Locust Trees and Being Good

Dear John,

 

I had a busy day today. I got up early and meant to get out in the yard before the sun was hot, but you know the cat litter I use is flushable? Well, the three of them managed to stop up a power-flush toilet. I finally got it cleared, but had plunger-splatter all over the bathroom. So before breakfast I had the main bathroom to clean, and decided to clean the other one while I was at it.

 

So I got outside a little after 10:00. I mowed and trimmed, and edged the driveway, which required a trip downtown to the hardware store for more trimmer string. By then it was hot, so I set up the saw horses and an old closet shelf in the garage and planted the petunias in the window boxes - purple and dark red this year. I trimmed the ninebark and the boxwoods, and cut the roses back to the ground so I can dig them up tomorrow. They've gotten woody, and the Japanese beetles eat them down to twigs every year anyway, so they're going for compost. By that time I'd had enough sun and was getting a little crispy around the edges, so I came inside at 4:30 for dinner. At 5:30 I went back out and cleaned up the shrub trimmings. The front looks great.

 

I have plenty left to do tomorrow. I'll dig up the roses, plant three lavender plants in the front bed to replace others that died, and plant three perennial hollyhocks in front of the shed. And I'll get my zinnias and cosmos out for the first time since you died. It will be good to have flowers to cut and bring inside again.

 

So what all this is leading to is that I was thinking while I was mowing. When I mow around the big locust tree I always think of Glen Campbell - you know, see the tree, how big it's grown, and friend, it hasn't been to long it wasn't there. My mind always gets  stuck on him saying he's being good. Mama, as you know, said that meant he wasn't having sex. I always disagreed, and now, having been widowed, I know from personal experience that a newly-widowed person isn't thinking about sex - you're too busy wondering where the next breath is coming from. In the early months, "being good" means eating, going to bed even when you know you're not going to sleep, getting up in the morning and getting dressed, seeing people even when you know you're going to hear those awful platitudes again.

 

To finally get to what I was thinking, I was pondering how what constitutes "being good" changes over time. At first, it's breathing, eating, and not throwing yourself off a nearby bridge. Then it's facing and dealing with business and financial responsibilities. It's figuring out to do all the things your husband used to do around the house. Later, it may be a new job and new friends. It's Ronda selling her big four-bedroom house, Nancy taking on a new job, Sophie with a boyfriend.

 

So, finally, what does "being good" consist of now, for me? It's a new career and new friends. It's planning for retirement, setting a tentative date, and beginning to look forward to it. It's having a man friend that I can do things with. It's finally being able to say that I'm happy. No, this isn't the life we'd planned or that I would have chosen. But it seems that I've made a life within this new reality, and I'm actually happy here. I know that you had a lot to do with all of this. I think all of you menfolk got together up there and deliberately got your women together down here. I owe you for all my widowfriends, and I can never thank you enough for that. The job and the new friends, I firmly believe, are due in large part to your prayers. I know that you look after me - it feels good to know that.

 

I have no idea what "being good" will look like in the future. I have no clue what my future will look like. But I'm not afraid of the future anymore. You will still pray for me and my widowfriends will be there, and that is all I need to know. If I've survived four years without you, I can survive anything. I'm tougher - and more resilient - than I realized. I suppose I am being good.

 

That's all - just pondering while I mowed today, and I had to tell you about it. It's a progress check-up of sorts. Due to Glen Campbell. And my memory for song lyrics.

 

Adore you,
Joan.

Thank You For Asking

Dear John,

 

It's almost 9:00. This time thirty-eight years ago, we were on a plane coming into Myrtle Beach for our honeymoon. We had such a short layover in Atlanta that we ran through the airport. Then we left Atlanta late, but the pilot made up the time and we were on time landing in Myrtle Beach. Still, we didn't get to the hotel until after 10. We were so tired! So our first married night, we slept together. Literally. All we did was sleep. And that was a long time ago, when people didn't even sleep - literally - together before marriage. It was good that night, to just sleep with you.

 

It was a wonderful day. We had what was a simple wedding even then, but it was just what we wanted. We were married at 10:30 in the morning, like my parents were. We got to the church early, set up things up for the reception, then got dressed and got married. I'm glad we were married in the days when the reception was punch and cake in the church fellowship hall. People got to move around and talk to each other - you didn't have to spend a whole evening sitting with folks you didn't know. And we got to do the same thing. We got the chance to talk to everybody there. Except that one old lady that nobody ever knew who she was - she didn't stay for the reception.

 

I remember we took the wedding-party photos after the last. The photographer wanted to take them before the reception, but we said no. The wedding party was staying anyway, and there was no point in keeping the guests waiting. So we all trooped back upstairs after the reception and took the photos. Then you and I changed clothes again and helped clean up the church.

 

About twenty of us went out to lunch together. We steered them toward a buffet place and it worked out well. There was your family and mine, and the Shepherds and Dan and Mayre Lou Campbell who had all come up from Atlanta. Then they all took us to the airport and we left for Myrtle Beach.

 

Can you believe that it's been thirty-eight years? I don't even feel thirty-eight years old. And now I'm here and you're there, and my relationship status on Facebook says "widowed." I'm sixty now, something I don't mind but can't seem to get my head around. We look so young in the wedding photos! Now my hair is graying, and yours was white when you died. My skin is starting to show my age, as is my figure. We're not twenty-two anymore, are we?

 

Tonight, that day so long ago seems more real than my present reality. Thank you for all the years and the love and the laughter and the companionship. Thank you for wanting an independent, strong-minded, smart-mouthed woman. Thank you for asking me to marry you. It was a simple moment, but the hinge point of my life. I love you.

 

Come see me tonight,

Joan. 

Four-Year Report Card

Dear John,

 

It's been four years today - four years for you in Heaven, and four for me here on my own. Does it feel like four years to you? But that's a silly question, since you live outside of time and all. For me, sometimes it feels like last week and sometimes it seems a lifetime ago. I guess most life-changing events make you feel that way.

 

I'm so happy for you. I'm glad you're healed and whole now, with no pain or struggle anymore. You're where sin and suffering and death can no longer touch you. You're home. And I'm so glad. Just living had become so hard for you. I know you hadn't felt good in a long, long time. It makes me happy to know that you feel good now.

 

For me, I miss you so much, but I'm happy now. It's odd - I always knew that, since God did this, it was what was best for both of us. But, since "best" doesn't necessarily mean pleasant or comfortable, I didn't expect to ever experience pleasure or comfort again. But God is good, and we are resilient creatures. And my Mama taught me to always find the good in things. I'd much rather have you, but there are good things in my life that wouldn't be here if you were. I love my job, and I've grown a lot learning something so completely new at my age. I guess you can teach old dogs new tricks. I've made new friends. And I have - or rather, Jethro has - three cats, and I love them a completely ridiculous amount. I've grown, having to be on my own. I've learned to be independent in new ways, managing the money and yard and house by myself. I'm still me, but I'm a different me. I'm stronger and gentler and more compassionate. And those are good things.

 

So today I've been evaluating the person I've become in these four years, and I see some good things. That shouldn't be surprising, God being Who He is and all. There is joy in my life now, and gratitude. It has also occurred to me that this is probably the first anniversary that you've been happy with how I'm doing. It makes me feel good to make you happy.

 

Miss you,

Joan.

Hospitals, Horse Sales, & Busted Brackets: It's March!

Dear John,

 

It's March - welcome to excitement and exhaustion! Let me try to take this in chronological order.

 

Almost two weeks ago I got a phone call at 1:30 in the morning, which is never a good sign. Richard needed to go to the ER, so off I went, continuing the family tradition of spending the night in an emergency room. I missed work on Saturday morning, but everybody said it was slow and everything was fine. They admitted him until Saturday evening, so I got the chance to meet the new LaGrange hospital and was very pleased. It's association with Parkview has done wonders for it.

 

So I was up all night Friday night, and lost an hour of sleep Saturday night with the arrival of Daylight Stupid Time. The draft horse sale started the next Tuesday and the NCAA tournament that weekend. It's been total insanity and sleep deprivation, as usual. The town, and therefore the bank, were crazy during the sale. We all ran full speed all day every day. The good thing is that the days passed very quickly. The bad thing is that every inch of me hurt. Except the end of my nose. The end of my nose never hurts.

 

I filled out my basketball bracket for the bank contest again, and it has so much red ink on it now that it looks like it's bleeding. My bracket is bloodied but unbowed. It's been a great tournament, but not for my bracket! There have been some outrageous upsets. Honestly, who would have predicted Yale over Baylor, Little Rock over Purdue, and Middle Tennessee State over Michigan State? I had UK beating Duke for the championship, and UK went down to IU in the second round. Duke is the only one of my final four that made it into the Sweet Sixteen. Pathetic bracket. But the games have been great and I've had a lot of fun with it.

 

I went a bit crazy and spent thirty dollars on a Fathead bracket for the living room wall. It's three feet by four feet and I love it. Here it is in all its glory. Isn't it wonderful? I wish these had existed all my life. Can you imagine what a collection we'd have now, it we had kept one for each season's tournament? The history that would be on them! You did marry a woman who loves sports.

 

I think that's all that's happening around here. Just hospitals, horse sales, and lots of messed-up brackets. But it is March, after all, so it isn't surprising!

 

Adore you,
Joan.

A New Milestone

Dear John,

 

I have good news tonight. Sometime while I wasn't looking, I passed a new milestone. A few days ago I realized that I am no longer sorry to be alive. I know - you're saying, "Well, it's high darn time!" From your point of view, I'm sure that it is. From here, it's something I never dreamed would happen. I always thought I'd gut it out, forcing myself to go through each day, until I could finally come join you. The day we got your cancer diagnosis in Dr. Ansari's office, I thought I'd never have a happy moment again. I expected to exist on pure stubbornness and hoped to die as quickly as possible.

 

That's very much what the first three-something years were like. But I've turned out to be more adaptable that I realized. Don't get me wrong - I'd still give everything to have you back, and I take great joy in the thought of being with you again someday. But I've learn to be happy here. It's a different kind of happiness than I had with you, but happiness it is. First I learned to be content and to take satisfaction from learning to be on my own - those first milestones like learning how to change the line in the trimmer and put oil in the mower and do my own taxes. Then, somewhere and somehow, happiness snuck up on me and I found myself enjoying life again.

 

There are still times I cry, still some meltdowns when being without you overwhelms me. I expect that there will always be. But I have my job, which includes new challenges and new friends, and I have a social life now. That social life isn't the same, partly since I'm not part of a couple, and partly because I'm not so comfortable for my married friends to be with anymore because I know I remind them of the mortality of their own husbands. But I have single friends my own age, and a few new married friends that didn't know you and so they aren't spooked by your absence, and maybe also aren't grieving for you themselves.

 

One of my best new friends is a man - you know Richard from down the street. When I prayed for a single friend my age, I didn't really think I needed to specify that I wanted a woman friend. But it's good - he can carry bags of softener salt for me and unstick my windows. And he knows what it's like to reach our age and suddenly be on your own. So I'm doing my civic duty once again, giving Topeka something to talk about. We've always been happy to do that, haven't we? We always figured that, if they're talking about us, there's somebody else they're not talking about. And gossip in this town is never unkind. People talk because they care. There's no malice in it.

 

So that's what's going on here: I am okay with being alive. Work is good; I still enjoy the job and like the people I work with. It took me a whole two hours to do and file my taxes, and I got a refund. I even got a refund on state - not an easy thing in Indiana - because I got a tax credit for the new water heater. The animals are doing well. I had Hunter in for his yearly check-up today and he passed with flying colors. The new renal food and the cranberry supplement have his renal problem under good control. Now he smells like the vet's office, so Abby is hissing and spitting at him, but being my phlegmatic Hunter, he's taking all of that in stride.

 

One morning last month I woke up, sat up, and the bed broke. It turns out that the frame the box springs sit on was attached to the bed with short, tiny screws. So I took the thing apart, drilled new pilot holes, used larger-gauge 2 1/4 inch screws, put it all back together, turned the mattress while I was at it, and it's fine now. I had to shut Jethro out of the room because he wanted to play with the drill, silly dog. Has there been any more excitement? I don't think so.

 

Oh, college basketball season is winding down. Kentucky and Duke haven't had great seasons but I've had a great time watching them. If you haven't seen Kentucky, check out Tyler Ulis, their point guard. He's an amazing kid. UK and Duke will both go to the tournament. IU has also had a good season. It's March now, so sleep deprivation is on the horizon. You know it was a long time before I could watch sports without you. I'm fully back into football and basketball, and soon I'll find out how I'm doing with baseball. The Cubs are televised tomorrow at 4:00, but I'm working until 6:00 so I'll miss that one. It should be a good season and I'm hoping I can be there for it. I want to stretch myself, but not push myself too far too fast. I'll see how it goes.

 

It's bedtime now. I've gotten used to going to bed by myself, but I still miss having you on the other side of the bed. One dog and three cats just can't replace you! Come visit me in my dreams.

 

Adore you,

Joan.

Please Stop Asking!

Dear John,

 

I survived Christmas and New Year's Eve. Emotionally, I feel like I've been run over by a lawnmower. A mulching mower. On the lowest setting.

 

I'm struggling to regain my emotional equilibrium. I've spent the last two weeks feeling depressed and desperate. There's no reason other than the holidays and a fibro flare. It will pass. Yesterday I took down the Christmas decorations; it's amazing how much that helps. I'm longing for normal life - regular work schedule, regular food, no more Christmas music at work.

 

Over the weekend I failed to think of anything I could look forward to. But today I realized that March Madness is coming. I am looking forward to the Pittsburgh-Cincinnati post-season football game, to the NCAA basketball tournament, and to spring training. I don't think I'll be able to afford to travel for vacation, so there's nothing there. But sports haven't failed me yet, so emotional health is on the horizon.

 

Winter is finally upon us: It snowed last night, and tonight's low is supposed to be 9. Yesterday I put the flannel sheets on the bed - I do believe it's the latest it's ever been. And that was another source of depression. I remember how much we both enjoyed that first night every year with the flannel sheets, how we'd lie awake for a long time talking about how good they felt. We always looked forward to that first night; now I dread it because I do it alone. For the life of me, I can't get that animals excited about flannel sheets. I can't imagine why.

 

This is all very disjointed, but so am I. To sum up: The holidays were awful; I'm beginning to feel better; I'll recover; none of this is surprising. I'm afraid I'm being normal again. It gets a bit less awful every year. I asked Connie when the holidays get good again, and she said never. I have modified my expectations - I now hope for somewhat less horrible holidays. All this could be remedied if you'd just come get me!

 

Adore you,

Joan.

 



On Depression & Disorientation

Dear John,

 

I'm depressed and disoriented. It's been a nasty day.

 

First, as to the disorientation. It's been in the 60s outside, so of course the windows are open. I believe this is the first time I've ever had the Christmas tree up and the windows open at the same time. This morning I woke up to the sound of birds singing. It smells like spring. This doesn't make it any easier to get in the mood for Christmas. I have no idea how people in the southern hemisphere do it.

 

And then there's the depressed part. It's Christmas. Again. Without you. I do not like this at all. I've tried to get into the Christmas spirit, whatever that means. We have Christmas music playing at work all day; after over nine hours of it, I want to shoot out the speakers. Today I watched the Patrick Stewart Christmas Carol, thinking that would get me in the mood if anything would. It didn't. Nothing. The house is decorated, the cards are ready, and almost all of the gifts are made. And I can't wait for all of it to be over.

 

I'm trying to separate secular Christmas from the Feast of the Nativity of Christ, and I'm finding that listening to the secular music all day at work is making that more difficult that usual. And I still struggle with the happy-family ideal that secular Christmas holds up. it makes it harder for those of us who are alone. I wish I could stay home and keep away from secular Christmas completely. But I do have to work. Somebody has to pay for the dog and cat food.

 

I am the anomaly here; I don't expect the world the cater to me. I will survive. And on Christmas Eve night I'll go to church and leave everything else behind. I'll forget Frosty and Rudolp and Grandma getting run over by the reindeer, and come in awe before what is real. Until then, I could use your prayers. Deliver me from empty sentimentality, consumerism, and noise! Help me to find silence, awe, wonder, and gratitude. Regardless of the weather.

 

And all of this struggle is because you forgot to take me with you.

 

Adore you,

Joan.

Of Meds & Moods

Dear John,

 

Thanksgiving and my birthday are done. Jim and Irene came for the long weekend. My birthday was on Black Friday this year - appropriate to celebrate my turning sixty with black! And Jim and I got the new water heater installed. Jen had a birthday party for me on Saturday; it was lots of fun and the cake was wonderful. There appear to be a few folks who are happy that I was born.

 

You know I went on Celexa to help with the Cymbalta withdrawal - once again, pharmaceuticals beget pharmaceuticals. It was very necessary for a while, but I decided in late October to try going off of it. In my usual fashion, I seem to have picked the worst time possible. The days are getting shorter, the dreaded Christmas season is upon us, and I've had one friend die and another be widowed. But off Celexa I am, and I'm glad. I decided to come off of it when I realized that it was damping my happy emotions as well as my sad ones. I've cried some these last couple of weeks - for Alan, and Shelly, and the Christmas music in stores, and sometimes just for me - but overall I feel much more like myself. I came off early; most people that stop Cymbalta need something for at least five years, and it's been less that two for me. But I'd always rather be early than late.

 

I got a new Christmas tree yesterday, 1/3 off at Meijer. The big thing is that the lights are built in. Last year the cats liked to pull the strings of lights off of the tree and play with them, and now they can't do that. And it has pine cones, which are nice, and make it look fuller even though I only put the unbreakable ornaments on it now. I found an ornamental bird cage that I put my favorite breakable ones in - the silver bird, and the 1930s ornaments that were Mama's. That way I can see them but the animals can't get to them. It's a good solution.

 

I discovered something helpful by accident. I was in a line in Kohl's last week when they played "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." I can handle most of the Christmas music pretty well now, but not that one. Never that one. I couldn't get out of line and was trying not to cry, when I found myself doing Lamaze breathing. My brain had nothing to do with it; it seemed that my body just knew what it needed. And it helped. It kept me together until the song ended. The same song came on Friday at work and I did the same thing. Who knew that the Lamaze I learned in my OB rotation in college would come in handy like this?

 

I believe that's all the news. The Christmas season is here and, so far, it isn't as hard as last year. Every Christmas without you is a little easier. It will always be bittersweet - there is no one left who remembers my first 56 Christmases. But I will survive another one, like it or not.

 

Still standing,

Joan.

A Quick Note Before I Cry Myself to Sleep

Dear John,

 

It's past my bedtime, but I had to let you know. I was making one last check of Facebook

and found out that Alan died today.

 

It's hit me harder than I would have expected. Of course, we've been friends, and close ones, since way back in 1970 when we were sixteen. We dated briefly but stayed friends ever since. I remember the first high school reunion I went to, when you and Alan met each other.

 

He's been so happy these last years, since he met and married Marj. They adored each other just like we always did. I'm so glad he had that. And I'm so sorry for Marj, because I know what it's like to lose a love like that. 

 

That's all - I just had to tell you. Please go and be sure Mama knows. She always loved Alan. Be sure she's there to meet him when he arrives. Then go and find a quiet corner, and you and he laugh at all the funny stories about me. He knows some good ones. You'll love it. Give him a hug for me.

 

Be there when I can,

Joan.

Churchill, Chamberlain, and Jethro

Dear John,

 

I had lots of other things to talk to you about, but current events trumped all of them. On Friday night, Paris was hit with several coordinated attacks from ISIS. So far there are 129 dead and more than twice that number wounded. Today France bombed several important strategic holds of ISIS in Syria. And we took in the first loads of Syrian refugees in New Orleans and Los Angeles. I do worry about the sanity of the planet.

 

The outpouring of sympathy and aid to France has been immense, as you can imagine. There are a few isolated voices blaming the victims and charging everybody else with racism. As I said, I'm concerned about planetary sanity. Everybody is on edge, including me, and that is to be expected. Some of it is coming out in general irritability on Facebook, so this evening I stuck my neck out and basically said, "Everybody out of the pool!" I don't want to see a common enemy divide us.

 

There are lots of discussions of Churchill and Chamberlain - you know, war versus appeasement. I was reading an excellent article about that on Facebook today, when the article disappeared. It was removed from Facebook. I can't imagine why. There was nothing extreme or inflammatory about it. Facebook has occasional censorship spasms that are somewhere between irritating and worrying. This one was also puzzling.

 

So please pray for all of us - for peace on Facebook and across the world. Maybe this will make people aware of just how serious a threat we are all facing. It's too much to hope for the death of political correctness, isn't it?

 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, your little family is fine. I put the winter blanket on the bed today, but not the flannel sheets yet. The dog and cats are fine and happy. The cats all slept on me last night, and when I took a nap this afternoon the dog came and lay on me, all sixty pounds of him balanced on my left side, head to waist, while I slept on my right. I can only assume there was some dread threat he was protecting me from. It was a bit uncomfortable, but I was tired enough to sleep for an hour that way. I wish you could have seen it.

 

It's bedtime now. I still miss you over there on your side of the bed. Try as he might, Jethro can't replace you.

 

Miss you,

Joan.

And The Vault Came Tumbling Down

Dear John,

 

The bronchitis went away quietly. While I was sick, I took a break from the computer. I hadn't even checked Pinterest until tonight. I've been keeping up with Facebook on my phone and have only been on the laptop to pay bills. It's been restful. But now I'm back with lots of news for you.

 

The weather has been lovely. It's November, and it was 72 today. The windows are open tonight, of course - after all, it is me we're talking about. A cool-down is expected over the weekend and these may be our last 70s for the year. But it's been one of the most beautiful falls I've ever seen. Remember how long fall lasted in Durham? It's been a bit like that. And the trees have changed slowly and the color has lasted a long time.

 

The demolition of the old bank building was more complicated than expected. It turns out that the vault was encased in concrete that had 3/4-inch rebar in a 5-inch grid all around it. They've spend the last two weeks trying to take it out. Today they used a hydraulic circular saw with a two-foot-diameter blade and cut the thing in half. There was running water and lots of sparks flying, and the entire downtown vibrated. Finally there was a thump and the thing broke in half and fell over. It looked like there had been and accident at Stonehenge. People kept suggesting using explosives, but it was right up against the wall of the pharmacy. And we like the pharmacy and don't want to blow it up.

 

The other big news is that we have a new roof. I mean us - our house. It turns out that Margaret's son has a roofing business. So I got an estimate from him, which was much lower than any other I'd gotten. And he could start on it right away, so it's all done. It isn't metal - I couldn't afford metal after paying $3000 to find out that I don't have breast cancer. But he used Owens Corning shingles that have a thirty-year warranty, and I don't expect to be here worrying about my roof in thirty years. It looks great.

 

So come and look at the roof! And while you're in town, stop by and see the new bank and the pieces of the old vault. And, of course, come and see me and your little family. You really need to meet your cats. Come cuddle with me and tell me all about your life now. I miss you lots and lots.

 

Adore you,

Joan.

Faucets, Deconstruction, & Homeless Bats

Dear John,

 

Reporting in:

 

First, I fixed the kitchen faucet on Sunday. I took off the head and found a thick layer of lime scale, not in the filter, but between the head and neck of the faucet. I soaked in in white vinegar all day and had to use a brush and my fingernail to get all the scale off. But now I can run water without it splattering all over the kitchen. It was fun to figure it out.

 

Second, you need to get on this Cubs thing. They've lost their first two games to the Mets. Tomorrow night they'll play game number three. Pitching and hitting have both failed them. They're back at home tomorrow - that should help.

 

Third, I have bronchitis. I had a sniffle on Friday a cold on Saturday, and my lungs crashed at midnight Saturday night. I maxed out on Prednisone and inhalers on Sunday, and I was up until 3 AM sitting up trying to breathe. So today I worked until my lunchtime and went to South Bend to see Barb. There was really nothing to add but antibiotics. It will take me a few days to feel better, but I should be human by our busy day on Friday. She told me not to go to work tomorrow unless I feel much better, but I plan to be there anyway. They need me and I need the paycheck, and Tuesday is always a rather slow day.

 

Fourth, speaking of work, they started tearing the old building down today. The good news is that they got it separated from the pharmacy much more easily than they expected. The bad news is that they walked into the pharmacy at noon and told them they had to close for an hour. So they removed everybody and locked the doors at their busiest time on their busiest day. The town is peeved. But the town had a great time watching it come down, and most of the population was in attendance for some of it. We'd hoped to watch, but they put plywood over the drive-up windows so we couldn't see a thing. The next task is to dismantle the old vault. And when they get to the basement, the bats will go free. Poor homeless bats!

 

That's all that's going on here. I suppose it is enough. For the next few days I'll be up most of the night, feeling awful during the day, and doing as little as possible. 'Tis the price of asthma. I'll feel fine by the weekend. Better living through chemicals!

 

Adore you,

Joan.

Gift Exchange

Dear John,

 

Happy 3 1/2 year anniversary yesterday. I can't believe you've been gone that long. What I really can't believe is that I've survived that long without you. I didn't talk to you last night because I was up late working on your anniversary present - the Cubs won Game 3 and are on their way to the League Championship Series. Or maybe that was your gift to me. Either way, it's wonderful.

 

I didn't have time to get the mail yesterday. When I went to the post office this morning, there was a flier from the Bradford Mint. I'm sure they got our names from some database somewhere - I know we've never ordered anything from the Bradford Mint. I looked at the flier and couldn't put it down. It was addressed to you; here's what they wanted you to buy:

 

 

Amazing, and amazing timing, coming on your 3 1/2 year anniversary. Did you have anything to do with this photo ending up in my mailbox? Is that your chuckle that I hear? I can't help wondering if I gave you the NLCS and you gave me this photo.

 

I know it's true - I know you love me and always will. You know that I feel the same. We each had our day to say that, and lots more, before you died. Thank you for saying it that day and living it every day that I knew you. As for your forgetting to take me with you, we've already dealt with that. Come get me soon?

 

Love you with all my heart,

Joan.



Welcome to October

Dear John,

 

I can't believe it's been a week. I've been coming home so tired that I haven't even gotten on the computer. I picked up a tummy virus that had me down for a couple of days. And now I seem to be trying to get the respiratory bug that everybody at work has had. I suppose our immune systems are responding to all the stress and fatigue.

 

It's been an interesting sports week. As you probably know, the Cubs are in the post-season. They beat Pittsburgh - with a stick - for the wild card spot, and are now 1-1 with the Cardinals after two game in St. Louis. Tomorrow afternoon they play at Wrigley. I hope to get home in time to see part of it. I've actually watched all of these two games - it's the first time since your death that I've been able to make it through a whole baseball game. I suppose I'm watching for both of us.

 

I always said that it was good that I was a Cubs fan, since meaningful baseball never conflicts with football season. That isn't holding true this year. Tomorrow I'll overdose for sure. The Cubs are on at 4:30 and the Steelers are on Monday Night Football. I'll go to work sleep-deprived on Tuesday. And Tuesday will be a horror of a day since we're closed tomorrow. Not that I'm getting a holiday. We have an all-day training meeting in Shipshe tomorrow, 7:45-5:00. Have I ever told you how much I hate all-day training meetings? At least I'll be off my feet. And they are letting us wear jeans and feeding us lunch. There are a few compensations.

 

Otherwise, all is well here. Hunter is finally over his urinary infection. I'll be giving him cranberry powder twice a week for the rest of his life, but I sprinkle it on his food and he doesn't seem to mind it. And he's on special food. All the animals are fine. I was gone all day yesterday, between Corn School in LaGrange, a benefit dinner for our fire department, and watching Notre Dame and the Cubs with Richard. So they've all been velcroed to me today. I spent today taking it easy, knitting, watching football, and blowing my nose. The animals seemed to be fine with that.

 

Think about me tomorrow, sitting in meetings all day. Come after I get home and tell me all about your day. I know it will be much better.

 

Adore you,

Joan.

Fuzzy Jelly Beans, Part II

Dear John,

 

I have the next installment of the Saga of the Fuzzy Jelly Beans. You remember - the litter of kittens Jethro found just outside the fence under the arborvitae. Tonight I let him out and he wouldn't come in, so I knew something, probably feline, was up. I went outside with the flashlight and found him looking at something between the fence and the shed. I got closer and, sure enough, there was one of the kittens. It wasn't a jelly bean anymore, more like a fuzzy Death by Chocolate cupcake. I flashed the light around and saw Mama Cat nearby, arching her back and hissing at Jethro. So I got him inside and let them be. He still wants to adopt the entire family.

 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I've had a good and restful weekend. Friday and Saturday at work were much better. We kinda sorta know where things are now and we're getting our rhythm in the new building. Everything is very different, and a lot of our routines and procedures are having to change. We're all tired and stressed and distracted, and nothing we do is coming automatically anymore. We're even having to think when we go to the bathroom, since there are no signs on the doors to tell us which is men's and which is women's. But there's still been no bloodshed and all is well. We will continue to adjust and, as we do, there are things we will like better. In a year, we won't be able to imagine how we managed in the old building.

 

It's been a hit with the town, too. What everybody likes most is a big stained glass window in the wall between the teller line and the drive-up. It's the centerpiece of the bank and it's beautiful. You may remember it - it was in the front of the old dime store. We salvaged it before the building was torn down, and the wall was designed to showcase it. Harold was even in last Monday to take photos for the historical society. The town appreciates the bank valuing history and making a place for it. And so do I. 

 

Please pray for South Carolina. There's a hurricane parked over it and the flooding is terrible. Up here, we've been around 60 during the day and 40s at night. I opened the house again today and it was lovely. We've gotten some rain from the hurricane but, unlike South Carolina, we needed it. We're having a lovely fall. I'm off work next Saturday and will be in LaGrange for Corn School. Maybe I'll ride the Tilt-a-Whirl with Elyssa again. She was no end impressed last year that grandma knew how to make it spin. Some things never get old.

 

Adore you,

Joan.

Not Really Ready for Some Football

Dear John,

 

I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally exhausted. And my feet are killing me. And the Steelers are playing the Hated Ravens right now. I won't be up much longer.

 

Monday we got unpacked and moved in as much as we could, and got the bank ready for the new building to open on Tuesday. And Tuesday was The Day from Hell. It started when the internal phone system in LaGrange went down. Not only could we not call them; we had to re-route all phone calls to us. We had two people working all day helping people move their safety deposit boxes to the new building and one pulled to the Shipshewana office, so we were down three people. We had two days' work to do since we'd been closed on Monday. Nobody knew where anything was and there were a few technical glitches. We survived. They fed us pizza. We won't move into a new building again in my lifetime. I'm glad.

 

Wednesday was much better. We're still opening several drawers before we find what we're looking for, but it's getting better. At least the phone system was back up. And I figured out why my feet hurt so bad. We have the same carpet we did in the old building, but that was on a wood floor and this is on concrete. And our padded floor mats haven't been moved over. I plan to go get mine tomorrow, since I'm still the only one who has to work standing.

 

Tomorrow will be our grand opening, and a Friday. I'm expecting to get slammed. But we will survive, and after Saturday we'll have the first week under our belts. Oh, and we're having nights down to 40, so today I closed the house and turned on the heat. It hasn't run yet, but it will later tonight. I wanted you to know that I turned it on before there was ice on the walls. Be proud of me.

 

I'm off to bed now. I'll report in tomorrow if I'm not too exhausted to talk. I've had so much to tell you every night this week, but have been too tired to be coherent. I've just needed to cuddle up and go to sleep on your shoulder. After you rub my feet. Come by in about half an hour?

 

Adore you,

Joan.

The Dryer Dries & the Candy Corn is Out

Dear John,

 

The dryer dries. I got the switch changed with no trouble. However, it required unplugging the dryer. My arms aren't long enough to plug it back in, so Bob, being the tallest person I know, came over and plugged it in for me, bless him. I'll do a load of clothes after work tomorrow.

 

This afternoon I changed the curtains and decorations for fall, and your big wooden candy corn is out again. That thing was such a joke between us, since you love candy corn and I hate it. I found it when I was shopping with your sister, and just had to get it for you so that you could have candy corn whenever you wanted. I still get it out every fall and it always makes me smile.

 

I need to get to bed. I was going to stay up - we're having a super-moon eclipse tonight at 10:30 - but we have heavy clouds so there's nothing to see here. I'll catch it on line tomorrow. It will be a busy day at work, getting everything unpacked and set up, ready for the new building to open on Tuesday. I'll enjoy it because it will consist of organizing and arranging things. But it will be long and tiring. We get to wear jeans, so I'll wear my athletic shoes, too, and my feet won't hurt as bad as they usually do. I know, I need bunion surgery. But I can't afford the time off from work, so I'll just wear athletic shoes tomorrow. I can have surgery after I retire.

 

Right now, the dog is outside and Hunter is asleep across my knees. Abby and Maggie just chased each other up and down the hall. It's dark and cool and quiet outside, and time for all diurnal mammal to be asleep. I'll fall asleep thinking of you.

 

Miss you,

Joan.

The Big Move

Dear John,

 

It's been quite a day. After the bank closed at noon, we had the Great Move. The information that went out to the public was that we'd be moving on Monday. That was for security reasons - you don't tell everybody exactly when the money will be moved from one vault to the other. We will have stuff left to move on Monday, but the big job for the day will be unpacking what we moved today and getting set up to open on Tuesday.

 

It was quite a production. I was responsible for moving the drive-up, which includes two teller stations, branch capture, and lots of storage. I'll have so much more room now - unpacking things and putting them away will be a delight. The IT people were there late today. They had all the computers and monitors to move and set up. The goal is to have them up and ready by Monday morning.

 

And we did it all with no bloodshed. We're all housebroken - everybody is stressed but well-behaved. And they're treating us like royalty. Today they had a big lunch for us to eat while the bank officers, along with state and county police, moved the vault. Monday we get to wear jeans and they're feeding us pizza. And Friday is a fund-raising day for cancer, so everybody who contributes gets to wear jeans. And they're going to buy lunch for us again Friday to celebrate our official grand opening.

 

It's been challenging, and there are still lots of IT things that can go wrong. But everything essential is moved and everything is going according to plan. I hope you can see the new building - you'd love it. I've tried to talk everybody into trapping the bats and bringing them with us. They're been living with us for such a long time that they're part of the family. Sadly, no one agrees. So the bats will go free as the old building is dismantled. There will be more about that later.

 

And, speaking of late, it is. And I'm tired and sore and ready to go to sleep. I should sleep well tonight!

 

Adore you,

Joan.

Dryer Parts & Tattered Nightgowns

Dear John,

 

I changed my mind about the dryer. I talked to JJ yesterday, and today I called him with the model number and he's ordering the part for me. It's right at the top of the dryer and easily accessible. Bless him, he made of copy of the dryer schematic for me. The part will be here in a couple of days. And it will cost me all of $1.50.

 

And I'm even more into saving money these days. Today I got the final bill for my breast biopsy. I'm paying almost $4000 for finding out that I don't have breast cancer. The problem is that I hadn't paid much of anything on my deductible this year. So I'm getting it all in one big lump.

 

I've found another curious thing in the back of my head. And in my closet. Both places. I have a few old nightgowns that are absolutely threadbare. They're old and worn and stained, and it's time to get rid of them, but I'm not able to. It appears that I can't bring myself to get rid of any nightgown that I ever wore when I slept with you. Clothes I can get rid of. But nightgowns are another thing altogether. I suppose what you sleep in is a deeper layer of intimacy. That's obvious in a way, but the emotional connection took me by surprise. I may have to put them aside in a box or make a place for them in the other closet. I need to ponder this further.

 

Meanwhile, the bank will be moving soon. We all spent a good bit of today packing, and Tammy and Danielle moved all of the storeroom and most of the basement over. We got our new cash drawers, locker keys, and cabinet combinations today. We'll be closed Monday for the big move. There is great activity and even greater excitement. And we're reminding all our merchants that they won't be able to buy change on Monday, so they need to stock up before the weekend.

 

That's all the news: cheap dryer repair, expensive biopsy, tattered nightgowns, and the move. I suppose that is enough, isn't it? Except for one more thing. I've had nightmares the last two nights. They didn't involve you, but could you help out if you can? I'm afraid to go to sleep again.

 

Hope to see you tonight,
Joan.

Reason #1: The Dryer Died

Dear John,

 

I haven't gotten much done today. I was up until after 2 this morning. The weather finally caught up with my fibro and I haven't hurt that bad in a long time. So I took pain meds, then played Sudoku until they kicked in and I could sleep. The poor animals complained about being kept awake so late. I slept until 10:00 this morning and feel much better today.

 

I had laundry to do. Washing it went well - the problem came when the first load was ready to dry. The little switch in the door is broken, so the dryer thinks the door is open and won't run. I got it to work once by taping the lever down, but that didn't work a second time. I resorted, of course, to the clothesline, bless it. I had one load of clothes and another load with the bedspread in it. Getting that bedspread settled on the lines was a bit of an adventure. But everything is dry and all is well.

 

I'll call Menno and he'll come and fix it. The challenge will be finding a time that he can come when I can be here. I have Thursday off, but have an appointment at the Social Security office in Elkhart. I'll call him at my lunch break tomorrow and see what we can set up. I'd just leave the door unlocked and have him come whenever he can, but Jethro hasn't met him. I'll keep you posted.

 

Once again, I was thankful today for the clothesline. I remember, back when the house was still being built, telling Al that I wanted one. The next thing I knew, here he was putting up one that he'd built himself. And in twenty years, all I've had to do is replace one of the four lines. The whole neighborhood has used it, either to dry really big things or when the power is out. I've used it less often now that I'm working full time. There are lots of days I have to do a load of laundry after work. But I wouldn't be without it.

 

So tell Al that I was thinking about him today. Tell him how much I have always appreciated all he did for us, especially the clothesline. I may be relying on it for a while, depending on what I can schedule with Menno. The dryer should be a fairly easy fix.

 

Love you great, huge bunches,

Joan.

Celebrating Progress & Finding My Marbles

Dear John,

 

It rained hard all night, so the trip to Nappanee was re-routed to Middlebury for their Fall Festival. There was less mud and general sogginess in Middlebury. And it was fun. Richard took me to a huge antique store on the north end of town, in the building where the old creamery used to be. And, being me, I bought a jar of marbles.

 

(I'm still buying marbles. Ever since Mama threw out my marble collection when I was away at college, I've been trying to remove the psychological scars by replacing them. Either that, or I just lost my marbles and am attempting to remedy the situation.)

 

Anyway, the festival was unspectacular but generally enjoyable. A better time was had at Varns and Hoover. It is its same old self but more so. The housewares section has expanded quite a bit. I was looking for a small whisk but didn't find it. And I discovered a lovely little restaurant in the back of the mercantile building. Their chai is excellent. You'd like it. Not the chai, because you don't like chai, but the restaurant. You know what I mean.

 

In the midst of all this festiveness, I had a realization of making progress healing from your deplorable failure to take me with you. There was music at the festival, and they played "Gone, Gone, Gone," and I stopped dead in my tracks. I still remember the first time I heard it. It was a few months after your death and I was on the way home from work. It was both cathartic and invigorating, and very painful, and I loved it.

 

Today I heard it and realized how far I've come since that day. I'm not moving on in the sense of dating and looking for a romantic relationship - I have no desire or intention to do that. But I have adapted to this new life you left me with. I've grown in competence and independence. But what surprises me is that I've learned to be happy. There is still a hole in my life and there always will be. But there is also a fullness. I love my job, I have friends and family who love me, I'm responsible for the house and yard, and I take care of animals who also love me. I have a single friend my own age to run around with. It's a bit inconvenient that he's male, but there's nothing to be done about that. I have a social life, and that is good.

 

So, to sum up: I'm not moving on, I'll always love you even though you're gone. But I've learned to be happy and have a full life. And I know that makes you happier than it does me. As you watch over me now, I can tell how glad you are that I'm adapting and doing well. At least, I am most of the time, but crashes are to be expected. They don't come as often or last as long. Thank you for wanting so badly, when you realized you were leaving, for me to be happy without you. This doesn't mean I'm not annoyed with you for forgetting to take me with you. But wanting me to be happy while I'm here is second best. So thank you for that, for your prayers, for looking after me, and for waiting for me.

 

Love you with all my heart,

Joan.

Logistics, Carnage, & the Apple Festival

Dear John,

 

It's been an active day. We had a very busy Friday at work, but a good one. Plans are coming along to move into the new bank in a couple of weeks. We're all looking forward to it. It will be nice to work this winter in a building that has heat throughout. But I still think we should take the bats with us when we move.

 

I came home, fed the critters, ate dinner, and had a hard time staying awake.

 

Oh, I forgot to tell you! I figured out a better way to segregate the cats during mealtimes. Hunter is the one on special food; he's also the only one who can jump up on the kitchen counters. So I feed him on that small area of countertop between the fridge and the coat closet, and feed the other two on the cat tower. Abby's bowl is where I've always fed them; Maggie's in on her favorite platform. So the logistics challenge has been met.

 

Anyway, I was having trouble staying awake. So I bowed to the inevitable and came down the hall at 7:45. I caught up the financials on the computer and paid a couple of bills. Then I gave Hunter his pill. To set the stage for all this, there is a smallish thunderstorm going on. There was a big clap of thunder just as Hunter swallowed his pill. Jethro jumped into my lap and landed on Hunter. And my poor cat with the UTI lost control of a very full bladder. The towel and my bedroom shoe caught most of it. The rest was on my clothes, the fitted sheet and mattress pad, and the floor. Another sheet-washing was required. So I'm sleeping on makeshift sheets tonight.

 

After cleaning up all of that, I was brushing my teeth and heard an odd noise. I'd forgotten the bag of cat treats and left it on the bed. Maggie found the bag, ripped it open, and was helping herself. So the cat treats are now in a glass jar, one of those old Plochman's mustard jars we've had for years. I defy them to get into that without opposable thumbs.

 

All in all, it was just a small amount of carnage. Everything is washable. We're between two lines of storms now and may actually get a bit of sleep. I wouldn't mind. Tomorrow I'll be at the Apple Festival in Nappanee. It should be sunny and low 60s - prefect fall festival weather. Come with me if you can get away for the day!

 

Adore you,

Joan.

How Treating One Problem Causes Two More

Dear John,

 

Hunter is home, everybody is happy, and all is well. His urine showed no bacteria, but a little blood and some crystals. He's on one more week of antibiotics. When I picked him up and swaddled him in his towel to give him his pill tonight, all the rest came and sat huddled around him to be sure he was alright.

 

In the interest of preventing stones, he's on a special food for cats with urinary problems. And, as usual, treating one problem causes a few more. I could give all the cats this new food, but it costs a good bit more than what they're on. So I'm having to segregate the cats at mealtimes. I'm feeding Abby and Maggie on the cat tower where I always have, and Hunter in the bathroom with the door closed. Hunter, calm creature that he is, doesn't mind this at all. He chowed right down. Abby and Maggie, on the other hand, stood outside the bathroom door whimpering. They'll get used to it, but they don't like it right now. We're having to do two meals a day, too - that will be another hurdle, since they're accustomed to being able to eat whenever they want to. I'll have to get up a bit early in the morning to feed them before I leave for work.

 

It's always something with the children, isn't it? And I have discovered that sleep is not aided by having the police on your doorstep at bedtime. I had a hard time winding down enough to sleep last night. It didn't help any of us that Hunter was gone. We all had a lousy night and I was so, so tired all day. We're all way past ready for bed - Jethro is asleep beside me and cats are draped in the window sills. I am rapidly approaching incoherence. So I will take your little family off to bed. Tonight we're all here and the police aren't, so it should be a much better night.

 

Sleep well,
Joan.

Why the Police are Here & Hunter Isn't

Dear John,

 

It's been a rough day. This morning I picked Hunter up and he screamed, his bottom was so sore and tender. I put him down and he hid behind a door and cried for ten minutes. Then he came to me for an affection attack - he cuddled and rubbed and purred, and generally let me know that he loves and trusts me and knows I didn't mean to hurt him.

 

So he needed to see the vet. I called first thing after they opened, and the only way June could see him without me missing work was for me to drop him off over my lunch break today and pick him up after work tomorrow. And I think that is good - it will let June spend enough time with him to evaluate things, and let her get a urine specimen. I do hope we can get things fixed this time. Poor baby, I hate to see him feel bad.

 

Everybody is uneasy around here. I figured the rest of the animals would either be velcroed to me or not speaking to me. Neither has been the case; they're just restless and uneasy. And I miss him so much! Don't tell the rest, but he's easily my favorite. I love that cat ridiculous amounts. I really, really hate having him gone overnight.

 

And, to top off a not-so-good day, just as I was going to bed tonight, the police showed up at my door. He was very nice, and he concluded that I wasn't the problem, so all is well. It seems that most of the neighborhood has called the police complaining about a barking dog. They were all certain who it was, and it wasn't Jethro. Somebody has been barking for an hour or so every night, starting at 9:00. That's after my bedtime. And I listen for him when I let him out, and bring him in right away if he starts to bark. The policeman was sure it wasn't him when he found out that Jethro is an inside dog. He asked what I've heard, since I almost always have the windows open. I said that I've heard all of the neighborhood dogs bark on occasion, but none of them have ever bothered me. After all, I went to college and lived in the dorm. Neighborhood noises aren't a problem. And if something does keep me awake, I just turn on the fan. I was no help. But I'll keep a very close eye on Jethro for a while.

 

I do believe that's all for the day. And that really is enough. It's not surprising that I'm tired. I'm a little wound up from having the police at my door, but not enough to keep me awake for long. Please do pray for your little family tonight, especially for Hunter.

 

Miss you,

Joan.

Regarding Unladen Swallows

Dear John,

 

It's Monday, so today was busy. And it went by very fast. I had one remarkable experience that I have to tell you about.

 

I was helping a customer in the lobby, and he had on this shirt:

I love it. I took one look at him and burst out laughing. He seemed surprised but very happy when I told him how much I loved his shirt. He seems to think I was too old to understand; I thought he was too young. So much for stereotypes!

 

And that reminded me of all those Saturday nights when Jen was in college, and she'd bring two or three carloads of friends home for the night. We loved them all and would stay up way too late. Inevitably, when we decided that we absolutely had to go to bed, they'd put on The Holy Grail and we'd have to stay up for another two hours. Wonderful times.

 

I haven't seen the movie for a number of years. But I still get into quotation marathons on Facebook, and with friends of all ages. I suppose liking Monty Python is more a matter of a warped personality than of any certain generation. And warped we are!

 

I forgot to ask him if it was a African or European swallow.

 

Love your warped personality,

Joan.



On Being Sexually Below Average

Dear John,

 

It's Sunday, and I've been happily overdosing on football all weekend. Notre Dame and Kentucky won yesterday, Packers won today, Steelers won last Thursday. All is well. And I got a whole sock finished

 

I don't want to moralize, but OMG, WTF! I saw a post on Facebook today saying that the average person has eight sexual partners during his or her lifetime. I commented that, as usual, I am happily well below average. I know I'm old fashioned, but for goodness sake, what's going on in the world? Sometimes I feel like this cat.

 

Of course, sex, to us, is a sacramental act and belongs only within the sacrament of marriage. Not everybody believes Orthodox Christian doctrine. But sex is not a casual act, no matter how hard you may try to make it that way. Something profound happens during sexual intimacy. You're completely vulnerable, physically and emotionally, a degree of vulnerability which should be entered into with some degree of caution. And there's the risk of pregnancy - why on earth would you risk bringing a child into the world with someone who hasn't made a life-long commitment to you? Confining sex to marriage certainly makes life much simpler.

 

Well, as I've said, I'm old. The human sex drive was no different when we were young, but the societal messages were, and it's a very different thing for kids now. Waiting wasn't easy even then. But I've always been so thankful that we did. Neither of us ever had to wonder how we compared with anyone else; there is great security in that. Neither of us had any idea what we were doing, but we figured it out just fine. It is good to know that I was your first, last, and only, as you were mine. Thank you for saving yourself for me. Thank you for thinking I was worth it. Before we met, thank you for believing that there was someone out there who was worth it.

 

I love being below average with you,

Joan.

Cat Nests & Hot Chocolate

Dear John,

 

I think I just hit the wall. It was a busy Friday at work, and I just ran out of energy. So this will be short - I'll try to end before I start to babble.

 

I have to tell you what Hunter did Wednesday night. I was sound asleep when I felt him jump up on the bed. He walked up me - he never walks up the bed, he walks on me. I expected him to drape himself over my ribs like he usually does. But he kept walking - up my shoulder, across my face, and onto my hair, and proceeded to lie down in it. He moved it around a bit with his feet and took hunks of hair in his mouth and pulled until he had it arranged the way he wanted. Then he purred for a bit and went to sleep. When I woke up over three hours later, he was still there in my hair.

 

These guys are adorable and I'm so sorry you're missing them. Hunter is all cuddles and affection, Abby is loving but not as cuddly, Maggie loves to cuddle but is still kitten enough to play a lot. Tonight Hunter was in my lap and Jethro walked by; as usual, the cat smacked him on the bottom. Abby follows Jethro around and begs for his attention. Maggie comes up and tries to groom him. They're adorable.

 

That's all for tonight, just cat stories. It's 56 and raining, supposed to go down to 48 tonight. The trees are starting to turn and it's completely dark by 9:00. We're headed for the autumnal equinox. I'm ready for fall, if not for snow yet. But I love every season and I'm ready for each one when it comes. For now, the windows are open and I'm listening to the rain. Jethro is asleep at my feet and the cats are in the windowsills. And, as usual, all that's missing is you. And maybe you could bring hot chocolate when you come by tonight?

 

I'll leave the light on,

Joan. 

Crises Ancient & Modern

Dear John,

 

Work today was filled with difficulties ancient and modern. So now I'm thinking about that venerable reference book, "Hymns Ancient and Modern," that I met when I took Mary's hymnology class. That book is a treasure.

 

Anyway, work today. The ancient crisis actually happened yesterday. The closers stayed late because LaGrange was running behind getting our work processed. Just when they were done and ready to go home, somebody spotted a bat flying around. So Frank grabbed a broom and chased it. For almost an hour. This morning I suggested that, if it happens again, he leave and come back around 7:00 the next morning. This time of year, when we're ready to close, the bats are ready to start their day. By the next morning, the creature will be hanging somewhere sound asleep. It will be easy to catch it and take it outside. And everybody freaked out at the thought of leaving a bat in the bank overnight. It's not like it's going to open the vault and help itself. I don't get it.

 

The modern crisis started last night and continued this morning. The computers were running slow by the end of the day yesterday so our IT people had them worked on overnight. That made it much worse, and all the branches lost internet connection this morning. That sounds like no big deal, except that all of our transactions happen over the internet. That's how we connect with the central account records and information. We all went to our back-up program, which allows transactions but can't access information. We can't check balances, look up account numbers, open new accounts, and a myriad of things we do all the time. Thankfully, it was only down for about an hour and it was at a slower time of day.

 

And the day was not slow - it was very busy for a Wednesday. Yesterday I had 125 transactions; today I had 132. That's one transaction every 3.75 minutes. And when you figure in how long it takes to count and process the average merchant deposit and the fact that I process all of those, I had a very busy day. I enjoyed it and it went by quite quickly. But I do believe I'm ready for my day off tomorrow.

 

It's 10:30 now, so we all need to be getting to sleep. The windows are open and there's a cool breeze out of the north. I mowed after work and my hair is still wet; I'll put a towel on the pillow and it will be dry by morning. Jethro is right beside me and the cats are in windowsills around the house. The night sounds and smells are wonderful. As usual, all that's missing is you.

 

Adore you,

Joan.

Status as Symbol

Dear John,

 

One of my dear widowfriends passed a milestone yesterday. She changed her Facebook status to "widowed." It's a significant thing and difficult to do. We all reach that point in our own timing.

 

It is terribly meaningful, but we're having a hard time expressing just what that meaning is. As I told you when I did it, there is something so dreadfully final about it. It puts our worst nightmare down in black and white. Widowhood isn't just a legal or social status; it's an existential reality. It is something that we deeply ARE, an indelible part of us, sometimes overwhelming everything else. There is some little piece of all of us that hopes that things will somehow go back to the way they were before; bearing the title of "widow" reminds us that they won't, that this is permanent. Needless to say, that is extremely unpleasant.

 

I changed my Facebook status on April 22nd, nine days after your death. I wrote you about doing it and how it felt, but not why I did it when I did. Now I'm trying to remember. I do recall wanting to be sure all my Facebook family knew that you had died, and I knew that a status change would show up on my timeline. That was probably my primary reason. But underneath that, for me as for all of us, was an awareness that if was the right time. It was the right thing to do.

 

So this is both organic and existential. No wonder we can't put it into words. Widowhood is deeply part of who we are. And it defines us completely for a while. I'm just now beginning to grow an identity alongside that - never apart, just alongside. That is another thing we will all do is our own time.

 

Thanks for listening, once again, to my existential mutterings. I wonder how many hours you spent listening to me trying to figure out what was going on in the back of my head. Bless you, you valued and enjoyed my head, and I'm certain you still do.  All feedback is welcome. You know my phone number, and you know where I live!

 

Adore you,

Joan.