Home Again

I ARRIVED AT THE NEW HOUSE JUST AS MY HERD OF 'COWS' PULLED AROUND THE CORNER. FAMILY AND FRIENDS HELPED ME EMPTY THE COWS AND I LOVINGLY PLACED MY 'STUFF' AS IF I WAS A KID PLAYING WITH A DOLLHOUSE.
I AM MORE OR LESS SETTLED INTO MY NEW HOME AND I LOVE IT. I WATCHED IT BEING BUILT, AND FELT THAT IT WAS AN IMPORTANT PART OF CREATING A NEW ME. IT WAS ALMOST AS IF I WERE LEAVING PART OF MY GRIEF BEHIND IN MY OLD HOUSE, (NOT FOR EVERYONE, BUT IT WORKED FOR ME.) WHEN YOU HAVE BEEN IN A MARRIAGE FOR 42 YEARS, IT ALMOST CREATES AN IDENTITY FOR YOU. I WAS A WIFE, THE OTHER HALF OF A COUPLE. IT DIDN’T MATTER THAT I THOUGHT I WAS AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN WHO HAD HER OWN IDENTITY THAT WAS SEPARATE FROM HER HUSBAND. I WAS A TEACHER (JUST RETIRED), A CANDLEMAKER, CRAFTSWOMAN, BAKER, ETC. WHOOSH! LIKE A SEVERED LIMB, I NO LONGER FEEL WHOLE. I DON’T REALLY KNOW EXACTLY WHO I AM. YES, I’M STILL A MOTHER, A GRANDMOTHER, A FRIEND BUT IT’S NOT ENOUGH. THAT DOESN’T MEAN THAT I IMMEDIATELY NEED TO FIND A MAN TO BE PART OF A COUPLE AGAIN,(THAT WILL FOLLOW), IT MEANS THAT I NEED TO FIND A NEW NORMAL FOR MYSELF AND FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH THIS NEW SELF. (THIS NEW SELF IS REALLY WHO I AM BASICALLY BUT IT DOESN’T QUITE FEEL RIGHT YET) SO HERE I AM IN NEW SUBURBIA , SURROUNDED BY YOUNG, GROWING FAMILIES WITH ALL THE GIANT, MOLDED PLAYTOYS THAT DOT THE NEW BACKYARDS. THERE WERE TIMES I WONDERED IF I HAD MADE A MISTAKE BEING THE WIDOWED, OLDER WOMAN LIVING ALONE IN A YOUNG NEIGHBOURHOOD, BUT I SOON STARTED BAKING COOKIES AND GETTING TO KNOW EVERYONE. ONE OF MY FIRST DISCOVERIES ABOUT MYSELF WAS HOW MUCH I LOVE PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY CHILDREN. (YOU’D EXPECT THAT FROM A PRIMARY TEACHER. ) THE FOUR YEAR OLD NEXT DOOR ASKS ME A MILLION QUESTIONS AND ANYONE AS OLD AS ME MUST KNOW ALL THE ANSWERS. THE BABY GIRL SMILES AND WAVES AT ME. GRIEF FLIES OUT THE WINDOW WHEN A BABY SMILES. THE KIDS ON THE OTHER SIDE ARE LIVELY AND BOUNCY (GIANT TRAMPOLINE)  THE YOUNGEST, AN 7 YEAR OLD BOY ACTUALLY WEARS ME OUT JUST LOOKING AT HIM, HE’S SO HYPERACTIVE AND  DARING. I HOLD MY BREATH WHEN HE LEAPS ON THE FENCE AND THROWS HIMSELF OVER. I BOUGHT THIS HOUSE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL, PEACEFUL BACKGROUND OF TREES THAT SWAYED SOFTLY IN THE WIND. NOW I LISTEN TO DOGS BARK, CHILDREN SQUEAL, AND FAMILIES THAT I AM NOT A PART OF ENTERTAINING IN THEIR YARDS. DID I GOOF UP?  SHOULD I HAVE CHOSEN THE SENIOR’S HOUSING ROUTE AND SURROUNDED MYSELF WITH PEOPLE MY OWN AGE?

Temporary Home

  My sisters are wonderful. Both invited me to stay with them. Since Gus, my huge, part wolf dog, attacked sister #1's dog, I opted to stay with sister #2. My menagerie joined her menagerie of 4 little Shitzus. Shitzu's live up to their name. They are not real dogs like mine is, they're little sh--s. They decided if they each attacked one of Gus's legs they could take him. Since he could swallow one whole we had to be pretty vigilant. I also discovered that my cats could scale my body and sit on my head when chased by one of the little darlings. I love you sister #2 but I'll never own a Shitzu.
  Not only was I welcomed with open arms, fed like a queen, entertained and treated like a visiting dignitary, my sister had redone the room in my favourite colour. She even had glittering butterflies scattered on the wall above my bed. There was a bowl of my favourite chocolates. I couldn't have been more welcomed. I wish all of you sisters like mine.
  I've met a few widows since I became one. A few have chosen to move in with family, some of them even selling their homes to do this. Living alone is just too lonely and even painful for some. I was so welcomed into my sister's family but it wasn't my family and it wasn't my home. I had a strange longing for my own home even though it wasn't built yet and even though I knew I would be alone. For heaven's sake, I even missed my STUFF after being in such a hurry to get rid of so much of it. Perhaps I was beginning to heal and the survivor in me was ready to begin again.
  Being in the cocoon of my sister's love helped prepare me for emerging as the glitterfly that I am meant to be. It was safe there, but something is beckoning me on.

Homeless

My new house wouldn’t be ready for a month or two and my present house had closed. I had many offers and decided to stay with my youngest sister. She would take me and my animals, bless her heart. Shortly after the COWS left, I crammed my jeep with precious items: my husband’s ashes, my 140 pound dog, two snarling cats, my best scissors, my sharpest knife, important papers and far too many clothes. I gave my birds to my daughter, (it was bad enough traveling with the animals I had.) I went from room to room saying goodbye to the memories. I cried in the den where I held my dying husband in my arms. Somehow I knew that this was the right thing to do for me.
I drove away, feeling a little bit like a gypsy. It was a little scary but also freeing to be leaving everything behind me. It was a four hour journey with a couple of dog stops and I felt the beginning heartbeat of a new adventure.

The Cows

The house was  ready for sale. It was empowering to de-clutter, clean, paint and repair things. I had a moment of sheer pleasure using oil paint on the front door. It was creamy and thick and flowed beautifully. I looked around for something else to paint. At some point in my painting, I lit a candle in the living room and dining room to diffuse smells. The candle was faulty, covered the rooms in black soot and creepy cobwebs. People were due to look at the house in 30 minutes.
Remember I said I was resilient?
I called the insurance company. They took away my furniture and stuff and totally cleaned the rooms. The people bought the house and chose their own paint colour (insurance company had it painted too.) Since the room was empty and all the furniture was in storage to be cleaned, I was able to rent little tables and host a small wedding reception for a family member. (If the Lord gives you lemons...make lemonade.)
Now the cows. I wanted to save money at this point and decided I would pack and move myself. This involved the use of C.O.W.S. Containers On wheels. These are huge, box-car like things that are of course painted to look like cows. Big, black and white cows with faces, udders, the whole bit.  Men, (wranglers or cowboys) pulled them up and left them in my driveway for me to fill. I had a whole herd. Do you know how many jokes and puns you can make up about cows in your driveway? Filling them up with all my possessions and watching them pull away, I felt like a pioneer about to go west in a covered wagon or maybe the last round-up. Goodbye cows.

Events

Serving coffee to the men in my basement and chatting as if they were life-long friends helped to me to see how pathetically lonely I was. These strangers filled a need. Yes, I had my family, but they were suffering too. A small group of teacher friends decided we would meet once a month in different restaurants for lunch. I circled the calendar and waited like a kid for Christmas. Then a light bulb went off and I thought of how I could have 'events' to look forward to. I just needed to schedule different events with different people once a month. All I needed was 30 friends! Okay... subtract 2 days for volunteering, 4 or 5 days for family, 4 days for painting class...How many friends am I down to? The strange thing is that it worked! I understand that I was filling empty hours and postponing the inevitable sadness that would visit me anyway, but my lovely friends went along with me and became my delightful 'events'.

Soul Bird

 Today, a poem I wrote that was inspired by a biblical passage.

                                                              Soul Bird

A soul bird flew

In skies above

It soared with joy

And it shone with love,

But a hunger pulled it

From its way

To an earthly pit

Of dust and clay.

The soul bird yearned

And it stretched its wings

But its heart was snared

By earthly things

So it softly prayed

With head bent down

And cast away

Its worthless crown

And will rise from blackness,

Empty night

To seek a radiant,

Brilliant light.

The Men In My Basement

In the beginning, when grief tore me to pieces, ‘Stuff’ lost its value. If I couldn’t have my husband, I didn’t want ‘Stuff’. I started to give things away. Some things were legitimate, like mementos for people who loved my husband. Then I decided I would never entertain again, so away went the china cabinet and everything in it. Knick-knacks, doodads and what nots…. out the door. Then I arrived at my fabric stash and reason finally arrived as well. I stopped.
I waited the required ‘year’ before I decided to sell my house and all its memories. Before I could put it on the market I took a good, long look…my husband was a hoarder. No offence ladies, but it was ‘Man Stuff’. A wall of old turntables, musty wooden radios, heavy transformers, boxes of dusty, rusty oddities, and thousands of records. Boxes and boxes and coveted milk cartons of LP’s. There were enough 45’s to build a wall and even gramophone records. I decided to sell these things and so I put ads on the internet. My offspring were concerned about strangers coming to my house but I figured I had a paper trail and would be okay. I was actually as safe as a rock in bubble wrap. These men were an unusual breed. The men who flocked to my basement had a singular purpose…to find a rare treasure, to get a BARGAIN ! At a dollar a record, (even when it went down to 25 cents), the men would examine each record as if their lives depended on it. They held them up to the light, took them over to the window (remember - basement) and twirled them all around looking for scratches and imperfections. They examined the jackets and even smelled them. They were down there for HOURS. At first I stayed down with them but obviously I distracted them from their quest and some stayed so long I almost forgot they were there. Some of them, I served coffee. I took a sandwich down to one old fellow who was diabetic just in case he passed out and I would have to explain an unconscious or dead fellow in my basement.
Eventually, they would emerge, arms wrapped around their discoveries, and an absolute twinkle in their eyes. If they only knew….I would have just given them the records to be reminded of my husband’s eyes when he first snared the same treasures.