Posts Tagged ‘writing’
Twenty-Four Years Ago Today…
It’s Christmas Eve in the United States. And about twenty-four years ago, it was around this time that my late husband Michael and I had the most amazing thirty-six-hour conversation in my entire life. Long distance, much via AOL Instant Messenger (still a thing in 2001), complete with raw honesty, what I’d call true bravery on both of our parts as we weren’t afraid to be vulnerable (and neither of us was drunk, or had taken any mind-altering substances as far as I know).
See, at the time, I was waiting for my second ex-husband (yes, I’ve been married three times, if I haven’t said that before or in a while) to come back to his home state and sign the divorce papers.
Mind you, I don’t want to discuss my ex here because there are reasons he’s my ex. What I want to discuss instead is the most amazing person I have ever known, my late husband Michael.
I had contemplated annulling my second marriage, but it cost too much time and too much money. That’s why I was going for a straight divorce instead, in the hopes that I’d be able to get out of the marriage faster. But it still took well over a year before my ex decided to sign the papers, mostly because by that time his then-girlfriend and soon-to-be-wife was heavily pregnant.
I truly hope he’s been a better husband to her than he ever was to me. But I digress.
Michael understood two things from the moment he met me (via a mutual friend). One, he knew right off that he was going to marry me. Two, he also knew that if he tried too hard, I’d run like Hell the other way. I’d had bad luck with men, to say the least, and I was divorcing for the second time at the age of thirty-five. I felt like a complete failure, really…I wasn’t one, but I still felt that way.
So, how did we end up having this thirty-six-hour conversation considering he knew I was gun-shy (for good reasons)? Mostly, the first couple of hours were stuff we usually talked about. Books, movies, current events, ethics, morality, you name it. We could talk for hours. He was possibly the one man I’ve ever known who types as fast as I do (as I type around 100 words per minute when I’m all warmed up). He also read as fast as I do, and so we could have these long conversations, intercut with a point from three minutes ago, intercut with another point from a half-hour ago, etc. And it didn’t bore him!
Nope. Instead, I think it enthralled him.
He was lonely, I was lonely, and there’s no doubt that was part of why we started talking that night. But what took us from a developing close friendship to a romance was how vulnerable and open we were that evening. Neither of us wanted to let the other one go. When I went to the bathroom, I’d tell him, and wait for him when he had to go. Neither of us had webcams, which might’ve been just as well (I’m sure he probably had one somewhere, but he wasn’t about to use it), as I was terrified.
Why? I mean, he already knew what I looked like. He knew I was a big, beautiful woman, what they now call a “curvy” woman. He was attracted to me. Partly for my body, I guess, but mostly for the mind and heart and spirit inside that body.
I liked his looks, too, but he could’ve looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and I’d have still wanted to be with him. (He didn’t. He was quite handsome, actually, but didn’t think so at all.) He had the most beautiful spirit, was kind-hearted, wanted to help people, would do whatever he could to make someone’s life a little better, and yet he also was witty, made me laugh on a continual basis, and him being willing to talk openly about what he wanted in a woman, and what he hadn’t found yet (as he was also divorced; he and his ex stayed friends, and I am still in contact with her, but they weren’t right for each other romantically).
Then, somewhere in those thirty-six hours, he said he thought he’d found it in me. And could we please consider ourselves courting now?
He used that old-fashioned term because it tickled him (he loved British and BBC period dramas), and partly because that’s exactly what he was doing.
Me on the verge of a second divorce did not scare him. It did not make him run away. And he was savvy enough, intelligent enough, and empathetic enough to know how to support me as I got to know him better.
There’s a reason I called him the most wonderful person ever. There actually are many.
So, twenty-four years ago today, my life changed for the better. I took a chance; he took a chance. It was the right thing to do. We were right for one another. Our marriage was a huge success by every metric he and I used: did we care about each other? Could we support one another? Did we have things we loved to do on our own as well as each other? Would we ever run out of stuff to talk about with each other? (Um, no. We never did.) Did we match in every possible way, mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually?
Yes, we did.
We had no money, of course. Neither of us was in good health, and he was in worse health than he knew considering his four sudden heart attacks in one day, culminating in death, in September of 2004. But we wrote together, and it was glorious. (I have to get the two Elfy books out again. I’m sorry it’s taking extra time. Too much going on here, I guess. And my novel Changing Faces was partly the reason he felt he could talk to me in the first place, as he figured anyone who could write that was worthy of the best things in life. He didn’t think he was that, but he wasn’t going to pass on me, either. And he thought my exes were the most foolish, ignorant men on the face of this Earth, too. If I didn’t put that in, he’d not be pleased if he could come back and read this now.) The Elfy duology would not exist without Michael. My other stories, including some set in his own far-future SF Atlantean Union universe, would not exist without Michael. Changing Faces in any form would not exist without Michael either.
Bluntly, I am the person I am today in large part because Michael loved me and he wanted what was best for me. He loved that I played music, he could read music (in all clefs, too, which is hard; yes, I can do it, but I had years of practice and he picked it up seemingly overnight), he loved it that I composed music, he insisted on doing as many household chores as he could to spare me the back and knee pain, he cooked more often than I did even though we were both good cooks, and he made my life so much easier despite all of the obstacles that were in our way.
Once upon a time, I knew that the Deity must love me, or I never would’ve found Michael at all.
If I ever find someone kind enough, good enough, willing to try enough, to be in my life again, it’s because of Michael. His love made it possible for me to see that men can be good, kind, decent, honorable, steady as a rock, encouraging, creative in his own right, quick-witted, and worthy of love in all particulars, in all spheres (mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical), and his love ultimately helped me go on as best I could, even though it did take me at least eleven years to process and even now, still, it often feels like I’m walking on broken glass, trying to pretend my feet aren’t bleeding from the pain of his loss.
So, I don’t know the answers. As I have often said here, I don’t even know the questions sometimes. But I do know that love matters. Creativity matters. Honesty and ethics and fair dealing all matter, too. Honoring the love I had with my husband, that I will have until the day I die and assuredly after as well when we are finally reunited in joy on the other side (hopefully with all the dogs and cats we loved in this life at our sides along with my father and grandmother and all the people Michael had wished I could’ve known better, including his father, who died before I ever knew Michael’s name, much less how wonderful he was).
That’s what matters to me. That’s what’s always going to matter.
May your Christmas and New Years be filled with love, happiness, peace, joy, and whatever else you need to help you have a glorious 2026 despite everything else in your life that gets in the way.
Not having money, not having health, not having a constant place to live, have all gotten in the way of my life for sure. But so long as I have one breath left in my body, I have hope. So long as I remember that a truly good, kind, loving, funny, intelligent, creative person with so many multitudinous talents as Michael loved me, I know I am worthy of that love. And that helps me, at least in part, to get in touch with the Deity in some way, even though I still do not understand why I am here and he is not.
At any rate, it was twenty-four years ago today that my life changed for the better. I think that’s worthy of celebration, even though it’s really hard to celebrate considering Michael’s been dead for twenty-one years, three months, and three days.
Why My Novels Aren’t Currently Available…and What I Plan to Do About It (Plus an Update about the Housing Search)
Folks, I had a few folks asking me lately, “Barb, what happened to your novels? Where are they? Why can’t I find them?”
The answer is, my former publisher, Twilight Times Books (TTB), has released the novels back to me. That means it is now up to me to republish them, independently. I have negotiated for the original covers (as I liked them) and it looks like I will have access to those. I’ll write some sort of forward and new afterword, I’m sure, too…but with everything else still in major flux, I just haven’t had the concentration I need to get everything in train.
My former publisher, Lida Quillen of TTB, has been great. I have the formatted files she used (a major help), along with other files for the covers, and now it’s just a matter of me getting a few hours of good-to-excellent concentration (so I can concentrate on writing a forward and an afterword and add that to the files, hoping I don’t manage to screw up the formatting in so doing) to get them back out there and available again.
So, for the moment, my three novels AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE (aka Elfy Book 1), A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE (aka Elfy Book 2), and CHANGING FACES (a gender-bending spiritual romance that’s been called “Freaky Friday on Acid” that has nothing whatsoever to do with the Elfy books) are unavailable.
I hope to have them back up and available by December 15, 2025. I’m saying this now, publicly, openly, just so you know I am working on it, and that I will find a way to get it done. (Without Lida’s helpfulness in getting me the files and putting me in touch with the cover artists, I wouldn’t have known what to do. I appreciate her willingness to help, as she didn’t have to do anything of the sort.)
While I have many short stories out there and still have the two first stories about Joey Maverick and the very first one about Peter Welmsley available (all three listed as co-written by Michael, my late husband, as these were originally his characters and much of what I had was stuff I’d expanded out a little bit), it is odd not to have my three novels available to purchase.
That will be rectified soon, no matter what, because it’s important that these novels be put back out there for my own peace of mind. I worked hard on these books, I believe they have worth and value, and it is imperative I get them back out there.
By the way, for those of you asking for a moving update…I’m in a holding pattern. I am on quite a few waiting lists for apartments, but there seems to be very little movement in the housing market right now, possibly because of the uncertainty regarding the economy. And the one day I did get a solid tip about an apartment, I wasn’t able to follow through with it due to health reasons. (It was only going to be shown for one day for two hours. I could not get there at that time. I felt bad I couldn’t get there.)
My stuff is mostly in storage and has been for a bit under three months. It’s safe, as the place I picked is reliable, and there are cameras there. The lock they gave me is hard for me to operate (I have tendinitis in both hands and wrists), so when I go there I have to make sure I have someone else with me to open and close the gate (when I went there once by myself, I ended up having to call my best friend’s husband to ask for help as he was one of the folks who helped me get stuff into storage in the first place). It’s like adding an extra obstacle to a course already full of them.
But I persevere, and do the best I can, and hope for better days ahead. Not just for me, either…for everyone I know, too, as life seems quite difficult for just about everyone right now.
Tom Brady Cloned His Favorite Dog, and I Have Thoughts…
Folks, I’ve been wrestling with this issue for several days (in addition to trying to get rid of the most recent sinus infection, doing my best to make some progress in other areas, looking for apartments, etc.), and finally figured out now is the right time to start discussing it.
Tom Brady found a company that would clone his favorite dog, named Lua, partly because he’s got a lot of money, and partly because he adored his late dog. From what I’ve read, the company that did the cloning (Colossal Biosciences) did so starting from a blood sample from Lua taken before she passed. His new dog, Junie, is a clone of Lua. (Note that Brady is an investor in this company, too.)
But here’s the thing about clones: If you can’t duplicate the exact same nurturing environment, you probably won’t get the same personality as your former animal. They have the same DNA, yes, but just as identical twin human children can have radically different personalities, so can dogs, cats, parakeets, or in one case, a rare white bull.
(I don’t know for sure that parakeets have been cloned yet, but it appears that both dogs and cats have been. The white bull that was cloned turned out to be far meaner and much less friendly than the original bull, which disappointed the farmer who’d cloned him. But I digress.)
Even if you do duplicate the exact, same nurturing environment, there are still other factors that can play into personalities. There are so many different factors that go into making a person who they are, which also goes for every other animal on Earth. That’s why identical twins can have radically different personalities, even if raised by the same family. Nurture, nature, the type of environment…all of it matters, as do so many other factors that defy description.
But back to Brady’s dog for the moment.
Bluntly, a genetic duplicate is not the same dog. While it is an exact copy of the original, Junie can’t be Lua, just as Lua couldn’t be Junie. That’s why the owner of the white bull was disappointed in part; he wanted his original bull cloned because he was exceptionally mild-mannered and gentle. However, as I said earlier, the clone of that bull was meaner, very difficult to handle, and nothing like his progenitor.
Such situations have been raised by science fiction authors in the past, mind you. The one I’m the most familiar with is Lois McMaster Bujold’s cloned character Mark Vorkosigan, a younger clone of his brother, Miles. Mark had many things inflicted on him to make him an exact physical duplicate of Miles that didn’t need to happen (read the books BROTHERS IN ARMS and MIRROR DANCE for more information on that), as Miles was damaged in utero due to a failed assassination attempt on his parents, and that obviously didn’t happen to Mark. So, the original, Miles, was only four feet, nine inches because of what happened to him, whereas Mark was biologically retrofitted to look like Miles, but had far heavier bones and would’ve most likely been close to six feet tall (if not over it) had the awful people who illegally cloned him left him alone. (The torturous things done to Mark, if thought about too much, will make anyone sick.)
So, Mark and Miles are facially identical. Their personalities are radically different. They both learn over time to function as true brothers, partly because their mother, Cordelia, was raised in a society that understands how to deal with clones legally, honestly, and completely aboveboard. (Cordelia knows Mark didn’t ask for any of this, which is one of the reasons I love Cordelia so much as a character. But again, I digress.) Mark is quite a bit heavier than Miles is, again because he was not damaged in utero, and Mark learns to use his heavier frame (he frankly says he’s obese, for whatever it’s worth, whereas Miles is skinny and often looks emaciated due to various health woes) to his own advantage.
It’s because I know all of this is as true as Lois McMaster Bujold, a writer who has a strong grounding in science, could make it that I question Tom Brady’s reasoning here. It’s wonderful that he wanted Lua to somehow live on in a successor. But Junie is not Lua, and will not behave like Lua no matter what he wants unless he gets very, very lucky. (Think again about the farmer with his cloned white bull if you don’t believe me.)
We’ve known cloning animals is possible since Dolly the sheep got cloned in 1996. Sheep don’t show as obvious of personalities as a lot of animals (though they do have them), which may be why Dolly’s personality was never called into question. At that point, geneticists were happy to have finally cloned a sheep from an adult cell (as some other sheep had been cloned in a different way back in 1984), and as Dolly the clone was mild-mannered (as most sheep tend to be), that factor was not discussed much in media accounts.
What all of this amounts to, mind you, whether you’re talking about Junie, clone of Tom Brady’s beloved dog Lua, or the fictional Mark Vorkosigan, clone of Miles Vorkosigan, is that a genetic copy — a clone — may be identical from a genetic perspective, but it’s not going to be identical in every other way unless every other factor the original had been exposed to (or had happen to them) was replicated in full. Even then, it’s still unlikely, but theoretically possible, that you’ll get a dog or bull or parakeet or whatever that acts exactly like the original/originator.
Going back to Mark Vorkosigan’s story, he had some personality traits that were just like his progenitor’s, including high intelligence, adaptability, and being able to immerse himself in a role if need be. But he was far surlier, especially at first, as life dealt him a very bad hand (the retrofitting surgeries to cut him down from the height he should’ve had to the height Miles attained due to the damage in utero were nightmarish and horrific). Mark didn’t trust easily, to say the least, and he didn’t know why anyone would want to ever do anything nice for him. (Learning exactly who he is, and who he isn’t, is the main thrust of the novel MIRROR DANCE, which I highly recommend you read.) Over time, Mark becomes a financier and philanthropist (self-made), whereas Miles pursues the military and then later becomes an Imperial Auditor (using all of his skills for the best to solve various problems, roughly). Miles couldn’t do what Mark does, while Mark not only can’t do what Miles does, he has no interest in doing it either.
That’s because they’re both people. They can’t expect to be the same. They know they aren’t no matter how identical their DNA happens to be. Different experiences, different approaches to problems…which is very human and understandable.
Anyway, Tom Brady spent fifty thousand dollars to clone Lua. He got Junie out of it. I hope Junie will be a wonderful family pet, but I also hope that Brady and his family will realize Junie is not Lua, can never be Lua, doesn’t have Lua’s memories or experiences…only has Lua’s DNA, and as Junie matures more every year, her own personality and her own memories and her own experiences will shine through.
The upshot is, while I understand and sympathize with any pet lover who wants their beloved animal back, I think it’s better to go get an animal from the local shelter and adopt that animal than it is to clone your dog. You know full well that the new-to-you dog is not going to react in the same way as any of your other dogs, and you won’t be thrown off by how similar the cloned dog looks to the old…nor by behavior that you probably never saw out of your old dog either. The chance of confusion at how the cloned dog looks just like the old (but doesn’t act just like it) won’t apply, either, as you’ll be able to get to know your dog over time just as your dog is — warts and all, knocking the garbage over and all, chewing up shoes and all, and whatever other mischief the dog can come up with along with its more loveable cuddles, snuggles, and companionable walks.
So, what do you think about Tom Brady’s cloned dog? Or the thought of cloning in general? I’m interested to hear your thoughts.
A Quick Update
Hey, everyone. Sorry it’s taken me a while to get up a new blog, but I’ve been quite vexed with the housing search. When I was younger — at my first undergraduate school — it took about a month to find a place when nearly everything else was rented. But this search has gone way beyond that, especially as I started it in August…it’s well over three months, and I have yet to find a place to live that I can afford.
That said, I’ve also been battling my usual fall maladies of chronic sinus infections, general malaise, fibromyalgia flares/back problems, and of course the chronic depression I deal with daily. Being able to create helps me fight against all of that. But being in this situation works against being creative, as most of my energy is going toward either survival or finding a new place.
That said, for the moment I am still safe and staying with a family member. Later this month, if I still do not have a place, though, I’m not sure what will happen as the apartment complex here isn’t happy that I’ve been here so long without paying any rent to them. So this is the last month I can do that, though it may be possible for me to “reset the clock” by going to a hotel for a day or two. (Any longer than that, I can’t afford.)
As far as writing goes, I’ve been mostly stalled for all the reasons I gave above. As far as editing goes, I’m finally almost done with a lengthy edit — quite intense, lots of comments to make, and because it’s the last in a series, I have to make sure everything stays in good order. (This means I look stuff up. Nothing wrong with that. But any writer or editor worth anything will tell you what I’m saying right now: the work goes far more slowly if you’re having to do lots of cross-checks with previous books.) I believe I’ve done that, and it’s now just down to the final few things before it goes off to my client.
I am doing my best, in other words. Sometimes I get quite frustrated. (Actually, most of the time.) This is not what I’d hoped for, and not what my father wanted for me, and definitely not what anyone who knows me now and is still alive (including my family) wants either. Yet it’s where I am, and all I can do is my best with the circumstances I’ve got and go from there.
Tomorrow is Veteran’s Day in the US, as probably most of you know. My father was a Navy veteran, as was my late husband, Michael. I have cousins who’ve served, and many friends, along with an ex-husband (he was in the Army, back in the day). I respect people greatly who have served their country, and I appreciate what they’ve done to make this country a better place.
There’s still lots of upheaval going on around me because of governmental issues and strains, too. Everything seems to be in flux, not just me and my living situation.
I wonder sometimes if I am in the wrong place, doing the wrong things, and that I am so far off the track meant for my life (which was to be a college music teacher and performer before my poor health and finances got in the way), there’s no way for me to find my way back.
That said, I’ve done what I thought was best. I’ve helped people as I’m able and will continue to do that as long as I live. I’ve taught myself editing, and am good at it. I write, and always will write, whatever suits me: nonfiction, poetry, fiction, you name it, I can write it and probably have. I’ve used my musical talents in ways I hadn’t expected, but they have been used…and if my health gets any better, perhaps I’ll be able to use them again. (I’d still like to visit France and/or Spain someday, as that’s where classical alto saxophonists are most appreciated.)
So, while I’m battling depression, as I said before, I am still alive. So long as I’m alive, there’s at least some hope for better. I am looking for that hope, while also doing what I can to find my own, independent place to live. (It’s easier to help others when you have a place that’s truly yours where you can retreat to, as needed. A sanctum santorum, in other words. I haven’t had that now in any way, shape, or form for over three months.)
I battle the thought that I’ve failed (all of my novels right now need to be republished, as the rights have reverted back to me and are no longer for sale; unfortunately that’s on the back burner unless/until I can find a place of my own). I battle the thought that Michael might be unhappy with me (though really, I can’t see why he would be; he always thought I was too hard on myself, and this is probably just another of those times). I battle the thought that my maturity and experience may not matter in a world filled with so much automation and the flirtations with AI. I also battle my health, as anyone who’s spent any time here knows…but all I can do is my best.
This is my mantra right now: All I can do is my best.
Maybe that’s how it is always for everyone. But this sense of it being crisis city all the time is hard to live with, and I hope it’ll be alleviated soon. (No disrespect to my family member who took me in, either. That was not easy and I appreciate it greatly. It’s just that I am frustrated with this…and really do need a sanctum santorum of my own for creative reasons.)
So, that’s the update, such as it is.
How are you all doing? (Hopefully better than I am, but at least if you’re alive and kicking, that counts.) Do let me know, if you’re able…I would appreciate it greatly.
Moved Out of Dad’s House…But No Apartment Yet
The last week was very hectic, and not in a good way. I said goodbye to my father’s home, the place I was raised along with my sibs; that was not fun, not pleasant, and was quite frustrating, besides.
I did have some help to get out of Dad’s house, mind. My good friend Lika and her husband and son helped me greatly. (Note that all four of us have significant physical limitations, but we did our best to work around them.) My sister and niece helped the day before the move-out, doing their best to consolidate and remove clutter (along with getting all of my clothes into one place; that’s a handy thing, and I appreciated it). Lika was able to find several things in my bedroom that had eluded me for months, for which I thanked her profusely.
But leaving was still tough.
See, the first thing I had to do the day of the move (which was last Sunday, BTW) was to rent a U-haul truck. I had no trouble renting it, but a great deal of trouble actually getting up into the truck (as it was not a low-rise type of truck, anyone who attempts to get in there has to have better knees than I do). At first, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then my friend Lika came to the rescue, and she drove the truck (which was fine with the U-haul people) while I drove her car back to Dad’s house.
So, one obstacle down. A whole bunch to go…
At any rate, we loaded the U-haul with as much stuff as we could find. Some stuff still got left, including many of my books and some of my sheet music (probably most of it, but as it had mildewed in the basement over the years, it would’ve had to be thrown out anyway). But as far as I know, I got out all of the music I’ve written over the past twenty-plus years, all of my clothes, and at least some household things like chairs and my bed.
We took it to the storage place I’d picked out, and unloaded it. (Actually, I mostly watched Lika and her family do this. They knew I was struggling mightily by that time.) Then we went out to eat at George Webb’s (as they’re open 24 hours), and they went home as it had been a very, very long day.
I couldn’t get everything, though. Food was left behind (mostly canned food and yogurt). There was just no room for it in my car. In addition, all the pots and pans were left, as were silverware, plates, cups…I did manage to get out the microwave, the mini-fridge, the slow-cooker, and the blender.
Because I was quite tired, too, it took me seven hours to find nooks and crannies in my car in order to take as much stuff as I could. (Lika had already taken my musical instruments with my permission, as I felt they were safer with her than with me under the circumstances.) I had a few panic attacks, and at least one of them was so bad, I thought at first I was having a true, honest-to-Goddess heart attack.
Eventually, I left Dad’s house, after saying my final goodbyes, and wishing it well during the renovation phase. It was a good house for my family, and I will miss it.
Then I had to deal with the next obstacle, which was driving a fully-loaded car on a very sunny day. I’m not normally driving at that hour, much less with so much stuff in the car. It was a struggle to keep going, as I was so tired, I had to repeat like a mantra, “Stay in your lane. Hold your lane. Hold your speed,” over and over.
I’ve never done that before and hope to never have to do it again. But concentrating on that worked, and I drove safely without issues. (Score one for the good guys. Or the good girl. Or whatever.)
But as the title says, I have yet to find a new place to live. I am on quite a few waiting lists, and I have hopes one of them will have room soon.
For now, though, I’m staying with family. This is not a long-term solution, but it gives me time to rest and recuperate. I need that time, as moving took a great deal out of me.
This reminds me of something Michael, my late husband, said. After we’d moved into our new apartment in Iowa, which was hard on both of us as both of us walked with canes (we had no help), he said that he could not face another move. He just did not feel like he was up to it. He was right, though in this case, I think he’d have rather been wrong as him “not moving again” happened because his body gave out.
This might’ve been why I had the bad panic attacks. It also might’ve been why I wondered, again, how I’ve made it almost twenty-one years without the love of my life, and thought such self-defeating things as, “Your music won’t matter. Goodness alone knows, your books certainly haven’t sold much. Maybe you’re fated to live in obscurity the rest of your life.”
All of that may be true, though I hope it isn’t. Still, I have to do what I believe is right. I’m doing that.
And if my works never matter to the world as a whole, I just have to remind myself that out of all the creative sorts who’ve ever lived, we only know a fraction of their names, much less what they did. That does not make what they did bad, wrong, or insignificant.
Anyway, the move was stressful, difficult, painful (you don’t want to know how much I hurt after all that), and frustrating. But I’d like to think something good can come from it, somehow…even if I don’t yet know what that “something good” will be.
Housing Search Continues
Folks, I know I’ve been a bad correspondent lately. But there’s a reason for that.
As I said a few months ago, I knew that my father’s house would be sold soon. As I’d stayed at this house for several years before he passed and continued after, it’s a big change to be looking for a new apartment. Mostly, it’s a welcome thing, because if I’ve proven one thing in the last two years since Dad died, I am not capable of taking care of lawn maintenance or snow shoveling or weeding or any of that.
Mind you, if I didn’t need a cane to walk with, and if I were more flexible, I possibly could’ve done some weeding or something with flowerbeds or whatnot. But shoveling snow, using a snow blower…just out. And using a lawn mower, or shears to cut back hedges…that’s a non-starter, too.
I have had great neighbors, here at Dad’s house. They have consistently bailed me out by shoveling the walks and the driveway, mowing the grass, cutting back the weeds…really, these are kind people, and I will miss them when I’m out of Dad’s house (as I will be in a few weeks).
Now, as I hadn’t blogged about it yet, you may be wondering why I said “housing search continues.” That’s because I’ve been discussing it at Facebook on my personal page, trying to give updates every day or two as to what I’m doing to find a new place.
Mostly, I’ve had some help in finding apartment waitlists that I hadn’t known about, and I found out today from the housing counselor (that’s what I’m calling him as he’s been enormously helpful) that because Michael was a Navy veteran with an honorable discharge, there may be a few more places available to me as his widow.
Still, there are two songs that keep rolling through my head. The first is Three Days Grace’s “Mayday,” which has lyrics like “the more you know you know you know nothing” (yes, they repeat “you know” three times in a row) and “it’s hard to keep fighting, when you’re barely surviving.” (The reason it’s called Mayday is because the group is talking about people who are in extremis that feel like everything they’re doing makes no sense. Yet they keep doing it, even if they “walk like dead people who haven’t died yet,” and even if they’re “going down, but not today. We’ll never say Mayday!”) The second is from the Architects and is called “Everything Ends.” (I think that is enough explanation for one day.)
The thing is, while everything does end, we often have to end something in order to begin something else. Many times, we have to get through a whole lot of stuff that makes us want to yell “Mayday!” and get help before we can get to anything good. And sometimes, it’s hard to remember there are good things out there still waiting, or good people also, because so much has happened that you can barely take it in.
I miss my Dad a lot, more than I’d expected (and I had expected to miss him greatly, so that says something). But to honor Dad’s memory, I have to try to get through this move — one of the seven great stressors even for a healthy, fully ambulatory person (sans cane) — and hope I do find the right place for me to settle in for a while.
Then, I can get back to writing more, editing more, and hopefully enjoying life a little more, too.
Anyway, I will try to write a blog next week or whenever I have some good news to share on the housing front. Either way, I will keep watching the Brewers (go Brewers!), doing what I can to help my Mom so long as my body will allow it, and continue to pack stuff up as best I can.
Wish me luck with this, hey?
Weather, Driving, and Other Updates
Folks, while I’m glad it got a little warmer today, I didn’t need it to be as humid. It was our first truly warm day of the year, and might’ve hit 80 F, but it felt worse due to the humidity.
The weather forecasters say that tomorrow, we should have heavy rain. I think that’s sensible. We’ve had a bunch of colder weather that’s reminded me more of March than May (and now, early June), and in a way, maybe it’s a good thing.
OK, in some ways, it’s not. My arthritis is worse in cold and humid weather than it is in warm and humid weather, though any humidity will set it off. I also have to say I don’t enjoy frost warnings in the middle of May, nor did I like seeing my father’s prized orange tiger lilies start to bloom, only to wither due to the frost warning a few weeks ago. (Explanation: It is a perennial, yes, but most likely I will not be in my father’s house that much longer. Assuredly, I won’t be here next year to see them without some sort of financial miracle.)
But the reason I said it might be a good thing is that many times, in mid-May, I start thinking about when Michael started seriously preparing to get to me, so we could get married in mid-June. He actually got there around June 7, back in 2002…so of course, this week, especially with the heat and humidity, I’ve been thinking a lot about that.
Later this month, I’ll be celebrating twenty-three years since the day Michael and I married. That’s always a bittersweet day on the calendar. I start thinking about how wonderful it was to be with him, even though we didn’t get that much time together…and then I start thinking about other men who aren’t as good still being alive, and wondering why.
For example, when men cuss out the grocery cashier around me, I wonder why they’re alive. Obviously, they have no interest in common courtesy, and they’re modeling bad behavior for their own children (the last two guys who did this had kids in tow, presumably their own).
I also wonder when I see bad drivers do stupid things on the road. I recently was driving home from my Mom’s, and someone ran a red (I had the green) and burned rubber speeding down the road. If I hadn’t stopped, or at least not started to accelerate, I would’ve been T-boned. And as I said, the guy clearly had a red light.
The good thing in this particular case is that the police were right there. They got that guy.
I also saw something a few weeks ago that I may have not blogged about before. I was driving close to a local cemetery that’s known for having geese and ducks in its pond. It was dusk. I had someone tailgating behind me even though I’d just left a stoplight, and they were less than a foot behind me. Ducks were crossing, and at first, because it was dusk, I didn’t see them. I swerved, and I still don’t know how I avoided them. (Picture five or six ducks. Two adults, probably Mama and Papa, on each side of a bunch of ducklings.) The driver tailgating also swerved, so no ducks nor ducklings were hurt.
I have to say, though, I put my head in my hand at the next stoplight. I knew how close to an accident that had been. I would’ve had to choose to hit the ducks rather than getting hit squarely by someone going at least fifteen miles over the posted speed limit of thirty-five MPH, and I hate hitting wildlife.
Anyway, June is a tough month for me. It’s in many ways the best month I ever had, if you go back to 2002. It’s also been a very quiet, difficult, and frustrating month since Michael died.
I think Michael would be happy that I’m still trying my best to write, to edit, and deal with my health. (That rash on my back is still here, BTW, and is no better. It’s quite frustrating.) Editing has been slow. Writing has been almost nonexistent. But I am trying, and I haven’t given up.
Michael used to say that I shouldn’t let anyone put me down, including myself. (He said this because I’m known to be extremely hard on myself.) He was big on emphasizing the positives if at all possible; otherwise, he used the Buddhist trick I’ve told you about before, where he let himself feel whatever stress was going on — money, work, car issues, health, you name it — for five minutes or so, then he’d say, “OK, self, I’ve felt that. Now let’s get on.” (He’d not put it quite that way. That’s my way of putting it. But the sentiment is true.)
So, I’m trying to use that Buddhist trick as best I can, even though I’m not a Buddhist. It helps some, at least some of the time.
Today’s good news is that my favorite baseball team, the Milwaukee Brewers, have as of tonight won eight games in a row. In addition, outfielder and designated hitter Christian Yelich was the Player of the Week last week due to his excellent play.
Other than that, I’m alive, trying my best.
Hope you all are doing as well as possible. (Let me know in the comments, if you feel up to it.)
Barb Caffrey's Blog 