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.