Same Time This Year

Blue Post and Lentil
by John Harvey
McCracken

It's hard to believe (at least for me) that it's been over two weeks since I've written anything here. I think it's because here I am, in the new year, still mired down with probate petitions and processing paperwork and forms to get the IRAs settled. I need access to Steve's so I can pay his medical bills out of what's there. Same with filing for survivor's benefits with Social Security: Paper-paper-paper.

David and Kittie came down last weekend, but had to dash off Sunday morning, as Kittie had a vocal recital at which she had to perform (she's been taking voice classes). So it was what our cousin Robin calls a "ninja run": Driving down Friday night, staying a day and then returning as quickly as they arrived. These trips were often made by those of us in SoCal when the Moms were alive: just a quick trip to check up and catch up on them.

Assembly of Sea Forms by Barbara Hepworth

For this weekend, I was determined to have a fully cleaned kitchen to show off (not only to let Kittie know I do remember how to do housework, but also because I tend to have a sink full of dishes and pans when they leave), so I cleaned to get a leg up.

This week, David was determined to get me out of the house. Also,  I think he was just bored stiff and wanted to enjoy some of the unique things that Pasadena has to offer. So on Saturday, we had brunch at Andy's, picked up boxes at the Box Store next door, then went to the Norton Simon Museum (that's the building you see across the street during the Rose Parade with a big floral rose on the outside wall).

Asian-Indian collection downstairs

It's been a while since I was there. Steve and I went during our courting period. I floored him by guessing the date of a piece of abstract art and getting it dead on.

One of a whole
bunch of Buddhas

The museum has a nice collection of impressionists, as well as a good contemporary art collection. But it's real jewel is the Asian-Indian art collection, which is quite extensive. They also have a nice sculpture garden, with a couple of Henry Moore pieces (an artist I was first introduced to visiting the Toronto Museum of Art).

Going public places with David and Kittie is always fun, because one or both of them inevitably wander off to find something more exciting or inspiring.  And though it's never planned, we always seem to meet back up, having discovered something wonderful to share with the others.

Saturday evening was pork chops at home for dinner. Since they had to leave early, we headed to bed around 10:30. I stayed up in the office, working and playing for an hour or so.

Triptych: JC talking to the elders.

When they left on Sunday morning, I decided to take the rest of the day off, and ended up napping off and on for most of the day.

This last week has been touch bases, move forward, make contact, find bureaucratic closure. I'm still not on solid ground financially, but I have a long way to go before I'm living out of a shopping cart. I have everything lined up for Social Security, I returned all the paperwork for transferring Steve's IRA, but there's still a list of phone calls to make and little things to take care of. It seems like this process is never going to end.

David and Kittie on the Norton Simon Asian Patio

This weekend I spent organizing and packing up all the extraneous books in the house. And everywhere I go, I uncover stuff I didn't even know was there. For instance, the original copy of the deed to the house and the original mortgage papers were leaning up against the bookcase in the bedroom, hidden under one of those 37 coordinated decorative throw pillows that I never put on the bed unless company's coming.

And photo albums: literally dozens of photo albums from decade after decade, full of people I don't know, most of whom are probably dead at this point. Then I'll come across photos that were obviously his mother's (just this side of tintypes) that I can't bear to toss, just because they're old. But, unlike the mass of photos I have from Mom when she died, I have no connection with these folks. Still, I can't think that they're worth keeping to make a sassy old-timey sepiafest montage at some point.

Most of the more contemporary photos are not only of no relevance to me, but they're also the worst of family snaps, with little visual value other than chronicling unknown people and places from Steve's past. Keeping some snaps of him from days gone by is one thing; holding on to a couple thousand bad pics of strangers in strange surroundings is quite another.

In any case, I can only take about 30 or 45 minutes of this weird wading through someone else's life: I take a break and a breather and then jump back into the fray. It seems like a never-ending process, but then I have to remind myself that this is not about extricating Steve's existence from my life; this is about re-organizing my life and getting rid of what I'm not going to need to move forward.

So it's not just Steve's stuff I'm 86'ing here. I have to go through the stuff I've accumulated over the decades and take a good look at what will continue with me into the next phase of my life. I think I'm avoiding beginning that process: if Steve's stuff gets me going emotionally, then whatever is going to be my reaction when I have to start tossing the stuff I've been carrying around since my college days?

And the big question encompassing all this upheaval and renewal is: What the hell comes next? Somehow, at 60, I didn't think I was going to be asking myself that question.

I believe life keeps you young or it kills you. The unhappy people in the world are those who don't understand that. It's reveling, rigor or recluse: Take your pick. And although I have no idea what will happen, I have an innate sense of where I want to go from here, I just can't label the place or time that will actuate what I sense before me. But, for sure, I'll know when I've arrived.