About Me

My photo
Five years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

PBJ as lemming.

The spilt milk of night before last was the toe in the door for more mishaps. Yesterday as I was assembling breakfast (schmear on a cheese bagel) and lunch (PBJ), I was zipping right along. Bagel was sliced and slathered. I had spread a generous layer of peanut butter on one slice of bread. And plopped a big blob of our homemade pomegranate jelly on another.

I picked up the slice with the peanut butter, intending to set it atop the bagel so as to have more room to wield the knife in spreading the jelly. And it leaped out of my grasp, landing sunny side down on the area rug.

The cat has walked on that rug. Three second rule does not apply. New slice of bread.

Silver lining: I was able to use up the last of the peanut butter. And successfully transfer the slice atop the bagel. At which point the blob of jelly made a break for it, landing almost exactly where the bread had landed. (The second slice, however, stayed put.) And I was able to finish making my PBJ.

But wait, there's more. I've mentioned that I am taking an alternate route to work. I have been trying different approaches so as to learn where the school zones are.

Yesterday I took a new southbound street, got to my westbound street, and when I reached the southbound street I had been taking, turned south again. Because that's the street I turn south on, right?

I had driven maybe half a mile before realizing my mistake. And I didn't know how to get  from where I was to where I wanted to be, so I turned around. I still made it to work on time with time for knitting.

In other news, I faxed three smallish chunks of paperwork to the bank and successfully navigated their online application to refinance the mortgage. Exciting. And a little scary.

I'm getting another massage tonight. I seem to have worked out the kinks from climbing through the window the other night. The massive bruise above my left elbow has faded and is only barely tender.

I've managed several instances of organizational purging chez Ravelled since last week's massage. And I think I am hoping that another massage will encourage more of the same. Strengthen the body, increase the exit of toxins, boost the energy, increase the endurance, and see the increasing physical health manifested in greater order in my environment. That's the plan anyway.

I also made a quick run to the bookstore last night for a copy of C. S. Lewis' "A Grief Observed." I am not aware of feeling particularly grieve-ish. I only realized last night that Monday was exactly six months after Beloved's passing. It was simply experienced (at least consciously) as the day between Middlest's birthday and Dad’s. Yesterday I got the quarterly mailing from the funeral home, a pamphlet which is heartfelt and well-meaning but not especially well-written. And I had read a reference recently to Lewis' book about the death of his wife, Joy. So I dashed out and bought it. It's a lovely edition, made to look like an older book with deckled edges. And the foreword is by Madeleine L'Engle, another favorite.

It may turn out that I've bought the book for someone else. But for now I am going to read it and learn from it.


Kristen said...

It's a good book. So is Sunset, by S. Michael Wilcox. Heartbreaking, but good.
I had one of those kinds of mornings, involving mascara, blouse, soap and dryer.

Leslie Gladney said...

Sometimes you get to get grief out with mishaps and body wonkiness, it gives your brain something to churn on and work on the grief bits in the background. When my father died, I turned into an uber klutz, especially at my own wedding a month later. I knocked over the memorial photo three times and the bouquets for our mothers twice before I was able to sit down, have a good little hissy fit over the clumsiness and get through the rest of the wedding intact and with joy. I didn't realize until later that I had processed a lot of the anger I had been stuffing down under the sorrow by being clumsy and allowing the anger part of my grief to process through that. I was then able to release some of the pent up sorrow that had been tamped down to get through the wedding. (we couldn't reschedule, my husband's parents paid for it all, and he was starting a brand new job that needed him there, with massive overtime for the next year.)

I ended up crying my eyes out and scaring a poor little girl actor at Disneyland on our honeymoon, and releasing a lot of the sorrow then. Between the two, I processed a lot of my grief subconsciously and only realized I was doing ok afterwards.

The marriage didn't survive long, but I am eternally grateful to my ex-husband for being patient and understanding and very much present during that rough time, and dealing with the under the surface minefield that was my grief process. He made it easier for me to be a better person now.