The End of a Difficult Year

2023 has been a challenge for me, from beginning to end.  Although I am grateful for many things that happened this year, it knocked the wind out of me in other ways.  The year began with a visit to New Orleans and my daughter, and I am extremely grateful for that, although at the time it broke my heart.   Though we talked almost daily, I had not seen Ruth in person for over five years, for a variety of reasons.  Some of those reasons were mine, and I regret my reluctance to visit; Ruth was always excited for me to come, but her addiction interfered more each time, and the past several visits were disappointing to both of us because she was only able to “get it together” to see me once or twice during my week-long visits.  I could not justify the expense to travel there and spend a week alone, and she could not stay sober, so I put off visiting more than I should have.  Then, too, she spent some of those years in jail or in rehab.  She was not able to come to my wedding because she could not leave the state, and then there was Covid.  So way too much time went by between visits.  I am grateful that we talked all the time, all those years, whenever we could.   Even last January, when I was available to be with her 24-7, we only got together for three short visits, despite both our plans to the contrary.   When I saw her I was shocked at how her health had deteriorated since the last time we had been together.  So shocked by her appearance, in fact, that I did not take our usual ‘selfie’ before I left for home, which of course I deeply regret.  But Ruth promised me and herself that she was ready to fully commit to rehab, and we talked and cheered her on over the next weeks, both of us hopeful because this was the first time she had really, really wanted to get help.  Her social worker promised that she was going to a long-term facility and would be there for a month or more, and she couldn’t wait.  I sent her a duffle bag I’d made, packed with the labeled belongings she was told to bring, and I had a box ready to mail with the items the facility said I could provide.  Ruth called me when she arrived and she was excited to begin, but only a few days later she called again to say that there was an “insurance problem” and they were sending her home until they could straighten it out.  She arrived home on a Friday to find another woman with her boyfriend in their apartment, wearing her clothes, but she promised me that her focus remained on sobriety despite the hurt and sadness.  We were in almost constant touch as she tried to process her next steps.  She was dead a few days later.

Ruth was found on a Friday in March and that is her official date of death, but I had talked to her several times the previous Monday and could not reach her after that, despite dozens of attempts.  Her boyfriend left her alone Monday night, passed out on the bed, and he was the one who found her in the same place when he finally returned home the following Friday, so I believe she died on Monday evening and was already dying or  even dead when he left.  

As I told her constantly, I was proud of Ruth; she was brave and creative and hopeful and kind to others, but undermined by outside forces and experiences, many of which were beyond her control.  She struggled much of her life with PTSD, along with other diagnoses.  I have wished a million times that I could have done a better job of protecting her, that I could go back to find the thread of her life and stop it from unraveling.   I’ve been told by several people that there will come a time when I am grateful, at least, that Ruth no longer  has to struggle, but I doubt that will happen unless I get over the fact that she had to suffer at all, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon.  Talk of religion only makes me bitter.

Every moment of the remainder of the year was tainted by the loss of my youngest child, and of course that undercurrent will be with me for the rest of my life.  But the year also brought many things I am grateful to have experienced.  This year marked the high school graduation and start of college for my oldest grandchild, an extremely talented musician and mathematician, who brings me joy every time I think of him.   I saw him and his sister perform with their orchestra several times, including a performance of a piece composed by my grandson.  That was a special thrill.  This is the senior year of high school for my next oldest grand, who is a stellar student, a talented musician and artist who also delights my soul.  

In a very different way than with Ruth, I am so proud of them both.  With Ruth my pride was always tinged with regret for the things she had suffered, and my memories are touched with the same.  With the grands, my feelings have no such conflict.  They are both accomplished and smart and doing remarkable things, but my pride and joy in them stems mostly from how decent and thoughtful they are.  They are genuinely nice people.  I want them to be happy but beyond that, it doesn’t matter to me what they choose to do or become.  They are enough in themselves to make me proud.  And both of them seem to be level-headed and to have a foundation of  love and confidence that makes me so very happy.

My son and his wife celebrated their 22nd anniversary this year and as always, I am amazed at how time has flown by since I first met and fell in love with the woman my beloved son would eventually marry and raise children with.  They and their family are certainly the best thing in my life, always.  And in my birth family, two of my siblings, both with severe health issues, continued to do better than anyone expects, and I am grateful for the time we’ve had together, and which we cherish more every year.  Meanwhile my third sibling, the healthiest of the lot, continues to run marathons and break records in his age group.  Jack's children live close by and we are grateful to be able to spend time with them so often.

Jack and I are getting older, and that is also a matter of good fortune.  We feel lucky to be doing it together.   

And my little “bonus” grandson, born to my step-daughter two and a half years ago, is a bright and beautiful delight.  His messy kisses, sticky fingers and cute little demands are wonderful in themselves, but they also bring memories of all the other children I’ve loved as they moved through those darling toddler years.

Because Jack and I have Covid I will be missing our annual Chocolate Fondue New Year's celebration, my favorite holiday of the year, and I am very sad about that.  There is something special about a tradition that goes all the way back to when my son was a little boy, and I look forward to it all year, which has nothing to do with the chocolate.   So I will miss being with my family, as we all get older and more spread out, our times together are more precious every year.  Besides the concern of infection, this virus has knocked me flat; I feel terrible.  So I'm not happy about any of it, but maybe I can find some small benefit in having this evening of quiet reflection.  In some ways it is a fitting way to end a difficult year.

It has been a difficult year, but I remain luckier than most and grateful for all the good.   I will try to focus on that in the coming year.  Here's hoping that 2024 will bring peace and health to all of us.

Covid Calling

Jack and I have been very lucky; almost everyone we know has had Covid at one time or another since the pandemic began, and my sister is still suffering the devastating effects of Long Covid.  We have taken advantage of every vaccination, and have been careful to avoid crowds as much as possible.   But things finally came home to roost this week, when Jack tested positive for Covid a couple of days after Christmas.   His symptoms are mild, but it means he will miss our annual New Year’s Eve chocolate fondue, my favorite event of the year.   And now we are waiting to see whether it means that I will miss it, too.   Jack and I are keeping distance between us to try to stop the spread.  I feel like I am coming down with a cold, but so far I have tested negative for Covid.  Fingers crossed . . . 

Edging Into Summer

Jack was out of town for the weekend at his brother Mark’s estate sale in southern Illinois.  There was a  lot of work to get ready for the auction so it was not the restful family time that he really craved, but he was be glad that he went.  He took the trip by train with his son Zachary, and enjoyed the extra time with Zack but it was a short trip and they were both exhausted by the end of it.  Here at home I was surprised at how big and empty the house felt as soon as he was gone.  I lived alone for years and have no problem with a singular life, and since we are both in and out most days, being home alone for a few hours is certainly not unusual for either of us now.  So it was interesting how alone I suddenly was even in the first hours while he was on his way to the station.  But of course I adjusted and have to admit, I sort of enjoyed the miracle of a house that remained clean even if I averted my gaze.  Even so, we were both glad to have him  home again.

My grandson’s high school graduation party was this past weekend, too, which is the reason I did not go with Jack.  I know I have a slight bias, but I thought it was a wonderful party.   The weather was perhaps just a bit too hot and sunny, but gorgeous.  The guests were a diverse combination of people — relatives, work colleagues of his parents, neighbors, former teachers, friends, even my older brother! — just a nice mix of people coming together to celebrate him.  And the food, from a Middle Eastern restaurant I had not yet visited, was fantastic.  I had such a nice time.  I am finding that time with my family provides more healing and comfort than anything else.

I have managed a bit of sewing, although it is still slow going.    I finished a quilt top today and am sewing some napkins with random fat quarters that I will put away  to include with gifts.  It has been a very slow sewing year but I am hoping to start getting more done.  My list of unfinished and undone projects seems endless.  Instead of sewing - or cleaning, or cooking - I am spending way too much time sitting in my chair with a book or my laptop, but as a result I have really been able to enjoy the orioles that feed at the window grape jelly station.  The undergrowth out back makes it nearly impossible to see deer or other critters, but the birds are regular visitors and we do enjoy them.  We are enjoying the chipmunks a little less -- I have only one cherry tomato plant and the little rascally rodents delight in taking a single bite out of every tomato they can reach.  

I have been lazy about meal planning lately but the local Farmers’ Markets are starting to get good and I hope that will give me some inspiration!  Today I found strawberries, cherries, zucchini, tomatoes, radishes and snap peas!  It’s starting to be the best, however brief, time of year here.  Jack will, I predict, be a very happy fella if I start cooking more regularly again!

Life Goes On

It is still chilly here most days, but there has been a bit more sunshine, which I appreciate.  My sister and I spent a day at a spa about half-way between our two homes, and I think she enjoyed it.  I discovered (again) that my  muscles are so tight that massage hurts more than it helps, but I did have a lovely facial.  And I have sparkly polish on my toe nails.  It was good to do something different, very self indulgent, and with absolutely no pressure.

My grandson is finished with high school and has had a hectic month or so.  Since mid-May, he played a concerto solo at his last performance with the Saginaw Bay Youth Orchestra, he traveled to Dallas as a finalist in the International Science Fair, he graduated (with honors) from high school, and he went on vacation to Washington (the State) for a week.  There he hiked Mt. Rainier, spent a day on a beach. and visited the Hoh rainforest, but the thing I was most envious of was an incredibly close encounter with orcas, which swam right up to and under the boat!  As soon as he returned home he had his college orientation, and in another week he will have his graduation party and then be off to cello camp.  I  have not seen him since graduation day, so I am really looking forward to hearing all about his adventures the next time we get together!  We have been looking at photos lately of when he and his sister were young, and it makes my brain spin at how quickly those years seemed to pass.  I miss the babies that they were, but I am so incredibly proud of him now.  He is a genuinely kind person, in addition to being smart and talented and handsome and interesting to talk to.  I never have enough time with him and I know that time together will be even more constrained from here on out as he goes away to school and on to a whole new life.  

My granddaughter finished her junior year of high school and is already looking ahead to next year when she will graduate.  So she is giving thought to colleges and majors, but also to senior pictures and prom dresses.  She is preparing for a violin recital next week and I am really looking forward to that.  She played at an outdoor festival this week on very short notice and handled it like a professional.  I went with her to the festival and then she came back to our house to have dinner with us and play for a bit with little George.  She is a bright light, charming and smart and skilled, and spending time with her is always a delight for me.  She and her brother are different in many ways but they complement each other perfectly and it makes my heart happy to be with the two of them when they are together.

The good parts of life go by so quickly.   I can't slow time down, and I can't bring back the past.  But I will take every opportunity this summer to see my Grands and their parents as often as possible and be grateful for as much time as we have.

Grief Notes

Life goes on, looking on the outside much the same as before.  I do the bare minimum of what has to be done, and I smile and laugh and talk to people as needed, although I do not seek them out.  I still think about Ruth a lot, although of course I always did.  But unlike before when my thoughts of her were always fraught with worry, my thoughts now are always prefaced with the knowledge that she is dead and that past mistakes can’t be rectified and that a multitude of hopes and dreams can’t be fulfilled.  During the day, aside from fatigue, a certain dullness and an inability to remember what I might enjoy doing or eating or planning, I am okay.  The worst are the occasional dreams where, just as in real life that last week, I can’t reach her, but in the dream I have the unstated knowledge of what that will mean, and I wake up in a panic.  My only daughter, my babiest child.  Over the years I have led dozens of grief groups and counseled dozens of grieving people so none of this is a surprise, and it is no worse than I expected, but it is different than I thought I knew.  It is different because it is me, and there is no going home after the session is over.  Ruthless.

I have done a little sewing, out of duty rather than pleasure.  I am cooking some, just as little and likewise without any real enjoyment.  My sister wants to take a road trip with me to Dollywood in Tennessee, of all places, which makes me wonder whether she knows me at all.  Still, I am telling myself to go because I rarely have time with my sister, and it is as good a plan as any to try to shake me loose inside as I wait for this stage of grief to pass.

Sweet 16

Happy blogaversary to me.  This little insignificant blog is 16 years old today.  I can hardly remember myself at 57, the age I would have been then, but I can remember something about how different my life was. When I started this blog I was concerned about the environment and the world that would be passed on to my grandchildren, who were small then; that has not changed.   When I re-ran the climate calculator today I was troubled to learn that, despite our electric cars, my climate footprint has slightly gone up instead of down, due largely to the size of our house and our distance from shopping areas.  But I am still concerned and still trying.  

Many things have changed since in the 16 years since my first post, although I have to read between the lines to recall some of it.  I was living in a little gray brick house, the first one I had owned solely in my own name, in St. Clair Shores, Michigan.  I owned another house of my own in between and now live in our marital home in Midland, about two hours north.  I was working full time then at a job that paid a lot more than I have now, but that I hated.   I was single and bitter and not even dating at the beginning, with a bad relationship in between, and now I am married to a man I love.  My daughter Ruth was living at home on and off when I started; now she has died.  So many of those earlier posts are in coded language, trying not to point fingers at the people who failed to support her, to the people who made life difficult for all of us.  So hesitant to state in writing some of the terrible challenges she faced or to acknowledge the pain and fear and hopelessness that formed a thread in my daily life.  So it has been 16 years, maybe like any 16 years for anyone, with pain and joy and gain and loss.   And probably also like anyone, there are a lot of things I would change, and a few things I wish I could go back to.  But there is a new little grandchild in my life now, and my beloved older Grands are on the cusp of college and adulthood, so there is much to look forward to.  Despite the sadness from the loss of my youngest child, my baby girl, I am in a better place on many levels than I was 16 years ago, and looking forward to seeing what the next 16 years will bring.

Ruth, 10-21-1979 -- 01-10-2023

 

My Daughter Ruth

                                            (Ruth, in better days, with her lifelong friend, Jason.)

My daughter, Ruth Allison Crachiola, died this month.  She was 43.  I am still wrapping my mind around it, my brain awash in so  many memories and hopes and fears for her.  

Ruth was a gorgeous baby.  She was born at home and I have always feared that my selfish, in retrospect, decision to have a home birth might have played into the problems she faced throughout her life.   I hated having my first child in a hospital and, more, I was afraid to leave him home while I went to the hospital to have my second.  Although a doctor and two midwives had promised to come to the house to help, none of them arrived before her birth.  So things were not as intended and she did not have the gentle skilled entry into life that I had hoped for.  And she was not born into the family she might have hoped for, either, since the adults in her life were struggling with tensions and differences that only became more acute as she got older.

As is often the case with birth order, Ruth's older brother was the perfect child, smart and obedient, gentle and sweet natured.  And as is also often the case, Ruth, although also smart and sweet, was more oppositional, strong willed and feisty.  As a newborn, she also cried more than her brother had.  And so she and her father had a measure of tension from the start, and that added to the marital tensions and to my sometimes overbearing attempts to protect her.  I am not sure whether those tensions ever went away.  

Ruth, like her brother, was smart as a whip, but unlike any of the rest of her family she was fearless and ready to try anything.  She was walking and talking at 9 months of age and soon wondered if she could jump from the top of a flight of stairs to the bottom, as I threw myself in between to catch her time after time.  She was the toddler who tried to climb up the outside brick chimney to the roof of the house, and almost made it.  She was the child who rejected my efforts to nurse her long before she was one and sneaked away baby bottles from other children in her need for independence.   She had a questioning mind and refused to accept confirmation into our church when the priest told her "not to worry" about her doubts and questions.  She responded that she would not make promises as part of the confirmation ritual that she did not understand.  She had a remarkable vocabulary from a young age, wrote beautiful poems and essays, and had a droll sense of humor.

Ruth had an early ear for music and could pick out a melody as soon as she could reach the piano.  She could put puzzles together as soon as she could sit up next to them.  And she was adorable.

When Ruth was about 7, she fell off the risers at her elementary school, falling backwards more than ten feet and becoming unconscious after hitting her head.  She had a seizure at the hospital and developed epilepsy, which lead to countless medical appointments, blood tests, medications and perhaps worst of all, merciless teasing at school.  Although these days teachers and schools seem to better recognize and address bullying, they did not do so in our school system when Ruth was little, and more than one teacher told me she would just have to toughen up.  "If a kid doesn't want to be bullied, they need to try harder to get along," one school counselor said.

When Ruth was about 14, she was playing in the back yard, a field, at her friend Jason's house in our subdivision, when a group of older and much bigger high school boys drove up and wanted to beat up two of the boys in Ruth's group, on the supposition that they were gay.   All of the kids managed to run to Jason's house except for Jeremy, who stumbled.   Ruth turned back and threw herself on Jeremy's body, where she was kicked repeatedly by the gang of thugs who were trying to kick the boy underneath her while she kicked back at them.  The police later told me they believed she had saved Jeremy's life because she was covered with bruises but he was unharmed.  Several of the boys were later criminally convicted of assault with intent to do great bodily harm.  My formerly fearless daughter became afraid of crowds, afraid to be in school, and was transferred to a little alternative school for unwed mothers and drop outs to finish high school.  At some point, I know now, she started smoking dope and she told me recently that she has never been without drugs of some sort in all the years since.   

Ruth was registered in college for a couple of  years but only completed 4 credits.  She confronted her fears and took roles in local plays and shows, acting and singing to favorable reviews.    She traveled alone to the Czech Republic and Slovakia to visit a boyfriend's family and relatives in her maternal line.  She moved to New York, and to Florida, and finally to Louisiana.

From the time of her first seizure, I took Ruth to counselors to try to help her cope with her condition and later our divorce and her ongoing struggles.  She stayed in counseling all the time she lived with me, until she was 18 or more, but she later told me that she never told them the truth about anything.  Despite increasing outbursts and even occasional short-term admissions into children's psychiatric hospitals, the counselors reassured me that she was only suffering from the usual changes and difficulties of puberty, 'situational depression,' and that she would be fine.

She was not fine.   And at some point after she turned 21, Ruth was diagnosed with schizophrenic affective disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, bipolar disorder and who knows what else, since I was never permitted to see the medical records despite her consent.  She had one particularly horrific suicide attempt that almost killed her and caused permanent physical injuries, numerous violent domestic relationships, and moments of homelessness when she spent the  money I intended for rent on drugs instead.  Through it all, I made sure she had a phone and food and, once I smartened up a bit, also made sure she had housing.  We were never out of touch for long, although it was increasingly clear that there was nothing I could do that made a difference.  I visited as much as I could until it was clear that the stress of my visits often made it nearly impossible to see her, and then the pandemic came along, so our only contact was by phone for almost seven years.  There were many times over the years that I feared that she was dead, learned that she was hurt, held my breath through another crisis.

I never found it in me to blame Ruth for her choices because mental illness and addiction stacked the odds against her and I had no idea what demons she was facing.  Her life was harder than I have said, with so much violence and trauma.  But in the past few months, Ruth seemed truly to have reached a reckoning with herself.  She said she was planning to get help but didn't want her rehab to interfere with Jack's and my trip to see her, although I encouraged her to go ahead and said we would visit her there.  When we arrived in New Orleans, I was so shocked at how sick and frail she was and encouraged her again to get into a program as soon as she could.  She said it was all scheduled and told me that I had done all I could and that she had not been ready to heal, but she was ready now.  She was seeing an addiction counselor and worked hard to be admitted to what was promised to be a 30 day rehab, already telling her counselor that 30 days was not enough and to please find her a transitional  placement once that was done.  Rehab was scheduled for rehab on Ash Wednesday but the ride they promised did not come to get her.  Although I was concerned that story might be just another excuse, Ruth immediately called the facility to tell them she was still waiting.  She finally got to rehab on Monday, February 27  in high spirits, and was disappointed but still committed to recovery when they sent her home on Saturday, 5 days later, claiming 'insurance issues.'  Her counselor said that she was covered and it was just a glitch, promising that she would find another placement as soon as she could but reminding Ruth that she had over 100 clients and it could take a few days.

When Ruth arrived home another woman, wearing her clothes, was there with her partner, Raymond.  Raymond insisted it was  not what it seemed.  Despite this disappointing return, Ruth told me that her own recovery was the important focus right now, and that she and Raymond would work things out or not, she was not going to let going to let this shake her resolve.  Ruth and I talked several times that day and every day after, and she was full of hope.   We last spoke on Monday, March 6, and I told her, as I often did, how proud I was of her and how much she deserved a clean life.  We talked about 'working the program,' and about plans we would make when her counselor thought she was well enough to travel.

I could not reach her the next day, or the days after, despite numerous calls and texts.   I checked the jail and hospital, but being out of touch for a few days was not so very unusual.  I had been concerned about a relapse in light of the challenges she was facing but I calmed myself and waited.  On Friday, March 10, Raymond called to tell me that he had gone to the hospital the previous Monday because his own health was bad, leaving Ruth alone and asleep after one of her seizures, and had just returned home to find her dead.

The police said they are sure it was a drug overdose, because they had been called to assist in previous overdose scares, but we will not know for sure for a few weeks when toxicology tests are complete.  If it was a relapse, I cannot blame her.  She faced a lot of challenges.  And as she often told me, drugs were the only coping mechanism she knew, and she was working on building new ones but it was a slow go.  If it was not a drug overdose, it is just sad all the same.  Raymond has her phone and I have that split second of shock when he calls to say he misses her and her name appears on my screen.

Two weeks later and I am still trying to wrap my mind around things.  Her father, who lives in New Orleans about 20 minutes away from Ruth's apartment, has planned a 'second line,' the musical ending to a jazz funeral.  Although it is not a custom elsewhere, Ruth would have loved the idea.  His wife kindly let me know it was planned, but that there was no need for me to come, saying that it would be held at the location where she and Ruth's dad were married, led by their minister, and that no one would be there for me, everyone would be there for them.  Of course, she said, I was "included," but that I would be spending a lot of money to end up in a group of strangers.   And she is right.  None of the people who will be there knew Ruth or me.  Still, I feel hurt, but it just might be that everything hurts right now, and that's okay, too.  Ruth's brother will go because his father is there, and I hope he will find the comfort and closure that we are both seeking.

Although I know my thoughts might change as time goes by, for now I feel certain that my relationship with Ruth was gentle and loving over the past many years.  I have copies of some of the many letters I sent her on my computer since I stopped handwriting letters several years ago.  Of course I regret not seeing her more, but my rational brain knows how difficult those trips were for her and how many weeks I spent in New Orleans just waiting in a hotel room, hoping she would get it together to have me meet her for a few minutes.  The regrets that surface now are from decades ago; the tiny moments when I was irritated at her childhood tantrums, the times I was frustrated because she would not get ready for school as quickly as I needed, or left the kitchen a mess; silly things that my brain brings up just to torment me.  Now, when time stands still, I wish I could have been endlessly patient, the fantasy perfect parent that no one can manage to be.    Because maybe then, I think, things could have been different.  It is hard for the brain to adjust to the fact that someone I loved from the moment she arrived and on for over 43 years could simply disappear in an instant.

Marching On

February is over already, and March is well underway, which reminds me of how quickly life flows by at this point in my life.  I barely blinked and here we are, nearing the end of the first quarter of the year.  Time is more of a mystery to me the older I get.  Sometimes I feel like I am standing still as the world and the people I love swirl past me in a blur.

We've had a lot of snow so far in March, which came in like the proverbial lion.  About 12 inches the first week at our house, much more further north where my brother lives.  Lucky for me, school was cancelled on the worst days and I didn't have to drive anywhere.   The snow is so pretty for the first day or two . . . after that I think we would all wish it gone if we could.

Although my own life is relatively calm (thank goodness), there are exciting going ons for my older grandkids -- Ray was chosen to be the female lead in her high school musical, where she will be Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors.  She is excited and I am thrilled for her and looking forward to the play.  She is amazing and shows no hesitation on stage, it is wonderful to see.  She's also really good.  I am so proud of my fearless and talented little Grand.  The show is in April and I can't wait!

Both kids are members of the local youth orchestra and tomorrow is their winter concert, something I always look forward to.  But this concert is extra special for me because one of Joseph's pieces will be performed -- an event that is just amazing to me!! -- and he got his first credit (read the text about tomorrow's concert -- "featuring the music of . . . Crachiola . . .") on Facebook this afternoon.   He is the only high school kid I've ever known to have one of his original works performed by a full orchestra and I have been looking forward to this for weeks!

Of course, tonight, the night before the concert, my Tesla, so reliable and low maintenance as a rule, sent me a warning  that one of my tires was extremely low and maybe flat.  Jack pumped it right up but it started leaking again soon after.   Jack had a full day planned for tomorrow but if his plans fall through I will take his car.  If not, we will figure something else out because, come heck or high water, I am going to  hear my grandson's music tomorrow!   These are such sweet moments.  

Next week I will figure out where to fix or replace the tire -- when I looked online, the local tire store offered me the chance to sign up for an appointment in a week, but I am hoping to do better than that!  I am so spoiled that being without a car for a week sounds like torture!  Of course if I am forced to stay home for a few days there is plenty here to do.  If that happens, maybe next time I will have some finished projects to show!

February

It was cold last week, hovering around and under zero, although it is sunny and warmish again today.  But during the worst of the cold spell we had a bit of a shock during dinner  when we heard a loud explosion and debris of some sort ricocheting in our screened porch that adjoins the dining room.   Had one of the trees fallen onto the house?  We both jumped up and looked but didn’t see anything at first glance aside from a smattering of ice all over the porch.  On closer investigation, we realized that a 2 litre bottle of soda (foolishly left there to get cold) had exploded!   The bottle was completely flat.  It was diet pop, thank goodness, so no sugary mess, but what a noise!

This winter we have not seen much wildlife out back.  The deer have only wandered through once or twice during the daytime.  But we were thrilled to have a red-shouldered hawk visit a few days ago, such a handsome fella!  He was a reminder to me, though, of how much Jack's vision was affected by his strokes five years ago.  The only way for him to see the hawk was for me to photograph it and show him the picture.  Wildlife spotting used to be one of his favorite things and he was far better at it than I am and now his field of vision is so impaired that it is close to impossible for him to pick up small movements and objects.  And yet he has never complained or become bitter about it, which is another thing to admire about him I think.

In sewing ‘news,’ my idea of making a random choice of what project to work on has borne a (very) little fruit.  I did not finish my assigned project in January, but by February 2 the project, a purse, was complete.  I have made lots of purses and bags over the years and had forgotten how frustrating they can be for me, and this bag was no exception.   Both the written instructions and the online tutorial just confused me, which may be a sign of my aging brain.  I hated almost every  minute of making it and was delighted to finally be done with it — but alas, the random project I pulled for February is ALSO a purse.   Not so surprising because eight of the listed projects are bags or totes.  Sigh.  Hopefully this one will go more smoothly since some of the steps were only recently conquered and are likely to be repeated here.   However smoothly they will eventually go, they aren’t going anywhere yet and the month is nearly half over.  At this rate my list of 40 projects will last a lifetime!  

Speaking of bags and totes, I remembered this week how much I also hated making a couple of duffle-type bags.  I thought they were useable but total creative failures, but when I pulled one the other day out to send to my daughter I was amazed at how nicely made it was.  The seams inside are all finished and it has multiple pockets of different sizes.  The only flaw I found is that the zipper pulls don't go in the direction I intended.   Distance seems to help my perspective.  

My grandchildren continue to fill my life with joy.  This week we learned - on Facebook, since he didn’t mention it himself — that Joseph, the oldest Grand, won recognition in a regional scholastic writing competition for two of his poems.  Joseph is on the “audition circuit,” interviewing at various universities, doing live cello auditions, and meeting the staff of composition departments since he intends to major in both mathematics and music composition.  He has been well received everywhere and no wonder.  Even if I am perhaps not totally objective, I am pretty sure that it is true that he is intelligent, talented, and a thoughtful and good person.  Any school would be lucky to have him.  I can’t wait to see what he chooses.  

The  middle Grandchild, Ray, is equally smart and talented, and a lot of her time lately is spent between violin (lessons and both school and local orchestra) and theater through her high school.   Both kids are excellent scholars, more than capable of rational thought, able to benefit from constructive criticism (what a rare trait!), gifted musicians who have studied their instruments since a very young age, and genuinely nice people.   I am completely besotted with them both.

And little George -- he is more active all the time.  He wears me out and delights my heart, and Jack is over the moon about him.  He is using more words all the time and developing more of a sense of humor, so we know that, although these times are so much fun, even better days are ahead as he comes into his own unique little personality.   

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and I hear we are going out to dinner.  Jack told me long ago that he doesn't "do" Valentines Day and not to expect anything much, and that is fine with me.  But this year he insists that of course we need to celebrate so out to dinner it is.   It will be fun, and I guess if he decides to develop a more romantic version of himself I will not complain!

Last Sunday In January

It is definitely winter now, and we’ve had a few snowfalls to hammer home that point.   Still, there has been some sunshine so no complaints, just a lot of shivering!

I have been in frequent touch with my daughter, who has requested a residential program to help her turn her life around.  She says this is the first time she has sought help on her own and I am not sure that’s strictly true but let’s not quibble - it is a good thing and I hope it happens.  Her admission is scheduled for February 22, Ash Wednesday.  Although I am not sure she remembers any of her catechism lessons, it begins a period of reflection for believers, which is not a bad practice for any of us.

Today is Sunday, the 4th game of the Dominoes season, and I am ever so slightly in the lead, which drives the men-folk crazy.  Evan just wants to win and, although he is an appreciative guest, he is far happier when he is ahead of us in dominoes. But Sunday has an added attraction for Jack.   It is not only my sewing mojo that has gone missing, I have also been lax with cooking and cleaning.  So Sunday has become the one day of the week lately that I actually plan ahead for dinner and don’t just throw something together — or not — and so Jack sincerely looks forward to Sunday evening, win or lose!  

Jack and his daughter decided that we would have George come to visit on Sunday mornings, which means I also cook a reliable breakfast and lunch this one day a week.  Fortunately, neither Jack nor George (nor Evan!) are fussy eaters so, despite my laziness, it is definitely not a hardship.

To help with my sewing lull, I made a numbered list of the projects in my sewing room and drew a random number for January — number 6 — which meant that I am supposed to finish a tote bag pattern, a rainbow block (blue for January), and bind a small finished quilt before the month is over.  I made a couple of rainbow blocks but have not settled on what pattern I will use this year so I still need to work on that, and I finished binding the little quilt, but the tote bag is not finished yet.  The end of the month is looming so I need to get my going going or I will start the year behind.  And I really need to do more than one "number" a month, which is absolutely doable since many of the projects are small ones -- however, there are 34 numbered projects that are ready to go, with pattern and material bundled up together, as well as another 10 projects that are intended but not fully stocked yet.  If I don't get moving on it soon, my project list is sure to outlive me, and I really don't want that.

Home Sweet Home

Timing is everything when one travels and this time our timing was off, through no fault of anyone.  But my daughter was in frequent touch during our 2-day trek home, and that was much appreciated.  Once certain that her partner was, indeed, going to survive, she was able to better cope.  Although my coping skills are a lot better than hers, I remember the feelings when Jack had his stroke five years ago and I sympathized with her sense of being overwhelmed.    Unfortunately, when her partner was released from the hospital he had forgotten a few days and didn’t remember cashing and spending his own check (which he did while we were still there).  As a result, he became paranoid and angry with her, a problem that has increased since his cancer treatment, and she was overwhelmed in a whole different direction.  What a week of whirlwind emotions, swinging from fear for him to fearing from him in the span of a few days.  I would give most anything to free her of this life she refuses or is unable to abandon.  But enough of that - like Prince Harry, I am prone to overshare.

Neither Jack nor I slept as well on the homebound train-ride north as we did on the way down, but we enjoyed each other's company.  I took a train selfie in the mirror of our tiny bedroom.  

After another day and a half on the "City of New Orleans," we arrived in Chicago and were reminded mid-way through our seven-hour layover there that we are not as young as we used to be and will need a bit of time to recover!  My knees stiffened back up as soon as we hit the cold northern air  and since I’d read both of the books I brought on the way down, the hours dragged by.  We were both eager to be home, even though I was not looking forward to continued cold.  Still, I amused myself by noticing couples who were sitting together, and how many of them had taken on each other’s facial expressions.  A woman and a man reading their books with identical frowns, another couple doing different things, but both with the same half smile.   I wondered whether Jack and I have (or will) come to resemble each other.  

The two of us played “ten thousand,” a dice game, on the final train home, a game that he regularly beat me at until this trip, when I took three games out of four.  When we arrived at our destination station, my car doors were frozen shut, the car was covered with ice, and we needed to charge the battery before we could put this “vacation” behind us.  But Jack talked about how much he enjoyed a variety of the experiences in New Orleans, and I was happy to hear it.  It was a very long day but we arrived home just before midnight, and very happy to be here.

Tomorrow we will get our own lives back on track.  I still need to take down the Christmas tree and you can bet that there is laundry to do!   But most important of all, Dominoes Season is about to begin!

I Do Not Miss New Orleans

Jack had never been to New Orleans, which is not my favorite city, but I had not seen my daughter since before the pandemic and he hadn't ever met her, so we decided it was as good a time as any to visit.  We decided to take the train because flying sounds like a nightmare lately, Jack had enjoyed train travel for years, and I had never been in a sleeper car.  Train travel makes for a long but fairly stress-free trip.  When Jack last traveled by sleeper car he told me about the white linen service in the dining room and the amazing porters who catered to his every need.  We first took the train to Chicago, then had a 7-hour layover (made a little more comfortable by use of their ‘first class’ lounge, a perk that went with the sleeper car and that we discovered by accident since no one told us about it).  Finally, we boarded the train they call the City of New Orleans (there is an earworm for you music lovers and yes, they really do call the train that).   

On our way from Chicago to New Orleans, we had a “roomette”, which is, as the man across the aisle said to me when he saw his, “a whole lot smaller than I expected.”  It was the size of two coach seats, facing each other, with a pull down shelf above them.  Less than 4 feet wide,  just barely long enough for Jack to lie down when the two ‘bunks’ were assembled, and a little claustrophobic since there are curtains in place to close the cubby off from outside view.  Still, it was surprisingly comfortable and the phrase “rock me baby like a southbound train” is apt; the motion of the train after a long travel day put me out like a light.   So that was the plus side of the trip.  On the other hand, the meals that used to be considered a really good part of train travel seem to have disappeared with Covid.   Meals were still provided, but they were the worst possible version of a tv dinner, a small plate of microwaved and barely edible stuff, served at 9:30 pm,  that caused heartburn so severe that it woke me up repeatedly during the night.  Breakfast and lunch were no better.  When I mentioned this to someone later they told me “you get what you pay for,” but in fact the train travel took two days and cost considerably more - nearly 3 times more - than a flight would have.     Even so, we arrived.  

We couldn’t reach my daughter the first night but we did get in touch the next morning.  My daughter has what one might call ‘issues;’ she is disabled and not real reliable, but we finally got in touch and had dinner with her and her partner that evening.  

We had hoped to spend whole days with her and, although I surely should have known better, we spent the first day and a half sitting in our hotel room, waiting for her to be ready to meet.  

On both the second and third days, we tried to set up plans to take her to do some errands she needed done and that she couldn’t afford— updating her state ID, getting her a transportation pass, things like that — but she was not quite ready whenever we checked with her so Jack and I went out to see some sights and kill some time.  We walked all day both days, listening to street music and letting Jack soak in some of the feel of the city, ride the streetcars, eat all the blackened catfish he could hold, and taste alligator for the first time (he  liked it).   

Like any first-timer, he bought a few souvenirs.  Jack decided he wanted a "New Orleans Hat" and found one at Eunice's Jazzy Hats on Dauphine Street.  Several people complimented him on it during the day, so maybe it really is NOLA style!

The fourth day, while we were again waiting for my daughter to be ready, her partner collapsed in their kitchen and was rushed to the hospital, where he was placed in the ICU.   It was all for the best that she was home when it happened.  All of our intended plans came to a halt then, and she later met us briefly to pick up the food we had gotten for her, but it was a difficult visit for her because she was understandably overwhelmed.  Her partner was initially on a ventilator and she was afraid to even visit him, but by the time Jack and I visited the next day, he was awake and alert, and the ICU nurse assured me that he is expected to make a full recovery.  By this time my daughter had stopped answering the phone but I sent her a photo of her partner, hoping to reassure her.  The next morning it was time for Jack and me to board the train for home, still without getting in touch with my youngest child.  Not the visit or the ending that any of us hoped for.   

Hard times happen to everyone.  But mentally healthy children are so easy to take for granted.  Take it from me — don’t.