This story might be a little intimate. It’s about my morning routine. I know, seems innocent enough, but when you think about it, we are all very unique in how we wake up to the day. It feels pretty personal to admit that while I am generally an optimistic person, I am not, and never have been, a “morning person”. It takes me a while to get going – and I can’t blame this one on grief. In fact, not everyone in my history has had the patience for my early morning persona; she’s kind of high-maintenance, and needs gentle coaxing. But those who have understood this, and have loved me despite my grouchy early morning demeanor, are gems. When I was young, my dad was always really sweet to me in the mornings. My husband too, bringing me my coffee. My dog? Not so much. She doesn’t really apply that “fine touch” when it comes to waking me up.
Just making a quick blog assessment here. Down and dirty, because for some reason, my spirit feels light…and I can see out, toward the world, beyond my own nose.
I see that my posts are awfully long. And surely too heavy, wordy and dramatic. I’ll work on that.
I have a few wonderful followers, though I’d be surprised if anyone has read all my rants. No offense taken. I flit around WordPress like a distracted bee, barely capable of remembering where I found good nectar. I’m surprised, and thankful, that anyone visits.
If you happen to be one of the few, who had a lot of time on your hands, or wandered down the wormhole of my blog one sleepless night, you would know that in one post I referenced a lewd act that involved Mickey Mouse’s “extremity”.
How blasphemous! I’m surprised Disney hasn’t written a cease and desist. But I actually thought it was kind of brazen and funny. Maybe even worth a reader’s dig.
At least, in this moment of clarity, it tells me that I am still kicking.
There was a very popular WordPress blog posting a week or two ago, in which the blogger wrote about his dislike for the phrase “I’m spiritual, not religious”. I was intrigued by his post and the discourse that followed. Since the death of my husband, one of the many struggles I have had, has been with “faith” and my beliefs. I did not grow up with religion, but I have always felt spiritually connected to “something”. I remember using the same phrase years ago; it was a good way to describe myself. I am not sure I would use it now, but I was a little taken aback by the many vehement attitudes against it. The last sentence pretty much sums up the blogger’s opinion,
“It is perhaps one of the emptiest phrases ever developed in the English language.”
I see another storm coming, too. The storm of “firsts”. The initial wave already hit – my birthday – and it was crippling. It really knocked me down, and I wasn’t expecting it. But I am happy to report, that I am back up, hobbling around. For the moment. So I thought I’d take this opportunity to post something “softer” than my last rant. I actually wrote this before my birthday, before I realized just how hard some of these upcoming anniversaries would be.
The last triple date that we will experience in our lifetimes, a lovely trifecta of lucky numbers, a choice date for weddings, a golden birthday…mine. Thank god it’s over.
I’m not looking for anymore best wishes, I’m not asking for pity. I couldn’t even write on my birthday, or the day after, because I was so messed up. I just have to get this out to the universe…send my anger hurling, release the flying monkeys, spew out the poisonous agony so it doesn’t consume me.
The first snow fell today, well “official” snow, one worth mentioning. And I’m one of those kids…if they say it is going to snow during the night, I wake up every couple of hours to peek out and make sure it has started falling. Not only is it in my nature, it’s in my blood (I am part Swiss). I love snow.
So out we went, the dog and me, for our morning walk. And she kept pulling on the leash, spurting this way and that, she was excited too. I really wanted to let her go, to run free and be crazy. Because if there’s one thing about walking an excited dog on a snowy sidewalk…it’s called “dangerous”. The dog pulls, you slip, and you are on your ass. A broken ass is not a laughing matter. Not when there’s shoveling to do.
I have been lucky. My family is kind and uncomplicated. My in-laws, too. I didn’t suffer any over-blown drama with relatives, friends, or exes when my husband died. Just the rawness of people grieving. And much, much kindness from friends.
For the past 9 years, we have lived in a wonderful place, the soft, rolling, warm-hearted Midwest, salt of the earth people, indeed. I wouldn’t have wanted to be any other place during the past half year. This was our home. We would roam the ‘hood with our old dog, then with our new one, we knew people from many streets over, we paid attention to the details…changes in gardens, fences, families and pets.