THE TIM CONWAY SHUFFLE

Too Fast for Conditions

At the LA Fitness I now go to, I am anonymous.  Nobody so much as looks at anybody, and I can watch CNN while I'm on the cardio machines.  Since I don't have cable at home, it's a little oasis of culture shock, several times a week.  I haven't fallen lately; that was my original motivation for joining a gym.  I've even built two garden beds and didn't trip once.  Of course, I am now thinking I should not have written that, because there's nothing like confidence to bring on a relapse.

I am a lifetime tripper/faller.  I used to walk a Cocker Spaniel named Sandy. He would stop very abruptly in the middle of the block as we walked briskly along, and down I would go.  Of course, it had to happen in front of neighbors.  Ted would always be there to help me up.  I walk two dogs now -- and thank the Gods of Staying Upright, neither is a sudden halter.

I fell into a large piece of Samsonite luggage one time in Yakima, Washington, in a hotel room with my twelve-year-old daughter.  It was the middle of the night.  It was dark.  I called out in the dark, "Caroline, do you have to go to the restroom?"  She didn't answer, so I got up to take myself to the restroom and down I went, into the luggage.  The thuds, bumps, and moans woke my daughter up and she turned on the light.  I was laying there inside the open Samsonite.  I think it was called "The Samsonite Wardrober."  It was big.

I think widows who live alone had better be careful, as I am now.  I'm skulking toward that infamous age bracket made notable by ubiquitous hip fractures.  I DO NOT want to spend any time in a rehab center because I didn't turn the light on to get up in the night, or because I left clothes on the floor, or forgot to look behind me when I backed away from the sink in the kitchen, etc.  I take my cell phone with me outside into the garden.  I reason that if I hurt myself and have to lay there a while, I might get hypothermia in addition to whatever is broken, and off to rehab I would go.  I don't want to leave my dogs, not even to go to the doctor or the grocery store, let alone be gone because I have fallen.  I don't think anyone in my situation would feel otherwise.  So, I beware.  I want all widows who are alone to beware. 

Since I have been a lifetime tripper/faller, I have had an opportunity to think long and hard about what I am doing to contribute to my mishaps.  In every case, I didn't think ahead, think about danger, think about what I was even doing.  I've spent most of my life being a bit on the "ready, fire, aim" side of how I run my private life.  Decisions....things that I do when I'm still or being a professional....only then do I become thoughtful.  A lifetime of domestic multi-tasking is a hard habit to break.  But I'm alone now, and I don't want to go to rehab.  So, I'm learning to slow down, think ahead, and develop a more careful gait. 

When I am slowing down and walking carefully, I can't help but remind myself of Tim Conway and his deliciously hilarious imitation of an old man walking.  When I was younger, I thought older people walked slowly because of pain.  I think there is additional stiffness to aging, yes.  Sometimes I get stiff, and I'm only barely in my sixties.  But now I look a little like Tim Conway when I walk from here to there in my house and garden.  Even if I'm not stiff, I'm slower because I don't want to fall.  There is no one around to pick me up and ask me if I'm okay, or put me in the wheelbarrow and wheel me down to emergency. 

Tomorrow is Ted's sixty-eighth birthday.  I was always able to do fun things for him on his birthday because being born on April Fools Day demanded it.  If he were a living person for just a day I would be making him a cake.  I would be willing to light that many candles for him, because I know if I forgot the lit candles and walked off somewhere to multi-task, he would smell the smoke and blow them out before I burned the house down.  But.....no cake.  No fire.  All is well. 

WIDOWHEAD

DIY WIDOWHEAD

Easter brought forward the part of my mind and heart that is what I privately know as "WidowHead."  It opens like a closed off, concealed room of the house. I might be found there.  I don't usually invite people.  If you are a widow who has lost the love you built your life around, then you probably have built a room like that.   There is a great deal of happiness and joy there, and some pain.  I look upon the pain as a sort of "cover charge" for going into this room. 

The message of Easter, when it first started up a couple thousand years ago, changed the world forever.  People one day thought that life was controlled by fate and gods.  The next day, many people were recording in written documents and talking about a message that death is not the end, and fate doesn't control the quality of your life:  You do.   People at that time started acting differently, expecting differently and the more this message and attitude was suppressed by governments or the powerful, the bigger it got!  It went on long enough to catch on.  There are plenty of people trying to live life in the light of love and caring for others now.  Knowing all that, Easter Day kick starts a whole lot of dreaming and gratitude for me.  Ever since Ted died, Easter has also been a reminder of a personal belief that death is indeed not the end. 

My family and I had an egg hunt for the little kids -- I have six grandchildren who live nearby.  What a joy it is to see kids ages two to nine get together for a party and a treasure hunt.  It digs into my heart that Ted is not here as my date for such an event.  We held hands a lot when he was alive, so I have to keep my hands busy with doing.  At the same time, his children are there with me and I don't think he is missing anything.  But it is a pang.  After the party, I was alone in that most private of rooms.  Joy and pain.  Now it is officially time to get myself seriously out in the garden.  Two grandsons who are two and nine years old wanted to help me plant salad mix.  The next day, the nine-year-old wanted to plant nasturtiums.  I was able to show him how to soak the hard seeds for a better result.  Somehow, when I'm in dirt with a grandchild, Ted is right there.  I don't know how it works, this other world, this spirit world.  But there he is.  It reminds me of a rhyme I used to say to the kids about this time every year:

For everything you need to know, plant a seed and watch it grow.

WidowHead also has practical messages for me.  How much of the work I have to do can I do myself?  How much will I need family help to get done?  How much will I need to contract out?  How much will that cost, and what can I do to my budget to make room for that expense?  I think every widow goes into her version of the WidowHead every week when the garbage has to be taken out.  For me, I think about it this way:  In a retirement complex, somebody will do all the Ted chores for me, as part of the rent.  But I won't be in charge of a half-acre of land, with woods and a garden.  So I stay where I am, and stretch my leftovers to save money for some hired help.  On garbage day, I take it all out to the curb and sometimes get angry that Ted is not magically making it lighter.  Or, better yet, take it out, would you?  WidowHead -- my brain, my heart, and this closed off room in my house that opens up occasionally, is what I need to cope with the loss of a partner and witness to my life and a dose of daily hand-holding, back-patting, "Everything is going to work out.  You'll see."  Ted is there, and not there.  Joy and pain are there.  Solutions to practical problems of widowhood are there. 

I can feel the WidowHead, and the room, closing today. I found a great article on the AARP Blog: Secret to a happy life.  Also, a message from Valarie Harper that is jazzy and inspirational.  Both helped me lock it all up and get outside.   I'm grateful for Spring and a season of hope and planting.  I'm not alone.

AARP Blog: Secret to a happy life


A Wonderful Message from Valerie Harper

HOW GRATITUDE, HOW JOY

Brother David Steindl-Rast

I'm interested in feeling gratitude, and experiencing joy in my life.  Today, my son Andy came over to help hitch up my Bear Tracks trailer (I'm very proud of my aluminum trailer!), load a lawn mower to take it to repair, then load and take materials from his shed to the land fill.  We talked about movies, the interesting character of the mechanic at the lawn mower repair shop, the endangered arts of poetry and essays....we were full of our lighthearted selves.  I had to take Oliver and Miss Kitty with us because I didn't want to leave Miss Kitty alone while she is adjusting to Keppra, her epilepsy med.  And, of course, Oliver would have been hurt to stay home all alone.  It was a simple morning really, but I felt joy.  Or, I should say, I allowed myself to feel joy, and gratitude.  I remember when Ted died, my grief counselor reassured me that I would feel joy again some day.  Why would I want to do that?  Why would I want to have fun and lollygag when Ted is dead?  Those were my thoughts.  I didn't know that joy is a by-product of gratitude -- a happiness that comes from being and feeling completely enough, and satisfied with what I have and who I am.  I thought joy was another word for fun, as in a party or a joke.  I've discovered that parties and jokes can be fun, but feelings of being enough, being satisfied with what I have and who I am can be rare.  Recently, I listened to a podcast that helped me understand why a life of gratitude and joy is sometimes hard to live.  Brother David Steindl-Rast, now in his nineties, is a Benedictine monk, teacher, and author.  He is the founder and senior advisor for A Network for Grateful Living.  You can listen to the podcast at this URL, on the blog, On Being.  http://bit.ly/1VbzZZp    Brother David describes it this way:  You feel joy bubbling up inside, gratitude, happiness....it's going to spill over, like water spilling from the bowl of a sink.  Just as it is going to spill over -- in song, writing, smiling, hugging, dancing, doing good spontaneously -- a commercial comes on and tells you that you aren't enough yet, you aren't complete yet, you aren't okay until you buy this.  And in response to these commercials, messages, ideas, we respond by needing/acquiring a bigger bowl.  We make it so that gratitude and joy can never become full.  Go somewhere else, be more, better, bigger, faster.  Practicing gratitude for this moment, and everything that is in this moment, and feeling joy and allowing it to be so much that it spills over -- this is how to build a joyful life of gratitude.  My daughter, Caroline, called me, exuberant about a job she just applied for.  She is satisfied with the work she put into the application.  It is hard for Caroline to experience the trial and error life demands of all of us.  She is fearful of trying and failing -- since she sometimes mistakes error for fail.  Today she was happy, joyful and grateful and spilling it out to her mom.  She doesn't know if she'll get the promotion, but she is experiencing the fullness of her joy and gratitude for overcoming her fear.  Being a widow is a LOT of trial and error.  Many of us already feel at times that we should have been able to do and be more for our life partner.  It takes a long, long time for most of us to feel enough, to feel gratitude for the joy we experience, and the faith that our dear one is experiencing joy as well, as mysterious as that may feel to our rational mind at times.  When I say I am interested now in a life of gratitude and joy, it no longer fills me with guilt or doubt about Ted, and the idea that I am leaving him behind somehow.   I even find that I will work on the strength to ignore commercials, practice a life of gratitude for who and what I am, the little, dear phone calls and visits I get from my kids and grandkids and friends.  I can feel joy that is overflowing.  I will deliberately practice it for the love I feel for Ted, and the fact that I feel closer to him when I am experiencing gratitude and joy that is overflowing.  It's raining out and not quite sundown.  I still have time to drive down to the Edmonds pier and see what sundown has to tell me.

SEAMS

This would make a good quilt design

Ever seen a crazy quilt, made from scraps and beautifully decorated at every seam?  There's no disputing the beauty of crazy quilts -- to me, they embody a "waste not, want not" approach to living, which I find comforting and enriching.  I also like them because of their beauty.  The older Victorian era ones are my personal favorites.  Look closely: one can see the fabrics of a time gone by, and the unique way in which the scraps of someone's life were fused together into a whole that was both functional and beautiful.  Being a widow is a compilation of fragments and scraps, and a new perspective about how to piece seemingly divergent elements into a whole.  My life today is beautiful in many ways, and there are many, many seams and patches.  The stitching comes loose at these seams when I'm under stress.  Miss Kitty's newly diagnosed epilepsy and the resulting medical regime she is on has thrown me way, way out of balance.  I'm frayed at the seams.  Yesterday, the vet gave me some very specific advice about how to care for her and what may be ahead.  The specificity of her professional advice calmed me down because I want so much to know if this and that symptom/side effect is lasting or transitory.  What's going to happen next?  This process of caring for a seriously ill loved one has brought forward a great deal of pain related to caring for my dying husband, who had cancer.  It's very difficult to know from day to day what is going to happen next in a cancer fight.  Everyone's life is thrown into a wait-and-see mode, which doesn't really fit well with a normal life these days.  This kind of event puts a lot of strain on all the various pieces of my patched together widow life.  All I can do is remember the two certainties of my life today.  1) There is a god; 2) I am not her.  It takes faith to believe that Miss Kitty is okay, that she was brought into my life in particular for a reason, and that I will be a match for whatever patience and faith is required of me.  That reminds me that this morning I became a member of a church in my community.  This was a big step for me, because I am not a particularly religious person.  I joined because I like to sing the old familiar hymns in a divine space that gets me just an inch or two closer to my spiritual core. After all, I find Ted there.  I did it because I want to help others in the community.  I admit that I also did it to be around people --including people my own age -- in an environment in which I can retain my relative anonymity.  While some people join a church to engage in socializing, I joined as a method of holding together all the bits and pieces I have melded into a meaningful life.  In fact, the church I joined is a Methodist Church, started by Oxford students, including John Weston, who were trying different methods of exemplifying the grace of god in the world.  Other students at Oxford during this time would deride them as "Those Method-ists!" 
Easter is coming, and I plan to host an egg hunt for my grandchildren.  I like this season because the secular message and the religious one are the same:  It takes faith to believe in spring, flowers, baby birds, and the beauty of the natural world when everything is dark.  But there will be spring.  Of course, faith in spring doesn't actually make spring happen.  Or does it?

MYSTICISM AND RATIONALISM

Everywhere Open

As a widow, do you ever feel gentle pressure to "get over it," "put it in perspective," "move on," and perhaps other, well-meaning prompts from your loved ones and acquaintances to move forward in a way that doesn't involve an identify centered around your lost spouse and your lost life?  I find an abundance of nudging from the world to move past the loss of Ted and the life we built together.  What does "moving past" look like, for me?  It took five years to understand with both my head and my heart that I faced an unknown number of days alone, without the structures of my old life even remotely recognizable as something that I could hang my heart on.  Only then was I able to design a new life on earth without Ted on earth with me.  Before I became a widow, I had an education...but I was not my education.  I had a career....but I was not my career.  I had a family....and I was my family.  My family, which began with Ted and me and now contains twelve others who are alive and living close, has always been the primary meaning in my life.  That hasn't changed, although I am no longer responsible for daily protection and providing for anyone other than myself and my two little dogs.  Ted's dying did create a significant conundrum of how to continue in my marriage with Ted, even though he had died.  This sounds very strange to most people, but it is my truest heart's desire. Ted and I always believed that love is forever.  Geese and many other animals mate for life, and that fit for us too.  Of course, we didn't realize how quickly we would become separated by death...I was only fifty-four when I became a widow.   I don't think I could be happy if I hadn't found a way to "mate forever" and learn to live with a mystical and whole relationship with Ted.  Something I recently heard made me feel at peace with all of it...although I have find peace from other sources along the way.  I subscribe to a blog "On Being." A podcast ran recently by Rabbi Lawrence Kushner whom I greatly admire.  He talks about people in modern society who are more and more realizing that rationalism can explain only some of the world around us.  http://bit.ly/1qFLAoy   Rabbi Kushner's podcast was greatly reassuring to me that more and more intelligent and rational people (I hope that's me) are open to mystical experiences to such a degree that each day is a combination of rational experiences and mystical experiences, and that there is a wholeness to be found in that kind of life.  This is, of course, what I got from the podcast and others may describe it differently.  I believe anyone who, like me, has made a decision to continue with a marriage, if you will, with a spouse who has died may find Rabbi Kushner's message both affirming and eye-opening.  It's permission to NOT get over it, put it in perspective, move on in every aspect of life as a widow.  This message is a healing one for me and I hope it is for other widows, too.  In other events, Miss Kitty has been diagnosed with something called idiopathic epilepsy and is now on a designer drug that we hope will help her with occasional seizures.  She has no idea of course that she has to move on or put anything in perspective.  She lives with it, accepts it....and for Miss Kitty, life in my home with Oliver and me is slowly bringing her to wholeness.  She has started to stay for longer and longer periods in the garden, sniffing out rodent visitors from the night before, and looking for tasty bits of fallen morsels the crows may have dropped.  There are squirrels and crows to chase, and she has started to bolt after them every now and then.  It's amazing to watch an adopted dog come into his or her own over time in a forever home.  Everything is incorporated into a life that I suspect is long on mysticism.  Oliver and Miss Kitty sleep through my podcast listening, as if they already know the wisdoms that I, as a human, struggle with and search for every day.  They make it look so simple to just be, and disregard any labels or judgments about perspective, rationalism, or how to build a meaningful life that is worth living.  Maybe that's why dogs are called "mankind's best friend."   A best friend lets a widow be a widow in any way that works, heals, helps and provides hope for a meaningful life. 

MUSCLES

Potentially Me Maybe

It's time to be outdoors, when in Edmonds it isn't raining and it's March.  The wind blows here a lot, and I have some evergreen woods on my property.  Garbage pick-up schedule calls for yard debris every other week pickup, so I want to get windfalls, weeds, leaves and all the rest crammed into the yard debris bin before pick up day.  I have to do it in spurts, and I would like it to be not raining...my stamina is not keeping up with me and my gardening aspirations.  Part of the reason I am glad I retired is the anticipation of a gardening season that isn't just about non-rainy weekend days.  But then what good will more gardening days do me if I'm not strong enough to tackle my visions and make them real?  I don't care how close at hand Ted is in my life, he is useless in the garden, around the house, on garbage day, on errand day.  Or is he?  Was it he who whispered in my ear that I am losing strength?  Was it he who allowed me to fall on my left side three times in the last month?  The first time, I was in sock feet on my hardwood floors, running and playing down the hall with Oliver.  Okay, that was dumb, and I deserved to slip and fall.  So, that one doesn't count.  And when my yard debris can tipped over and I was standing on the lid -- that wasn't exactly my fault either, although it was a surprise to me that I didn't have the balance or strength to fight the bin back and stay upright.  I was walking in the garden on Monday among old pallets I plan to use to build a compost heap.  Again, my left foot got caught and I lost my balance.  Again, I fell on my left side.  "You need to get into a regular, professionally supervised fitness and strength program," came a voice.  Not mine.  Not Ted's either.  It sounded like a fact generator machine.  My left knee is a man-made replacement, so I guess my abilities to save myself from falling have diminished.  But what about my core?  Where does it go when I am falling?  Do I even have a core anymore, or is it composted inside of me?!?  By process of elimination based on cleanliness and close proximity to my house, I have joined LA Fitness down the street by about five minutes.  I have an assessment appointment tomorrow.  While there to set all that up today, I stepped somewhat confidently on one of the cardio machines.  Based on my performance, I believe I have taken a positive step forward just in the nick of time.  I barely had the energy after two minutes to find the front door.  Thank goodness I'm too old to care what other people think....although I do and it was rough.....Being a widow means remembering that I can't live in my head all the time.  I have a body still, and it will quit on me if I quit on it.  Again, the gravity that comes with grief is such that I resist the temptation to feel better, grow stronger, live in more than bursts when it's not raining.  How do I think I deserve any of that when Ted is dead?  I have to spend time alone with myself, journal, meditate, talk to Ted to get anywhere near close to remembering that he is with me, but not in the tangible form of human, husband, friend, confidant, trusted advisor.  He has to whisper to me the things that I already know, such as "Take care, Bridget.  You hate hospitals.  You wouldn't like being in a cast, or having a stroke, now would you?"  Ted used to be my muscles.  I miss that part of being part of a couple that includes a guy with upper body strength.  Not enough to do anything about it, like date.  Enough to waddle down to the gym?  Yes. 

I KNOW YOU ARE THERE

I know you are there.

I wonder what it is like for Ted, who has died and is progressing wherever he is.  I wonder if he has limited amounts of time where he is.  I can tell that he hears me, knows me, loves me and wants me to feel loveable.  More than that, I know that he wants me to feel that I'm enough, and that there is enough of me to go around including time -- provided I'm choosy about certain things.  I have to be choosy about who I hang out with.  By choosy I mean careful.  Thoughtful.  There is a finite amount of me, of my time and other resources.  I only want to be around people who love me, understand me, need me in their life as much as I need them.  That's really all I have time for.  Yesterday, I had the honor of being guest for a waterside lunch in Edmonds with Dale and Susan, my dear friends.  We've known each other for a quarter century, in good times and sorrow, with keen minds and when one of us was confused or feeling lost.  I've never felt anything but love and support from these friends, and I am so grateful for the lunch yesterday, and the opportunity to share some stories, memories, laughs with them.  I wondered if Ted was with us in spirit, and I didn't get a strong sense that he was.  After the lunch, I came home and readied my house for Ewan, my two-year-old grandson who was coming over for an afternoon and evening with his Nana, and a sleepover.  I was keenly aware during this time with Ewan that Ted was indeed with us.  Ewan of course is non-judgmental about how much money I have, how many months I have left to pay on my car, what I plan to do about the ever-growing vet bill, how much I weigh at the moment....Ewan only cares about this moment with his Nana, and the true interest I have in his being.  He announces things like Mickey Mouse appearing on my TV set the way I would announce Ted if I saw him standing before me.  When he sees Mickey, Ewan is delighted!  Amazed!  It's a miracle! That's how much enthusiasm Ewan has for the appearance of someone he loves.  Ewan knows that Mickey is always around, even though he may not be present.  He has the faith of a child.  Or maybe it's wisdom.  I am grateful to have the wisdom to know that Ted is around, too.  I want to see Ted, and in the midst of my yesterday, I got to see him.  Ewan came over to me to tell me something important.  He had to tell it directly to me and then give me a hug when I asked for one.  In that face and in that moment, I was able to see Ted just as plainly as I ever did.  I think it's important to think long and hard about who we let close up....it has to be people who love us, understand us, accept us without judgement I think.  A beloved child, a good friend, a life partner who has died.  These are worth what little time I have.  As for the vet bill.....I love my dogs and have lived with dogs my entire life.  Somehow, I will find a way to pay the vet bill for Miss Kitty, who the vet believes needs surgery based on xrays of her knees.  I also think she may be having short seizures periodically, so that's a new challenge.  It costs a lot of money sometimes to love a pure hearted creature in distress.  But money is something that can be made, saved, begged, borrowed.  But not time.  I only have a finite amount of time .... just enough, in fact, to love and be loved by a select few. 


I hope you enjoy the following video of someone who is loving and being loved!

http://www.msn.com/en-us/video/animals/giraffe-birth-caught-on-camera-at-zoo-in-australia/vi-AAgEtSd?ocid=edgsp

A PARADISE IN MY LAP

Enough

A lot of people think you have to die to get to a better place.  That may be true.  I also am discovering that there is a lot going on around me now that I can decide to focus on and I can experience a kind of paradise, here and now.  Sometimes, I have to face that perhaps I don't want to be in paradise without Ted.  Then, I finally remember that if I focus and pay very close attention, Ted can be there with me too.  I have another dog that I adopted a year ago.  His name is Oliver.  He's a black and white Shih Tzu with an underbite.  For some reason he was abandoned at six or seven years old...or he got lost.  Who knows?  But he survived on the streets of San Diego, then in a no-kill shelter, and then he was adopted by me.  When I have a guest in my home -- usually a family member -- Oliver cozies up to one of us and just watches and listens.  Sometimes if I am observant, I have one of those moments in which I realize I am in a sort of paradise. I can feel the grace that I'm pretty sure was put there by my creator, bringing me intense, personal satisfaction and a sense that I have everything that I need.  It's hard at times to feel that all my needs will be met.  I don't have that much money, now that I'm retired.  I'm not "making money" anymore -- and that is anxiety provoking.  Really?  I was making money?  Am I sure I wasn't exchanging pieces of my little paradise for money -- more money than I really needed to have enough?   Now, retired, I have the time to focus on other things besides performance and achievement in the workplace.  My obligations take less time commitments.  I can focus on things like my lungs working.  My feet working.  My dog on my lap, listening.  I can focus on the feeling that creeps up on me that I am experiencing paradise in this moment.  I have everything I need at my fingertips.  I can stay home, or I can go out and try to bring paradise to others with food, shelter, a reassurance that someone cares.  I don't think I have to wait to experience a better world, or even paradise.  I have what I need to create a better world here and now, for myself and others.  It is true that there are little altars everywhere.  Ted, where are you?  I am here, he responds.  There is more I want you to know, but you can find me here.  If I say that with my eyes closed, then open my eyes, I am here.

TODAY

Miss Kitty

....named for the Kit Fox...and the 1955-1975 Gunsmoke Gutsy Saloon Keeper

If you are a widow, you face a procession of days without your life partner, your sweetheart, best friend and the center of your previous life. I say "previous life," even though it may have been a day ago that you lost your partner. It may be ten years, twenty years, or seven years -- like me. It doesn't matter, as you probably know if you have been a widow for very long. Forever is forever, and there are no degrees of forever. What I have found is that the focus of my life alone is less the future and more intensely focused on today. I am currently reading a book by the Mayo Clinic about how to lead a stress-free life. Find it on Amazon "Mayo Clinic Guide to Stress Free Living" So far, I have learned that the reason people don't focus solely on the moment, on the present, on today is that the brain is hard-wired to worry about threats. Once you become a widow, it's hard to be threatened. I have started The Widow Lessons Blog because I have written a book by that title. I'm in the process of reaching out to publishers but I may decide to self-publish. No matter which, the book will soon be available. Since I wrote the book to reach out and hopefully help other widows, I thought, "Why wait!" Today my son, Andy, stopped by to check on me. I've been sick with a bug of some sort that has me coughing all night. I caught this bug exactly one day after I lost my "really great" medical insurance -- I recently retired and am now self-paying for crappy, catastrophic mishaps and illness type insurance that I can't afford to use for a mere bug. It's true what they say....that your car breaks down one day after the warranty is expired. Same with your vacuum cleaner and your computer. There's a force at work here that has no name, other than "s--- happens."  So, of course I would get sick on "bad insurance ground zero day."   I talked with Andy about my blog idea, and he asked me to log into his blog so that he could explain a few components. Unfortunately, when I went to his URL, it led me to a huge penis (in my limited opinion) and an appreciative, topless beauty with a "gee-gaw" look on her face. Andy has gone home now, to recover from his shock and to see if he can fix his URL... Apparently, people in the world plug in pornography to your URL and then make you pay to take the porn off. I didn't know that. So, I learned from Andy and from our pornography moment that if I start a blog, I need to tend it daily. That I can do. As I said, I'm retired and I want to help people deal with the life-obliterating experiences of life, including that of becoming a widow against your will. So, for today, I have created a blog. I have had a pornography lesson that was attached to a blogging lesson. I am grateful to Andy. On another post, you'll undoubtedly learn about my other two adult kids, Ben and Caroline who also help me, teach me, and -- I hope -- need me as much as I need them.  I await the remainder of my day to unfold -- especially after a 3:15PM pacific time vet appointment I have for my dog, Miss Kitty. She periodically cries out in back pain and loses her legs and stumbles. I've only adopted Miss Kitty a month ago, so there's no telling what I'll discover about her back. But I have a great vet at Edmonds Veterinary Hospital. Find Edmonds Veterinary Hospital at http://edmondsvet.com So that is how it is with me today....and most days.  I try to see where I am needed, and step in.  See what I need, and be willing to take care of myself.  I'll leave you with the quote that spoke to me today. By Hemingway. "We are all broken. That's how the light gets in." ******* ******* Update:  Miss Kitty had xrays. They think her hind leg is injured and put her on Rymadil. No spinal injury. Today I am grateful for vets and for meds. I have to keep Miss Kitty from jumping off places, chairs, sofas, etc. for a couple of weeks.  I will find a way to put her in my pocket....otherwise known as live under my strict supervision.