The headline is a throwback to the '60s or '70s and refers to a pair of panty hose in a plastic egg. Not being an aficionado of panty hose, I don't even know if they still make them. But, golly, it was mid-Century brand marketing at its best.
And it refers to walking. Moving. Taking care of business. Being able to think about doing chores without adding "if I can stand up" to the sentence. I'm back to making lists. Like today, I was out on the patio with my morning coffee and noted an accumulation of pine needles from the hell tree (a ponderosa pine) in the front yard. They're those long ones, with three needles to a…what?…stalk?
In any case, they get into all the plants and are nearly impossible to pick out without tearing up leaves and branches and such. If the tree did not provide excellent shade to the house, I would try to get the Homeowners' Association to cut it down. So, after a while (and especially after a rain, as we had for Halloween night) the needles pile up on the patio and it starts looking like a forest floor.
Before I went inside, I stood up, picked up the broom and swept the needles into a pile. Wow. It was an automatic thing, and I didn't stop and wonder if it would kill my back. And it didn't.
Waking up stiff now means something much different than it did in my younger days. I get up with a slight soreness in the low back. It starts to complain as I move around, but I just push through it, stretch the muscles and complete my current task. After about an hour of moving around, things loosen up, and I'm walking freely before I pour my second cup of coffee.
Until now, I've been limited to one or two things a day (do the laundry, do the shopping, take a shower, take out the trash, vacuum: pick two). Today I've been up and going pretty much like normal. After something like shopping or laundry, which requires lugging up to 20 pounds up and down flights of stairs, I have to sit down and relax the back. But in five minutes' time, I'm back up and pain free. I still do get discomfort later at night, but that's just tired muscles. When I start walking with a stoop, I know it's time to hit the sack and rest the back.
Halloween was non-eventful. That's the price you pay for living in a gated building. I still buy a sack of candy and put it in the popcorn bowl (just like we did when I was a kid), but there were no trick-or-treaters. I stayed in and watched "American Horror Story: Freak Show" on FX. A very disturbing show, but perfect for Halloween. And you won't see Jessica Lange in a more twisted role. It's definitely not for the young.
So today I did a load of laundry, went shopping, swept the patio and plan to actually cook a dinner for myself (I've been doing eggs and toast or sandwiches up to this point: tonight I'm attempting to make a turkey meatloaf). Standing in the kitchen cooking is very uncomfortable, as the counters are just low enough to make me bend slightly while working.
Standing and working are the bellwether of how my back is doing. Two weeks ago I couldn't stand for two minutes without crumbling into a chair for relief. Last night I stood in the kitchen for almost 15 minutes and got back to the living room without cramping up, stooping over or leaning on stuff. I have decided that tomorrow I'm going to start the daily walk. Nothing else loosens things up like walking.
The directory is hitting its stride, and I finally got the spreadsheets I needed to start actually laying it out, page by page. Paul (chamber CEO) really seems to like the layout this year, and I think it will be really nice once I get everything in place. Between editorial copy, photos and ads, piecing together an 88-page book can be daunting. But I like puzzles.
And another client, Electric Power Group, is putting together the copy for its second newsletter, so that's even more work for me. And since the template for the job was designed last time around, this one should be a slam dunk.
It's so nice to simply react to my surroundings. When the bed sheets need changing, I change them. When the cat needs playing with, I play. This is really the first day I could say that without the caveat of "if the back's okay."
But the biggest relief is that, for the most part, the referred nerve pain down the legs is gone, although it does twinge for a minute or two when I lie down flat in bed. And when I wake up in the morning, I still think "what will happen when I stand up," but it's usually a pleasant surprise at how limber I am after six or eight hours of sleep.
So now I can start doing all those little "outside" chores, like getting a hair cut, doing some clothes shopping, and planning a daily walk without worrying about the back seizing up halfway through. According to my chiropractor, this occurred because of overactivity followed by inactivity. Like my late friend Robert Lee Norton said, "Just keep moving."
When I was working outside the house, I got the daily exercise of commuting on the train to work. When Steve was alive, we were active and would go out and do things together. But since he died, I really haven't been doing much in the way of activity.
My agoraphobia puts the brakes on simply going out for a stroll. Until now, that is. I can override it when there's a good reason. Like pushing through the morning back discomfort, I can push through the anxiety that keeps me from going outside when there is a good reason, like being able to walk. And going up and down the stairs in my house is not enough to be called exercise; that's about all I was doing before this all occurred. One thing is for certain: now I'm going to do everything I can to avoid this from happening again. I really don't need to be an old man until I have to.
Today at the store, the checkout lady (who knows me) gave me a senior discount. She was nice enough not to ask if I needed help out to the car, though. I still have five years until I can retire, and the idea is not palatable to me. I want to keep working, albeit part time, as long as I can.
I have calls out to Regina (the cleaning ladies) and Triple Screens to get the last of the work done on the house before it goes on the market. I know there's going to be one more round of handyman type stuff (carbon monoxide detectors installed, water heater strapped to the wall, etc.) before the city signs off on the house going up for sale.
But for the present, I relax. And now, on to the meatloaf!
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea: Boy, That's Deep
It's been two weeks since I last posted an entry here. Several regular readers have commented that there has been no recent posting, and that's been because there was nothing but whiny, bitchy stuff to report in my life. (My Back Hurts. Nobody Loves Me. I Can't Find Any Worms to Eat). I hate writing posts that don't have anything to say. It just seems like reality has slowed to a crawl from about June (the remodel) onward, and the back going out was like the climax right before the end of Act I.
My back has been my major preoccupation. It improves day by day, but sitting too long in one place (like at the computer) or not moving around enough in general and things start to cramp up again. The biggest challenge now is to stretch and work through the discomfort to get to higher mobility and the return of normalcy. I guess putting the house on the market will be Act II.
I keep harping about this being psychosomatic, and perhaps I'm a little too aware of my state of mind. The last two weeks have been highs and lows, but mostly it's been about not moving forward. I am so scared of moving forward. The agoraphobia kicks in and I'm lucky if I make a phone call all day. I stay inside and work on the directory, then play computer games. And when the sun goes down, it's time to sit myself in front of the TV. I hide. I hide. When will I rise?
Jessie came up from Irvine for lunch on Saturday and she saw firsthand the situation: Moving around at first is problematic, but once movement starts, there is a point of breakthrough: kind of like a runner hitting the wall, only with walking. Then things free up and I feel good. The trick at this point is to really watch that I don't overdo it, because the muscles then cramp up and I feel like I'm back to Square 1.
So things like taking a shower or lugging the laundry up and down two flights of stairs can become the major event of the day, and often the only event of the day. Going to the store can be a daunting task but, again, once I work through the stiffness, things loosen up and I feel great. But by the time I've got the groceries back to the house, lugged up from the garage to the kitchen and put away, it's time to rest the back, 'cause it's singin'.
One big improvement has come from a suggestion that Jessie made: sleeping on my side with a pillow between my legs. One of the real irritations has been the cramping after I wake up in the morning, which is when it was at its worst. It is simply no way to start your day: As I awake, the first thing I've thought is "Will it hurt when I move?" Then I move. Then I stand and greet the recalcitrant irritation and the first cramp of the day. I'd rather look forward to going to a job I really hate; it's the same sinking feeling first thing when you wake.
Now, with this pillow scheme in place, I'm getting up in the morning with little discomfort, no cramping. I know the muscles are there, but I can get around and loosen up much quicker than before. Or maybe I'm just getting better. Either way, things are getting better.
I finally arranged to have Out of the Closet come and pick up my donations yesterday. They took everything except what I thought they would leave: the aquarium (not shiny clean), the junky stand it was on and the office chair (which has cheap and cracked vinyl leatherette on the arms). These are easily tossed into the dumpster. In any case, I've got room in the garage again, and things are looking pretty clean and uncluttered. Now there's room to move the Christmas stuff from the living room closet to the garage.
I think I'm going to have to goose the cleaning lady to remind her to come over and give me a quote for the cleanup job. She said she would call on Monday or Tuesday, and that hasn't happened, so I have to get proactive. Their services are worth the effort, though, and theirs is a home invasion that I very much look forward to; then new screens and the place is ready to show.
The chamber directory is coming together nicely, and it's time to actually solidify the layout and get moving on the nuts and bolts of putting the book together. This is when coordinating with their offices is all important. There are one or two things I'm a little worried about, but there's time to address them if I keep focus on the design.
I still haven't had drinks with Kelly from the chamber. We ostensibly had planned to get together last weekend, but her father went into the hospital, so we never hooked up. That's okay with me, because I really haven't been drinking much at all. I have the same bottle of scotch in the pantry that was there three months ago.
The major arc of the last two weeks of my life, though, has been loneliness, singularity, all-by-myself-ism. After this kooky, crazy, horrible year that I've experienced, I still haven't gotten used to not having Steve here. There should be a second person. This back could not cripple me in the same way that losing Steve has. And without that second person, things seem so difficult to accomplish.
The summer has finally broken. We get one more warmup this week, which will be in the upper 80s, but the evenings are cooling off into the 50s now, so a hot day only lasts a few hours in the afternoon. We sometimes get one last gasp of heat in early November, but that's about it. And now to find out if this is going to be a wet winter. Indications are not looking good for this, and I can't wait to get out of this desiccated mudhole of a place and start something new.
Brother-in-law Dave Vicars just called and asked when I was going to come up the coast for a visit. Vena had mentioned she wanted to visit with me. We share a vibe, she and I, both having lost spouses in the last year. She had been married to Bob forever, though. I wonder if the hollow feeling is more intense the longer you've assumed that person will be there forever and will never leave.
Looking at my calendar, I realized that there is no time because the next five weeks are going to be nothing but the directory design and putting the house on the market. And selling it, of course. But that part is something I know nothing of, so I'll leave lots of room to accommodate the process.
My ass is starting to ache. I've been sitting at this computer too long. Time to go get dinner and sit in front of the TV, deflated by the lack of entertainment on the 500 channels I now receive on cable. If it weren't for the Internet and the fact that the cable charges are included in our HOA dues, I'd cancel it and turn my attention to streaming video. I like my distractions cheap and transitory. Thank God I live in America.
My back has been my major preoccupation. It improves day by day, but sitting too long in one place (like at the computer) or not moving around enough in general and things start to cramp up again. The biggest challenge now is to stretch and work through the discomfort to get to higher mobility and the return of normalcy. I guess putting the house on the market will be Act II.
I keep harping about this being psychosomatic, and perhaps I'm a little too aware of my state of mind. The last two weeks have been highs and lows, but mostly it's been about not moving forward. I am so scared of moving forward. The agoraphobia kicks in and I'm lucky if I make a phone call all day. I stay inside and work on the directory, then play computer games. And when the sun goes down, it's time to sit myself in front of the TV. I hide. I hide. When will I rise?
Jessie came up from Irvine for lunch on Saturday and she saw firsthand the situation: Moving around at first is problematic, but once movement starts, there is a point of breakthrough: kind of like a runner hitting the wall, only with walking. Then things free up and I feel good. The trick at this point is to really watch that I don't overdo it, because the muscles then cramp up and I feel like I'm back to Square 1.
So things like taking a shower or lugging the laundry up and down two flights of stairs can become the major event of the day, and often the only event of the day. Going to the store can be a daunting task but, again, once I work through the stiffness, things loosen up and I feel great. But by the time I've got the groceries back to the house, lugged up from the garage to the kitchen and put away, it's time to rest the back, 'cause it's singin'.
One big improvement has come from a suggestion that Jessie made: sleeping on my side with a pillow between my legs. One of the real irritations has been the cramping after I wake up in the morning, which is when it was at its worst. It is simply no way to start your day: As I awake, the first thing I've thought is "Will it hurt when I move?" Then I move. Then I stand and greet the recalcitrant irritation and the first cramp of the day. I'd rather look forward to going to a job I really hate; it's the same sinking feeling first thing when you wake.
Now, with this pillow scheme in place, I'm getting up in the morning with little discomfort, no cramping. I know the muscles are there, but I can get around and loosen up much quicker than before. Or maybe I'm just getting better. Either way, things are getting better.
I finally arranged to have Out of the Closet come and pick up my donations yesterday. They took everything except what I thought they would leave: the aquarium (not shiny clean), the junky stand it was on and the office chair (which has cheap and cracked vinyl leatherette on the arms). These are easily tossed into the dumpster. In any case, I've got room in the garage again, and things are looking pretty clean and uncluttered. Now there's room to move the Christmas stuff from the living room closet to the garage.
I think I'm going to have to goose the cleaning lady to remind her to come over and give me a quote for the cleanup job. She said she would call on Monday or Tuesday, and that hasn't happened, so I have to get proactive. Their services are worth the effort, though, and theirs is a home invasion that I very much look forward to; then new screens and the place is ready to show.
The chamber directory is coming together nicely, and it's time to actually solidify the layout and get moving on the nuts and bolts of putting the book together. This is when coordinating with their offices is all important. There are one or two things I'm a little worried about, but there's time to address them if I keep focus on the design.
I still haven't had drinks with Kelly from the chamber. We ostensibly had planned to get together last weekend, but her father went into the hospital, so we never hooked up. That's okay with me, because I really haven't been drinking much at all. I have the same bottle of scotch in the pantry that was there three months ago.
The major arc of the last two weeks of my life, though, has been loneliness, singularity, all-by-myself-ism. After this kooky, crazy, horrible year that I've experienced, I still haven't gotten used to not having Steve here. There should be a second person. This back could not cripple me in the same way that losing Steve has. And without that second person, things seem so difficult to accomplish.
The summer has finally broken. We get one more warmup this week, which will be in the upper 80s, but the evenings are cooling off into the 50s now, so a hot day only lasts a few hours in the afternoon. We sometimes get one last gasp of heat in early November, but that's about it. And now to find out if this is going to be a wet winter. Indications are not looking good for this, and I can't wait to get out of this desiccated mudhole of a place and start something new.
Brother-in-law Dave Vicars just called and asked when I was going to come up the coast for a visit. Vena had mentioned she wanted to visit with me. We share a vibe, she and I, both having lost spouses in the last year. She had been married to Bob forever, though. I wonder if the hollow feeling is more intense the longer you've assumed that person will be there forever and will never leave.
Looking at my calendar, I realized that there is no time because the next five weeks are going to be nothing but the directory design and putting the house on the market. And selling it, of course. But that part is something I know nothing of, so I'll leave lots of room to accommodate the process.
My ass is starting to ache. I've been sitting at this computer too long. Time to go get dinner and sit in front of the TV, deflated by the lack of entertainment on the 500 channels I now receive on cable. If it weren't for the Internet and the fact that the cable charges are included in our HOA dues, I'd cancel it and turn my attention to streaming video. I like my distractions cheap and transitory. Thank God I live in America.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
The Day After the Year After
Monday was the anniversary of Steve's death. I did not take it well. I slept 18 hours. I sat and talked with Steve in the living room. Tears came out of nowhere. As far as I know, he's fine with all that's going on. He'd better be, because I'm ready to have him actively in the past.
Is there something valid in the scheduling of anniversaries? Is it more than just the calendar that punctuates this flow in annual repetition? Why does a full turn of seasons (for those of you who have them) somehow bring clarity and wisdom to evoking memories of things and people past?
Whatever.
Today (Tuesday) is better. I'm still feeling a behavioral paralysis, but I'm owning up to this pathological procrastination. It's been a whole year of adapting and adjusting to being alone. So, I'm inches from getting the house on the market; now just pick up the phone and make the calls. And nothing happens. But there is a clear feeling inside: I just don't want to talk on the phone right now. (Leave me alone.)
And yet I am so happy to hear from and see friends and family. I open up space for them just fine. But all those people who want things from me, who have requirements to meet, they can go screw themselves.
So the process plays out thusly:
I don't want to do this now, so I'll do it a little later, when I feel more like doing it. Then perhaps some sort of game on the computer. Get up and stretch and exercise the back. Grab something to drink. Check what's on TV. (With over 500 channels, that can be a black hole for empty behavior, not to mention Netflix streaming.) And I still just don't feel like it.
I know this behavior very well. It's an excellent way to spend the day and end it with the feeling that nothing has been accomplished. Part of me is ashamed, but it was wide awake while I was busy accomplishing nothing.
If I avoid chopping up myself into parts, I realize that I spent the day screwing off, knowing what I had wanted to accomplish but full-aware that none of that was going to happen. And I know that I'm going to feel bad about myself tonight.
Is that the payoff? Yeah; that's the payoff. I'm generating a world where I'm busy, nothing happens, and I feel weak and vulnerable and flawed. Really flawed. This last year has ground me down to the point where really flawed feels comfortable.
All this is a very twisted aspect of my grief process. It is a new incarnation of my agoraphobia. But this is the first day of my second year as a single person. I admire the intellectual processing, planning and performance I've done over the last year. I've gone from the first day, when I realized I really didn't belong here anymore (marrying Steve had been my Pasadena experience and it was over), to defining what I want in my life now.
I want family. I want new friends. I want a small city where I can get involved. I want seasons. I want a white Christmas. I want the time/space to create possibility in a new way.
So I'm doing my best to make that happen, but all this old crap, these old modes, keep popping up—because they're familiar and I know while I'm busy doing them, I will spin my wheels and nothing will happen. Isn't that stupid? Couldn't I just say, "Hey, Mark, take a couple days off and enjoy yourself." I'd say that to anyone else in this situation. "Then hit the ground running when you get back to it."
But it is also the friendly cliff. I don't want to do any running. Step carefully, because once I make these few phone calls, once I sign just a few more papers, the sales process begins; no turning back, just free fall.
Then all this gets very, very real: Yet another stress-inducing experience I have not had before, and I'm starting to really tire of stress-inducing experiences. Although once the house is sold and I have the equity sitting in the bank, I'm sure I'll feel on a lot more solid ground, feeling more like I'm ready to rock.
"And remember, when making a call, always put a smile in your voice."
—Bell Telephone educational film
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Petrified Orchard
This last week seems like it didn't happen at all. I can feel myself going into a state of spiritual paralysis, unable to really connect with anyone and having little desire to do so. Lists of things to get done orbit anxiety in my head and nothing actually occurs. The emotional element is fear and loathing of next Monday: a year alone, a year with death and its social aftermath.
Don't misunderstand: I am organizing myself and lining up services to take care of the last few things that need doing. I have lists of companies and individuals all written out, but I simply have not been able to move on them. When I think about getting folks over here, I worry about whether my back will be in shape when they show up, whether I'll have things ready for them, whether I'll break down and cry in the middle of a meeting.
I don't want to let go. I don't want to leave our home. The theme keeps coming up over and over again. I'm miserable by myself, and there's no one in my world just now who can even begin to fill the hole Steve left in my heart. Daily, the ache comes in my chest, not evoked by memory but erupting like emotional vomit, spewing for no particular reason. No stimulus sets it off; it's like Old Faithful but erupts on an irregular schedule.
Putting the house on the market is never turning back again. It's releasing this dismal spiritual hell I've been moving through this past year. Intellectually, selling the house and finding a place to call home seems a straightforward set of tasks and goals. Emotionally, I'm dealing with feelings of guilt over abandoning our home, shame at cashing out on what was the place we shared.
Jessie dropped by last Saturday and we went out to dinner at Robin's BBQ. Without realizing it, I had chosen the restaurant where Steve and I had our first date. Jessie and I even splurged and had one of their Messy Hot Fudge Sundaes. It was Steve's favorite dessert there. That dinner helped engage this whole anniversary thing in my head.
Every day I think back a year and try to remember what was happening with Steve. A year ago today, he was actively hallucinating, having a lovely time with these others in his room. I could get him to focus on me if I touched him and asked him to look at me. He would acknowledge my presence, smiling to show me he was in there somewhere, and then he would move back to the others and jump back into the subverbal conversations he was having with them.
Monday brings the end of the first cycle and the beginning of the next. At some point soon, I have to sign papers that will obligate me to moving ahead. Some days things are fine, others are murky and overshadowed by depression and grief. My work on the chamber directory is now as much therapy as actual work.
Patty has been very clinging since her stint in the garage in August. Not only does she sleep with me on the bed and sit next to me when I watch the boob tube, but she has also started hanging out on the desk while I'm working. We're working on her not standing in front of the monitor and staying off the mouse pad. I'd shoo her off the desk, but she retreats like she's just done something horribly wrong. I find with her, it's better to do some training because she takes to it.
We go out onto the patio several times in the evening, and she accompanies me. She is now trained to head for the door when I'm ready to go back in. I say, "OK," and she trots up to the door, since she goes in first. Every once in a while she'll have cornered a spider or (recently) a big juicy grasshopper, which was the biggest bug she'd ever seen. During the day, hummingbirds come to drink from the fountain, and Patty's learned she can watch to her heart's content, as long as she doesn't move.
Last night, I was watching a film on TV and realized I hadn't seen Patty in a while. I had another sinking feeling, wondering what could have happened to her. Then I recalled hearing a door shut upstairs (the windows are open and a breeze must have done it). I went over to the stairs and, sure enough, I heard her plaintiff yowls from behind the office door. When I opened it, she dashed out, and you could see on her face that she thought it was the garage all over again. (See entries "Come Back, Little Shithead," 8/4/14, and "The Prodigal Returns," 8/9/14.)
I must be very careful not to turn into a crazy cat guy.
Speaking of Kitties, my sister will most likely be coming down to visit this weekend. David can't make it because he's involved in a show called "Follies" that's an annual fundraiser. From previous posts, you will probably remember that he's on the board of directors this year, so popping out of town on a performance weekend isn't practical.
Kittie might not come if she's asked to work on Saturday. Oct. 15 is a tax deadline, and if they have overflow work, it may mean she doesn't show. I really hope this doesn't happen, as I'm not sure I want to be alone on this weekend leading up to remembering that night, that phone call, that flurry of activity to deal with Steve's death and subsequent cremation.
Also, there's the practical matter of having a second body in the house for a few days, so we can get the last stuff packed and down to the garage or tossed in the dumpster. Because I'm hoping that, after Monday, I will have the motivation and enthusiasm to get moving forward on the process.
And a part of me can't wait to see my house listed on Zillow.
Don't misunderstand: I am organizing myself and lining up services to take care of the last few things that need doing. I have lists of companies and individuals all written out, but I simply have not been able to move on them. When I think about getting folks over here, I worry about whether my back will be in shape when they show up, whether I'll have things ready for them, whether I'll break down and cry in the middle of a meeting.
I don't want to let go. I don't want to leave our home. The theme keeps coming up over and over again. I'm miserable by myself, and there's no one in my world just now who can even begin to fill the hole Steve left in my heart. Daily, the ache comes in my chest, not evoked by memory but erupting like emotional vomit, spewing for no particular reason. No stimulus sets it off; it's like Old Faithful but erupts on an irregular schedule.
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| Jessie takes foodie shots at Robin's. |
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| Cole slaw (right) and Blueberry Cornbread. |
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| The Messy Hot Fudge Sundae. |
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| Steve tackled these solo! |
Patty has been very clinging since her stint in the garage in August. Not only does she sleep with me on the bed and sit next to me when I watch the boob tube, but she has also started hanging out on the desk while I'm working. We're working on her not standing in front of the monitor and staying off the mouse pad. I'd shoo her off the desk, but she retreats like she's just done something horribly wrong. I find with her, it's better to do some training because she takes to it.
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| Patty "holds hands" when I work the mouse. |
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| Patty knows what "down in front" means. |
I must be very careful not to turn into a crazy cat guy.
Speaking of Kitties, my sister will most likely be coming down to visit this weekend. David can't make it because he's involved in a show called "Follies" that's an annual fundraiser. From previous posts, you will probably remember that he's on the board of directors this year, so popping out of town on a performance weekend isn't practical.
Kittie might not come if she's asked to work on Saturday. Oct. 15 is a tax deadline, and if they have overflow work, it may mean she doesn't show. I really hope this doesn't happen, as I'm not sure I want to be alone on this weekend leading up to remembering that night, that phone call, that flurry of activity to deal with Steve's death and subsequent cremation.
Also, there's the practical matter of having a second body in the house for a few days, so we can get the last stuff packed and down to the garage or tossed in the dumpster. Because I'm hoping that, after Monday, I will have the motivation and enthusiasm to get moving forward on the process.
And a part of me can't wait to see my house listed on Zillow.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
All Gods Go to Heaven
A rational part of my being is centered and positive and looking forward into my future. Another part is still all confused and unfocused and torn up by the last year's events. I am as much a scared, frightened child as I am an intrepid, fearless explorer. I can't seem to find too much of the practical picking up and cleaning person since my back went out, but I'm looking for him.
This weekend was kind of a washout on a selfish level, but very good for my soul in a general kind of way. You see, I drove up to Pismo Beach/San Luis Obispo to attend the memorial of a dear old friend, Robert Lee Norton, who I've known for 40 years. It was so weird, because he was taking care of his wife, Vena, who was having health problems. He also had a cough he couldn't shake, but his focus was on getting Vena better.
Then his diagnosis of lung cancer, and within a number of days he had died. Vena was just getting back on her feet when it happened. If they weren't both such resilient people, it would have been the end of them both, I think. But Vena seems to be hanging in there, and she has a support group of a cast of thousands.
Now back to me.
I know that Kittie and David were urging me to come up to the memorial to get me the hell out of the house and the megalopic miasma we call L.A. I knew I needed to get away, as well, so I made my reservations at Motel 6 and put out extra cat food.
I left Saturday around noon. The drive up was long, with a good half-dozen places on the road where the traffic came to a complete standstill or, at best, crawled along at 15 mph for long periods of time. Five hours later, I had arrived at the motel, and my back was singing a painful ode to the journey. "Sitting still" for that period of time, all the little movements and adjustments you make while driving (holding your arms just so to steer, that slight extension of the foot on the gas, the bouncing of the car) really put a strain on my back muscles, and they told me about it as I dragged my bags into the motel room.
It was nice to be on Kittie and David's turf again. The apple tree in their back yard was still putting forth fruit, so Kittie had yet another apple pie. This one with the appropriate amount of cinnamon. On Saturday, David was finishing up the work on the transmission that he had brought down to L.A. the last time they visited. The job was finally done and he was eager to get the car delivered and out of his hair.
I had stopped on the road and eaten around 4 p.m., so I was not particularly hungry and passed on dinner, but I did have some apple pie with them. David dropped me off at the motel around 11 p.m., and I had a fairly good sleep, but woke to even more stiffness and pain Sunday morning. I drove over to the Denny's that I would normally walk to, had a late breakfast and killed time until the memorial.
We gathered at Cuesta Park, a beautiful setting at the base of the Cuesta grade in San Luis Obispo. There were quite a number of people attending, and I ran into folks I haven't seen in years, some in years and years, some in several decades. We are all so wrinkled now. It was lovely to see them all after so many years, but it also brought home the fact that SLO, for me, is my past; something I can't retrieve but only recall.
I made it through the ceremony fairly well, standing erect and feeling only slightly uncomfortable. I returned to the motel after and lied down for an hour, then Kittie stopped by after returning from the service and ferried me to her house, stopping briefly at Radio Shack to purchase a WiFi router for their home.
They bought a Blue-Ray player that's WiFi ready, and I was trying to explain all the streaming services that are online these days; that you can get almost the same programming on them that you can from a cable service, and the cost is much less. I also touted the advantages of having WiFi at home and hooking up the iPhones (gifts from me when Steve died) and Kittie's iPad, so they run faster and don't use up the data plan.
David's still kind of gun shy of all this 21st-century technology, so I decided that, instead of waiting for them to purchase a router, I simply made a gift of it. Kittie and I took it home and I supervised while Kittie attacked the rat's nest of cable's behind the computer in order to hook up the router to the modem. We had the router up and running by the time David got back, and we had a grand old time connecting all the WiFi devices. I even got them to sign up for Netflix.
Up until now, they have been getting their TV over broadcast, which meant two, maybe three stations came in clearly enough to watch. When they broke down and purchased a digital flat-screen TV, all of a sudden they had many more channels. I'm hoping that they'll get hooked on Netflix, since there are a whole passel of films from the '30s, '40s and '50s that Kittie has never seen that I consider vital viewing for anyone to have a decent cinematic visual vocabulary.
We ordered in pizza and had another round of apple pie, then I said my goodbyes and David drove me back to the motel. I was ready to relax the back once more, as it had been a tiring day.
The next morning my back was so sore. I collected my things (very few for such a short stay), packed, checked out, gassed up the car and drove once again over to the Denny's for breakfast.
The trip back to Pasadena was uneventful, 65-75 mph all the way. It was a chore to get the luggage (two small bags and a therapy machine for the lower back I had gotten from Kittie). That evening I went to bed early.
Tuesday morning I felt as though my back had reverted to Day One. I was hobbling around the house once again, bent over like a 90-year-old man. I tried the therapy machine and it provided only marginal relief. My back was screaming and kicking over all the abuse it had suffered,
Today the back is feeling much better, since most of yesterday was recuperative. I have a couple of errands that need to be done today, and I'm back to that balance of being good to my back muscles and working them when they're up to it. I am noticing that I do bounce back quicker from these periods of overwork.
The chamber of commerce directory is my focus right now, and the next few weeks it will start coming together. I'm hoping that Paul will have new photography and copy this year, as it is my third time doing this book, and the old stuff is getting boring (at least to me).
October. A big month. The anniversary of Steve's death is 12 days away. The wedding ring comes off my finger and either goes back into its original box or will hang around my neck, I'm not sure which.
So my left ring finger will be naked once more, and I am sleeping on sheets now that Steve never touched. It has taken a year, but I slowly segue into mi vida de solatero, ma seule vie.
This weekend was kind of a washout on a selfish level, but very good for my soul in a general kind of way. You see, I drove up to Pismo Beach/San Luis Obispo to attend the memorial of a dear old friend, Robert Lee Norton, who I've known for 40 years. It was so weird, because he was taking care of his wife, Vena, who was having health problems. He also had a cough he couldn't shake, but his focus was on getting Vena better.
Then his diagnosis of lung cancer, and within a number of days he had died. Vena was just getting back on her feet when it happened. If they weren't both such resilient people, it would have been the end of them both, I think. But Vena seems to be hanging in there, and she has a support group of a cast of thousands.
Now back to me.
I know that Kittie and David were urging me to come up to the memorial to get me the hell out of the house and the megalopic miasma we call L.A. I knew I needed to get away, as well, so I made my reservations at Motel 6 and put out extra cat food.
I left Saturday around noon. The drive up was long, with a good half-dozen places on the road where the traffic came to a complete standstill or, at best, crawled along at 15 mph for long periods of time. Five hours later, I had arrived at the motel, and my back was singing a painful ode to the journey. "Sitting still" for that period of time, all the little movements and adjustments you make while driving (holding your arms just so to steer, that slight extension of the foot on the gas, the bouncing of the car) really put a strain on my back muscles, and they told me about it as I dragged my bags into the motel room.
It was nice to be on Kittie and David's turf again. The apple tree in their back yard was still putting forth fruit, so Kittie had yet another apple pie. This one with the appropriate amount of cinnamon. On Saturday, David was finishing up the work on the transmission that he had brought down to L.A. the last time they visited. The job was finally done and he was eager to get the car delivered and out of his hair.
I had stopped on the road and eaten around 4 p.m., so I was not particularly hungry and passed on dinner, but I did have some apple pie with them. David dropped me off at the motel around 11 p.m., and I had a fairly good sleep, but woke to even more stiffness and pain Sunday morning. I drove over to the Denny's that I would normally walk to, had a late breakfast and killed time until the memorial.
We gathered at Cuesta Park, a beautiful setting at the base of the Cuesta grade in San Luis Obispo. There were quite a number of people attending, and I ran into folks I haven't seen in years, some in years and years, some in several decades. We are all so wrinkled now. It was lovely to see them all after so many years, but it also brought home the fact that SLO, for me, is my past; something I can't retrieve but only recall.
I made it through the ceremony fairly well, standing erect and feeling only slightly uncomfortable. I returned to the motel after and lied down for an hour, then Kittie stopped by after returning from the service and ferried me to her house, stopping briefly at Radio Shack to purchase a WiFi router for their home.
They bought a Blue-Ray player that's WiFi ready, and I was trying to explain all the streaming services that are online these days; that you can get almost the same programming on them that you can from a cable service, and the cost is much less. I also touted the advantages of having WiFi at home and hooking up the iPhones (gifts from me when Steve died) and Kittie's iPad, so they run faster and don't use up the data plan.
David's still kind of gun shy of all this 21st-century technology, so I decided that, instead of waiting for them to purchase a router, I simply made a gift of it. Kittie and I took it home and I supervised while Kittie attacked the rat's nest of cable's behind the computer in order to hook up the router to the modem. We had the router up and running by the time David got back, and we had a grand old time connecting all the WiFi devices. I even got them to sign up for Netflix.
Up until now, they have been getting their TV over broadcast, which meant two, maybe three stations came in clearly enough to watch. When they broke down and purchased a digital flat-screen TV, all of a sudden they had many more channels. I'm hoping that they'll get hooked on Netflix, since there are a whole passel of films from the '30s, '40s and '50s that Kittie has never seen that I consider vital viewing for anyone to have a decent cinematic visual vocabulary.
We ordered in pizza and had another round of apple pie, then I said my goodbyes and David drove me back to the motel. I was ready to relax the back once more, as it had been a tiring day.
The next morning my back was so sore. I collected my things (very few for such a short stay), packed, checked out, gassed up the car and drove once again over to the Denny's for breakfast.
The trip back to Pasadena was uneventful, 65-75 mph all the way. It was a chore to get the luggage (two small bags and a therapy machine for the lower back I had gotten from Kittie). That evening I went to bed early.
Tuesday morning I felt as though my back had reverted to Day One. I was hobbling around the house once again, bent over like a 90-year-old man. I tried the therapy machine and it provided only marginal relief. My back was screaming and kicking over all the abuse it had suffered,
Today the back is feeling much better, since most of yesterday was recuperative. I have a couple of errands that need to be done today, and I'm back to that balance of being good to my back muscles and working them when they're up to it. I am noticing that I do bounce back quicker from these periods of overwork.
The chamber of commerce directory is my focus right now, and the next few weeks it will start coming together. I'm hoping that Paul will have new photography and copy this year, as it is my third time doing this book, and the old stuff is getting boring (at least to me).
October. A big month. The anniversary of Steve's death is 12 days away. The wedding ring comes off my finger and either goes back into its original box or will hang around my neck, I'm not sure which.
So my left ring finger will be naked once more, and I am sleeping on sheets now that Steve never touched. It has taken a year, but I slowly segue into mi vida de solatero, ma seule vie.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Mein Führer, I Can Walk!
Peter Sellers as Dr. Strangelove. I think I was about 12 years old when I saw that movie. The whole cold war thing had us terrorized as kids ("Duck and Cover!" says Bert the Civil Defense Turtle). Seeing Dr. Strangelove was the first time I realized that scary stuff could also be funny, even though it feels kinda weird. Heh-heh.
Or did you think I was referring to a neo-Nazi faith healer?
Who cares? Today was a breakthrough day! I did three loads of laundry, dragging it down and up two stories. I also stood at the dryer for a good 20 minutes folding the clothes. Then I put the clothes away, cleaned the cat box, stripped and made the bed, and made a short shopping trip. It was tough, but so was I. Even though the standing was uncomfortable, there were no twangs or cramps.
On top of that, I walked completely upright all day long with little or no discomfort. I can feel the muscles and nerves aligning up, chakrawise. After two weeks of hobbling and dreading standing up (anticipating from minor irritation to twisting pain), I spent a good number of hours functioning like normal. What heaven!
I'm not overdoing it, but I want to keep up the moving around because it feels so good. In my darker and more painful hours dealing with this back, I couldn't help thinking of that scene in "Midnight Cowboy" where Rico says, "I don't think I can walk anymore. I've been fallin' down a lot. I'm scared…You know what they do to ya when, when they know you can't, when they find out that you can't walk-walk. Oh Christ."
Not that I was ever that bad, but it does make me realize I could be: take care of myself, keep myself healthy and happy as often and as long as possible. And keep moving forward. With a song in my heart.
But the best news is that I'll be able to finish sorting those last three boxes downstairs and donations are done. I can get the cleaning women in here ASAP followed by the city inspector for the last-minute tweaks to make the property legal for sale.
As a kid, we moved around a lot. Dad used to say it was cheaper than paying the mortgage, but most of it came from a nebulous malaise he had, and moving to a new town or a new job or a new opportunity always beat out facing his demons. For most of those moves (over a dozen), Mom was the happy housewife who got to take on all the responsibilities, from packing to house hunting.
You could always tell when moves were imminent, because Mom would start absently scratching the inside of her elbows where she would get a crimson rash that would not subside until we were moved into our new home.
I've been scratching the inside of my elbows numerous times today. No rash yet; that will happen when I sign the listing agreement and have to clean every frickin day.
Or did you think I was referring to a neo-Nazi faith healer?
Who cares? Today was a breakthrough day! I did three loads of laundry, dragging it down and up two stories. I also stood at the dryer for a good 20 minutes folding the clothes. Then I put the clothes away, cleaned the cat box, stripped and made the bed, and made a short shopping trip. It was tough, but so was I. Even though the standing was uncomfortable, there were no twangs or cramps.
On top of that, I walked completely upright all day long with little or no discomfort. I can feel the muscles and nerves aligning up, chakrawise. After two weeks of hobbling and dreading standing up (anticipating from minor irritation to twisting pain), I spent a good number of hours functioning like normal. What heaven!
I'm not overdoing it, but I want to keep up the moving around because it feels so good. In my darker and more painful hours dealing with this back, I couldn't help thinking of that scene in "Midnight Cowboy" where Rico says, "I don't think I can walk anymore. I've been fallin' down a lot. I'm scared…You know what they do to ya when, when they know you can't, when they find out that you can't walk-walk. Oh Christ."
Not that I was ever that bad, but it does make me realize I could be: take care of myself, keep myself healthy and happy as often and as long as possible. And keep moving forward. With a song in my heart.
But the best news is that I'll be able to finish sorting those last three boxes downstairs and donations are done. I can get the cleaning women in here ASAP followed by the city inspector for the last-minute tweaks to make the property legal for sale.
As a kid, we moved around a lot. Dad used to say it was cheaper than paying the mortgage, but most of it came from a nebulous malaise he had, and moving to a new town or a new job or a new opportunity always beat out facing his demons. For most of those moves (over a dozen), Mom was the happy housewife who got to take on all the responsibilities, from packing to house hunting.
You could always tell when moves were imminent, because Mom would start absently scratching the inside of her elbows where she would get a crimson rash that would not subside until we were moved into our new home.
I've been scratching the inside of my elbows numerous times today. No rash yet; that will happen when I sign the listing agreement and have to clean every frickin day.
Monday, September 22, 2014
Working Weekend
Whenever Kittie and David come down for the weekend, the Monday after is always a day of rest for me. This is out of necessity, since we have been diving into chores, and I want to get all the two- and three-person jobs out of the way while they're here. And, on this trip, just lifting, carrying and moving stuff I can't.
This time around, I made a written list so I wouldn't forget anything. And, of course, I did. But I think we hit all the bases, and the place is 90 percent prepped for cleaning and staging. The only stragglers are new screens and a coat of paint on the banisters.
So the upstairs is clear; ready to clean and show. I'm keeping the office space as my personal area, but I'm ready to live as sparsely and unobtrusively as possible once the place is on the market, so as to minimize the amount of cleaning and maintenance I have to do, day to day, to keep it spotless all the time. I just don't live like that, as many of you well know.
Since I'd done most of the packing, the real work was carrying boxes to the garage, organizing the donations—blahblahblah—you can cut and paste this stuff in your own head. The upshot is that the closets are cleared and the cabinets are cleared, all the extraneous furniture is out.
The downstairs closet needs some clearing, and the Christmas stuff needs to be moved out. I want to cull extra dishware/glasses/appliances from kitchen and pack/store as much as I can. Not only will it make all the storage look bigger, but I'll have less to hustle out of here when the house does sell.
Sell the house: that still has a weird sound to me. Mired here near the end of getting the house ready for sale, the idea of this process being done and moving on to the next step seems somehow unreal. I suppose I considered the preparation process some kind of purgatory for those recently widowed.
So we spent the weekend with Kittie and David doing most of carrying, and David also grouting the slate tile at the foot of the garage stairs. The grout set up faster than he anticipated, so there was lots of scrubbing, but the floor looks spectacular. He also lead the charge on disassembling Steve's huge corner desk, then ripping down the pieces to make tops for the cabinet and file drawer that we saved from the ends of the desk.
The apple tree in Kittie and David's back yard is prodigious, so Kittie brought down stuff to make a pie, just like last time they came down. And just like last time, I didn't have any cinnamon, except a couple sticks in a jar that were at least a decade old. Like last time, she ground enough off to give the pie a little cinnamon flavor, but I made sure the spice is on my grocery list now, because if the pies are incredible without it, think what a little fresh spice would do.
We really did burn through the weekend, even going shopping for cat needs and a couple new sets of bed sheets for me (PetSmart and Bed Bath & Beyond are next to each other in the shopping center). The extensive walking was uncomfortable at times and painful after a while, but I'm taking the advice "exercise to discomfort" to heart. And after each session of such exertion, my recovery time is now five minutes instead of 45.
So each day begins with the sore muscles from exertion the day before. It takes half an hour to work out those kinks, then another 45 to feel comfortable in my own bones. The middle of the day has at least several hours where I can stand straight and walk with almost no discomfort. But standing in place is still very uncomfortable after only a few minutes.
The fact that I can stretch out the muscles without them cramping is a sign that things have turned the corner. I'm feeling as though I'm on top of this malady, rather than the other way around. It's going to be weeks before there's a full recovery, but at least I feel like I'm starting to get my life back.
On the not-all-about-me front, I'm feeling certain that Kelly (at the chamber) and I are going to work very well together on making the directory happen this year. She also extended an invitation to go out for drinks or coffee just to get me out of the house. She's a single mom with an 11-year-old kid, so I'm sure she needs adult contact in a non-work setting, just like I do.
This week is pretty much devoted to getting several design comps put together for the director for Paul (chamber CEO) to look over. I want to have a positive direction on the directory by the first of October, and have lots of time in November to get it just right.
So life goes on.
This time around, I made a written list so I wouldn't forget anything. And, of course, I did. But I think we hit all the bases, and the place is 90 percent prepped for cleaning and staging. The only stragglers are new screens and a coat of paint on the banisters.
So the upstairs is clear; ready to clean and show. I'm keeping the office space as my personal area, but I'm ready to live as sparsely and unobtrusively as possible once the place is on the market, so as to minimize the amount of cleaning and maintenance I have to do, day to day, to keep it spotless all the time. I just don't live like that, as many of you well know.
Since I'd done most of the packing, the real work was carrying boxes to the garage, organizing the donations—blahblahblah—you can cut and paste this stuff in your own head. The upshot is that the closets are cleared and the cabinets are cleared, all the extraneous furniture is out.
The downstairs closet needs some clearing, and the Christmas stuff needs to be moved out. I want to cull extra dishware/glasses/appliances from kitchen and pack/store as much as I can. Not only will it make all the storage look bigger, but I'll have less to hustle out of here when the house does sell.
Sell the house: that still has a weird sound to me. Mired here near the end of getting the house ready for sale, the idea of this process being done and moving on to the next step seems somehow unreal. I suppose I considered the preparation process some kind of purgatory for those recently widowed.
So we spent the weekend with Kittie and David doing most of carrying, and David also grouting the slate tile at the foot of the garage stairs. The grout set up faster than he anticipated, so there was lots of scrubbing, but the floor looks spectacular. He also lead the charge on disassembling Steve's huge corner desk, then ripping down the pieces to make tops for the cabinet and file drawer that we saved from the ends of the desk.
The apple tree in Kittie and David's back yard is prodigious, so Kittie brought down stuff to make a pie, just like last time they came down. And just like last time, I didn't have any cinnamon, except a couple sticks in a jar that were at least a decade old. Like last time, she ground enough off to give the pie a little cinnamon flavor, but I made sure the spice is on my grocery list now, because if the pies are incredible without it, think what a little fresh spice would do.
We really did burn through the weekend, even going shopping for cat needs and a couple new sets of bed sheets for me (PetSmart and Bed Bath & Beyond are next to each other in the shopping center). The extensive walking was uncomfortable at times and painful after a while, but I'm taking the advice "exercise to discomfort" to heart. And after each session of such exertion, my recovery time is now five minutes instead of 45.
So each day begins with the sore muscles from exertion the day before. It takes half an hour to work out those kinks, then another 45 to feel comfortable in my own bones. The middle of the day has at least several hours where I can stand straight and walk with almost no discomfort. But standing in place is still very uncomfortable after only a few minutes.
The fact that I can stretch out the muscles without them cramping is a sign that things have turned the corner. I'm feeling as though I'm on top of this malady, rather than the other way around. It's going to be weeks before there's a full recovery, but at least I feel like I'm starting to get my life back.
On the not-all-about-me front, I'm feeling certain that Kelly (at the chamber) and I are going to work very well together on making the directory happen this year. She also extended an invitation to go out for drinks or coffee just to get me out of the house. She's a single mom with an 11-year-old kid, so I'm sure she needs adult contact in a non-work setting, just like I do.
This week is pretty much devoted to getting several design comps put together for the director for Paul (chamber CEO) to look over. I want to have a positive direction on the directory by the first of October, and have lots of time in November to get it just right.
So life goes on.
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