Why I am not lonely, even though I am alone

At some point, isn't the life of a widow just ... life? Life that is consumed with paying bills and taxes, keeping up with house stuff, making budgets, and working—but also having fun hanging out with friends and family, shopping (for yarn, duh), and making things (with aforementioned yarn but also other crafty things that have been accumulated over the last four decades)? Just doing all that without your person?

And is that life interesting enough for its own blog and semiregular blog posts?

That question lies at the heart of why I haven't posted "for a while." And by "for a while," I mean a year and a half. (I didn't actually realize it had been so long because I have started writing several blog posts, but they languish as drafts. And now they're so old that I'm not sure I can post them. But I digress.)

Since my last post, I haven't really done anything widow-y. I didn't move from our house of 20 years. I didn't do anything alone that I used to do with Vic—at least, nothing I haven't already written about. I went through the third and fourth anniversaries of his death—but I've been through those before, too. Every day was just another day without him, always with some small slight. A joke he would have laughed at. A meme he would have enjoyed. A goose honking overhead (he loved geese honking). I'd always smile a little, then sigh, then maybe shed a tear.

I don't know. That doesn't feel blog-worthy.

But one widow-y thing I get asked a lot, I've noticed, is whether I'm lonely. Some people simply assume that I am without even asking. I suppose those are the people who feel like they would be lonely in my position. But I'm not, not really. I have Bella with me all the time. I still work (when I'm not on medical leave), so I talk to my work buddies every weekday (and sometimes on the weekends and in the evenings). When I take one of my staycations, my sister comes up to binge watch the latest season of something or another. I have crochet date night every other week. I have lunches with friends several times a month. I have lots of text conversations. Honestly, I do not have time to be lonely. 😉

That said, I do spend a lot of time in my own company. Alone. But am I?

This is what I started noticing late last year—I am surrounded by the people I love all the time. And as usual, I'm going to take a roundabout way to tell you about it.

I have a shower playlist on my iPod. (Vic's iPod, actually, because I have an editing playlist on my iPod, so I keep it in my office.) I listen to it every morning while I'm in the shower and getting ready for my day. To create this shower playlist, I put my entire music library (nearly 10,000 songs) on Vic's iPod and started playing it while I was in the shower. If I felt like a song would be a good shower song,* I listened to the whole thing so the Date Played would update in iTunes. If I didn't, I skipped it. (I have a remote to the sound dock the iPod is copnnected to. And I don't want to hear one person tell me about Bluetooth speakers that I could actually keep in the shower. I know. I investigated them, and I decided against getting one.) Then every Sunday, I would sync the iPod to iTunes. Everything with a Date Played from the previous week got tagged as "Shower," which put it into an autopopulated Smart Shower playlist. It took about a year to get through all my songs, but I'm very happy with my list.

*A "good shower song" is one that is, in general, peppy, not sad, and fun to sing to. (Yes, I have slower songs; yes I have sad songs; yes, sometimes I cry in the shower like Adam Sandler singing "Wouldn't It Be Nice" in 50 First Dates, and yes, I have that song in my playlist and think of that scene every time. So. What.)

One day in December, the song "Grow Old with You" from The Wedding Singer played. (I have a thing about Adam Sandler, I guess.) It's one of the less peppy songs, but man, it transports me. Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.* When my niece Margeaux got married, she asked me and her brother, Nick, to do "something" at the wedding. Her only requirements: It had to be funny, and it had to be movie-related. We knocked that request out of the park. We used lines from The Princess Bride, Notting Hill, and Jerry Maguire ... but also Independence Day, Billy Madison, and Four Weddings and a Funeral—the funeral speech. We did a lightning round from Forrest Gump, and at the end, we sang "Grow Old with You." And there's more I'm not even telling you! It was way too long, but we had so much fun working on it together. So when I heard that song, I thought of Nick, Margeaux, and her husband, Xan. But then it became more than just the song. My mind instantly wandered to all the fun things we've done together in the past xxx years (no need to say how many—suffice it to say it's a lot) and all the memories I have of spending time with them, sometimes with Vic, sometimes without. And how lucky I am to have them in my life. We love each other so much, and when I hear that song, we are together, even though they are not right here.

*From The Princess Bride, obvi. Great movie. P.S. I realize that I 100% did not sum up. I totally 'splained.

A few days later, the Broadway soundtrack for Wicked popped up. This was given to me by my friend Elizabeth and started my love for Wicked. With all the hoopla surrounding the recent movie adaptation, I have been thinking of Elizabeth a lot, grateful that she opened my eyes to something that now gives me great joy.

A few days later, Willie Nelson. Vic loved Willie, but so did my friend Amy. When we worked together xxx years ago (no need to say how many—suffice it to say it's a lot), she dressed up as Willie for Halloween. Whenever I think of Amy, I am reminded of how she sent me a live tabletop Christmas tree the year Vic passed away. She just instinctively knew I wouldn't want to do up the whole house, but I might want to have just a little something for some special ornaments. Thinking of Amy also brings to mind everyone we worked with. We were a small team of editors, but we were close. My friend Jill is responsible for the job I have now—she worked there before I did. I had dinner with my friend Jeff in Vancouver on my way to Alaska. I gave one of my crochet blankets to my friend Sue. I made a crochet baby blanket when my friend Susie was pregnant. Her son is in high school now, and we're still emailing back and forth. These people were more than just co-workers,* and they are always with me.

*Even my disdain for the unhyphenated "coworkers" comes from Susie. She once worked at an agricultural publication and mentioned how "coworkers" made readers think of cows first, so they hyphenated "co-worker." At least, that's the story I remember, and regardless, I think of her every time I hyphenate "co-workers."

So I thought, "Maybe a good blog post would be to write about why I'm not lonely and never feel like I'm alone." I started keeping track on a sticky note every time a song played or I caught an episode of a TV show or a section of a movie that reminded me of someone. It did not take long for that sticky to fill up, especially since I kept putting off writing the blog post. By the time I sat down to write last week (yes, I started this last week—have I not mentioned that I am lazy?), that sticky was F.U.L.L.

Since it was the music that made me want to write the blog post, I started with a music section. It had 13 bullets and 5 subbullets, and it only covered "A" songs, "W" songs, and general categories, such as "songs connected to boys," which isn't even relevant to the blog post! I also added a few tidbits between A and W that I remembered while I was writing. The music section was followed by a T-shirt section because I wear a T-shirt almost every day, and virtually every T-shirt I own is connected to someone I know, so whenever I get dressed in the morning, I think of one of you. Again, 7 bullets, 4 subbullets, and even 2 sub-subbullets! Then I started the hodge podge section—just a mish mash of things I experience every day.

It was at this point that I realized if I included everything, it would be the size of a novel. A very long novel. A War and Peace–sized novel. (Who am I kidding? I wouldn't be surprised if I lost a lot of you at the description of how I created my shower playlist above.)

So I'm going to stop here ... but I'm also going to leave the original blog post below in case you are bored or in the bathroom. Just to give you an idea of how much you people mean to me. You are my path forward. My light. My way out of the abyss. My love for you knows no bounds. Just like this blog post.

And since I don't want you to have to skip to the end, I'm leaving the too-long wedding speech here for your enjoyment. (And because I know embedded videos don't play for everyone, here is the direct link. Sound up!)

And here is the original blog post, minus anything I mentioned above. 😊

• I listen to a lot of music. I have playlists for editing, driving, walking, and showering. And so much of that music is connected to other people.
• Obviously, a lot of it is connected to Vic. The songs we played at our wedding, songs/soundtracks from movies we loved, music he bought for me, John Denver, Jim Croce, Gordon Lightfoot
• Then there's a bunch of music given to me by my friend Michelle when she moved to Las Vegas and didn't want to take all her CDs with her.
• Or specific songs for specific people:
• The ABBA song "Fernando" reminds me of my 7th-grade best friend, Julie, who named her French horn "Fernando," and then we would sing that song as we walked between our houses. As soon as I hear "Fernando," I am transported to that time and all the stories I remember about hanging out with Julie and her family
• The song "2 a.m." by Adeline Hill was recommended by my friend Megan, so whenever I hear it, I think of her.
• Queen, in general, reminds me of my niece, Ginny, but "Don't Stop Me Now" reminds me of her wedding, so whenever I hear it, I think of her and her sweet Ian and her bridesmaids (including Margeaux) doing a choreographed dance to that song.
• When I lived in Vermont and lived with my boyfriend's parents, one of them played the Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops version of "American Patrol" every morning to help me wake up. (I've never been a morning person.) I always think of them when I hear that song.
• I digitized all the 50s songs on CDs I inherited from my mother.
• So. Many. Songs. Connected. To. Boys. I had a life before Vic, and I must have a thousand songs (no kidding—my library approaches 10,000 songs) that remind me of high school boyfriends, proms, homecomings, bus trips—and then these lead me to songs that just remind me about my high school friends in general. "Xanadu" reminds me of this one time I stayed out all night with a bunch of my gal pals just wandering the streets of town and driving around. Air Supply? ELO? Blondie? Yeah—just a huge part of my adolescence.
• I will say that I have a LOT of breakup/bad relationship songs. And I love it. That's right. I love it. Because as Jim Croce says, "Nobody ever had a rainbow ,baby, until he had the rain." And also, I love crying to music.
• I got the Barbra Streisand Broadway Album when Bryan (my stepson) lived with us, and even though he was into heavy metal at the time, he would always let me play my album (yes, vinyl) on his turntable (yes, turntable) with no complaint. I think of him every time I play that album. (As well as the heavy metal I now listen to and a number of other songs and movies. Movies such as St. Elmo's Fire, which is how I got to be called "stepmonster"—not only a term of endearment but also the origin of my grandma name, "Cookie" [from Cookie Monster, of course])
• Speaking of Barbra Streisand, I always think of my sister when I hear "Adelaide's Lament" from Barbra's greatest hits box set.
• Barenaked Ladies? My friend Seth. Beatles? My brother-in-law. Barry Manilow? My friend Michelle, who took me to a Barry Manilow concert for our birthdays. (Mine and Barry's, which are on the same day, just a few years apart.) The Beach Boys takes me back to 8th grade summer camp! And this is just a few of the Bs!
• THE GREASE SOUNDTRACK!!!!! My sister and I went to the movie Grease at least one million times the summer it came out. And this was at a time when she was 17 and I was 15, and I'm sure I couldn't have been more annoying. And then that reminds me of the time we saw Lifeguard and Orca at the drive-in. And then that reminds me of the time she came back to Lincoln from college just to attend a high-school play I was in ... in the chorus. I probably think about my sister at least once every day.
• Back to Grease, every time I hear "Greased Lightning" or "Born to Hand Jive," I do the dance moves. No matter where I am. One time, I was walking up 17th Street to my office in downtown Denver doing the "Greased Lightning" dance, and a woman opened her car window and started singing along with me. I hope it made her day the way it did mine!
• "The Great White North," by Bob and Doug McKenzie, always reminds me of Laurie (my stepdaughter). We often greet each other with a catchphrase from that album. "Good day, eh?" and "Hoser!" are particular favorites. 
• I have a Wilson Philips album that my friend Kelly took into the delivery room with her!
• I could go on and on and on, but the point is that not a day goes by that I don't hear some song that reminds me of a member of my family or one of my friends.
• I wear a lot of T-shirts. But did you know how many of my T-shirts remind me of someone? Every time one of these shirts pops up in my T-shirt rotation, I think about that person/those people and maybe even their families and friends!
• I have FIVE Weird Al T-shirts. And these T-shirts remind me of my niece Margeaux and Xan. We share a love of Weird Al that borders on unhealthy. (Just kidding—it's definitely stalker level.) We've been to two concerts together (and they've been to quite a few more), and we talk about him a lot.
• I realize that this does not belong here, but I want to mention my nephew Nick (my sister's son, not my sister-in-law's son, who will be mentioned later) at this point. Although he is also a Weird Al fan, that is not my primary "always with me" memory. Besides the wedding speech described ad nauseum above, the thing that makes me think about Nick most is anything to do with Game of Thrones. Nick did a podcast called Bocker Throne In, so-named from his high-school nickname ("Nick" becomes "Nickerbocker" becomes "Bocker"—at least that's what I assume). He didn't watch GOT when it first came out, but he heard a lot about it. So he thought it would be fun to record a podcast for each episode from the perspective of someone who had never read the books or seen the show. As his aunt, of course I'm going to listen to the show. After a few episodes, though, he started inviting his friends and family (the aforementioned Margeaux and Xan) on the podcast, and the next thing you know, he invited meeeeee on the podcast! We had so much fun recording those episodes, and we also talked about a lot of deep things that didn't have anything to do with GOT.
• I also know this doesn't belong here, but Nick, Margeaux, Xan, and my six great nieces and nephews are all around me all the time. I have refrigerator art, movie memories, posters made for Vic's service, senior pictures, wedding pictures, pictures on my hard drive that pop up at just the right time, even a few pictures of N&M or M&X being zany that I keep on my phone so if I'm having a hard day, I can just pop open my phone and instantly feel better. Just a lifetime of memories I'm grateful for.
• I have a giraffe T-shirt designed by my friend Marisha for a K-Pop band.
• I have a T-shirt (and other fun items!) designed by my friend Rebecca.
• I have several T-shirts from the days that I worked at a PR firm just out of college. My boss (Mark, the owner), sadly, passed away, but these T-shirts keep him alive in my mind and always remind me of his family: his wife, Maxine, and their daughters Rachel and Ali.
• Speaking of his family, I have a painting his daughter painted at the age of 14 that is art museum quality, and two paintings painted by his father, Emil. Emil was a real hoot (and Mark's mom, Evelyn, was awesome as well)! Those post-college years were hard, and Mark and his family made them easier for me. We are still connected through email and Facebook, and I love still having that relationship.
• My friend Linda gave me a great CU T-shirt that actually fits, now that the ones I bought in college are ... ahem ... a little snug.
• I mean, my house is filled with things from Linda. Whether it's a little cat needle minder, something froggy (I love frogs), something buffalo-y (we're both connected through the University of Colorado), crocheted hearts and bunnies, a crocheted Snoopy, or a crocheted emotional support chicken(!), Linda is everywhere.
• My sister also gave me a lot of T-shirts—souvenirs from their trips, some she didn't want, some she had custom-made for me. My favorite is the one that says "I'd rather stay home with my dog. It's too people-y out there."
• She and her husband are also represented throughout my house—not just in the T-shirt category! As I always say, my sister deserves a blog post of her own, but she's the first person to say, "Don't waste your time on me."
• I have a couple of T-shirts from my sister-in-law Alice and her husband, Ed. One of them I wear a lot. The other one ... let's just say it has my favorite word on it, so I can only wear it under another shirt. 😂
• Those T-shirts aren't the only R-rated things I have from them, and every time I see one of them—including a bobblehead of Lewis Black that says "Go @$%& yourself" in his trademark growl—I giggle. I also have a LOT of non-R-rated things, such as fine china from Italy and other home decorations, boxes that once held chocolates from all around the globe, and Christmas ornaments.
• I have things from my other in-laws as well: sister-in-law Patty and her family. A vase autographed by Sarah, former Duchess of York, containers that once held chocolate (yeah, I get a lot of presents with chocolate, so what?) but now hold pet supplies, sweaters and hoodies and jewelry and other fun things from niece Lisa and her family, and sweatshirts and T-shirts from nephew Nick.
• Many of my T-shirts are souvenirs from my travels with Vic—but many of them were vacations spent with other people, for example, our friend Mary, our friends Nancy and Ken, Laurie and Bryan, and my Great Aunt Blanche.
• I also have tons of things from Laurie and her kids—photos, souvenirs, toys and other fun things, paintings. Every room has something in it from them.
• I have fewer reminders from Bryan, but that's only because he generally sends me consumables in the form of Godiva chocolates.😁 BUT I do have a lovely fall raincoat that he gave me for my trip to Alaska and (back to the music) Billy Joel's Greatest Hits. Volumes 1 and 2!
• I could stop here because this blog post is so long already, but indulge me.
• I have so much yarn bought for me or bought with someone in mind, and when I make projects with this yarn, I think of that person.
• I have So. Many. Recipes. from my friends and family! I keep their name in the recipe, so whenever I pull out my recipe binder or make one of their dishes, I see all of their names.
• My friend Rhonda says "Viola!" instead of "Voila!" She is a grammar nerd, so she knows it's wrong, but it's hilarious! And whenever I want to say "Voila!" I say "Viola!" instead and think of Rhonda.
• AND PLEASE, just because you are not named in this blog post, don't think you are not on my mind. For example, my favorite thing about Christmas season is getting your cards and letters. I love reading about how things have changed for you over the past year. I love seeing how your kids have grown. I just love that I'm still on your list.
• My house is filled to the brim with things from friends and family.
• Tchotchkes and other fun things from my niece Audrey, my niece Kristen, my stepmom Norma, Sandy, Anne, Ann, Colleen, Emily, Mary, Nancy, Laura M., Michelle, the Estes Park Wool Market (which reminds me of when I went there with my friends Chandra and Donna), Seth, Paulette, Cat, Chris, Julie, Brendan, Joannie, and Ruth and Terry.
• Plants from Alice, Dianne and Bob (Bryan's in-laws), Becky (Vic's cousin), Ann and Murth, Anna, Dawn, Tracy, and Laura K., many of which were sent for Vic's service, so they are extra special.
• This seems like a good spot to talk about Becky and her sister Debbie. I call them Vic's cousins, but he's been gone for four years, and they're still sending me cards and gifts and checking in with me on all those anniversary days they know I might be having hard feelings. I was so lucky to marry into Vic's family—they are all so dear to me.
• Things that were Mom's, Dad's, Grandma and Grandpa's, Bill and Ginger's (my sister's parents-in-law)—all of whom have passed away, so these things help keep them alive in my mind.
• MY STUFFIES! I have an extensive stuffy collection, and almost all of them were bought on vacations, or on visits to the Denver Zoo or other area attractions, or given to me by someone.
• When I first moved into this house, there were a lot of things that needed to be done. I could have done all of them ... but ... I didn't want to. My friend Andy hung all of our art (Vic's pictures, my stitching and all the other things that hang on our walls), installed a new showerhead and added a medicine cabinet to the bathroom. My friend Julian put together some end tables for me, hung my candelier (a candle chandelier that sits above my bathtub), and installed a new door handle on the door from the garage that I can open with my elbow—that handle has been such a blessing as I come into the house with arms full of groceries or whatnot. My friends Larry and Paulette put up all my TVs (arguably the most important part of my house) and broke down all the boxes, which then reminds me of all they did to help me before the move as well—and everything they've done for me since.
• And of course, so. many. things. from. Vic. BOLO for a blog post about the last birthday present he gave me.

I hope you're getting my point. I am never alone, never, and not in the weird Professor Quirrell/Voldemort way. Anytime I even start to feel a pang of loneliness, I just look around or listen to music or watch a movie (not even covered in this post how many of my movies spark memories!) and that pang just disappears.

THANK YOU ALL, for all the love and care and support you have given me over the decades.

As usual, I'm ending with a picture—although I could go through the house and take pictures of everything and end with a thousand pictures. But as I have mentioned on more than one occasion, I am lazy. So you get one. 🙂

This is everything that's in the cubby above my desk where I work.

My last birthday gift

"Gifts" are not my love language. My love language is acts of service, and Vic was Mr. Acts of Service. I'm sure I've mentioned this many times before, but when we didn't have a garage, he used to go out and warm up my car in the winter and scrape the frost off, if needed. When I took the bus, he would go to the bus stop, park his car where mine was, take mine to get it washed, then put mine back where it was at the bus stop. He took out the garbage and loaded the dishwasher and cleaned the toilets.

I like gifts—don't get me wrong—but I don't need expensive, lavish gifts to be happy. And I don't need them to be a surprise. I didn't even need Vic to shop for them. My favorite "gift" from Vic was when I was in college and wasn't making my own money to spend. That first year, his Christmas gift to me was giving me a budget and taking me to the Cherry Creek Mall to go shopping. Lunch and my beloved Godiva chocolates were not in the budget—those were extra things he paid for on our shopping day. And I don't shop like a normal person. I would go through the entire mall, try things on or pick things from various stores, then write down everything I want. During lunch, I would narrow down the list, and then we would go back through the entire mall and purchase my picks. And he never complained. Not once. The shopping trips were so much fun we even continued them after college.

Until online shopping. Then he went back to buying me gifts, but now from the comfort of home. Sometimes they would be surprises—things he would buy that he didn't talk to me about first. My Harry Potter Time Turner is one of those.🥹But often, he would see me looking on my computer at something pricey and ask me, "Would that make a good birthday/Christmas present?" That's how I got an entire set of fancy wooden crochet hooks—each made out of a different wood. (Normal crochet hook: $2.25 to $3.00. Fancy crochet hook: $79 to $119, no kidding) He also bought ... uh ... all my fancy bras ($75 a pop) and a whole host of other things that were too expensive for my budget but not for his.

A couple of months before my birthday in 2021—the year he passed away—he showed me this picture:

And he asked, "Would this be a good birthday gift?" He had given me many music boxes over the years, and he knew I loved astronomy, so it seemed a safe bet.

But way down in the left-hand bottom corner, I spied it: "Self-assembly."

So I said, "No, I don't think so. It requires assembly. It's really cool, though. Great idea if we didn't have to put it together ourselves."

And he said, "I would put it together."

I gave him some serious side-eye. He was not a DIYer. He loved the hardware store, but he didn't want to do the work of replacing or fixing something. He didn't like jigsaw puzzles or similar toys.

I said, "You know you would not put that thing together, and I know I don't want to put it together, so let's just make this a Laura gift."

Side note: Several years ago, my sister, Laura, and I stopped giving each other gifts. (For the most part. She is still somewhat gifty. Because gifts are her love language.😀) So whenever I would see something that I would have bought for her, I would take a picture and send it to her, with a "Happy birthday!" or "Merry Christmas" message accompanying it. And she would do the same for me. So that's what a "Laura gift" is.

And that was the end of that.

Except.

It wasn't.

Because he bought that dang thing anyway, and before he could put it together (which he never would have, mark my words), he DIED ON ME. WTF???

So I put it in the closet. I still didn't want to put it together, and I didn't want it mocking me. Which it did anyway.

Then I moved, and I moved it to the new house, put it in a new closet. Where I could see it more, and where it mocked me.

So I gave it to my niece. I thought her young kids would enjoy putting it together with parental supervision. Eventually. When they were older.

But then every time I went to my closet, the lack of the music box mocked me. "You gave away the last gift your husband ever gave you. It was practically his dying wish." Sigh. Stupid closet.

So I texted my niece. I thought if they hadn't done anything with it, she could give it back, and I would buy her a new one if she wanted. And if they had started it—or finished it—I could get a new one. (I mean, he didn't make the kit himself. He bought it on Amazon. So what's the difference if I put together the one he gave me or the one I bought myself?) She said they had opened it and it seemed a little daunting, so they hadn't finished it. But since they started, I didn't really want to take it back—maybe they would put it together. Eventually.

So in July of this year, I ordered a new one. I left it on the table so I would make sure to do it. Where it mocked me. I didn't know how long it might take to put it together. It's not like I can just say "Avengers, assemble," and poof! it's finished. And I didn't want to start it on a Saturday and then not be able to finish on Sunday. And I never felt I had time on my longer staycations. There is always other work to do that seems more important.

So when faced with a hysterectomy (story here) and the potential for eight weeks off, I decided it was the perfect time to put it together! I chose week four of my recovery. I assumed at that point, I would have no more brain fog, no all-day pain, no exhaustion, and I was right. I gave myself the entire week, but it only took two days—and not even two full days! More like two afternoons! About an hour after I got started, I decided to listen to John Denver, because I imagined that was what Vic might listen to, and having his voice in the background was lovely and made it really fun to make the music box.

I only broke three or four pieces, 🤣and they weren't broken enough to scuttle the whole thing, so now I have a beautiful, handmade solar system music box on my shelf, and it's no longer mocking me!

Naturally, I took pictures as I finished each step (something I think Vic might have done), and those are below. And at the very bottom of the post, a video of the completed project!

Part 1 complete

Part 2 complete

Part 3 complete—I consider this to be Mercury

Part 4 complete—the sun, obvi

Part 5 complete—adding Earth and our moon

Part 6 complete—I have decided that this is Saturn,
even though there are no rings.

Part 7 complete—Jupiter, the small brown bead,
even though it should be bigger than Earth

Part 8 complete—we have Mars.

Part 10 complete—I was so excited when I finished
part 9 that I forgot to take a picture.

And now for the pièce de résistance:

(And, as usual, the link is here for those who can't watch the embedded video.)

So even though I told him not to get it, and even though I was kind of mad that he did, and even though I resented it for a while and then couldn't look at it out of shame and then was just too lazy to put it together, I'm really glad I finally did. It is lovely to have this last birthday gift he picked out for me sitting out and reminding me that I was good and well loved.

Life after two-and-a-half (almost) years

So here we are. Today is two years, five months since Vic went to be with Wags at the Rainbow Bridge. My old standard response to “How are you doing?” (often accompanied by the sympathetic head tilt) was “I'm OK, ups and downs.” My new response is, “Not great. I'm fine.” Think “Sorry/Grateful” from Company:

You're sorry-grateful
Regretful-happy
Why look for answers where none occur?
You always are what you always were
Which has nothing to do with
All to do with her

“Nothing to do with, all to do with [him].” Yeah. I mean, things are actually pretty good, right? Food on the table. Roof over my head. Bella by my side. Friends and family who care. There's just that one thing that isn't great. My husband is gone. Just that one little thing. But it isn't a little thing, is it? It's a big damn thing that is always there. Usually underneath, sometimes on the surface, but always there. So I can be “not great” and still be “fine.”

Certainly I'm “fine” because I come from sturdy, resilient pioneer stock. I'm a latchkey kid who had to learn to do things on her own and play by herself. I am a realist who married a realist who knew this scenario, widowhood, would come to me before it came to him, and we prepared for it together, with love and humor. (Please, please tell me you have not forgotten the “I'll love you 'til I croak” card he gave me on our first anniversary only a month after he “died” in the Apple store.)

But as surely as I know that, I know this: I am “fine” because of you. My friends and family who lift me up. The friend who comes over for walks with me and Bella. The friend who comes over and lets Bella out when I have to be away from home for more than four hours. (The importance of this cannot be overstated.) The friend who started crochet date night for me and helps me make the appetizers I take to Christmas dinner. The friends who come to crochet date night and chat with us while we do this—and while we all sit around crafting for three hours every other Friday night.) The friends who check up on me when something happens that they know will probably have some kind of effect on me. The friends who check up on me for no particular reason. (I mean, other than the obvious reason.) My friends who help me do things around the house—especially “man” things. (And I can say this without being sexist, because although I call them “man” things, it is not always men who help me with them. I get it—women know how to wield a hammer.) The friends who don't give up on me when I don't answer their invites for lunch for six months—or more. The friends who take my hard-to-recycle items and my compost to the Waste Diversion Center and set up my electronics. My manager and my teammates who are all also my friends and have helped me in countless ways both professionally and personally. I'm in a widows/widowers group on Facebook, and I can tell you that not everyone has that support at work.

And I know some of you will see yourselves in this description and think, “Meh, I'm not doing that much.” And it may not seem like it to you, but it is. From this side, it's everything.

As I was going through my pictures for the 2023 not-Scallion, I came across two pictures that reminded me of things that deserved special mention, and I wanted them here, on The Widow's Peek, because they're more about my life as a widow than my life as a person—and those are two very different things..

One:

Shortly before Vic passed away, his sister, Alice, showed me a pillow she'd found that was made out of the clothing of a person who had recently passed away. I'd seen things made out of clothing—a wall hanging made of ties, a blanket made of skirts—and always thought that these were meaningful ways to use things that you didn't want to give away but you didn't want hanging in a closet. Alice asked if she could make a pillow for me out of Vic's flannel shirts.

Oh, Vic and his flannel.

If you ever met Vic in the winter, chances are you saw his flannel. He loved those shirts, and he wore them until they were threadbare. But before they became threadbare, they became soft as butter.

So my answer was, immediately, yes.

I hadn't thought much about it—I'm the kind of person who isn't going to pressure someone when they're doing something nice for me; it'll come when it comes—but one day, Alice came up with not one, but two pillows made out of his favorite favorite flannel shirts. (Yes, he had some that were his favorites, and he also had favorites out of those favorites—he had a whole shirt hierarchy.)

This one has her favorite e.e. cummings poem embroidered on it as well as two camera pins.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

This one just shows all the wonderful things Vic was to people. 

I love these pillows. They have been hugged, cried on, and hugged some more.

Alice didn't end up using all the flannel shirts, so she brought the rest back to me. One day, my friend-through-Laura, Chris, was at the house. Chris is also a quilter, and I wondered whether she could use the flannel shirts. They are cotton, after all, and she knew Vic, too. He thought she and her husband, Larry, were the bee's knees. My intention was simply that she might like some cotton fabric for her quilting. She, of course, asked me what I wanted her to make for me. I feel like this is a very quilter thing to do.

I have (almost) given up talking people out of doing something nice for me, so I tried to think of something that would be simple. (To be clear, people who don't do a craft do not know what “simple” is. Something that looks simple can be quite complex, and something that looks intricate could be easy as pie. Which, side note, is not necessarily that easy. Have you ever made your own crust? Pie can be very difficult!) Anyway, I selected a table runner—straight edges, probably a lot of patterns available. I thought I could drape over the lateral file that sits by the desk in my office. I'm there a lot, and it would be nice to see it every time I walk in. Chris took some measurements and the bag of flannel and went on her merry way.

Once again, I didn't give this a second thought. Then one day, I got a text from Chris wanting to confirm the measurements for the table runner. Exciting!

Two weeks later, she and Laura came to the house. She gave me the table runner, and it was magnificent. Click on these pictures—you'll want to see them full size.

Front

Back

Things to notice:

• Some of the strips have the buttons from the shirts on them, and some are made of the cuffs or collars or even the seams.
• The denim—I had forgotten that there was a pair of his blue jeans in the bag with the extra flannel.
• That classic Levi size tag is attached to the front side of the runner.
• The binding around the outside—it's made of little strips of all the shirts and the jeans.

But that's not all. Chris then presented me with this:

As you can see, this little dog is also made up of scraps of flannel and Vic's jeans. This fella—whom I have named Patch—also has the watch pocket from the jeans, into which is tucked one of Vic's handkerchiefs.

Where Alice's pillows comfort me at home, Chris's Patch comforts me on the road. Although I don't mind going places alone, I don't like going home alone. If we drove home at night, Vic would drive because he knew I didn't like driving at night. If I was driving, he might pick songs off the iPod to play if I was getting sleepy. We would talk about the movie we just saw or the dinner we just had or the people we'd just seen. In the later years, when I went to more things by myself, I was driving home alone, but he was there waiting for me when I got there, eager to hear about whatever I had done. So I often take Patch with me, because feeling that flannel ... it's almost like Vic is there.

I think Vic would approve of what his flannel shirts and jeans have become.

Two:

(Remember waaaaaay up at the top when I said there were two things that deserved special mention? This is the second thing.)

This actually deserves its own blog post, but I know Laura would be the first person to say, “Don't waste your time on a blog post all about me.”

That's right. The second “thing” is a person—my sister, Laura.

We have always loved each other. We weren't the inseparable sisters that twins might be, or those closer in age. She had her friends and I had mine, but we also did a lot of things together. (I'm looking at you, Grease seven times and a Lifeguard/Orca double feature at the drive-in.) I feel like we might have fought a normal amount, but I honestly don't remember our relationship as contentious. And how we happened to end up in Colorado from Nebraska at virtually the same time is anybody's guess. We saw as much as you can see of each other when you both work. We saw each other a little more when the kids were born, because I made it a point to go to Denver once a month. I wasn't going to miss out on a growth spurt!

But when the kids got older and we all got busier, we didn't hang out as much. And in the days before cell phones and texting, it was harder to stay in touch.

It was Mom, Laura's retirement and cell phones that brought us back together. The kids had moved out, Laura was retired, and Mom needed help. Laura and I coordinated our activities to provide the care Mom needed (as well as some care for Dad). We talked more. Texted more. Did more things together. Grew closer.

And then Vic died.

And there she was, getting me hot chocolate. Helping me sort through things and making lists of all of Vic's possessions that I wasn't planning to keep so that Bryan, Laurie, Patty and Alice could take whatever they wanted to remember him by. Taking household donations to ARC, books to the library, recycling to the recycling center—whatever I needed. But also staying away when she knew Vic's sisters and I needed to do things together, like planning the service. She came up once a month for several months to help me do the chores I didn't have time to do after I went back to work.

Then I put the house on the market. Even though my Realtor told me in February that I needed to “declutter” (whatever that means—I 100% did not have clutter!), including taking down the Christmas tree (yes, my first post-Vic Christmas tree was still up in February—you wanna make something of it?), I did not. I mean, when am I going to have time for that? I'm now holding down a full-time job and running a house where before I was only doing one of those—Vic did everything else around the house.

So up came Laura, pulling down the Christmas tree while my friend Paulette came over to “declutter.” Then they both decluttered—taking three days to do what I should have done little by little over three months—while Alice worked on my planters and ground cover garden to improve my curb appeal. And what was I doing? Working, of course. New client + big project = no time for Patty.

When the house sold, Laura came up to direct the movers or the carpet guys or the guy who came to take away my junk—whatever I needed. She didn't laugh at me when I said I wanted to go through each room in the old house and thank it for giving me a home for all those years—in fact, she went with me through the rooms and made it a solemn occasion. She stayed with me on overnights so she could be here first thing in the morning to get started and last thing at night so we could get as much done as possible. We didn't even watch much TV!

Things wound down, and I didn't need as much help. I went into the abyss and didn't tell anyone. Laura got back to her life and took care of some health things that had taken awhile to get diagnosed.

But one day, she said she missed me and we should do one of our overnights. I had the first week in September off, so we decided to do it then. I still had two major chores that needed to be done: My books had been unboxed, but I hadn't put them in any kind of order. (What, you don't put your books in order?) And the storage area was a hodge podge of stuff that, when I moved in, I said to the movers, “Just put that in here; I'll take care of it later.” I even went downstairs to start on both chores, but when you don't know where to start, you just throw your hands up and watch Schmigadoon. (No? Just me then?) So I sheepishly asked Laura if we could do one of those chores on her overnight.

Did she sigh in exasperation and say, “Fine,” dripping with sarcasm? Did she say, “Sometimes I feel like you only love me for what I can do for you”? Did she refuse? No. She said, enthusiastically, “I don't see why we can't do both!” And both we did. I wish I had taken before and after pictures, but I didn't. Just the after ones:

And now, every time I go downstairs—every time—I see those neat bookshelves and that spacious, organized storage area, and I see love. The love of a sister. My sister. Like I said, I could devote a whole blog post to her, but I have bills to pay, and Bella is nudging me to take her for a walk. Time is no longer an infinite resource for me.

Thanks for traveling this road with me, Lau. I could do it on my own, but I'm so grateful I don't have to.

I'm also grateful to have all of you on this sometimes bumpy, sometimes up a steep hill, sometimes slippery journey.

And chocolate. I'm grateful for chocolate.

But mostly for all of you.

The terrible twos

That's right, today is the two-year anniversary of ... well, you know what. Do I have to say it all the time?

As you might have guessed from the dearth of posts on this blog, I'm fine. I've settled into the house (it's been a year now), I've stayed out of the abyss, I'm healthy.

Every day is a regular day—I wish Vic were still here, but he's not, so I get over it. There are “good” things (e.g., being able to watch whatever I want to watch whenever I want to watch it without worrying about whether he wants to watch it or whether he likes it) and bad things (not to be a broken record, but he's not here).

But the biggest “first” happened just recently—I took my first vacation without Vic in 38 years.

We went a lot of places in those 38 years—we traveled well together. But one place we did not go was Alaska. Hawaii was our first bucket list destination, and we loved it so much that whenever we had enough money for a bucket list destination ... we went to Hawaii. But my dad went to Alaska when I was 12, and I always wanted to see what he saw, so I would suggest Alaska every once in a while. But we both kept choosing Hawaii.

My friend Amanda used to live in Alaska, so one day we went to lunch and I picked her brain about where we should go in Alaska and what we should do. I came away with a long list of things that I talked to Vic about. He was ... let's just say ... not quite interested. My friend Dawn's husband went to Alaska for an extended period of time and took a lot of pictures. One day we were at her house, and I mentioned what David had done and showed Vic some of David's pictures. He was ... let's just say ... not quite interested. And one day, we were visiting my friend Mary, whose friend Sandy was a park ranger at Denali National Park and Preserve. I mentioned wanting Sandy to take me on a behind-the-scenes tour of the park, and that's when he said it. “I'm just not that interested in going to Alaska.”

WHAT? Not that interested? But ... but ... the wildlife! The scenery! The Northern Lights! The tallest mountain in North America! ALASKA! Nope. Not interested. So I joked with Mary, “We'll just have to go after Vic dies.”

Side note: “After Vic dies” was a common refrain in our house. Vic was not afraid of death, and he figured he would die first, and he figured I would continue to live my life, so it was just a thing we did. Don't have a cow.

Anyway, Vic died, and Mary planned a trip to Alaska for us (adding her friend Sue to give us a cheaper rate!), and I just got back from that trip.

It was gorgeous and fun and filled with adventure. But it 100% wasn't filled with Vic. The injustices started at the airport, where I had to find my way around alone—I haven't traveled by air for almost a decade, and a lot of things have changed at DIA. It was my first time using TSA PreCheck, so I wasn't sure how that worked. I had to eat breakfast by myself. And I had to take all my carry-on luggage with me every time I had to go to the ladies' room.

I always packed snacks for us—cashews for “protein” and Peanut M&Ms for “dairy” (there is milk in chocolate, right?). I would buy a container of cashews and a family bag of M&Ms and then split them in two—one for the trip out, one for the trip back. I put the “trip back” snacks in our checked luggage and the “trip out” in my carry-on backpack. So I did the same thing for this trip ... but ... I forgot that I was the only one eating them, so I brought the same amount, which was twice as many as I needed. Plus I was sitting next to a complete stranger, and I didn't want him to judge me for eating too much, so I ended up having a LOT of airplane snacks left over, and I have been eating them for three weeks.

We started our trip with a cruise. Not a Love Boat–type cruise, but an “expedition journey.” We didn't wear a lot of fancy clothes—we wore expedition clothes. And at our first “meeting” on the ship, I noticed how many men were wearing shants. Yes, I said “shants.” If you watched Modern Family, you know what shants are—but we knew what they were long before Phil Dunphy wore his. They are pants that have a zipper around midthigh so you could zip off the bottom and have shorts. Shorts + pants = shants. Vic loved his shants. Wore 'em all the time. Zipped 'em off, zipped 'em back on. So seeing all those shants on the cruise made me miss my shants-wearin' man.

Side note: Vic would not have enjoyed the cruise—although it was basically a floating boutique hotel, when we were in the ocean, the ship rocked quite a bit, and he would not have fared well with all that rocking. He also did not like being around a bunch of people, and he did not like group outings.

All our vacations were documented thoroughly through Vic's skillful photography. I took pictures with my phone. I took some pretty good pictures, as a matter of fact, but if you've ever tried to take a picture of a humpback whale breaching, an otter playing or an eagle on the other side of the river, you know the value of a long lens. Vic would have taken some astounding photographs on this trip. He also would have taken a fair number of pictures of me, but every time I wanted a picture of myself, I had to take a selfie (which I am not good at) or ask someone else to take it (which I am not good at). Not having anyone around all the time to take pictures of me is something that bothers me even when I'm not on vacation, but drop me into a beautiful place, and it's just all the more noticeable. Vic. Is. Not. Here.

While I was on the plane reading my book and listening to my music, one of our wedding songs came on. Although this was not vacation-related, it still broke me a little bit.

Finally, we took a train from Anchorage to Fairbanks. There was an annoying lady who was not following the rules, and the bartender had to scold her—twice—and that was something we would have giggled about and made fun of for the rest of the trip.

There were a lot of tears on this trip. All the things he would have loved, all the things I would have loved doing with him, just the idea of never taking another vacation with him.

But.

(There's always a but.)

I took a vacation by myself. Sure, not every moment. Mary and Sue and I did a lot of things together. (We were very good traveling partners, actually.) But I figured out the bus system in Vancouver and ... uh ... visited some yarn stores. I walked through Ketchikan alone and ... uh ... visited a yarn store. I went to a bear observatory and a glacier on my own ... no yarn store. I ate dinner alone one evening when Mary and Sue were both feeling poorly. And after they went back to Phoenix, I drove to Denali National Park and Preserve on the rarest of rare sunny days (there are an average of seven in July) and saw Denali. By. My. Self. I met a number of Alaskans who said they hadn't even seen Denali because it's just usually socked in. (And then ... uh ... I visited a yarn store.)

These were all pretty scary for me, emotionally. The idea of driving to Denali was particularly fraught. Alone? In the middle of nowhere? What if I got a flat tire and missed my flight home? What if I went all the way down there and saw nothing?

But what if I went home and didn't try at all? How long would I kick myself for? (Forever.) And what would Vic tell me to do? He would tell me to go for it.

So I did.

And now I know I can take a vacation without Vic, and I can walk in a strange city alone, and I can ask people to take pictures of me, and I can rent a car and drive to Denali on the same day as my flight home.

I don't want to take a vacation without Vic, but that's not an option anymore, so at least I know that I can.

I will write more about my vacation on my other blog, Love Talk, including a lot of pictures, but I'll leave you with a few of my favorites.

This bear is about 10 feet from me, we are separated
by a wooden fence around a viewing platform.

This humpback whale just breached over and over and over. 
I got video of him doing it nine times. NINE TIMES!

This is Dawes Glacier. It is at least 300 feet high 
and approximately 1/2 mile wide.

Me, in the classic “point at the sight” pose.

NOT a wild moose—this little lady was
at the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center.

Ditto‚ but this is a musk ox, gender unknown

That little white cap in the background is Denali.
I asked a complete stranger to take this picture.

This is also Denali ... from the plane. It seemed
like we were close enough to touch it.

Moments of grace and unexpected joy

“Moments of grace” is a post I started in August, before heading into the abyss. I never posted it because: abyss. But this week, I found myself utterly joyful, and when I came to write about that, I found this post again, and it seemed like a good combo. I'll start with the joy.

I found myself inexplicably sad on Wednesday. (I know, I said “joy” and I'm starting with “sad.” Bear with me.) Not overwhelmingly sad, just a little down. I thought about that first hummingbird who visited me and how I hadn't seen a hummingbird since (although many others have, and I've received many hummingbirds from friends, so I am surrounded by them, and they all bring me comfort). I said, “Would it kill you to visit me just once?” I laughed, because the thought that he could just visit me on demand is amusing. I read a chapter in my book, turned out the light, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I got up, showered and went to my home office to start the day when I heard a jeer. I peered outside and what did I see? No, people. Not a hummingbird. It's the dead of winter! It was a blue jay. BUT. We had blue jays at the old house, and whenever Vic didn't get the peanuts out in time, they would jeer and jeer and jeer. (Yes, I looked it up. That angry, “Hey! Mister! Where are my peanuts???” cry is called a jeer.)

So I knew it was Vic. 

I called. He came. Thus began four days (and counting) of unexpected joy. And not big things, like “I won a million dollars”or “I won a million dollars” or even “I won a million dollars.” 😉 But little things, like:

• I saw a hot-air balloon on my way to breakfast yesterday. Vic loved hot-air balloons, and I have a million pictures of them on his hard drive. So every hot-air balloon reminds me of Vic.
  
• I heard the song “I Hate Love Songs” by Kelsea Ballerini. I love that song, but more to the point, when I first played it for Vic, he said, “Hey, that's our love song.” Yup. MFEO. (Google it.)
  
• Then I heard the song “Nutcracker” by Straight No Chaser. This is a song about a guy who takes his wife to the Nutcracker every year. He hates it, but he does it because he loves her. It made me think of all the things Vic has sat through with me or for me, including every performance of the play Noises Off that I was in in the early 90s and every concert I sang in when I was in the women's chorus at CU. He never tried to get out of any of them, and he never complained about it.
• The show Ghosts showed up on my DVR, thus ending my holiday Ghosts drought. (If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it—but you must start at the beginning.)
• I received a gift from a neighbor whose driveway I've been snow-blowing. I don't make a big deal out of it, I don't ask if she wants me to do it, I just do it when I'm doing mine. I don't expect a gift for taking care of a neighbor—other neighbors take care of me, so I feel like I'm just doing my part—but, I mean, it was Godiva chocolates, so ... joy!
• I saw an older woman struggling to clear ice on her sidewalk yesterday during my Bella walk. Having a north-facing driveway S-U-C-K-S  B-A-L-L-S, so Bella and I crossed the street. I took her off the leash and took the ice chopper from the lady. I would chop some ice, and she shoveled my chips off the sidewalk. Many hands make light work. Her husband recently had spinal fusion surgery, so he could not help, and it made me feel good to help her. Bella alternated prancing around in the snow and standing in a sunny spot the whole time. She's such a good dog.
• Friday was crochet date night!

I know there were a bunch more, but I didn't write them down, so I don't remember them. I often say gratitude begets gratitude, and to this I add joy begets joy. You can't always choose happiness—depression and other physical ailments often get in the way—but recognizing joyful moments can be a big mood lifter. My friend Julie said that Vic was a joy spreader and immortalized that (via one of his hummingbird pictures) in her art. So finding some joy after those months in the abyss was a real treat.

Now, about those moments of grace. These are moments when people do things for you that you just do not expect. They are almost always small gestures, they are often performed by complete strangers, and they always make me cry (no kidding). For example:

• One day I went to Five Guys. I ordered a large drink because they have the machines there and I can get a Caffeine-Free Diet Coke. I prefer Pepsi to Coke (I don't want to hear from you Coke lovers), but to be able to get a caffeine-free diet soda is ... well, it's a joy for me. Anyhoo, the woman at the counter only charged me for a medium drink, and when I pointed it out to her, she said, “I know, but I liked your mask.” (I was wearing my lion mask at the time.)
• I went to Michaels to get glass for a frame. In her excitement to go for a walk, Bella knocked the frame off the table it was on (there's a shocker), and the glass broke. I was just going to buy a new, cheapie frame and use the glass from that, but none of the glass was JUST the right size, so I went to the frame shop. The woman behind the counter took my order and said she would cut it herself and would call me when it was done. I didn't ask her how much it would be because it didn't matter—I needed the glass. How much could it be, anyway? I went back to Michaels when she called, and she gave me the glass. I got out my credit card. She said, “No charge.” I said, “What's that now?” And she said, “There wasn't a spot in the system to input glass this small, so I just did it off the books.” She could have figured out a way to charge me for that glass, but she didn't.
• As I was preparing to move to my new house, I felt like I was betraying the old house of 18 years—and more, like I was betraying Vic. I remembered an Etsy shop where the maker commemorated houses, graduations, weddings, anniversaries, retirements, etc. in watercolors, so I sent her a picture of the house and some pictures of Vic and Wags because I wanted them in the picture. I mentioned the bird feeders and the hummingbirds and asked if she could include them in some way, and I also sent her a picture of Longs Peak that Vic had taken. You can't actually see it from the street view, but I asked if she thought she could figure out a way to use it. I ordered an 8x10 but said I would pay for a larger one if she thought it was necessary. Not long after I sent it to her, she sent me a pencil sketch. We went back and forth a little bit on that, and I approved the sketch. Then she sent me a picture of the painted version—again, we went back and forth a little bit on that, and I approved the painting. When I received it, I noticed that it was 9x12. I messaged her and asked her to send me an invoice for the difference (about $25). She said no, she really enjoyed my project and just wanted me to have the one I really needed.
• Hey—let's go back to Etsy! After I moved in to my house, I wanted to buy a gift for my Realtors. They had gotten me my perfect house, sold my house for more than I ever thought I could get, found perfect financing for me—even loaned me a wine refrigerator when my old fridge crapped out. I know they get a nice, fat commission, but still. So I decided on a Yeti mug (you're in the car all day, it's nice to have a mug with water that stays cold or coffee that stays hot) engraved with this saying: “Please don't confuse your Zillow search with my real estate license.” I placed my order from this Etsy shop—without a proof, because proofs cost extra, and how hard can it be to copy and paste? So imagine my surprise when I received ... a proof. I messaged her and asked her to send me an invoice for the proof (twice), and she said no, it was her pleasure working with me.
• When I called Xcel for my my move, I ordered their HomeSmart service. It's a maintenance contract where they'll come out and inspect your HVAC systems and do repairs and whatnot. I'm sure they would have been fine, but my friends Larry and Paulette use TNT Home Services, and I'm always a fan of referrals, so I signed up with TNT. Then I called Xcel to cancel the HomeSmart service. Unfortunately, I was five days over the cancellation period. Now, I never expect people to bend the rules or give me something I'm not entitled to, and I am very accustomed to “I'm sorry, the system just won't let me do it.” But not the lady I talked to. She said, “Well, since you're so close, I'm going to go ahead and cancel it for you.” I mean, one day over the cancellation period, I wouldn't be too surprised to get that response, but five days? That's grace.
  
• When I was getting the old house in shape and then when I was getting it ready to sell, I called up my neighbor down the street, Ray the Handyman. In addition to being our neighbor for 18 years, Ray is also a friend of ... Larry and Paulette. So I knew he was my guy. I had a long list of things, and we scheduled them out, but every time he came over, I noticed that more things had been taken care of that weren't on the list. Things that also weren't on the invoice. Not to mention that he always gave me great hugs when he was done. I'm a hugger, so that's a big add-on to me.
• One time when we had one of our big snows, I got the driveway shoveled out (or should I say my next-door neighbor got the driveway shoveled out) and the sidewalk cleared (or should I say my across-the-street neighbor got the sidewalk cleared), but there was a mound of snow by the mailbox. I kept trying to get out and get rid of the snow so the mailman didn't have to roll through a huge snowdrift or, worse, stomp through three feet of snow to get to my mailbox. And I just did not get to it. So one day when I saw him, I apologized, and he said, “It's OK. You don't have to do it. You have enough on your plate.” This was not much more than five months after Vic died, and he knew that. I don't know why that “OK” meant so much to me, but it sure did—and does to this day.
  

I'm sure there are more, but again, these are the ones I wrote down. Recognizing these moments of grace, no matter how small, always buoyed my spirits—as did remembering them (and my moments of joy) today.

[insert the passage of about 30 minutes]

I had this whole blog post written and just needed to add pictures, but I was watching the temperature and the sun get lower and lower, and I needed to get out to give Bella a walk. Wouldn't you know it? I had two moments of joy and one moment of grace in the 30 minutes it took us to do our loop:

• The first moment of joy was five minutes in. Bella suddenly got alert. This almost always means that someone is coming up behind us. She does not like having people behind us. So I stopped and did some balancing exercises while I waited for the guy—a runner—to pass. To my surprise, he stopped, said “Happy new year,” and then, “Would you mind if I pet your dog?” I said I wouldn't mind, but she might because she was painfully shy. So he crouched down to get onto her level, put his hand out, and waited. Wouldn't you know she went right over to him and let him pet her. As he was down there, looking at her and not at me, he said he had recently lost his dog and was just longing for a little fur on his hands. I wasn't crying (I was totally crying) and said, “I'm so sorry for your loss. My heart knows how yours feels.” He finished petting Bella, got up, said nothing as he looked in my eyes with a hint of a smile on his face, and just started jogging away. I was absolutely not crying (I was absolutely crying). Bella then jumped three feet into a snow bank and peed, as if she hadn't just healed a tiny crack in a man's heart.
• Next was our moment of grace. We reached the corner of 21st and Alpine. Not the busiest intersection in town, but for some reason, just car after car after car kept us from our appointed destination—across the street. Bella was sitting like the good girl she is, and I was swaying to “Winter Wonderland” by the Eurythmics. (I listen to the music in my Christmas library until I finish it all—I am up to the Vs, because of course I listen to my music in alphabetical order. Shuffle. Pshaw.) We weren't in a hurry. But then I noticed that one of the cars at the intersection had stopped, and the lady inside waved us across. She smiled, and we smiled (well, Bella trotted across the street—and peed), and we all went on our merry way. I noticed three more cars going south on Alpine that we would have had to wait for if that Good Samaritan hadn't waved us across.
• Our final moment of joy happened just a few minutes later. I see a man holding a dog as he walks across Alpine (there were inexplicably no cars hindering their crossing). When he reached the other side—after going through a slushy part, a puddle, and an ice floe (or maybe it was a glacier, I don't know), he put the dog down. This corgi and its fluffy butt just started jumping around like being outside was the best thing it had ever done in its life. It twirled a little bit, and then hopped a couple of times, and then twirled again—and it just kept doing that for the entire block we were behind it. Bella was unimpressed. I'll bet you can guess what she did. Anyway, it made me joyful to see that corgi having so much fun—and knowing that its guardian loved it so much that he didn't want it to cross the street and experience leftover Colorado snowstorm.
  

So now I can finish my blog post, which traditionally will end with me expressing my gratitude for all the joy you've given me and all the moments of grace you've been a part of—and pictures. 😁

I think I've shared this before, but this is the painting my talented friend Julie created:

I may have shared this before, too, but this is the painting I commissioned from Etsy:

Hard to see on a small scale, but Vic and Wags are on the porch, where they would be as I drove off to work (when I did such things), and there is a bird feeder hanging on the tree with a hummingbird at it and two small birds on the branch above.

My Realtor cup—the saying is just too cute not to share:

As usual, here are some new year pictures of Bella (and me). I was trying to get just a picture of her, and this was that effort:

I don't know why, but this one tickles my funny bone most.

So I ditched that idea and took a couple of her and me. I was making kissing noises on the first one, which she did not like, and on the second one, I just feel like that's a total eye roll from her.

Ope! I almost forgot to include a picture of my lion mask! Vic bought us these matching masks at the beginning of the pandemic. We used to wear them whenever he had medical appointments where we wanted to be strong, like lions. (Yes, we were those people. 🙄) Plus, it's nice to get a picture of Vic in the blog. 😀💑🥰

Happy new year!