Let's Do Something Fun Today.

I've been a downer this week.  Deservedly so, but still kind of a killjoy.  Here, let's look at some of the happy things for a while:

 Ultrasonic oil diffuser.  We're using Thieves oil.  And yes, that is a record player. I like my records.

 Bill's glove and a ball from the boys he coached last summer.  I think Bill's favorite saying "Chicks dig scars" originated from Scott Hall.  Correct me if I'm wrong, someone.

 Happy tulips from my dear friend from afar.  Just lovely.

 New knitting project.  Sparkly yarn. 

 New hobby.  I always told Bill that I would learn to spin when I was old and the kids were gone.  I found this wheel earlier this week for a song--I think it was a gift from Bill.

 Nothing says spring quite like primroses.

 Daphne.  My favorite flower ever.

New dishcloth from Trader Joe's.  Why is this making me happy?  Well, when we were visiting Astoria last month I found some funky Swedish dishcloths at an import store.  They're made of cellulose and cotton and they're rather pricey so I only bought one.  I found the same thing at the Trader for about 1/4 of the price.  Score!

What?!  You don't think my pictures seem particularly happy?  Dishcloths and yarn don't make you smile?  Hmmm.  We might need to talk about things.

What I Really Need.

It's funny that the first thing people want to know is how I'm going to tend to the more practical aspects of my life.  You know, things like cars, mowing the grass, painting the house, and stacking the firewood.  Then the conversation always comes around to ask how I'm going to support myself.  That's just a polite way of asking if I have any money.  Sometimes the money question comes first but always these two queries appear together. In all honesty, neither one of these things occupies much space in my mind right now.  Near the bottom of the priority pile.  I don't want to sound ungrateful or foolish.  I am truly thankful that people are kind enough to be concerned about my family's current situation.  Our future too. The incredible generosity shown to us has been utterly amazing.  But really, it's not the money or the work that worries me.  I have faith that all that peripheral stuff will work out.  I worry about ever feeling safe again.

Am I worried that someone is going to break into our home and hurt the kids or I?  No, not that kind of safety.  Maybe security is a better word.  I feel that there is no one who can take care of us the way that Bill could.  Really, I'm sure that's true. That is a rather unsettling feeling.  I'm a practical gal, so I know that I can (and will) take care of myself and our kids, but, dagburnit,  who will really take care of me?  Who will, how do you say it, "have my back?"  Who will support me and kick my tail into next week when it needs to be kicked?  Unsettling, I tell you.  This is a void that no parent or friend or child can fill.  It is a Bill-sized hole.

Bill was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, an in-law, a father, a friend, an acquaintance, and a co-worker.  I'm sure any of the people who fit into the mentioned categories feel the void, understand the loss.  But I am the only wife.  No one else holds that distinction except me.  Think on that for a few moments.  Only me.  This is the reason words and kindness and solidarity do little to comfort me.  I have lost my stability, my security, in a way no one else has.  Only me.  I still get up in the morning and make my coffee.  Everyone has clean laundry in their drawers and there's food on the table (lasagna, anyone?  or ice-cream?).  I can make this life seem grounded and "normal"--in fact that's what I strive to do for the sake of our kids.  But, in reality, my world is a vacuum, without gravity, cold and lifeless as granite.  I'm trying to remember that granite sparkles in the sun.

I see.

Soon, Very soon.  I will be glad to see you, sweet friend.

For the first time in what seems like an eternity, I see things this morning.  I see the trees on the hill, wind whipping their branches all crazy like.  I see the little birds that Bill loved to feed scratching on the patio.  I see a crow and a bald eagle chasing each other (who will win that battle?).  I see a mess of bark dust on the path where the chickens have been digging.  I see a little wisp of cloud coming up out of the river, never keeping the same form.  I see a "v" of geese flying overhead.  I see Madeline get in her car and drive off to work for the day.  I see Sarah sprawled out on the bed, finger still in her mouth.  I see Jon and Jack beginning to move about in their beds.  I see buds on the trees and the snowdrops beginning to bloom.  I see life.  My life, their life.  Like that cloud evaporating off the river, it doesn't keep the same form for long.  Always changing, but also always moving.

Another Day.

I did it.  I made it through another day.  Heck, I even got some stuff done around here too.  School work was completed, boys were signed up for baseball, death certificate was faxed to some government entity, beds were changed, and the fridge cleaned out.  I didn't bother to cook though.  I ate ice cream for dinner instead.  And now I'm listening to my new roomie sucking her finger while she sleeps.  This new roommate is a snugly one, though in a different way than the one who preceded her.  This new one doesn't snore and isn't nearly as hairy either.  I'm pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate being woken up for a late night chat and snack (which Bill was always up for) so I might need to make some revisions to my usual schedule.  Yeah.  That's how it is with just about everything.  Revisions.

So I thought of some things that I'm going to have to learn how to do now.  I try not to think too much because one thought always leads to another thought which leads me to this really insurmountable place where I cannot fathom escaping from.  But sometimes I do think and then I have to make a list.  Lists are really awesome.  It's also a good thing when I remember that I kind of like to be independent and learn to do new things.  I have to check my oil--better remember to keep paper towels in the car for that.  I have to scrub the mildew and moss off of the vinyl fence.  I have to play catch with Jon (Jack throws too hard for me now) and hit ground balls to him.  I'm really pretty awesome at that.  I have to clean the chicken coop.  I have to figure out how to clean the chimney.  And the gutters.  I am responsible for all toilet disasters.  Do I have to keep reading Dickens to the kids at bedtime?  The attic--it mocks me with its vermin and detritus.  I'm afraid of that place.  I will have to change an electrical socket.  That's what YouTube is for, right?  I will have to be a grandma by myself. But I won't have to share babies with Bill, the Baby Hog.  On paperwork, I have to leave the spot that says "spouse" blank.  There's plenty more.  Trust me on that.

Tomorrow I'll get up.  I'll throw Bill's work coat on over my nightgown, shove my bare feet into my muck boots, and make my way out to the woodshed to feed the dogs and the cat.  On to the chicken coop to check how my ladies are doing after a night's sleep.   Then I'll load up the wheelbarrow with half a bale of hay and head out to the field to feed the cows.  I'll rub Bud's curly forehead and let Sissy lick my hand.  Then I'll pause at Bill's grave and tell him about my plans for the day.  I'll tell him that I miss him and walk up the hill to the house alone.

And It All Changed.

Just like that, everything changed.  Not just a few things.  Everything.  Really, I'm not sure that I can grasp just how different things are now.  I'm not sure I even want to understand.  Do I ramble?  Probably.

So before I go any further, let's clear up some of the crazy rumors that have been circulating.  It seems that news. good or bad, travels quickly these days with the wide usage of social media. Facebook is a great way to communicate in this modern age, but it also creates an easy opportunity for insensitive people to poke about in other's misfortune.  There's nothing like using someone else's tragedy to draw attention to oneself, don't you think?  My dearest Bill died on Monday, January 20th, at the hospital in Salem.  That's when he took his last breath.  But really, he died in my arms on Saturday, January 18th, when he suffered a fatal heart arrhythmia known as ventricular fibrillation.  The wonderful paramedics and firemen from the local volunteer fire department worked so hard on Bill, trying to resuscitate him.  He was, after all, only 41, and he had a wife and four children to live for.  But I knew he was gone.  I didn't want to know it, but I did.  I didn't leave him alone in the hospital. I put my hand in his warm hand, the one I'd held so many times, and kept it there until the end.  That hand that shyly held my hand for the first time when I was 16.  The hand that held mine when he asked my to marry him at my apartment in Corvallis.  The hand that held mine and promised to love me forever at our wedding the following year.  The hand that held mine through each of our children's births (I may have squeezed it pretty hard a few times).  The hand that held mine when I was sad or angry or afraid.  The hand that was always there.  In the car.  In bed.  At church.  Walking.  The hand that was always there.  Letting go of that hand was the hardest thing I've ever done.  I kissed his silent face, beard and all, and walked away into the unknown.  That's what really happened.

Lots of women become widows.  Some are even younger than me.  I know all of this.  But I am different than most.  My story is different than most. We were different than most.  Bill was the only real boyfriend I had.  And I was the only real girlfriend that he had.  We were young, sure, but we always knew something was different.  We grew up together.  We should have grown old together.  Neither one of us was perfect but it didn't matter.  Where I lacked, he had abundance.  Where he needed more, I had more to give.  We were perfectly suited to each other.  The best compliment to the other.  We were in agreement on all the big issues.  We believed the same things.  We were on the same path, leading the same direction.  And then this happened.

You know, this is only the beginning of the story.  There's much more to share, and certainly as I make more sense of it I'll share.  I am comforted by the fact that Bill is more happy than I can imagine and one day I'll be with him again.  I hope he'll be proud of me, proud of what I've done and how I've raised our kids.  Until then, I believe that the 28 years we were together (20 of those married) were more amazing and full of love than many couples who have been married twice as long.  Bill was my greatest friend and I love him more than I could even begin to explain.  But you can be sure I just might try.

Just What Are We Creating?

Something I've noticed lately, both in the scope of social media as well as instances in real life, is the over zealous practice of commenting on a girl's looks.  Not just saying, "Oh, you look nice (or pretty, or cute, or whatever) today."  But really going over the top with compliments that focus only on perceived beauty.  Yes, yes, I know this is not a new phenomena.  But for some reason it's really aggravating me lately.

See, here's the thing:  focusing on a girl's looks is so shallow.  It's demeaning, really.  Are we suggesting that a young lady's only attribute is how she appears to others?  She has no value aside from her looks?  Yeah, really bugging me.

I have two daughters.  Both are blessed to be beautiful girls.  I believe I can make that statement with limited bias (except for Sarah's buck teeth, which she'll grow out of eventually).  But, more importantly, both were blessed with so many other, much more impressive attributes.  Sarah is athletic and brave.  I'd much rather someone comment on these characteristics than telling her she is "a pretty little girl."  And Madeline has a quiet spirit and is a gifted writer, so I'd be happier with someone complimenting her on those gifts rather than saying, "You are so pretty."

What I'm suggesting we do instead is not a new idea.  In fact, I'm sure every feminist since 1960 (and most likely before that) has ridden this bandwagon down the same road.  Sometimes, however, we forget what our intentions really are and we need a reminder to help us better express what we mean. I'm asking that rather than filling our girls (both young and old!) with flattering praise of their appearance, let's instead try to fill them with praise for their accomplishments and strengths.  Let's celebrate their individuality and encourage with genuine, well-considered words.

Can my idea change the world?  Nope.  I probably can't even change a single person's mind, and wouldn't even have the desire to do such a thing.  I am hoping, though, that someone might read this and remember next time to compliment on something beyond the shallowness of physical appearances and place value on something of greater importance.

Quick Hamburger Buns

This is a really simple and quick recipe that you can whip up while preparing the rest of dinner.  I use my KitchenAid mixer, but you could certainly just mix and knead by hand.  There is no rise time because of the large amount of yeast added.  You could cut down the yeast and allow a rise time but, heck, who has time for that?!

Okay, here's the recipe:

Sprinkle 2 Tbsp. dry yeast over 1 C. + 2 Tbsp. warm water.  Let this sit for a few minutes.

Stir into yeast mixture:  1/3 C. oil/melted butter/melted coconut oil, 1/4 c. sugar or honey, 1 egg, and 1 tsp. salt.

Gradually stir in 3-3 1/2 C. flour and knead until smooth and elastic.

Form into 12 balls.

Place on baking sheet and bake at 425 degrees for 8-12 minutes.