TO CLING AND TO GROW

Now, summer in the garden is really showing off.  Whatever is made to climb, is vaulting.  Whatever is natural at sprawling, is hogging up real estate.  The clingers are my favorites -- attaching themselves for dear life.  I totally relate to the clingers.  If I care about something, I tend to attach myself.  I go all out.  I'll probably be "all in" about some things for a lifetime.  I don't know yet.  But what I do know is, I know how to cling.

"Oh!  You should have seen it last week!"

This is what a gardening enthusiast will say to another gardening enthusiast when in each other's garden.  It's a tradition, and a soft form of competition to be the best.  I don't say it -- probably because I'm not a stop on any garden tour, not in magazines with pictures of my garden, not spending all winter planning my next year garden.  I gave up trying to garden years ago, and therein lies my modest success as a happy gardener. 

I can, however, relate to the sentiment of you should have seen it last week.  When I became a widow, compliments became difficult to bear.  Instead of "Thank you," I always felt like saying "You should have seen me before."   I want everyone to know I was really great, then.  Kind of like the fifty-year old football player or homecoming queen who still puts high school achievements on his/her resume.  I understand. 

Today, I realized that I no longer feel as strongly that my best self was only and could only be as Ted's soul mate, life partner, wife.  Could it be that perhaps I, alone, am worth an interesting and fulfilling life?  The darkest thought:  Did I really fail to keep Ted alive and now must atone with the remnant of a life from here on out?  I am starting to think not. 

I met a second-grade teacher who moved to a new school after fourteen years at another.  She gets paid less, because most of her new students don't speak much, if any, English.  "Tell me more," I said.  She told me that teacher pay in our state (Washington) is calculated in part on student test scores.  It takes almost no time for a child to learn conversational English, but about five years for a child to learn academic English.  Academic English is conceptual, such as the meaning of "character" and "setting" and so forth.  Most non-English speaking students will be proficient in both conversational and academic English by Junior High.  Obviously, this teacher's student test scores will not completely reflect her value to these students.   The students are at the beginning of a unique learning curve, but their test scores are compared with all students within the school district.

I didn't know that.  I also discovered that this particular teacher chose to work in the school she is in now, because it offered her "unique opportunities to make a difference in students' lives," -- in her own words.  "I had also never worked with non-English speaking children before, and I wanted to learn."  I believe there are some opportunities to grow that are worth more in value than dollars lost.  I admire her.  I am proud of myself for the times I chose to grow, even though it meant having less money. 

Can a clinger be a grower?  In the garden, yes.  Elsewhere?    I've written in this blog before about the healing nature of dichotomous thinking for someone who is in grief.  It eases pain to accept not knowing whether or not a particular outcome will come to pass.  For me, I can cling to my life story, my love story, my family story.  I can grow.  And I can write another chapter. Just because I am living the life I have now against my will, doesn't mean I am not allowed to make it a meaningful one, part of an entire life that was meaningful.  My day today would not have unfolded as it did had Ted lived.  And I love my day today. 

In his book, The Miracle of Mindfulness, Thich Nhat Hanh talks about washing the dishes to wash the dishes.  He makes the point that when I wash dishes just to get them washed and move on, I am not going to be mentally present.  To wash dishes to wash dishes, I can feel alive and calm myself in the simple act of being present.  Naturally, he is opposed to automatic dish washing.  Nevertheless, I get it. 

So, I cling.  I grow.  I can talk about my life, past.  I can talk about my now.  Whoever encounters me today -- more than seven years a widow, more than thirty-nine years a mother, forty-one years Ted's wife -- that person will encounter all of who I am.  Spoken or Silent.

I offer Plum Village Peace Center as worth visiting, on line -- unless you can make it to Paris.  Thich Nhat Hanh's life story is an incredible journey away from violence, toward healing and peace.  Martin Luther King, Jr. nominated him for a Nobel Peace Prize.  He lives in exile in Paris, and started the Plum Village there.  It's healing to me, just reading about his work and his teachings.  I don't find them to be out of reach for a clinger who wants to keep growing. 

Click Here:  Thich Nhat Hanh and Plum Village Peace Center

Thich Nhat Hanh

THE KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON POSTER

Months ago, I marked my calendar for today.  "Register WOTS" I wrote.  That's Write On The Sound, a writing conference that happens annually in Edmonds, Washington.  I look forward to it every year, and this is the first year I am not working full time on the first day of registration.  I might get all the classes I want.  When I followed the prompts, some things worked and some things crashed on the WOTS website.  There was a notice on the first page that read:  If your registration fails, close all windows and begin again.  I finally was successful in  registering after four tries and three re-boots.  These difficulties must relate to the overburdening of the system on the first day of open registration. 

Now, as I write my blog, The Widow Lessons, I have a case of Do-over Registration Failure Instructions Envy.  I want one of those.  Doesn't every widow?  Just the idea of a do-over feels like peace on earth.  Doesn't it, just.  

I've been babysitting more often than I should, although I am the sole determiner of how much babysitting I do.  It sounds sweeter to call it "Nanapalooza" or "Grandbaby Time" but, trust me, it's babysitting to watch anyone under twelve.  Especially if you love deeply.  Presently, I have six in that category.   It so happens that July brought many trips, obligations, celebrations, unintended consequences that all fell in line, one day after another,  for all three of my adult children.  I'm fatigued to the max, and when that happens, I forget how to "be in the moment" because I don't have any moments.  I'm on a vigil of care with dire consequences of failure.  It's true what they say about love being your heart, walking around in someone else's body.

Being stressed, being kept away from solitude, being unable to write -- all of these things cause my sugar carb monkey to show up, jump on my back and ride me, sun to sun.  I was lucky that I was able to waddle on over to my computer to write this blog.  Sugar Carb Monkey knows only the limit of "that's all there is."  Once I run out, the only way to get more carbs and sugars in the house would be to get in the car and drive to the store -- both of which I don't want to do with kid(s) in tow.  Sometimes the problem is also the salvation.

I learned recently that the ubiquitous "Keep Calm and Carry On" poster that features a big royal crown was actually developed in WW II Britain as an inspirational message from the British government to its people.  Two and a half million were printed out with the plan to air drop all over everywhere; however, at the last minute, officials decided it was not the right timing.  Only a few ever got into the hands of commoners.  A bookstore acquired them many years later, and used the slogan to sell things.  Only a few of the originals remain, including some reappearing on Antiques Road Show.  The message was a real one, for real people in grave danger.  It's everywhere today, again.  Still. 

I have today and tomorrow off from babysitting.  I pick up a grandchild from school tomorrow afternoon, to keep until Saturday.  He'll be in pre-school most of Thursday and Friday.  As I write this, big tears are starting to surge forward into my usually dry eyes.  My nose is starting to vibrate.  I miss him. 

Stay Calm.  Carry On. 

TRAILER PUSHUPS, TWO SETS

In a teardrop camper, with my two dogs, Oliver and Miss Kitty, off I towed to Flowing Lake, Snohomish, Washington.  My spot had electricity and water, and plenty of privacy, as it was in a thickly wooded, uphill climb that led from the beautiful, placid lake.  I watched videos and patrolled my particular trailer's forum, T@B, and found a Facebook page just for T@B enthusiasts, cramming information about what and how and don't -- all in the weeks leading up to my two night venture, thirty miles down the road.  This trip marked the beginning of something unknown but important for me, and I didn't want to hurt anybody in the process of towing.

I noticed today, as I returned from my trip, that I had no opportunities to focus on my loneliness, my aloneness, my widowness, or anything else in my ordinary life.  Even though I had plenty of solitude, down time, quiet time and slow time, this escape from ordinary life allowed my grief wounds to heal for the longest stretch of time I think I have had in seven years.  Maybe it was the being in the woods that took over my mind.  Even the black birds and robins looked more relaxed than they do in my back garden.

Mishaps:  I am a rookie trailer tower, set upper, live inner.  I packed wrong things and didn't pack important things.  The worst mistake I made was in failing to pin the lock down on my tow mechanism.  Two times on the way home, when going over speed bumps, my un-pinned lock released the tow, and Lola, my teardrop camper, was on the ground.  Luckily, I was only traveling about five miles per hour each time.  I drove as close to zero miles per hour for the thirty miles back to my dealer.  That's when I found out the extra pin I had wasn't an extra.  I swear that no video or forum ever mentioned the pin through the lock.  That needs to be in the owner's manual.  I sent an email to Little Guys, who make the T@B. 

Best:  For a few hours on Monday, I walked a wooded trail with two of my grandchildren, Luke and Lily, and my son-in-law, Scott.  Walking through an old forest is healing.  It's a wrap.  Something supernatural gets below the skin, penetrates.  Each grandchild had one of my dogs to tend.  Being with four completely innocent beings (not me.  not Scott.), in an essentially primordial setting, suited me.  There were no racing thoughts.  My nature changed temporarily.  I had enough.  I felt enough.  I wasn't planning anything. 

When I arrived home, the backing-in production began and I made it okay.  My neighbor, Ken, complimented me.  I told him I couldn't get the hitch wheel on because my wheel post was burred from being on the hard asphalt during the second aforementioned mishap.  He used his grinder to fix it.  Gratitude.  He said he thought I had a good first trip.  "But I didn't pin my hitch lock!"  I said.  He told me, "Nobody got hurt.  On another occasion, you could have been perfect and a bad thing might have happened.  Just see it for what it is -- you had a good first go and you learned." 

In my camper-trailer, I have serious stuff that is up to only me.  This has a grounding effect on me.  I haven't felt like half of something broken for more than two days.  I felt completely responsible for solving all my problems, not panicking when my trailer hit the ground, not thinking about anything but the present moment.  I felt alive.

I'm home now, and going over all my mistakes, making better checklists.  I will be camping in September at Deception Pass with other T@B and teardrop campers I haven't met in person.  It's an "un-rally," which means a gathering with no formal leader/organizer.  There I hope to learn more tips and techniques.  This towing and camper business is something I want to master.  It's important to let people in just a crack who can teach me.  Maybe I can be a teacher some day.   In fact, the first thing I did when I got home and unpacked was to post my hitch lock pin experience on the forums.  It will help someone. 

NARRATION, DISAPPEARANCES AND APPEARANCES

I have the distinct impression of an invisible narrator to my recent experiences.  I sensed it just now as I was driving home from the Tulalip Casino where I met up with my friend for our regular tour of the penny slots.  Just as I was nearing my house, a large, long, flat bed trailer was in front of me.  On its side was a web address:  centralgassed.com.  It was carrying a full-length white cylinder that was labeled GAS in big, red letters.  Below a covered silver valve on the back of the gas cylinder were the words, also in caps:  VENTING IS NORMAL. 

Other random playbacks:

I felt deeply insulted recently when I thought someone had me summed up.  Had me in his or her life as an object whose purpose was defined.  Was placing me in his or her life accordingly.  I was insulted by the feeling that I was not in a mutual relationship as I had deluded myself, but in a box or a shipping crate.  It's probably my imagination, I finally decided.  The whole thing stayed heavy in my pocket for a week.  I don't know where it is now. 

I went to the casino on another occasion with someone, but peeled away to be alone for a spell.  I bet a large (for me) sum of money, and accidentally won.  This happened playing a game called Triple Dragon, with a bonus round that can be significantly transporting.  This secret betting, followed by secret winning, followed by throwing half the money away on additional and secret reckless bets and pocketing the other half did something important for me.  It gave me privacy, solitude, independence, and the cherry on top -- actual endorphin release.  Narrator says it was completely about being invisible in a way that I control, not others.

I started a house painting project.  My painter came and power washed.  Another day, he did some finishing work on trim.  He didn't come today due to rain forecast.  He will come tomorrow to spackle.  Will painting ever begin?  I feel nothing -- anxiety shows up and I push it away.  "You are in a process," says my head.  I started something and then instantly became an observer.  I guess I could be on my painter's back about why painting has to be prepped in so many stages.  But, then I would feel like an unenlightened diner in a very fine restaurant who is complaining about tediousness of all the courses.  I am on a ride.  I'm strapped in. 

All week long, as I await Wednesday July 6 -- tomorrow -- when I will, at long last, hitch up my teardrop camper and haul it to my house, the background music of "why did I buy that?"  and "what was I thinking?" and "it's just a catalyst.  relax." plays and plays.  Sometimes you do things to spark other things and go somewhere new, Bridget.  So says the narrator.  I have a thousand thought-out rationalizations for buying a teardrop camper and taking it to parks and setting it up so that my dogs and I can .... can .... WHAT!??  You don't know what.  That's why you did it.  Says narrator.

These recent days of taking chances, being secretive, seeking diversion, deciding to not fret over something outside my control, all happened during the days that an idol of mine, Elie Wiesel, was dying and then died.  There aren't that many people left who can say what he said about standing up to evil, torment, oppression every every every time you see it.  

When I think about Elie Wiesel dying, I think about my own death, the cremation of my body, the joining of my ashes with Ted's.  The kids have promised to take us both to a huge rock formation at the end of Road's End in Lincoln City, Oregon where we five had barrels of fun that went on almost forever.  What if the rock is destroyed somehow?  What if that part of the Pacific Coast is sunk by an earthquake, as the experts predict?  Thank god you are waiting for you to die before the kids distribute both your ashes....I mean it could be worse.  What if Ted's ashes were distributed, THEN the rock crumbles or the coastline, and you have to go somewhere else?   Thank you narrator, for pointing that out.

I see that I have been preoccupying myself with actions and thoughts about trivial nothings because I am tired and don't want to face anything heavy at the moment.  It is intermittently tiring upon tiring to trudge on without Ted.  It's an exhausting life at times, widowhood.  I think Elie Wiesel probably felt that way privately.  He had his casino, probably.  His moments of disillusionment, no doubt.  Still, he felt that his surviving came at a cost of someone else not surviving, and he had to speak out.  That's heavy.  I hope he allowed himself a few side excursions.  I hope so for all who carry on. 

VENTING IS NORMAL.


Tulalip Casino, although any casino will do

The Elie Wiesel Foundation For Humanity