this address.  I checked.

The handwritten message on the back of the postcard says:

"Julia,
     Do you ever think about your 5 year plan/life/future?  I think about it, and now all the time I'm just worried.  Worried and regretful, wringing my hands every day about yesterday.  Look at this woman.  Do you think she is worried?  She seems to ache a bit for something.  But she is very beautiful and dignified.  I try to take a lesson from her and even when I ache carry a dignity and grace.  I used to save my nicest cloths (sic) for some special day.  Now I wear them. I must make the special day today."

Such an unusual message to put on a post-card; so full of existential angst!  There is no sender's signature.  It is postmarked from New Orleans.

It's addressed to someone named Julia, so it's not meant for me.  Is it?

Summer Storm

  

We had a thunder storm in Missoula last week.  It helped cool down unbearably hot temperatures and then ended as fast as it had begun.  It was just the right amount of time for a summer storm; all in all, just enough to be refreshing.

I had a little storm of my own one day last week, but it was wasn't exactly refreshing, in fact, just the opposite.  I ran into 4 people -- not in a group, but 4 individual encounters with people that did not know Roger had passed away.  I had to retell the story 4 times.  I thought I was doing okay, but noticed at my pilates class that afternoon that I hardly had the energy to move, much less exercise.  I felt very blue, but still didn't make the connection between recounting the story of Roger's illness and death and my weepiness.  When I got home, hot, tired, hungry and stressed, I felt compelled to change the blade in the x-acto knife so that I could do some stupid little chore that did not really need to be done at that moment.  Sometimes I can feel an accident about to happen, and yet... I just let myself proceed into it.  Yup, you guessed it, the inevitable happened.  After dripping blood all over the kitchen and wrapping my thumb in a big wad of paper towels, I drove myself to urgent care, steering with one hand, and feeling like quite the fool.  While this was happening (in slow motion), I caught myself more or less cursing Roger for not being there.  He wouldn't have let me be careless with a box cutter.  He would have driven me to urgent care.  He would have taken care of me.

Okay, so Roger's not here.  He can't prevent me from hurting myself if I am going to behave stupidly.  He can't comfort me when I've had a crappy day, or when I'm hurt, or sick, or stressed.  He can't take care of me.  I've got to do those things for myself.  Okay, I get it.  I'm sad, but I get it.

This grief burst didn't last as long or feel as intense as the last one.  I get it.

On to better days. 

A Perfect 4th of July

It was a lovely Fourth of July; my daughter Taylor drove down from Chilliwack, BC.  She, our friend Terri, and I rode the 17 mile Hiawatha Trail down the west side of Lookout Pass.  It was hot as blazes in Missoula, but much cooler at higher elevations and we got an early start.

 Going in to the first tunnel. All smiles.

 

The first bridge.  Taylor and Terri are bright such spots in my life. 

They support me and help me connect the past with the future.

 Taylor's very brave, but she's hanging on for dear life in this pic.  The

distance is hard to judge in a photo, but trust me, it's a lo-o-o-ong way down.

 

It's not as scary when you're sitting. 

I suddenly remember which body part hurts the most when riding a bike.  Posing for a

 pic is a good excuse to sit down on a nice, flat surface for a few minutes. 

Terri and I at one of those other tunnels. Who can remember which one?  

I may have been starting to get delirious by this point.

Very near the end, the sun is high in the sky and really hot. 

The smiles are still there, but is that a hint of strain in mine?

Taylor at the end, looking fresh as a daisy. 

Apparently she didn't over-exert herself scourging me through the last 2 miles. 

I was not photo-worthy at this stage of the trip.

 

Bye, Taylor!  It was a great time.  See you again soon.