Hawkeye

I am eating spoonfuls of It’s Soy Delicious non-dairy frozen dessert. It looks like ice cream and tastes like chocolate and nuts.  I am celebrating finding my earring or rather my dog Poindexter finding my earring.

A few days ago, I wore a pair of gold and onyx medallion-shaped earrings. My mother purchased them a few years back. I love the look but the onyx is too heavy and due to the price of gold these days the hooks are too light. They forever fell out of my lobes. Aware of the problem, I took extra care to remove the earrings as soon as I came into the house. Or so I thought.

That evening, I came into the bedroom to start my bedtime ritual only to find one earring missing. I retraced my steps. (Sure you have done this yourself.) First the car, perhaps it popped off when I unhooked the seatbelt.  The bathroom where I pulled off my I-know-you-cannot-tell-I-had-cancer-treatments wig. The hallway, the area rug, the bed, the shower, toilet, everywhere. The earring disappeared into Monday night.  It had value especially as it had been a gift from Mom but I just went through this last month with my diamond studs. I have one but lost the other.  

The expert finder of lost things was Paul, my husband. When we first dated, he earned the nickname—among others—of Hawkeye. I swear he could find a silver earring back in shag pile carpeting at eight paces. A true talent.  Without his help, my recovery rate for things is sadly low. I gave up on finding a quarter-sized gold disk anywhere in the house.

Today, I dug through more boxes of Paul’s things for the storeroom, setting aside photos for uncle John, toys for nephew Kodie, and worthless correspondence to the recycle bin. For a long time I held his high school yearbook. Opened one page and then another later in the day. What does one do with a yearbook? We have no children or grandchildren to pass things along. His parents are dead. His friends own the same album. This question bugged me all day.

Netflix provided me with a diversion for a couple hours. I discovered a Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright series, House of Cards. Well acted and produced, I lost myself and my memories in a political drama which was not too intellectually challenging. 

My dog put up with the drama for as long as he could. The sun set and the temperature dropped below ninety degrees. Dex wanted to play. After some whimpering and herding on his part, I tossed his Frisbee in the dusky eve. He leaped and spun for joy.

I thought. It is not so terrible to keep a yearbook mixed in with the photo albums. It is as unlikely it would be opened in the next ten years as it had been in the last. I do not need to give away or toss everything to move on with my life…it’s just a book.

Dex flipped the ignored Frisbee on my foot which caused drool to spill off the edges onto my naked foot. I bent down to retrieve the toy and saw the glisten of gold next to my heel. Without seeing the object itself, I knew I found the earring—the onyx one not the diamond—in the grass. Perhaps Monday, we had played Frisbee before I changed from my work clothes. Unlikely, but possible.

I had my earring. I properly thanked Poindexter with a “good boy” and a pat on the back.

Today’s Menu:

Breakfast: Watermelon.  Coffee with agave syrup and almond milk.

Snack: Watermelon.

Lunch: One soy corn dog and salad.

Snack: Watermelon.

Dinner: Vegetarian pot stickers, mung bean sprouts.

Snack: It’s Soy Delicious non-dairy frozen dessert Chocolate and Almonds.

Master Bedroom Suite

I’m picking up a headboard and two end tables which will be utilized as night stands. I did some shopping on eBay to find the perfect mid-century furniture that matches the teak & cane high-boy inherited from my father-in-law, Connie. This will change our master bedroom into my bedroom, two years after Paul died in that room.

I never thought I would be one of those women. The lady that sits in the same pew every Sunday. Pale blue suit purchased in the previous century.  Life dances in her eyes and every song sung without a hymnal as each is memorized from a lifetime of worship. Her wedding band still on her left ring finger.

A woman like Grandma Dwyer that attended church, kept her house, praised God and the good man who died decades ago. Did not drink, fool around, date, swear, or be anything other than a lady.  Grandma passed away in her nineties with her husband still in her heart and on her lips.

No. I never thought I would be one of those—a widow that remained true to a memory.   

Today’s Menu:

Breakfast: ½ c Rasin Bran w/ blackberries and almond milk.  Coffee with agave syrup and almond milk.

Snack: Homemade trail mix with tons of raw nuts, dried cranberries, and candied ginger.

Lunch: Wonderful Portabella mushroom sandwich at Cornerstone Restaurant, J Street Sacramento.

Snack: Fresh blackberries and peanut butter.

Dinner: Pho noodles with left over Tofu skin, sprouted mung beans & flax seeds 

Widowed

I float inside my

Grief-colored bubble

I read Mark 10

Cannot pray

Sing Dante’s Prayer

And remember you

Bubble grows small

Will not weep

This night you come back

Your fingers touch mine

With God all is

At last—sleep

This poem was published in 2012 in Inspire Christian Writers Anthology. 

Sad

My mother approached my great-grandmother, decades ago, on the occasion of the death of GG Mapes’ youngest daughter. Mom asked how she dealt with the loss, having buried two husbands and all but one of her seven children. My great-grandmother turned and gave her the oddest look, paused for a long time, then gave some answer appropriate for a minister’s wife—a response meant to sooth Mom’s soul.

I never believed she spoke what was on her heart.

This morning, I recognized her odd look in the mirror.

Thursday, a dear friend died. He was forty-six years old. Recently, you may have lost someone that was also young. Perhaps you just started your grieving of a sudden death, or you like Spyros’ friends and family have held the grief inside since his November cancer diagnosis. Although the quick end came as a blessing for one suffering with immense pain, it did wrench the hearts of those who loved him.

For me, it seemed to be the last gasp of sadness that I could draw in. My mirror reflected that.

Friday at the memorial service, friends will hold hands, hug, cry, celebrate a short life remembered, and part.

I can only accept the truth that this not the final stage of our lives. I will hold Spyros again. For now, I cannot feel sad anymore. Not about Spyros, others we have lost, or my darling’s ongoing suffering—battling diabetes. The joy must be in touch of my husband’s breath on my cheek. The puppy growling in his sleep. The surprise delivery of flowers from a friend.

The blessings in my life are small and powerful—all I need to end the sadness of everyday living. Maybe that was exactly what my great-grandmother said.

God Bless Your Family