tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67334274545053643362024-03-18T13:58:59.165-05:00Pats PostsI created this blog to record our RV trips and ;morphed into life in our retirement lane and telling my tales of life. Now my tales of life are on widowhood, my new and probably my last phase of l I have migrated to Facebook where I communicate daily, instantly with family/friends all over. I write here sometimes. COPYWRIGHT NOTICE: All photos, stories, writings on this blog are the property of myself, Patricia Morrison and may not be used, copied, without my permission most often freely given.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09093078029028920810noreply@blogger.comBlogger594125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-73802402651220192732024-03-18T13:58:00.000-05:002024-03-18T13:58:26.885-05:00Corned beef on St. Pat's Day<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> For as long as I can remember I have cooked a corned beef, cabbage, carrots, potatoes meal on St. Patrick's Day. It was one of Jerry's favorite meals and very easy, just put in the pot and boil simmer for hours in broth and dark beer. Only one year, when he was in the hospital I didn't fix it that day. I bought a corned beef dinner from a local restaurant for me. But I had the brisket in the freezer and when he was back home he wanted the corned beef dinner he'd missed in the hospital. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When we lived in CA it seemed we got better corned beef than is avaiable here, always bought Shenson's brand which has never been available in this area. Maybe it is no longer in CA either. Anyway we enjoyed the meal and Jerry looked forward the next day to a rrepeat of left overs which were always there with just two of us eating. </span></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI20JF6ZNCXI2rx_a5ScjDFj8Q5bwpeQsY3S4qsvm_Xu98hZUeRDw_1ENW2jNdgRS9I0__TFK5AHo3vsWVRbxER3jueyNJDl5FLMX7sfguFq2mXLWsOwMD3Iajt8HQF4bedG4jb0W8JG3cJ10ihtRmon6iSeF-YUZjrSShbmam-KqhW2N9bA5GR31abOVp/s3264/2024%20317%20dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI20JF6ZNCXI2rx_a5ScjDFj8Q5bwpeQsY3S4qsvm_Xu98hZUeRDw_1ENW2jNdgRS9I0__TFK5AHo3vsWVRbxER3jueyNJDl5FLMX7sfguFq2mXLWsOwMD3Iajt8HQF4bedG4jb0W8JG3cJ10ihtRmon6iSeF-YUZjrSShbmam-KqhW2N9bA5GR31abOVp/s320/2024%20317%20dinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My half eaten crned beef dinner last night</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">The past couple years, with just me now, I would find the smallest brisket and cook it, having left overs for a couple meals. This year the smallest brisket I could find wass still over 2 lbs, I decided I'd just forget about it because I did not want to eat it for weeks. Then I saw a ready made just heat and eat mel at our Festival Grocery take out deli counter and thought that would work for me. There were 3 generous slices of thick corned beef, a potato, a few carrots and some cabbage. I figured I'd add cabbage and have left over meat for a rreuben style sandwhich in a day or so. So I would once again have my corned beef and cabbage meal I thought it would be better than going to the local tavern to get take out because the noise there hurts my ears Besides there would likely be a huge crowd celebrating and drinking. Yesterday our temperatures dropped down to winter like again with a tough wind, I didn't feel like leaving the house. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When I prepared this I added ore cabbage and carrots and another tiny red potato to some beef brroth and ale,,,I did not think I should add the corned beef until near the end to just heat it. What a disappointing dinner! The most tasteless bland and tough corned beef I have ever had. I had to douse it with lots of fresh horseradish to eat it. I only ate one of the three meat slices and thought maybe with some lacey swiss cheese it would be ok on the marble rye bread for a sandwhich or two.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPNt5ofu4malSWS2soqbohV5GTMw47BK-2E1k5kTg4zKynPO5wPkaH-HgDUnD2pN84lWsxmW3MLj03meixlomka5bWfHooGL-VLGVSC-sfy9CA-1eL92YM16Y4MwkthUaoj-4n3ZXkul0uLX2Fba5PCVDsohXkZ8GK89CEfRj0gjle5iei-9cgKltV-0z/s2448/20240318_120916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2246" data-original-width="2448" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPNt5ofu4malSWS2soqbohV5GTMw47BK-2E1k5kTg4zKynPO5wPkaH-HgDUnD2pN84lWsxmW3MLj03meixlomka5bWfHooGL-VLGVSC-sfy9CA-1eL92YM16Y4MwkthUaoj-4n3ZXkul0uLX2Fba5PCVDsohXkZ8GK89CEfRj0gjle5iei-9cgKltV-0z/s320/20240318_120916.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left over corned beef and potato</td></tr></tbody></table> Today I decided it was not even going to makea decent tsting sandwhich. I was tempted to toss it but I get tired throwing out food. I do that more than ever now with just me to eat. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I decided to cut the meat up and use it in a soup. I've never made corned beef and cabbage,carrot, potato soup before. I like soups though and can always freeze some for another handy meal. So right now the soup pot is simmering and smelling aromatic. I chopped and sauteed half a small onion in butter in the pot till almost transparent, then added chopped celery, a small sweet red pepper chopped, some celery leaves and some baby carrot halved, worcestershure sauce, thyme, more beef broth, the left over ale broth from yesterday , a generous dollop of grainy heavy brown mustard because I had no mustard seeds and a couple big bay leaves. I hope this slow simmer tenderizes the meat hunks. If not the cabbage which I'll dd later and veggies will be tasty. Some rye bread and butter and I'll have a nuttritious meal. For sure by the smells already it will taste better than last night's fiasco. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3UwuNyEnScGP75vAv3ygA6s8kBaa7tFVguACme1JrKiKq1-vTLGd3BuvjNs4OLd80-UIBP-OyancOARPJAhKMY3IImZdSmjLPJ5-JU1vA4ulZOez7t9ftl70IzsizWrckkuXDuuw0dmoHRgE9Pa6Vgo6X3jTsXWcHjX9swm0JNXk-Ik8oUwJf3g9rpKx/s2540/20240318_soup%20underway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2540" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3UwuNyEnScGP75vAv3ygA6s8kBaa7tFVguACme1JrKiKq1-vTLGd3BuvjNs4OLd80-UIBP-OyancOARPJAhKMY3IImZdSmjLPJ5-JU1vA4ulZOez7t9ftl70IzsizWrckkuXDuuw0dmoHRgE9Pa6Vgo6X3jTsXWcHjX9swm0JNXk-Ik8oUwJf3g9rpKx/s320/20240318_soup%20underway.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soup's on</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Lesson earned, don't buy that again. Invite someone to dinner and cook my own. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-78364468041683997032024-02-19T13:22:00.000-06:002024-02-19T13:22:01.510-06:00Tell your story.<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> I saw this on a widows site I partiipate in on FB. It is so true, and that's why I am trying to write here again...To preserve. I continue to learn and do new things as a widow, things I never did while Jerrt was alive. He handled everything and I was content to let that be. Now, awakening. Not my preference but no other choice. When I share something with others, especially other widows and they say, me too" and add what they did it resonates with me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-MhamRGCOZZTv0unV579BMjn-OHH77QbJqBq7_mZy-ffGhmEizgudozk6XrIjulThV1gcBE8PZUB4rF5699j0X7p6r8mPAnwHIOhunJgK_lNGFRqyF32Ai4as44gEq0poKA7DvlHKl-Wdic8_9igzohsuWn1x20dSUsgFTvj6ZKRJN3_0MiwK5meFMgw/s1731/Story%20Tell%20Your.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1731" data-original-width="1556" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-MhamRGCOZZTv0unV579BMjn-OHH77QbJqBq7_mZy-ffGhmEizgudozk6XrIjulThV1gcBE8PZUB4rF5699j0X7p6r8mPAnwHIOhunJgK_lNGFRqyF32Ai4as44gEq0poKA7DvlHKl-Wdic8_9igzohsuWn1x20dSUsgFTvj6ZKRJN3_0MiwK5meFMgw/w360-h400/Story%20Tell%20Your.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial;">Tell your story</span></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-36601226474704476202024-02-18T17:33:00.046-06:002024-02-18T18:00:58.405-06:00Another hurdle jumped over<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> As a widow I have had to learn innumerable things, techniques to do tasks I never did before. Tasks I never thought about. All those things Jerry did seamlessly, easily. I was content to not know until I had to. Until I had no choice. If I was to continue living here in this lovely home I had to figure things out. There was no other choice. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> The last thing I want to do is become a pest to the good friends who stuck with me, who continued to care and be here while others vanished. But that's another story, the vanishing. This couple always say, "call anytime, we will be there, don't struggle.." Sometimes I do prevail on them, like changing my smoke/ CO2 detector/alarms in the ceiling when their lifeexpectancy reached the end, alerting me by chirping constantly. First he came disconnected it, returned another day after I got replacements and reinstalled new ones. I cannot reach those in the ceiling, even on a step ladder, so called Gary. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometimes if they haven't heard from me they call or drop by just to see. Gary has opened jars for me when I cannot. I hesitate to buy the jars of olives and marinated mushrooms, because I don't want to bother him, but he laughs. Judy has rescued me when I locked myself out of the house, unknowingly, accidentally by bringing over the house key. They live nearby, a few blocks away and I do not know what I'd do without them. Others have family to rely on, I do not.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I do hire a handyman for bigger things like back deck repair, etc. And thankfully here I have reliable trustworthy people to call for repairs too. </span></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xDXXbvZgnlszCSoH6YBr_TV2qcIMrPKldEr-r-QfdoAbChs2W_H4elLf6Wm6SXQnZSp7EYyhfck_rOognfD1DarrmluGtnnoSt7uOuyWLPfecxAwd7njcAzixcsWp1NMeGLX2QIc8Cmmr8G5-enyZV5k0AeD4L4s8JONjnTAKkgOeVnnYKDJGCGbrKmP/s3264/2024%202%2018_Refrigerator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xDXXbvZgnlszCSoH6YBr_TV2qcIMrPKldEr-r-QfdoAbChs2W_H4elLf6Wm6SXQnZSp7EYyhfck_rOognfD1DarrmluGtnnoSt7uOuyWLPfecxAwd7njcAzixcsWp1NMeGLX2QIc8Cmmr8G5-enyZV5k0AeD4L4s8JONjnTAKkgOeVnnYKDJGCGbrKmP/s320/2024%202%2018_Refrigerator.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">New Whirlpool frig<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"> But so much for all that background, today I noticed a red warning light on the refrigerator freezer door controls to change the water filter, I had a new one ready that I'd purchased from Whirlpool. I bought this new Whirlpool refrigerator last August. Instructions recommend changing the water filter every 6 months. But with just me here, mostly, I figured I could wait another month or so. But the refrigerator disagreed. Our former GE Profile could keep the same filter for nearly a year. We have good clean pure city treated water. Ok so I'm ready to do this and get rid of the red light. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The instructions on the filter indicate it is in the right corner inside the refrigerator, but inside mine nothing. WTH? I close and open the door a couple times incase I'mmissing something,,same, nothing. No water filter to be changed? WTH?. So I'm thinking I'll have to call Gary later or even worse the local refrigerator repaorman who is reasonable but would surely have to charge me something. Then Idecide to get the manual. I look inside about water filter, same instructuons! WTH again? Then I notice a Section 2 for refrigerators like this model with red light indicator on the door. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZ1J1oiYyrCWskSxtB1kHCbzb-yv1j3AwrlTDpZ74kKBWcKyeGQmtL6_dfSBnX_sZyKNPi7C0yd7x5SEIjg9nrnvu1Z_7wKomAfbwH3Yq7Emy5PLV4wJ9pz38_t8BPqRX1DctOPlGLEYuSiydV9W4VB4BmiZIJzMLICRHutr3neyPVI5GdS_DkdLCDbFc/s3264/20240218_093319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZ1J1oiYyrCWskSxtB1kHCbzb-yv1j3AwrlTDpZ74kKBWcKyeGQmtL6_dfSBnX_sZyKNPi7C0yd7x5SEIjg9nrnvu1Z_7wKomAfbwH3Yq7Emy5PLV4wJ9pz38_t8BPqRX1DctOPlGLEYuSiydV9W4VB4BmiZIJzMLICRHutr3neyPVI5GdS_DkdLCDbFc/s320/20240218_093319.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> And there is another instructuion. Aha, the water filter on this is on the base! Thart's different. I get down on the floor and find tthe little door but realize I can't fully open it to eject the filter. Hmm? Don't tell me the freezer door blocks it! So I pen the freezer door and victory I can open the filter cartridge door. I do, it ejects the old cartridgee. I open the new one insert it and feel I have earned my 2nd cup of coffee and maybe another donut! Victory dance and proud of me. As we widows say among ourselves, a YAY ME MOMENT!!</span><p></p><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-47066395481442193002024-02-17T13:54:00.004-06:002024-02-18T12:09:00.734-06:00Comic actions unintended<span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday I went to our local hardware store intown to get batteries replaced in my remote control for the back sunporch blinds. I could not get the back off the contraption. Since the directions said it would take two watch batteries and the local hardware store is where I always get my watch batteries replaced, I figured they would help me. Sure enough the woman at the counter did and then asked if there was anything else.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwT5-hGOMMEBYaE7F5pLhLiNTr6Wyj25JTqKqH-r0w1cwQMOckpScQunrZWupyDTJNnMUgIF7zPLx1tIWfy0pVy86vv1QKELOkOPEkKyHFdYdMtKFw7bzl4gKvLfxwBrf9JjE6-MiVi8EBXAwR7Mmx6KaPF8XNF1nsWgqDyfayILN-mOnkmKFLO9r0sGv/s4000/20240217_131810.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwT5-hGOMMEBYaE7F5pLhLiNTr6Wyj25JTqKqH-r0w1cwQMOckpScQunrZWupyDTJNnMUgIF7zPLx1tIWfy0pVy86vv1QKELOkOPEkKyHFdYdMtKFw7bzl4gKvLfxwBrf9JjE6-MiVi8EBXAwR7Mmx6KaPF8XNF1nsWgqDyfayILN-mOnkmKFLO9r0sGv/s320/20240217_131810.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> I said I needed a C battery for an old clock at home but didn't find it there among all the batteries they had. I said I would have to go home and check for sure and just come back. She asked if I was needing a C or D and I replied, "C" She asked me to show her where I looked and that they usually had C batteries. I continued my chattering as we went to the battery display. "I need a C but you only have C2 or C4 and I'm not sure." I pointed to the packages. And she very courteously told me the 2 and 4 were only the number of the batteries in the packages, they were C batteries. I smacked myself upside my forehead and grinned. Who knew? Obviously not me. I attribute this to widow brain fog a condition that seems to emerge every so often even after 3 years., When Jerry was alive and I did something this lame he'd laugh and shake his head. I bet that the hardware store lady had a good laugh the rest of the day telling this story! </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">One of my widow friends laughed with me and said she would have done the same thing, reminded me that we have lifetimes of things to learn now that our husbands always handled. So true, no wonder we get confused. AND +: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdQq9LiD1cp_1ol2P6-4J6Vbi4MQKonLbXyBSc0MTeQ5vtIWs16Ea8ZD1n86920CHI7t0UGKpdwKayWbpZ-mrlosPO9jQJrehS83KdXeTXouiBpIEC9pv-lSLCeki8OxeOUftDjapNh5aJ5qkZppgNI2MX75cKj_y-OoJOuaAtMMbZQv5UkavD02QLGrY7/s1248/FB_IMG_1708271324161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="1248" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdQq9LiD1cp_1ol2P6-4J6Vbi4MQKonLbXyBSc0MTeQ5vtIWs16Ea8ZD1n86920CHI7t0UGKpdwKayWbpZ-mrlosPO9jQJrehS83KdXeTXouiBpIEC9pv-lSLCeki8OxeOUftDjapNh5aJ5qkZppgNI2MX75cKj_y-OoJOuaAtMMbZQv5UkavD02QLGrY7/w400-h369/FB_IMG_1708271324161.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></span></div>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-14566565309255942702024-02-08T14:30:00.002-06:002024-02-08T14:38:45.523-06:00Puzzles, perceptions, reality/<p> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKTpgAeOBv7U7UEnlooHfJSiK1MiBgcEXCD0mZfBNlpcLBRqPCjGfPTscyduqCEE5W0IUPNryUJiWEOABTVRmjUGvOzDVFSsZquL7Vjr5NIH2ae7Ym4gS2kl3YdhoSU8u4X_Fp4vA5-FyJEr4QLUWz7E2-4xmguOJ2B66L1Hi3NO2JeGVbbx9fX8OLOO2/s960/2018%203%2016%20Jerry%20studies%20new%20puzzle%20%20edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJKTpgAeOBv7U7UEnlooHfJSiK1MiBgcEXCD0mZfBNlpcLBRqPCjGfPTscyduqCEE5W0IUPNryUJiWEOABTVRmjUGvOzDVFSsZquL7Vjr5NIH2ae7Ym4gS2kl3YdhoSU8u4X_Fp4vA5-FyJEr4QLUWz7E2-4xmguOJ2B66L1Hi3NO2JeGVbbx9fX8OLOO2/s320/2018%203%2016%20Jerry%20studies%20new%20puzzle%20%20edit.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2018 3 16 Jerry starts a new jigsaw puzzle. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I have never been a fan of jigsaw puzzles like so many are around here especially in winter. Jerry liked them too. I found them frustrating. I might try to get a few pieces in place but really was not interested enough to keep at it. Short attention span? Maybe ,but concentrating on shapes and fitting them didn't appeal to me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> Now words puzz;es like word search, jumble, even crosswords and I'm in. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I have been doing Wordle on line daiy now for over a year. I lost my original statistics when I had the laptop hard drive replaced. Don't understand why since it was online with the Wordle site, but it happbed. So I resumed and began again. But this time I am using online hints before I try my Wordle solution. Onesource I use is Forbes which has ahint and clue, sometimes neither arehelpful to me. But along with the Wrdle hunt there is commentary and a weekly puzzle. Sometimes these are not of interest to me but today this solution to yesterday's puzzle was interesting. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYo7OGG-L9NI9it8vUT2SJMBzzuSMfSk2o2T3RAJk4elqusFq_ePna8ylqEL2TTNQX77for5ZJKh1PkxlLGBR5pbnxaDYYAaWZXKcg7IlKnTejrEyMLqIoOtjjbty1PzTfP-g6InJF5npV4H2SnHY_8L2H6AWLMeLPjnrTvDqezNQcvVtEbGCtKJd5StJa/s959/Puzzle%20illusion.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="729" data-original-width="959" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYo7OGG-L9NI9it8vUT2SJMBzzuSMfSk2o2T3RAJk4elqusFq_ePna8ylqEL2TTNQX77for5ZJKh1PkxlLGBR5pbnxaDYYAaWZXKcg7IlKnTejrEyMLqIoOtjjbty1PzTfP-g6InJF5npV4H2SnHY_8L2H6AWLMeLPjnrTvDqezNQcvVtEbGCtKJd5StJa/w400-h304/Puzzle%20illusion.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Which square is darker A or B?<br /><br /><br /><br /></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7k7DI0VjTrgRTlGrdDB8NZNeff4O7UwizNgN52gyVP1f10t_iR7zdYH3o_N783NyO_cnCzG00-t_6d_ZOm4gAQxA5L0P4TKJiRb5ODX1XFFeEOpsmU3lDOg6i8oMPcmcB7FjYDoEe4QBNy-9w76qisL86hXAVYXmAgw0vA3Ge8gM0bo0XXUxOARkCSRB/s958/Puzz;e%20illusion%20result.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="958" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7k7DI0VjTrgRTlGrdDB8NZNeff4O7UwizNgN52gyVP1f10t_iR7zdYH3o_N783NyO_cnCzG00-t_6d_ZOm4gAQxA5L0P4TKJiRb5ODX1XFFeEOpsmU3lDOg6i8oMPcmcB7FjYDoEe4QBNy-9w76qisL86hXAVYXmAgw0vA3Ge8gM0bo0XXUxOARkCSRB/w400-h310/Puzz;e%20illusion%20result.webp" width="400" /></a></div><b>Answer, neither. It is an optical illusion</b><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I still cannot see it as an illusion, I'm convinced A is dark and B is light. Apparently my perceptions rule reality. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 18px; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">This is called the Checker Shadow Illusion and was created by MIT professor of vision science, Edward H. Adelson, back in 1995. While the ‘A’ square appears darker, it’s just an optical illusion. If you printed this image both squares would use the identical mixture of ink and are displayed with pixels of the same exact color, which is rather astonishing. Just looking at the first picture, I still can’t make my brain accept that they’re the same. Wild! It just goes to show how much our perception of things influences how we think about them—and how unreliable our senses truly are. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 18px; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-81324256852220740572024-01-25T16:06:00.001-06:002024-01-25T16:06:39.682-06:00Life goes on and so do I<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJ99wIqTuwQYXAMGhDlRpxuB_jnPu73yPjq-7kClpFUyIiB7kKN10IRXI5VhIIWXlPtZ0ACtjOoPavyeYHf8YjXHL1VAnqy7hBZbL5iYwk9aT1y056nxGIB-MAOwMNDMNIWCKk6yvvnRUV8lYUp69Ij-UPWMQhwCGs3Z1ZtQ2ZubdJuX1UVUOlC7xQl3x/s1381/2017%2010%2020%2050th%20at%20Sullivans%20crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1381" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJ99wIqTuwQYXAMGhDlRpxuB_jnPu73yPjq-7kClpFUyIiB7kKN10IRXI5VhIIWXlPtZ0ACtjOoPavyeYHf8YjXHL1VAnqy7hBZbL5iYwk9aT1y056nxGIB-MAOwMNDMNIWCKk6yvvnRUV8lYUp69Ij-UPWMQhwCGs3Z1ZtQ2ZubdJuX1UVUOlC7xQl3x/s320/2017%2010%2020%2050th%20at%20Sullivans%20crop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">This picture was on October 20, 2017, our 50th anniversary at Sullivans in Trempeleau for dinner. That was a couple months over 7 years ago and my eyes had that sparkle. I was always a joyful person. I was "bubbly" my aunt said, always happy. I used to giggle at nothing. I laughed easily. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Today I know I live in a new reality as a widow. My life is "good", I am financially secure, hve a beautiful home, a couple very dependable local friends whom I can call on any time for anything, and am active in my church, my faith is solid. I haveoutstanding medical care thru Mayo, our PCP is a friend as well as a doctor. My local attorney,the same. And my financial advisor has been trustworthy all along, have known him since we moved here. Lots to be thankful for, Multitudes of blessings. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yet my eyes no longer have that sparkle, After Jerry passed in Decemer 2020, my spark went out. I didn't realize it at the time although I knew I was in a different solo flight part of life now. I handled everything that needed to be done and everyone complimented me on how well I was doing. I often said in reply to those comments, "I had no other choice." And that was the truth. No one but me to handle me and everything. I convinced Jerry in his final weeks that I would be ok. I was relieved to hear he believed me when one day he said, "you are going to be just fine, you are strong, you are secure, you will make it." I had assurred him so he could let go peacefully because I knew he was worried as hell about me. So many people told me these past fewyears that he asked them to "watch over Pat for me," Some did, like champs. Others have vanished like ghost wisps. That happens, people go on with their own lives in their own worlds. Many widows experience that. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOhSToNsoJ3wZldxg86L3mZCHUJQSEpoKJ8o9FdVXVolZdosftZpn0vppP-Z4dwu_q7V4Pq6Iygd_VFgNC4Q2yrWw3-BhzjR59yt2iZ7Tuxl05hCAkcKCrq1zrlBdB8_ed8qlmSqcwQZKf8cwfIQDnx2DTqQ3kh-trocRxXsFvTs0F68iIBhcPnRLgJx6/s3768/20240%201%208%20from%20Aug%2023%20ME.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3768" data-original-width="2553" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOhSToNsoJ3wZldxg86L3mZCHUJQSEpoKJ8o9FdVXVolZdosftZpn0vppP-Z4dwu_q7V4Pq6Iygd_VFgNC4Q2yrWw3-BhzjR59yt2iZ7Tuxl05hCAkcKCrq1zrlBdB8_ed8qlmSqcwQZKf8cwfIQDnx2DTqQ3kh-trocRxXsFvTs0F68iIBhcPnRLgJx6/s320/20240%201%208%20from%20Aug%2023%20ME.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I grew up with widows around and no one ignored them, relatives, friends. Life and people were different. In my early grief I could hear my mother's words to me about disappointments that I considered tragic especially in my teen years, "you are not the only one in the world that happens to. You're not the first, you won't be the last. Get over it. Don't pout." When she became a widow she said almost the same to me, "I'm not the only widow in the worldd, I'm not the first, I won't be the last." She well knew from her own life because she was a very young 20 year old widow pregnant with me when my father's plane disappeared in June 1944, WWII, months before my birth. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So why lately has it begun to bother me that my eyes no longer have their sparkle? I find times of enjoyment, But I'm just not the same. I know I'm different. I think I'm fine just wistful. This photo was taken August 2023 on a nasty hat day for our church directory. About the last thing I wanted to do that day was have my picture taken. My SIL was here from CO with her partner and their 2 dogs. But I got ready and went. I kept my jean shorts on because I knew it would only be a head shot. Later I realized I had worn the very same top as in 2017 when we had photos taken fr the last dieectory. One of those of Jerry and me is to the side. I orderd many because it was our 50th anniversary year. This time I had no need and just got a few wallet sized to send to friends arund the country in Christmas cards. People I do not see and who are not on Facebook with me. But people with whom I've kept in touch over years. Rhe number of those has decreased as many have passed on. Yet I am here, I am a survivor. Without the sparkle in the eyes, but making it. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbxQ9Hb9QsYGtA35Mdb2XZEqq_aGdiiwvOm1paUhXKzzl2a7_rh-b-zzpty_zBiPh1DhcsWHVrjbRoEcdR5itWyRMKHl6H28tJTV1-WoUErmwHlLn9Y_NDmNi-6RC2CGnX5ZtjXBh-DxVUFi9J_frNJuc2Vd9yv2V6pVI0wXI_xItMf29UsPJfiPfeic_/s1280/Best%20vwesion%20of%20yourself.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbxQ9Hb9QsYGtA35Mdb2XZEqq_aGdiiwvOm1paUhXKzzl2a7_rh-b-zzpty_zBiPh1DhcsWHVrjbRoEcdR5itWyRMKHl6H28tJTV1-WoUErmwHlLn9Y_NDmNi-6RC2CGnX5ZtjXBh-DxVUFi9J_frNJuc2Vd9yv2V6pVI0wXI_xItMf29UsPJfiPfeic_/w400-h266/Best%20vwesion%20of%20yourself.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-84892503092477501332024-01-01T16:30:00.000-06:002024-01-01T16:30:31.464-06:00New Year 2024 First Day of the year<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfxY7cd3ZavjYOgFElrLHEJ7DlHh350aTbe963gBF3nFN7inVdtC_5eslBBpJ3fYzk6y8YUHh3aE2kF9Qt6ZdWIiubb1OJ3ZAIY5dF4od0qwT4Pfnzt42Sg4WadOtqj4CEeEGRNJH8Sc-OmYXuXQiYJsTWMUzH_pKfQWPD2jtpbCFzzRaW74FjxcTX5h2/s4000/2024%201%201%20New%20Year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfxY7cd3ZavjYOgFElrLHEJ7DlHh350aTbe963gBF3nFN7inVdtC_5eslBBpJ3fYzk6y8YUHh3aE2kF9Qt6ZdWIiubb1OJ3ZAIY5dF4od0qwT4Pfnzt42Sg4WadOtqj4CEeEGRNJH8Sc-OmYXuXQiYJsTWMUzH_pKfQWPD2jtpbCFzzRaW74FjxcTX5h2/w400-h300/2024%201%201%20New%20Year.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">First day of a new year and it is grey, we seem to be in a tristate cloud cover. MN, WI, IA all clouds. Yet, at least no snow, other than a few crunchy spots residue from yesterday morning's early hours dusting. Did not have to be shoveled for which I am also grateful. In October, following the startling, to me, snow dump on Halloween I thought we would be in for an awful dose of whiteness all winter. So far I have been wrong, which is fine with me. But I still fear we haven't seen the last, this is MN after all. And it is darned cold. Today we never hit the 30 degree mark. That foiled my resolution to start the year off with a walk. Well maybe tomorrow, if we get some sunshine. The farthest I've walked to day is across the street to church before and after mass from my car in the parking lot. It was not a day of obligation but if I could be up and ready for 9 o'clock mass I intended to go, a good way to start a new year. I made it but without my routine and without my coffee. It was worth it. When I returned home I still thought the sun might shine through today and surely I'd get in a short walk at least, but not to be. I tested myself by bundling up and taking the veggie skins and an eggshell to dump back below the pole shed where I've been throwing landfill stuff like that and leaves in the fall. Maybe in spring I'll have Beuhler bring in a load of dirt to put over the debris to help it decompose. Will see. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> This coldness and grayness could give me the "gloomies" if I thought too much on it. So I won't. After all yesterday was my final of 365 days reading through the entire Catechism on line, You Tube with Father Mike Schmidt and Ascension. I am very proud of myself for accomplishing that! I wondered last January 1 when I began if I would have the stick to it I'd need and I did! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Well here it is, another year. Let's make it the best that we can. I'm not doing resolutions, haven't for years. I will remain the me that I am. I am not familiar with F>M>Knowles, but sounds like my kind of person. </span></p><h2 class="css-13wrog e1tmud0h8" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Neutra, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 1.9375rem; grid-area: title; line-height: 1.1; margin: 0.625rem 0rem 1rem; order: 0; padding-left: 0rem; padding-right: 0rem;">F.M. Knowles: <i>He who breaks a resolution is a weakling; He who makes one is a fool.</i></h2>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-16873925172154464422023-12-25T14:16:00.000-06:002023-12-25T14:16:04.004-06:00Christmas 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-S5ooKmro-sUT9Mh_BcVGy7ydgbJlOFn9r4CfCxJzkQ2-Dbw9JN9FemigN60bxUvYnCmwkanZ-Jf5vtyIsAf38UN8AifbLKT36WnZDx-bKSx3LXiYEeMz66-qNrE2vBvZcKm_SAK8w9HmZuSG3qMmy4DH7BHBJsRBOZvmn-z31-oma2rQCtKvl2BcKMsZ/s1898/2023%20Manger%20001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1898" data-original-width="1250" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-S5ooKmro-sUT9Mh_BcVGy7ydgbJlOFn9r4CfCxJzkQ2-Dbw9JN9FemigN60bxUvYnCmwkanZ-Jf5vtyIsAf38UN8AifbLKT36WnZDx-bKSx3LXiYEeMz66-qNrE2vBvZcKm_SAK8w9HmZuSG3qMmy4DH7BHBJsRBOZvmn-z31-oma2rQCtKvl2BcKMsZ/w264-h400/2023%20Manger%20001.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGiJgzJGI2r06TLy51Gf6JGrtWwcAcxYGrAjyrgpO8wcJCYrldP6D32BF-EvmIxuioi-7UbHGQFivrpyPJ4xvwPeaKw1V634I1h0_5PLdKMt2PowTcaAvud4qZDqX2ye2bKy-3Xn3o0ZeTywiGNqKguzHjtY9P_F0cx8FhQtPt72Mw9Xm5Z8dj8tRNKuzX/s1081/2023%20Christmas%20greeting%20001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="585" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGiJgzJGI2r06TLy51Gf6JGrtWwcAcxYGrAjyrgpO8wcJCYrldP6D32BF-EvmIxuioi-7UbHGQFivrpyPJ4xvwPeaKw1V634I1h0_5PLdKMt2PowTcaAvud4qZDqX2ye2bKy-3Xn3o0ZeTywiGNqKguzHjtY9P_F0cx8FhQtPt72Mw9Xm5Z8dj8tRNKuzX/w216-h400/2023%20Christmas%20greeting%20001.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Another Christmas, alone. Grey and wet outside, but at least to me it is preferable to snow. I think after 40+ years in northern CA I got used to no snow, yet here we/ umm I mean I now live in MN. Do I miss CA? Nope not even on my worst day. Best thing we ever did, moving away when we did. Yet when Jerry decided it I thought he was kidding. I am ever thankful he was serious. Yet today again, Monday, no sunshine no sun since Thursday? I know Friday was grey. So I got a dose from my Happy light next to the downstairs PC where I am consigned to work online until the laptop that I so conveniently use upstairs is repaired or replaced. I will set a nice setting for myself at my dining room table and dine on beef filet tenderloin, twice baked potato, asparagus and green salad and wine. How I miss the hustle and bustle of Christmases of the past where I wore myself out into a tizzy cooking, baking, wrapping presents, decorating and all that over the top activity. Life has changed and now this is my new normal. </span></div>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-74527862733199735022023-12-24T15:19:00.001-06:002023-12-24T15:19:56.487-06:00We can decide<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcU14Db_UOhhfS7xRj8p-bgI2sSgpb8yqxZ0hf_3iR5X65RZMhUQUigvOpTmq8ZYLBMNKPyky6848BzBcoovGOeuRxrgICdWVCFiZgZkObwyf3zHS5S9hMYJuWo7XfwsWIDmpl7jy2ctNhYC3SQSPZNpehyphenhypheneCW_W3K_kRv8dEWq3RtpFR0aAP-ACDDXgij/s831/2023%20Christmas%20Eve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="831" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcU14Db_UOhhfS7xRj8p-bgI2sSgpb8yqxZ0hf_3iR5X65RZMhUQUigvOpTmq8ZYLBMNKPyky6848BzBcoovGOeuRxrgICdWVCFiZgZkObwyf3zHS5S9hMYJuWo7XfwsWIDmpl7jy2ctNhYC3SQSPZNpehyphenhypheneCW_W3K_kRv8dEWq3RtpFR0aAP-ACDDXgij/s320/2023%20Christmas%20Eve.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I posted this on my FB today and since I am just marking time this afternoon and having the inconvenience of using the downstairs PC I thought it a good time to post here to keep this blog alive. Yesterday my laptop went bonkers, when I tried to start her all I got was a black screen with computerized messages, "Boot drive not found." etc blah blah. I tried running diagnostics which indicated the laptop passed. I unplugged and restarted her, nope, same junk. </span> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Well I can get by with my tablet and this PC so it is not the end of the world, but an annoyance. So this morning I took her to the Geeks at Best Buy where she will get a once over and hopefully restoration. If not I;ll buy a new laptop because it is convenient to have that upstairs off the side of the kitchen. The rep at the Geek counter complimented me on my "positive good attitude" he said most would be upset about their computer. I had to tell him, "well not me. Not with what I've lived through, it's going to take more than a computer to dim any more Christmases' for me. I've been thru worse." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It's true lost Steve 15 years ago in December and Jerry 3 years ago in December. I'm still surviving, and doing really well. That come only from Grace of God and my deep rooted lifelong faith. I no longer say, "Next?" nor do I say "Hit me with your best shot." That's already happened, over, done with. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As this image portrays we can decide. I have decided long ago to accept and go on ahead. So inconvenienced, but I'll get by. They sent me an email to pick her up Tuesdau at 12:40PM, so that must be good. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We have had a December with very little snow and I am happy about it. Though I dislioke our grey dreary days like yesterday, and today, it is better than shoveling snow to me. Almost reminds me of Christmas in northern CA. But not fully. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I'll be at 8:00PM mass this Eve. Lector again, I haven't had a mass to just sit in the pews since maybe September. Seems I am a full time lector. I have trained others but they migrate to Sundays. Well as my cousin reminded me, "this is Your Gift to share. And it's as close as you get to altar girl." Recalling my nerve back in the 50's at wanting to be an altar girl. That was unheard of, no such thing, only altar boys. It put the nuns and others on edge and made my grandma tell me, "don't argue with the sisters Patty." " I wasn't arguing, I was only asking a q<span>uestion." That was not encouraged back there and then. Mom shrugged it off, she knew me, she knew I ask whatever I think. I was unfiltered., She blamed my grandma for spoiling me that way. I had forgotten all about my stir that gave the family and beyond something to talk about until Lawrence reminded me. Today we have altar girls too. I was ahead of the curve.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-79970561998069399312023-10-02T16:49:00.001-05:002023-10-02T16:49:16.061-05:00UPDATE to keep active<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> And so just incase I'd get a google inactivity flag, here I go with a nothing post. It is supposed to be fall here, but we have a resurgence of heat, another hot couple days. Today I was out back blowing leaves down the hill and shook my head, I felt rain drops? Looked up to the sky and realized this is what happened several times through the summer, sweat from my head and brow! This is October 2...proving to me I made the right decision not to move south into perpetual summer. I do not like hot weather. I like 4 seasons even though here the final one, the winter can drag on too long. I hope we soon turn into crisp cooler fall temps before we plunge deep into the cold times. I know I vowed this past winter which went on forever to not complain when it got warm, but this has not been a MN summer. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Changes changes, below is a photo of the side vintage hydrangea tree on this day in 2016 and below it is a photo of it today. It is fading away. Next year I have to have the landscaper get and plant a new one for me. This year I put in a tree outback, Japanese lilac. It will never replace the wonderful big old ash trees we used to enjoy before we had to take them down due to emerald ash borer. The 2016 photo shows one old ash and the 2023 photo below shows the new garden chain link fence.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ogJMfLQWbXUUk01TnmeR5DAmVmVxawaQMPVnXXsj1fAJCMeGGlSvDa4mnROk4wB0IPB6k5OsiTTBuSv3UQ0DQ9gkLwFTHA8dgj5MGczDZzj_BswseShoM246zVR8sVy_Aqu6FPqD-Yn-t5zxEu7jHyAI6aM5hDj8Z4F3taBVi-7o7RxqUNQLWyXlOACD/s3264/20231002_155451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ogJMfLQWbXUUk01TnmeR5DAmVmVxawaQMPVnXXsj1fAJCMeGGlSvDa4mnROk4wB0IPB6k5OsiTTBuSv3UQ0DQ9gkLwFTHA8dgj5MGczDZzj_BswseShoM246zVR8sVy_Aqu6FPqD-Yn-t5zxEu7jHyAI6aM5hDj8Z4F3taBVi-7o7RxqUNQLWyXlOACD/s320/20231002_155451.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fxu82Mds3ixgcVx24DfQmfL4sNs65yjUzGke2dXx-d-Qyj3_I4MM2GIHk4OcSMnL2r67pQGTSBrWLgEvJQ2h_f1Anb13HQ1QEyW0jhtZNmrcsdbKnwLStovHvG1V7F0Sgei_IK13l93ubQqcw0iWt7__sVNSVK6AWXCbNs25f7dTGW_zD6fOWlk105WE/s960/2016%20Oct%202%20side%20hydrangea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="960" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fxu82Mds3ixgcVx24DfQmfL4sNs65yjUzGke2dXx-d-Qyj3_I4MM2GIHk4OcSMnL2r67pQGTSBrWLgEvJQ2h_f1Anb13HQ1QEyW0jhtZNmrcsdbKnwLStovHvG1V7F0Sgei_IK13l93ubQqcw0iWt7__sVNSVK6AWXCbNs25f7dTGW_zD6fOWlk105WE/w400-h220/2016%20Oct%202%20side%20hydrangea.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> In August SIL came to visit from CO and raved about the side hydrangea which I know is looking older, more tired, just not as it used to be. I found a photo of it August 2015 below.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7jwzkz3iu92MaR4jbDvTNmZVDH4vJkBbPpaTR6hvn_MRjnY5CpwDJcOsugvzM6jZi_pk8qnMgQ4MwvY9DzlGylamgQbLhb4XZql8Wwh_FQ2SiFBAflVlLbP_s0ZPIizYJxmZJf4HYoy7gt5KRsCt2Q5_eyOaC5jXVG2o2MGgPfK2epxZYIs5CgAlzcmH/s960/FB_IMG_1691767787651%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7jwzkz3iu92MaR4jbDvTNmZVDH4vJkBbPpaTR6hvn_MRjnY5CpwDJcOsugvzM6jZi_pk8qnMgQ4MwvY9DzlGylamgQbLhb4XZql8Wwh_FQ2SiFBAflVlLbP_s0ZPIizYJxmZJf4HYoy7gt5KRsCt2Q5_eyOaC5jXVG2o2MGgPfK2epxZYIs5CgAlzcmH/w220-h400/FB_IMG_1691767787651%20(2).jpg" width="220" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And as blogger and maybe google are acting up that is it for this update for me</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-76842692642388660412023-08-11T16:11:00.000-05:002023-08-11T16:11:55.617-05:00Don't want to be deleted by Google, so....<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHL2aNkCPuw59c9YbCDsleA7rI0f8WNIoP2PlV1D6qfnZGim6RnYeH_QVRON6ql9rKIEz5BCiE6ygqNvL0wuILbOHRYD59lZF8enNOJuQrA9qp-sTEi6TEsAVJl7EW1dSpmGpDcFESvyGrj44qE97D4Q68bvYjiqIcMuEw5dRM3W66epfWyk09U6CTpIrr/s2293/Im%20not%20cut%20out%20for%20this%20001%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2293" data-original-width="1644" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHL2aNkCPuw59c9YbCDsleA7rI0f8WNIoP2PlV1D6qfnZGim6RnYeH_QVRON6ql9rKIEz5BCiE6ygqNvL0wuILbOHRYD59lZF8enNOJuQrA9qp-sTEi6TEsAVJl7EW1dSpmGpDcFESvyGrj44qE97D4Q68bvYjiqIcMuEw5dRM3W66epfWyk09U6CTpIrr/s320/Im%20not%20cut%20out%20for%20this%20001%20(2).jpg" width="229" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"> Received an email from Google today that mentioned deletion of any account which remains inactive for 2 years. Although I seldom blog here anymore, thought I should sign on and enter something. Part of the notice:</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-family: Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">"Therefore, we are updating the </span><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://notifications.google.com/g/p/ANiao5qitatjJ5NA_0agGrFegnjw-HPaHebay-cG_Z__A7zZ1_qe5juXKQS1phmHnXPl7QaSpw24QJfW7olS_TLnL48qM43qEXzzRwLadYUoy8nPum1rLVBzKrFmxzsP3n_EoLWL_qAsrtaUB4vnzLmWJMR80-JtqSgL1oQHBeVhCGDEFaATHFZxsv3Vi0ztYC5qPjg2U2trkKoFTklGjilMXrILUqaJuRRFZ7pmgYdWjVx_-Q&source=gmail&ust=1691873835006000&usg=AOvVaw0jdzOHsuP6ZYLL03AA4ucq" href="https://notifications.google.com/g/p/ANiao5qitatjJ5NA_0agGrFegnjw-HPaHebay-cG_Z__A7zZ1_qe5juXKQS1phmHnXPl7QaSpw24QJfW7olS_TLnL48qM43qEXzzRwLadYUoy8nPum1rLVBzKrFmxzsP3n_EoLWL_qAsrtaUB4vnzLmWJMR80-JtqSgL1oQHBeVhCGDEFaATHFZxsv3Vi0ztYC5qPjg2U2trkKoFTklGjilMXrILUqaJuRRFZ7pmgYdWjVx_-Q" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">inactivity period</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-family: Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> for a Google Account to two years across all our products and services. This change starts rolling out today and will apply to any Google Account that’s been inactive, meaning it has not been signed into or used within a two-year period. An inactive account and any content in it will be eligible for deletion from December 1, 2023."</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #5f6368; font-family: Roboto, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">My book blog, the other blog I set up to track the books and authors I read had something bizarre happen. All the photos and sidebar labels, photos there were discarded. I still do not know how that happened., Maybe when I didn't read one of these Google emails and just deleted. Anyway I am so disgusted to have lost all of that from the blog which had been ongoing for several years. No way can I reconstruct it nor do I have time to do so. So now I just try to post the book, author and very brief commentary about it and will go forward. Most of my postings are on Facebook because that is where I have interaction with people I know all over the country and some outside the country too. Blogging fell by the wayside. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #5f6368; font-family: Roboto, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">Yet when I read that today I did not want to lose this too. So posting here and this should show my activity. For now. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-family: Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-family: Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-family: Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-5904202569716164922021-08-01T15:04:00.000-05:002021-08-01T15:04:40.323-05:00She Is Me<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipw6p3NsImec7XLPQ1JNBuZiaVX4P5uak4tTIj6Xc5m2OLp117WPg01CgDIr0FwzRDjppD-3TWGRgqOW7fWCpfdLNo02KFezXJx8tTANSvN3RIa4Z1ZIp1bM0cafcoYYqe8nZ4VtTAaqUa/s1107/she+is+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1107" data-original-width="950" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipw6p3NsImec7XLPQ1JNBuZiaVX4P5uak4tTIj6Xc5m2OLp117WPg01CgDIr0FwzRDjppD-3TWGRgqOW7fWCpfdLNo02KFezXJx8tTANSvN3RIa4Z1ZIp1bM0cafcoYYqe8nZ4VtTAaqUa/s320/she+is+me.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">My cousin sent me this and the more I see it the more I know this is me. I have gotten through, I did not know there was a choice. One cannot just lay down nor wallow, nor give up. Humans are not like a flower done blooming that can wilt away although I sure have wished I could at times. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Overall I am doing quite well since Jerry passed in December, medically the stress of all this has not harmed me, my doctors are pleased. My annual cardiologist check up went very well, Those are good, I am somehow working it through. But the last couple days, for no particular reason, I seem to backslide. I have read/heard that grief is like that, just about the time you think you are in smooth waters, smooth easier sailing, watch out here comes a wave. Strange feelings, for me as I am noticing this aloneness. When I come in from outside weeding and trimming, there is no one to say, "ok, you have done enough for one day, done now.." so I have to tell that to myself. I think about my friends who were single and who lived alone, the closest are gone now too. But they managed OK. How did they do that? Was it because that was ll they knew. They had nothing to get really used to. One lived with her aging parents and after they passed she stayed in the family home and continued on with life.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Maybe if you are not used to someone else being part of life, considering and making decisions, companionship, comfort, love and 53 + years together being solitary does not seem different. But for me it's major. I miss him at pre dinner cocktail time when he'd have a beer and I'd pour a glass of wine. Yes, I still pour myself that wine. But no one is here to ask, "what's on the menu?" or, "let's go to Schmitty's and eat.." No one is here to eat with. I still cook, I always will. I prefer my own food, I am just like my late aunt, "eat at home you know what you have then". It is a challenge to purchase and cook portions to single, other than a chop, burger or small steak, so I adjust to having left overs. Some I do not mind, left over salmon, chicken, even steak, cut or diced into a salad make a good meal for me, especially on these hot days we have endured since June. But this post is not about how I am cooking...it's about noticing how alone solitary life is. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My cousin, the retired Monsignor who lives alone now in PA in his family home tells me that he is by himself and I will adjust. I suppose I have to, there is no choice. I am not the one to start going out for fast food or eating out alone just to sit alone in a restaurant. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When I am overly busy with chores, errands or when I was so preoccupied selling the coach and pick up I didn't get this wistful. So the grief wave right now will pass, I tell myself, It came to pass not to stay. Doesn't mean I have to like it. Just tolerate and accept..</span></p><p><br /></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-4457289697911175102021-07-29T16:05:00.004-05:002021-07-29T16:05:50.351-05:00An unwelcome discovery<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNcvSGDVlzhaHwoyh1jUNSN5eC7sdTfMnpTrk9kVtouHnE-JQ56WD4ZAVYDwcPou9EuWVVHOU6BUsQ1MBvVRbM4-G49EQ7C40WGnPOLtzlEe5r7l28rjKis5EM-UhAQM8xOOncyC-pWjL/s2048/20210728_185817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNcvSGDVlzhaHwoyh1jUNSN5eC7sdTfMnpTrk9kVtouHnE-JQ56WD4ZAVYDwcPou9EuWVVHOU6BUsQ1MBvVRbM4-G49EQ7C40WGnPOLtzlEe5r7l28rjKis5EM-UhAQM8xOOncyC-pWjL/s320/20210728_185817.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> This very vintage steel, 4 drawer file cabinet in the garage belonged to Jerry's mom, who died in 2013 after a slow declining aging, ending last couple years in a facility, She saved everything and it was crammed full with bank statements, tax returns, all in original envelopes, receipts, etc going back to the 1950's. Some papers disintegrating. I kept mentioning to Jerry for years after it took up space here that he should clear it out. He apparently got tired of shredding & forgot about it. </span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So this week, I thought I'd tidy some garage shelves and store some things in it. Crap, When I opened it the drawers still were still over half full! So I shredded and tore several bags full, but got weary myself, needed this like a wart! I am down to 2 drawers still half full and taking a break.... tempted to just pitch whole contents but there are social security #'s, etc and although both she & father-in-law are dead, figure better shred,. There was a huge box of all the cards etc she'd received for her 90th birthday, & others. I did just dump that into recycle whole. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It amazes me, she dragged this thing from southern CA to northern CA when she moved to be near us when she became a widow, back in 80's, then it was moved cross country when we moved back to MN. Sigh and all now useless junk, clutter and more for me to do. I never run out of things to do! But I still have my own mess downstairs to clear!</span></span></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-54742510860003735822021-07-10T20:25:00.010-05:002021-07-11T19:18:36.004-05:00Getting along but it sucks<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVE4yHNlIYS7WxKADunxaiT6n0EN5PcRU7L7vJpKF5BPjBe_q5ONOLy6caWQjARwwGQ6ouPhuxoBrUhk8d_7C8W_WCeKUZwMtdPtIwA5ZMaZ6Xic1bAmcPKsCtDsEt0Ko6P6brbQDwH03/s960/2014+Jerry+into+Allegiance.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVE4yHNlIYS7WxKADunxaiT6n0EN5PcRU7L7vJpKF5BPjBe_q5ONOLy6caWQjARwwGQ6ouPhuxoBrUhk8d_7C8W_WCeKUZwMtdPtIwA5ZMaZ6Xic1bAmcPKsCtDsEt0Ko6P6brbQDwH03/s320/2014+Jerry+into+Allegiance.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">2017 FL Jerry found the <br />castle he wanted</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> What another week but through my prayers , angels and my Tribe Beyond I made it. What I can say is this business of widowhood sucks, just plain sucks. </span> <span style="font-family: arial;"> I do not like it yet it is, I can do no more than what I do. I am still in the lousy process of selling our dream castle on wheels, our motor coach, a lifetime to achieve that luxury level and then crap! Never got to enjoy it. It was Jerry's pride and joy. It was to be our winter home as we'd snowbird. So much was to be, but then life twisted upside down, sideways and inside out. He is gone and here I am. It sucks. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> I go along but I am so damn lonely. I have lost more people than I know alive. Some days I am just at home and never see or hear from anyone. I would like to have people pop in, stop by but that is not happening. I have no one like that around here. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcktdljzG4ehiS9Wp4B9ZGhz7h3Cw4z-cOGslE31MfAO72emOnNUvYkprQSq8f20U1DPg99hyphenhyphenIq8n8J9aKkk1oM5j8e8bO7RiS1Xh7dEkfm1oIPeKG0-lK0SWO5Q4PD-nsHi_eluVemBY4/s2048/20210709_103815%255B1%255D.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcktdljzG4ehiS9Wp4B9ZGhz7h3Cw4z-cOGslE31MfAO72emOnNUvYkprQSq8f20U1DPg99hyphenhyphenIq8n8J9aKkk1oM5j8e8bO7RiS1Xh7dEkfm1oIPeKG0-lK0SWO5Q4PD-nsHi_eluVemBY4/s320/20210709_103815%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">3 to back up, Jerry did alone</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> This week I had to have Freon added to the front air conditioning system as I try to have it all nice for the buyer. I am thankful for another local acquaintance who referred me to a very decent diesel service locally. It is tricky to pull into and out of its house, shop here, but Jerry did it himself always. Well the techs did it too but they said "tricky". Because the friend who drives it for me is off on their annual family vacation I needed someone to drive it there. The shop was so gracious to me, they came to pick up and bring back, checked it all out and despite my worrying all was good. The price was reasonable, Surely a blessing. The guys were very nice. It had to be kept overnight because they were busy, so that day until I heard that I stewed imagining the worst things wrong. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> That is what I hate about the way I have become in widowhood, I seem to always imagine the worst. I was never that way before, I was always hopeful. I used to be optimistic. Will I never be that way again? I hate being frantic, on edge, gloomy. New me.is not me, awful. </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8MdWK6gBP8PcuLFpRP-i0J_bG1HQYRD8oTpx4G9lSs-ZqXVBo2dg6JnCQvOoyWQe57HHwtzxfWlxGlgOTR0R-TeCE-P9PkCSIVHs54WruSsk3PTxwwkIpOK5I-P5Hpm16wzGCbECcQBT/s2048/20210709_104313%255B1%255D.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8MdWK6gBP8PcuLFpRP-i0J_bG1HQYRD8oTpx4G9lSs-ZqXVBo2dg6JnCQvOoyWQe57HHwtzxfWlxGlgOTR0R-TeCE-P9PkCSIVHs54WruSsk3PTxwwkIpOK5I-P5Hpm16wzGCbECcQBT/s320/20210709_104313%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">Coach has to fit between rafters and <br />snugly into back bump out. Tricky</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I like the people who are buying it and I wish them the happiness with it that we looked so forward to and never got. They are financing and the process has dragged on. I have had so much paperwork and I'm selling, sigh. I will cry when this leaves yet I will be so thankful. This has been a huge burden on me. It will soon be over. It has been exhausting beyond what I could have ever imagined. So much responsibility alone. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> Through all this ups and downs and worries that all worked out I have missed Jerry more and more. Being alone without anyone to talk things over or share hurts. I am very disappointed in so called friends locally. I have no family. The few who are afar do not care. I know now people go on their own way, they do not care about me and my trials, feelings. They are on with their lives. So I endure and with much prayer I get along. But it sucks. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> I laughed the other day ,thinking if just a few of the phony FB friend requests I get from men were real, I would be flattered, in a more optimistic mood. But I ignore all those, wisely, nothing but trouble. D</span><span style="font-family: arial;">espite their claims to be widowers, and good looking, hah! At least I am not that gullible, and I am not looking for a man. I only wish I had real friends who came by and or called. I wish I had someone to talk to, to listen to me. I miss Jerry. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-meFQamvuwvbIPc1bZq00fD2ufc-cjgaRXwrjcQDmjDnJ3-ukn3FMl4vAO59JM0bRQxLSADGdwiFvSdqNjrhuiWU84YbjtyEI7TTo6mH6VrQFTkiqPn-t-rKuGKtjYd3o7kemelIeZk2C/s960/2017+6+24++Jerry+has+it+shined.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-meFQamvuwvbIPc1bZq00fD2ufc-cjgaRXwrjcQDmjDnJ3-ukn3FMl4vAO59JM0bRQxLSADGdwiFvSdqNjrhuiWU84YbjtyEI7TTo6mH6VrQFTkiqPn-t-rKuGKtjYd3o7kemelIeZk2C/w400-h300/2017+6+24++Jerry+has+it+shined.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2017 into the shop he had it shining</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-58041353179846682882021-06-29T10:15:00.003-05:002021-06-29T10:15:45.309-05:00Endurance in grief<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg59cstxecczpV922JxdTpkZCE_Rb0WsVaLiofP-c_HnS0WaAOMzEjejMouq9xUAH-LHKQ4JQ2G7O8B8ZUZ2RmtUfFiRWLSafVpJHk8IUK9bon5xYXmRx8HdTeECBCPt6ObiJjmvbrpjZ5/s960/Grief+cannot+be+fixed+only+endured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg59cstxecczpV922JxdTpkZCE_Rb0WsVaLiofP-c_HnS0WaAOMzEjejMouq9xUAH-LHKQ4JQ2G7O8B8ZUZ2RmtUfFiRWLSafVpJHk8IUK9bon5xYXmRx8HdTeECBCPt6ObiJjmvbrpjZ5/s320/Grief+cannot+be+fixed+only+endured.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I really hate grief and there is not much in life I hate. I am not comfortable with hate. It is a bitter emotion and useless I have always thought. But living with the grief of being a widow, I can truly say I hate. I do not like it and all I can do is just go through, endure, because here I am.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last night I took the refresher class for Defensive Driver for seniors, those over age 60. This happens every two years and gets me 10% discount off my car insurance rate. I usually learn or relearn something too. It is a useful refresher but I wish it were not every 2 years and that the class did not take 3 hours. e get out early if the people will not ask incessant silly questions of the instructor or feel the need to say what happened to them when. But people seem compelled to have to comment. Our instructor is a local friend, retired State Highway Cop and semi truck driver still. He does his best to move things along. He had explained answering a question about why bicyclists who are to obey the same road rules as vehicles are not cited for violations, because judges do not want to be bothered. How many police officers will waste their time writing tickets that a judge will toss? No back up to enforcement gets no enforcement, pure and simple. It was not 5 minutes later when another woman asked "why aren't bicyclists given tickets?" Sheesh, lady pay attention he just went through it. If these people can pay no more attention to driving than they do in class, no wonder they are considered risky. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">At the start of the class my grief smacked me between the eyes. The instructor opens the class asking everyone to write the names of 5 people in their lives important to them. I do not have 5, in fact I do not really have any now that Jerry is gone. I stretched to come up with 2 names, and yet I know I am not that important to them. I do not hear from anyone routinely, let alone so called family. When Jerry and I last took this refresher class together, at least I had him and a late friend, she is now gone too. Our son has been gone since 2008, I truly have no one. The next step was to cross off 2 of the 5 names at random which signifies the number or percentage of those who will be killed by distracted or intoxicated/drugged drivers. The exercise has lost all meaning to me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A FB contact on the FB Grief Speaks Out site shared this poem with me::::: </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">FRIENDS
DON'T COME BY<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Friends
don't come by too often,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ever
since you went away.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
think they feel uncomfortable<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and
just don't know what to say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On
the times they do stop by<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">they
never stay too long,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"I
really must get going"<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">is
always their same old song.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I try
to keep them talking<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">'bout
news and other stuff,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
don't let them see me crying,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">or
tell them how things are so rough.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But
deep inside I really wish<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">they
would ask me how I'm doing,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and
sit and listen as I cry<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">not
tell me stop "boo hooing".<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
wish they'd try to understand<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">this
pain inside my heart,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">for
though I knew it could happen,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
wasn't ready for us to part.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But
since they don't I'll just get by,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'll
stay busy and try to smile,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">until
the day God calls me home<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and I
walk my one last mile.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: #F0F2F5; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">© </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/forrestc2011?__cft__%5b0%5d=AZWdRcXLp2q4Vfh-xQyXR7kZ_0JiTyb77y5FrrfBEa6zzWPAaohs2CDYzMjVTvZhHURGC2YD7eRLwE6VqGJey_qwrmW2RtQN7TuMcLfOs1hJBbUlDubuNLjyy1Ruuo03o_73TnAz1V2_R6MaJdj4RG24&__tn__=R%5d-R"><b><span style="border: 1pt none windowtext; color: blue; font-family: inherit, serif; font-size: 11.5pt; padding: 0in; text-decoration-line: none;">Forrest Phelps-Cook</span></b></a><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-24041664138905935052021-06-26T13:26:00.000-05:002021-06-26T13:26:09.346-05:00Getting along aloneness <p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9AszRXV3_yMVcW5QJqv701rbVIEkXh7kRtgi7VXoy0HNNDtrt0RZatVAR2kVlcg3p_H-9fS7wfsjAIPUVKln7h_exbWa_xGGfs6DzCX_rVKvqMB5HsRyqrEbtjTRpnViM_9FzmOiXqeK/s2048/20210625_183550%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9AszRXV3_yMVcW5QJqv701rbVIEkXh7kRtgi7VXoy0HNNDtrt0RZatVAR2kVlcg3p_H-9fS7wfsjAIPUVKln7h_exbWa_xGGfs6DzCX_rVKvqMB5HsRyqrEbtjTRpnViM_9FzmOiXqeK/w232-h320/20210625_183550%255B1%255D.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Last nights dinner,oven roasted<br />salmon, fries and tomatoes,<br />Polish cucumber salad</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Unlike others who are alone, I continue to cook meals for myself. Local restaurants in town are few and menus limited. I have not wanted to venture out for a Friday night dinner alone anywhere truthfully. I want to enjoy my glass or two of wine with my meal and find that better done at home. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> The past couple weeks when our temps were unseasonably hot for us in June, 90', I ate mostly salads thrown together from whatever was in the refrigerator or made a good sandwich out of turkey. It would be easy to shrug, why bother, but I know I must continue to eat healthily to maintain myself. Yet at dinner time I am most lonesome, eating alone, no one across the table, no one to even complain. Jerry did not often complain about foods but I was often on a salmon kick for Fridays and every so often he would ask, "can't we have anything but salmon?" Sometimes I made shrimp. scampi too. And often we would go out to eat, but he often ordered the fish always fried too.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But good salmon at home, cannot be beat in my opinion. It is easy to fix and since I am particular and selective in what I buy, has to be fresh at the meat counter and if fresh flown in from Alaska is available, I pay the price, so I always have great salmon. I discovered the brand, Grown in Idaho, frozen French fries are just as good as any home fried with dinner and easy in the oven, they roast with the salmon. I have not fried French fries in so many years. Now when I fix salmon I have left over for the next day or so. I have now used up all the salmon in my freezer so when I purchase I can buy smaller portions and prevent so many left overs. All my life I have not eaten meat on Fridays and although my Catholic faith changed that restriction to only during Lent, I have always stayed with meatless Fridays. Last night I harvested fresh dill from my herb plant and made the cucumbers in sour cream, a Polish delicacy for me. It is ogorki w/ smietanie or mizseria....in Polish. I used up one large cucumber and still have some of that for a snack. I truly savored my fresh dill, like the scent when picked. I had it and a sprig of fresh rosemary for the salmon, truly fragrant too.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHc5vH3lGtTwgfhOS4hK7NWq69uvsoMLvN3GGWVetp4uJZ453zBTVyo36vcmyq1Twt_r6vGhIW0dK8gbYQ2bWVou1GhpL363TjmYtDaLYpCJh21CAptqDPb1QXh0Q71cU3cjsKcYtJGzO5/s2048/20210624_175917%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHc5vH3lGtTwgfhOS4hK7NWq69uvsoMLvN3GGWVetp4uJZ453zBTVyo36vcmyq1Twt_r6vGhIW0dK8gbYQ2bWVou1GhpL363TjmYtDaLYpCJh21CAptqDPb1QXh0Q71cU3cjsKcYtJGzO5/s320/20210624_175917%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhubarb patch, puny needed fertilizer</td></tr></tbody></table>So I continue to do all my work inside and out and some days have overdone myself, like Wednesday when I hauled sacks of manure down to the garden to replenish the rhubarb which was puny this year. I did not get enough to do anything with. I recalled old late farmer friend always said to feed it manure, well it has been without for a couple years. Although he recommended dousing it late fall to prepare it for winter, when I spotted the manure bags at our local hardware store I was inspired. This was a monumental task and although they loaded the sacks for me I had to get them out of the truck and to the garden. My handy cart worked but I had to hoist the bags into and out of it, could have used help but having none, I tackled it. The heat was worse than I expected because it was sporadically cloudy and not reaching those awful 90 degrees we'd endured for weeks. Still our clean clear sky, unfiltered northern sun were hot and sweat drenched me from head to toe but I got it done. Truthfully it got me overdone, exhausted and that evening I went to bed at 9:00, lights out. I had no one here to tell me, "ok that's enough for now" but then if I had it would have been Jerry and he'd have carried the bags for me, helped, etc. But again here I am. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> The gardens/flowers are looking great even if the grass and lawns are parched, but today we have rain and the lawns recover quickly. I sure hope we have the worst of the heat behind us and our beautiful summer weather returns. <br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbLSuE4__Yg2MefJfJkJvVzBwho0xjnC2Xzb9K6sghrjOwGbg0S0RZ4LbruO5kb725OIJQu3GcaMeJIhNVbDk98uNqQphxQOEhysTM5vagArusuIiwOoHrQY78tfEXCHAU6DjQfJZ5pZQ/s2048/20210625_083137%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbLSuE4__Yg2MefJfJkJvVzBwho0xjnC2Xzb9K6sghrjOwGbg0S0RZ4LbruO5kb725OIJQu3GcaMeJIhNVbDk98uNqQphxQOEhysTM5vagArusuIiwOoHrQY78tfEXCHAU6DjQfJZ5pZQ/s320/20210625_083137%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple Jack rose in front blooming<br />late this year<br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-19192027235909665062021-06-10T10:45:00.000-05:002021-06-10T10:45:20.733-05:00Grief musings<div><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5zP6wNhtdpwKZK5ty4V2K_-f9JRugsCYHJZRD06DhA-CtyIrBWV5A8sGdHtzapeL2T1OhOEgKbFuFNYN0yU41jdCXL7ywLBe5mbRf_iWbXN5rYe-l9pQsXEiJ46NvOXIjIFxyJ0Z1rGYO/s960/Memorial+Day+Columbarium++Jerry++bottom+3rd+from+right.jpg" style="clear: left; display: block; float: left; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5zP6wNhtdpwKZK5ty4V2K_-f9JRugsCYHJZRD06DhA-CtyIrBWV5A8sGdHtzapeL2T1OhOEgKbFuFNYN0yU41jdCXL7ywLBe5mbRf_iWbXN5rYe-l9pQsXEiJ46NvOXIjIFxyJ0Z1rGYO/s320/Memorial+Day+Columbarium++Jerry++bottom+3rd+from+right.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><b><br /></b></div><div><b> </b><span style="font-family: arial;"> I have not posted here for awhile, but we had Jerry's committal service May 7, as I had planned, on his 84th birthday. If such an event can be perfect it was. Yet the full circumstances is another complete blog post. This photo is the columbarium on Memorial Day, the second time that week I went to the cemetery. Jerry's niche is the bottom row, the third from the right. </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> S</span><span style="font-family: arial;">ince May 7, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">more vets have joined him and there were only 3 more niches left until that entire section will be filled. There is no choosing the site for the niche nor for the gravesite if that option is elected. It is assigned, an orderly system. Someday when I am done with this earthly existence I will join him in the same niche and then they will get anew carved marble cover with my name added. Memorial Day was very emotional for me, just about the time I thought I had been doing so well in this grief journey that I am taking alone, the crash came and the tears would not stay inside me. I have learned that t is best to let them flow, a release. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqu7mK-7vgD3yCo95gWOJ2wBOqorvXB0JWZXZ0Nbq2j16fXayTaVlLmlSrQrZ2i5u1tCQUckr_a-Z77BM-h-TFj7ZjkorsDY7NBMrZMs9lbj0L6KD14vKbWn5Qh39jbxNLCuIUrx_VbmlK/s960/Memorial+Day+Jerry+spot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqu7mK-7vgD3yCo95gWOJ2wBOqorvXB0JWZXZ0Nbq2j16fXayTaVlLmlSrQrZ2i5u1tCQUckr_a-Z77BM-h-TFj7ZjkorsDY7NBMrZMs9lbj0L6KD14vKbWn5Qh39jbxNLCuIUrx_VbmlK/s320/Memorial+Day+Jerry+spot.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">I went to the Preston Veterans Cemetery on Memorial Day to visit Jerry's niche. It was very busy and a very emotional time for me. I was grateful for the local woman who saw me and came to ask if I was "ok?" I told her "I'm as OK as I ever will be, thank you." S he spent a bit of time with me and walked over to the niche where she had first spotted me sitting on the cement in front of it. I appreciated her kindness. These days the comfort comes from strangers mostly. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> Not one person called me that day let alone thought of going with me. Later that evening Jerry's son called the first time since the service, what we used to call his self obligatory calls. Although he and DIL and grandson come for the service, they did not stay, flew in and back home, were no help, no comfort. I can write them off now too. Truly I never expected much support from him but now I know for sure there will be none. He is into himself. Anything I mention he diverts to his own goings on. I tried to tell him about the military service and he did not listen. He has no frame of reference never having served and knows little about his father's life. So I have nothing to say. I will post more later about the service and how that day was a blur to me although I functioned well and no one noticed. I got through it. What choice do I have. And that is my reality, I have no choice but to go on. <br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> And that is my reality, I have no choice but to go on.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><b>“It’s kind of a dorky
statement, but it is true that grief rearranges your address book. It’s amazing
how many people drop out of your life in the wake of catastrophic loss. People
who have been with you through thick and thin suddenly disappear, or turn dismissive,
shaming, strange. Random strangers become your biggest, deepest source of
comfort, if even only for a few moments.” </b></i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><b>― Megan Devine</b></i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b> </b></i> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> Finding this to be true, people I thought were friends no longer know me. They are going on about their lives. One particular friend now acts very bored the last few times I have tried to talk with her. When I call her on the phone, she yawns or has to hang up to go talk with her husband who has come home for lunch. My God, if's not like she doesn't see him every day all the time! I am feeling she cannot be bothered, so I will not try again, 3 strikes and out. I sometimes feel bitter and think, "just you wait...your turn will come..." but I quickly give that feeling up, it does nothing for me. I am living my new reality and my entire life has changed to something nearly unrecognizable. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Our parish is hosting a new grief support group with another church facilitated by a nurse and a counselor. It is to be a small group of 12 and meet weekly at the other church. After learning it is not just for widows, and looking at the book they will use, I pass. I can see no benefit to me from going into such a setting with mixed grievers. The book is so very elementary it would be like learning the alphabet again. If is were just widows, I might consider, but this, nope. The Mayo social worker or known as grief outreach worker called me and offered a widow group but they meet on zoom. Nope to that too. I am sick of zoom gatherings. If it cannot be in real face to face time, nope. I talked with her a short time and found myself annoyed at this young eager person who has not experienced this loss, yes she has lost a parent. That is the natural order of life but not relevant to losing my best friend, my 53 year partner. I told her bluntly I have become somewhat of an expert on grief, not by choice. But losing my only child, our son 12+ years ago and now Jerry, I am using all the skills I have. Over years, I have lost all 3 of my closest friends and of course all my elderly relatives. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">My life is not going to ever be the same, no more coach trip, no more someone to take care of the house, no more hugs, just more and more of no more. And unless I can be with a group with similar losses I am not interested. I am not mentally ill and do not need a counselor. I just would like company. Sometimes just someone to eat with. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJpRgjRx6f0MnxFdGulMr4mvG8GrJqNeoAnNGpOcIsiqAMF6DVmQi78dFDdeO6_xcnKaZvw078CoMDCJyhFonT-JsWsFuiAXWRxZDgjiTbkob0FuzqkKBv2CJRa9iy59uilAwkeSDuY9-/s960/FB_IMG_1622303726027.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJpRgjRx6f0MnxFdGulMr4mvG8GrJqNeoAnNGpOcIsiqAMF6DVmQi78dFDdeO6_xcnKaZvw078CoMDCJyhFonT-JsWsFuiAXWRxZDgjiTbkob0FuzqkKBv2CJRa9iy59uilAwkeSDuY9-/w293-h320/FB_IMG_1622303726027.jpg" width="293" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Lately I am experiencing more down feelings, in waves, previously these had been infrequent, episodic. So alone yet the reality is I am alone and will be. Some days the only contact I have with other people is a phone call, online--thru FB, or if I go to the store. I have often heard that people desert you in grief and I never concerned myself with it. Hah, it wouldn't happen to me, not as active as I am. I thought the workout friends would endure, they did not. I did my best with my mother in law who was a widow, not an easy person to be with but who depended on us. I used to talk with her, ask her things, have her here for meals so she would not be alone. My late aunt in PA was another widow, runs in my family, and I called her every week as well as traveling to PA to visit her. Here, nobody to do that for me. I think if I dropped dead in this house who would know and how long would I be here. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I get most support, understanding and wisdom from the FB group, Grief Speaks Out. Many of the quotes I shared here come from that site where people from all over share their grief experiences. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">It has been very hot unseasonably for us, for June, extreme 90's and 100 degrees, no rain, hot. So I try to get my outside chores done by noon and even then I am drenched in sweat, and make periodic trips inside to drink water and cool off. Miserable. So not getting my daily walks this week. I had been doing that early morning but that time I need for outdoor weeding, watering, etc, so my walks are off schedule for now. After dinner time or later afternoons, it is not at all possible. The heat is strong. This is as bad as winter when it is subzero and I stay inside. Even </span><span style="font-family: arial;">the weather is not cooperative. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Well here I am again, just me and my shadow.....</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJ2Q5wNSwYlYEiNDpNc8bEOWB9eZup99EQKrF0ZXAV16RE1iS9phgy9lG-VndHq4DTEXXq4fed3KSrcah9vCg48h7NY8h6OHHidOHcs8PgQgdpvJL-yGEA5GQZ7J8LW_DnRonQBTwo8qI/s2048/20201005+me+_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJ2Q5wNSwYlYEiNDpNc8bEOWB9eZup99EQKrF0ZXAV16RE1iS9phgy9lG-VndHq4DTEXXq4fed3KSrcah9vCg48h7NY8h6OHHidOHcs8PgQgdpvJL-yGEA5GQZ7J8LW_DnRonQBTwo8qI/s320/20201005+me+_.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div></div>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-65960134950866436512021-04-24T12:01:00.002-05:002021-04-26T19:49:00.518-05:00Everything has a back story<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuY36nQAj89z_pcCacbckPzl731e4xTFRSQsg_eA50KF_JXGxJQDbRRJOrPH8HRMcjSma5fZl3yeOaNHWcUr_73rzPZrxY133QyKvUrgliWlf3ZWofPC1n0dFt4UQtyCselunD7Yiepczq/s960/Kenmore+1968+close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuY36nQAj89z_pcCacbckPzl731e4xTFRSQsg_eA50KF_JXGxJQDbRRJOrPH8HRMcjSma5fZl3yeOaNHWcUr_73rzPZrxY133QyKvUrgliWlf3ZWofPC1n0dFt4UQtyCselunD7Yiepczq/s320/Kenmore+1968+close+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">My trusty Kenmore Jerry bought for <br />me in 1968, my birthday present,</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> Posted on FB (see excerpt below) about my sewing machines and got to thinking about all the stories of my life that are attached to almost everything I have. I like to share these on FB because I get a lot of feedback ad comments from friends all over the country. Sometimes it really stirs up memories for some people. And sometimes it is amazing how alike so many of my friends from PA days and I remain with skills like sewing. Now I have no one to share those stories with...so this blog has to do. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The other day I bought a new pair of khaki denim jeans at the Rootin'Crown Botique in LaCrosse, for only $6. Brand new, designers, original tags still on. At that price, I grabbed a pair, besides they are petite sized 4 and fit, except too long, would have to be hemmed. I can do that easily but was feeling lazy and thinking I could help support another local business by taking them to the Dry cleaners that does alterations. It wouldn't cost too much so I decided to do that. All the while my inside voice kept hounding me that I was wasting money, I could do this myself readily, I have hemmed hundreds of jeans, slacks, etc...But when I tried to take them to the place the snarky slobby clerk announced that they were not "doing any alterations now" WTH? So I left immediately, brought my jeans home and took them down stairs to hem, And my inside voice rejoiced! So I trimmed, pressed and hemmed my new jeans at home in about 30 minutes altogether on my trusty very old Kenmore Sewing machine. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfD8aq0v2UIH4GkZLFDcC6FBJlwPcQoAPL_hswTD080z6Ot_f014_f2rOfCFc9a5BHcAjh5NcfjtHwjMfHA353afid2l3B0Q_Qd1g31jLNltn_T-hA_cxvcXCttf_OSYGZQFF3VSEnKpS/s960/Kenmore%252C+cabinet%252C+sewing+closet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfD8aq0v2UIH4GkZLFDcC6FBJlwPcQoAPL_hswTD080z6Ot_f014_f2rOfCFc9a5BHcAjh5NcfjtHwjMfHA353afid2l3B0Q_Qd1g31jLNltn_T-hA_cxvcXCttf_OSYGZQFF3VSEnKpS/s320/Kenmore%252C+cabinet%252C+sewing+closet.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">My downstairs sewing closet</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">From my FB page: </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> "<i>Just hemmed a pair of bargain jeans on my old trusty Kenmore sewing machine that Jerry bought for my birthday in 1968. When we moved from CA I as going to pitch it but my late friend Sandy who was a quilter & sewer told me to keep it,that it as very well made, no plastic parts and mechanically good. So it came along and we found an old cabinet at an estate sale for it. Had it serviced/tuned up years ago here by a local gentleman who repaired/adjusted sewing machines. He and his wife who was a seamstress both told me if I ever didn't want it to call them, that it was an outstanding machine one of the best Kenmore made.... So I kept it & never did buy a new fancier digital one. It has sewed everything over the years and latest masks...has been my go to sewing machine..one of 3 I have. My late aunt gave me a portable Montgomery Wards when we first bought this home because she said "you cannot be without a sewing machine. " That was as essential to her as a stove but she kept her old time singer and used it forever too. I bought a small cabinet for the portable but kept it's antique mini Gold Leaf machine inside it. That's my tale of 3 sewing machines. They do not make'em like that anymore. And then too many just toss and replace for newer, faster, etc "</i></span></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-family: arial;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfOssuiAcpScr2wF2r9Haf6yA5TZk7_3E-1YJmuS3WJK_4QTF4Jh8-JCncsSwDivTA8vWSICjb0a3EYijEJs2LsxSf5rQIrdZRWeTIXzzF61j9mWUuKsrIMYYoHyaBovfxuKhw6RNf8e7/s960/Montgomery+wards+on+top+of+singer+cabinet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfOssuiAcpScr2wF2r9Haf6yA5TZk7_3E-1YJmuS3WJK_4QTF4Jh8-JCncsSwDivTA8vWSICjb0a3EYijEJs2LsxSf5rQIrdZRWeTIXzzF61j9mWUuKsrIMYYoHyaBovfxuKhw6RNf8e7/w240-h320/Montgomery+wards+on+top+of+singer+cabinet.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">Motgomery Wards portable sewing <br />machine</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">Back to Rootin'Crown, a different unique local thrift store that specializes in being clean, displaying items nicely, not having junk or cheap stuff, and above all does not smell. It is staffed totally by volunteers from different organizations in the area. Donors and purchasers can designate a local charity to receive part of the proceeds. I just donate to my friend's parish because that is easy for me. I had forgotten about the place but on the news one evening there was a brief story about them. Wow! Wished I had thought about them when I was do busily clearing out Jerry's clothes and boots. So many of the better things I could have donated here but instead took nearly all to the Salvation Army, ah well, at least they may be put to use by someone else. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But the gist of this post was to keep my story going, to have it out here on blogland until who knows when. It serves a purpose. </span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-19351870232044316502021-04-17T15:45:00.002-05:002021-04-17T15:45:32.014-05:00It's easy <p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEC4pkaCRTZBz4kynEuYEXI_gvH96HFIXCy1eFh0iGNG-HDRD2OuZBRAx-Gkdkacho22KZKR_quKfHyGXmSPG1l_F_6KcO-K00zp9_o_SWTwlXXwHRuwz03Rn03MiL_aQKHrPtrO0ANFix/s2048/20210417_145528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEC4pkaCRTZBz4kynEuYEXI_gvH96HFIXCy1eFh0iGNG-HDRD2OuZBRAx-Gkdkacho22KZKR_quKfHyGXmSPG1l_F_6KcO-K00zp9_o_SWTwlXXwHRuwz03Rn03MiL_aQKHrPtrO0ANFix/s320/20210417_145528.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> First the good news, I have found a good, decent, reliable handyman to hire do things that I cannot. That is a relief and although I am learning all the time there is still much that is beyond my capability, so much that Jerry did always and I cannot. Often I do not know where to begin but stumble along. When I am successful I feel very proud of me. When I am challenged it is frustrating. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> Lately doors seem to be my challenge. That old adage, "when one door closes another opens,,,," maybe, maybe not. For me lately I have not found doors opening so I am waiting. Mostly it seems that I stand behind that closed door looking out and wondering, watching, waiting. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHzzqDynajeGPpSA009Y3BPjodLThYQIhXLQGoQ64iTrU2kTPdV9xoIxKS1XI8oQUjFmx3HtB4XDFZ5EphJifU_4Dp7fRd_8ZoAPnpAJ-c0TWU6_s7DkU3-92Si3PciE34GLy5xLvm-31/s2048/20210213_174211%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHzzqDynajeGPpSA009Y3BPjodLThYQIhXLQGoQ64iTrU2kTPdV9xoIxKS1XI8oQUjFmx3HtB4XDFZ5EphJifU_4Dp7fRd_8ZoAPnpAJ-c0TWU6_s7DkU3-92Si3PciE34GLy5xLvm-31/s320/20210213_174211%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"> Months ago to keep busy during sub zero temps I was polishing all the wooden doors and trims inside the house, a huge effort that I have never done all alone before. <br /> And being short I had to use the 2Step Stool to reach the tops of the doors and trims. Kept me busy. Then I tackled the downstairs where I yanked and pulled a folding dual wooden door off track between the study and TV room. It began to fold up and come down on me, bigger than me but I got it to the floor. Trouble was I could not put it back up, Called a friend to the rescue who restored it and had to unbend the bracket I'd twisted. He and his wife cautioned me that could have been really bad and I was lucky and please be careful. I try to be, And yes, what would I have done underneath, wedged into the folding door,on the floor, alone, here? But thankfully my tribe of angels guarded me once more. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgypyrpxdD4kfEO6ENWunQBcWVzyZNQ2Mw4ns6eJ2WvbCW9YnY-awbhDEv3_AENHLdMzyu2DQHH2pUoDzvcUvVGf2f13dCjuujoe7vF8A7lKnZvVI980R13A9RXeQ_grIuKAeUIdTHFJ2_/s2048/20210417_145505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgypyrpxdD4kfEO6ENWunQBcWVzyZNQ2Mw4ns6eJ2WvbCW9YnY-awbhDEv3_AENHLdMzyu2DQHH2pUoDzvcUvVGf2f13dCjuujoe7vF8A7lKnZvVI980R13A9RXeQ_grIuKAeUIdTHFJ2_/s320/20210417_145505.jpg" /></a></div>Last winter the two end boards at the corner of the deck came loose, the wood had deteriorated. I patched it by holding it together with zip ties and shoved it back, wedging it into place to hold through the winter. It did that. Nothing else came loose and the lattice work <br /> stayed put too, I imagined everything would begin to fall apart like a towering jenga stucture where a balancing piece had been pulled loose, thankfully it turned out to be not so. So early this year I checked and decided a dose of gorilla glue could work on that wood while I figured out how to get it fixed. I need to keep it secured and the screen in place to thwart wild life critters, rabbits, squirrels, etc from taking up residence underneath the deck. <span style="font-family: arial;">So I couldn't have been happier when Bob , the handyman looked at it and said</span><span style="font-family: arial;">, "oh that is an easy fix, I'll stop by and get it in no time." And he did. It was easy for him. He replaced the ends with sturdier boards, treated wood that I can paint later when it is warmer or not. Easy. </span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: arial; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitdXB1jWYfam8moQ1E7Nx1smXGV7ACvNmWJpeQEDcY3V-DArnkltiz7LyDQh90OAlBSA18tHWTQt69On3HXhGdy1pI0GdeMeZuDyDa5_-17pzn03f7CZQ1uUunXSz3JG3yzyhpjl-gkKPW/s2048/20210417_142217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitdXB1jWYfam8moQ1E7Nx1smXGV7ACvNmWJpeQEDcY3V-DArnkltiz7LyDQh90OAlBSA18tHWTQt69On3HXhGdy1pI0GdeMeZuDyDa5_-17pzn03f7CZQ1uUunXSz3JG3yzyhpjl-gkKPW/s320/20210417_142217.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">So the back door to the garage is warped and has seen better days. It is original to this house. Jerry was going to replace it, "one of these days..." and well now here I am. So I asked Bob who again said, " sure easy.." He measured it, told me to get a right hand swing, new lock and to go over to Menards and look, pick out what I wanted but advised me to get steel insulated, Mastercraft brand. In another month or so because he is booked busy for a few weeks. Well I won't be doing this until after Jerry's committal service May 7 anyway, so that works for me. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Out of curiosity I looked on line today at Menards and wow! Who knew a door could be so complicated, sure the dimensions are easy but so many other things, options, so I will need another quick consult before deciding. These things that are so easy for a man who knows what to do are as challenging as a door closing in my face to me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-58940790695027947102021-04-13T15:52:00.000-05:002021-04-13T15:52:12.009-05:00Memoir writing<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpi2GcRie__0lL-XUGwz36Ql60oV7JPAXeV60UXGhp8VfEjm-x4Eb0Xq8U3UrKVMZFnZmg_AfiGGC8XHrof9foaFWkn3-agKpeM-24qAXJnzWnFOmpgqH5Ogir-spfuDZOEUJJ8Wsm4ah-/s1920/20210413_122253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1453" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpi2GcRie__0lL-XUGwz36Ql60oV7JPAXeV60UXGhp8VfEjm-x4Eb0Xq8U3UrKVMZFnZmg_AfiGGC8XHrof9foaFWkn3-agKpeM-24qAXJnzWnFOmpgqH5Ogir-spfuDZOEUJJ8Wsm4ah-/s320/20210413_122253.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">A chill winter wind is hanging around today and with the grey overcast temperatures are not conducive to a walk. Nope it is the kind of weather that makes me retreat inside. It also makes me sleepy. But at least it is better than a year ago when we had snow on this day, so I saw in my FB reminder photo today. So I will not complain too much. I have enough to keep me busy inside. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> I started blogging years ago at the urging of a few dear friends and relatives who enjoyed my letters and my writings and felt I had a gift, something to say, something to share. They have all since passed on and joined my angel tribe. I lost my primary blog audience but I kept at it as a pass time outlet, to record things about the travels we were on, sometimes to record something I did not want to forget about and often especially lately in my grief, I write to vent. This is a safe enough space to me because it is not read and certainly not read by a particular person who has pushed my buttons. For a time there were a couple groups I wrote with and enjoyed but they too finally went by the wayside, one was Sepia Saturday posts and there I share a lot about my ancestors. It helped me in my genealogical research too. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">For a time I stepped fully away from blogging here and chose Facebook as primary communication. It still is and a preferred way that I can keep in touch with so may all over the country at the same time. But with Jerry's passing I migrate back here sometimes to write. It serves as akind of journal for me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I used to think that someday I might write my memoir. So when I saw the following by author Sue Monk Kidd on Facebook today I decided to copy it here to preserve the thoughts. </span></p><div class="nc684nl6" style="background-color: white; color: inherit; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><a class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl oo9gr5id gpro0wi8 lrazzd5p" href="https://www.facebook.com/suemonkkidd?__cft__[0]=AZXHkImC9kQJMiexV6W3yNSFw1HMqa5hfa5y4KwshOa9fxS8Mb_uFl_uXqsOqes7eIwgEuNTMYnB3PiWGxxFRD3IHhDWhp0GOQj1fUz_ZOtzdLzXy2ieY3Qasxz5jXvtrL6sL9PU4mSpBT35TFeE28f6bTKErg2sZNAvhJpyesJEUcR7VddwjdiGMzXLey3SYnv3YHO9JcRZMprrouLNLdad&__tn__=-UC%2CP-R" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sue Monk Kidd</span></a></div><p><span class="l9j0dhe7 h3qc4492" style="background-color: white; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.1em; position: relative;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: var(--primary-text); font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; white-space: pre-wrap;">For the woman I overheard say she wants to write a memoir, but can’t help feeling it’s self-indulgent… </span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><div class="" dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc ihqw7lf3 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_pm" style="font-family: inherit; padding: 4px 16px 16px;"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg" style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: -5px;"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d" style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px;"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto" style="color: var(--primary-text); display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.9375rem; line-height: 1.3333; max-width: 100%; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; word-break: break-word;"><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">May I go on record here. Writing memoir is gloriously self-indulgent and I’m perfectly okay with that. Women have been told so many times to be selfless that it can actually feel uncomfortable when we attempt to search for one. </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">When I write memoir, I’m undoubtedly in search of wholeness. Maybe I’m trying to resolve something, heal a wound, redeem some part of myself that has been orphaned or lost, or give a voice to what has been silenced. Maybe I’m trying to step into my truth. Maybe I’m trying to reveal myself to myself. </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">But here’s something I didn’t expect. Writing memoir can also be gloriously other-indulgent. The process not only takes me into myself, it frees me from myself. When I manage to distill my experience into meaning and integrate that meaning into my life through the creation of a narrative, I make it possible to move on without all the preoccupation and unconscious pull of the experience. It’s the unexamined experience that wreaks the most havoc in my life and in my relationships. </div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">The surprise is always this. The deeper we delve into our own lives, the more likely we are to tap into a universal experience. We find the portal to everyone.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-73519182371451977652021-04-11T13:08:00.000-05:002021-04-11T13:08:53.067-05:00Daffodils<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2sDk3YydRRuCA9ITpPCUHehj5SXlRQYZ21e90irbBI1X2jU8G8c7dC5GFJHZ0nTHXiGy-8LVA9ZB4gZMpbO9sLQ73USGEtXzjkHr6zDWIp2U__CwQX9nWCttc77RzRweYhYzoZJmjI8JC/s960/Daffodils+close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2sDk3YydRRuCA9ITpPCUHehj5SXlRQYZ21e90irbBI1X2jU8G8c7dC5GFJHZ0nTHXiGy-8LVA9ZB4gZMpbO9sLQ73USGEtXzjkHr6zDWIp2U__CwQX9nWCttc77RzRweYhYzoZJmjI8JC/s320/Daffodils+close+up.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Late yesterday between rain showers I picked daffodils that began to bloom last week when he had warmer balmy spring days. I remind myself that April showers bring May flowers</span>. <span style="font-family: arial;">I shared this on Facebook and commented how I intend to plant more bulbs this fall. I used to plant bulbs every year when we lived in California on my birthday. But here by the time November arrives I am either too tired out from all the leaves I have cleared and or it is already too cold and wet for me to be digging and or I neglect to buy bulbs ahead of time and they are not available locally when my intentions arise. So I made a note on the calendar. We will see. But I thought about CA and how I wished I had a picture of those blooms. Back then, I did not have the easy access to tablet and cell phones. Cell phones were new and for travel or emergency only, lacking the camera features of todays. And too, I never thought about photoing the bulbs. I took it for granted that they would always reappear. It is so easy to take things for granted when younger and busy with career and family and just all the things of life. Today I have seems like all the time I needed back then and the hours sometimes go too slowly. </span><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWl0wPwHrroiDa09AtjRb5QcfT6U9QHEOJwn69ROmnowZbKJb1v5T_bY7ZcfeA-XjUwJB3gVlbB3weu6Dqb_th25rAQ9sVCRjOd1uWRo0-SpGy8-Vio-gd5uDapx_SEehFRQnN5E5nlgS/s1208/1999+Newcastle+bulbs+January.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1071" data-original-width="1208" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWl0wPwHrroiDa09AtjRb5QcfT6U9QHEOJwn69ROmnowZbKJb1v5T_bY7ZcfeA-XjUwJB3gVlbB3weu6Dqb_th25rAQ9sVCRjOd1uWRo0-SpGy8-Vio-gd5uDapx_SEehFRQnN5E5nlgS/w400-h355/1999+Newcastle+bulbs+January.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">I did find a couple of poor photos taken 1999 of the early blooms in CA where January heralded first blooms. On one bank I had abundant white Dutch iris mixed with the white jonquils and along another fence the yellow King Alfreds had already begun to appear. I scanned both photos together. It was dark so this probably was taken after I got home from work. The crape myrtle tree trunk is barren here. I reflected a bit on "those were the days.." and I suppose the refrain, we thought they'd never end...at least back then I did not give much attention to ends. Life has changed though.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The rains have passed for today and although it is cloudy and cool I will get out there for a short walk on this Divine Mercy Sunday. Later I will link in to a mass at my old home church St Mary's of Czestchowa in New Kensington via zoom. I am excited about this virtual opportunity to go home. :Few things lately have had me that excited so I will appreciate this relief. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-82861755769942503642021-04-06T15:51:00.000-05:002021-04-06T15:51:16.794-05:00Fake it until you make it.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjrIUPYtVr2V7EMZxX66EIDNtWQiJbNb3uo1lI9kBWd9Zf9AMdHebZdy4t_TplOeKAs3vCZjugpDgGlBvCQQjXlnSNZkPpMPmpXRTvnyWi4BSKWkvEaSAIzmoytWGwT7bB7_Q19dvlBwW/s960/2021+April+5+first+dandelions+by+school.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjrIUPYtVr2V7EMZxX66EIDNtWQiJbNb3uo1lI9kBWd9Zf9AMdHebZdy4t_TplOeKAs3vCZjugpDgGlBvCQQjXlnSNZkPpMPmpXRTvnyWi4BSKWkvEaSAIzmoytWGwT7bB7_Q19dvlBwW/w200-h150/2021+April+5+first+dandelions+by+school.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"> I do not know where I heard that or if I made it up, but yesterday it came to me clearly. I am doing just that. When moments come, I push through and let them pass. Now that the weather is warm and spring appears here to stay I can work outside, dig in the dirt and keep busy that way. Dandelions, first bursts are showing in nearby fields, seems like overnight after just with a couple warm days, thankful we have a lawn service that sprays our yard to prevent these prolific weeds. I snapped these alongside the school on my walk yesterday. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV951_ONiSiNGxAobzhpXRYzDkjv3jpZMDBRdcu-MTFydDifoVdqB_K-INynT2TbEGucmmJkkmZQQ9WRFfaN1N3ezpsZE11BFMmDdJ-RAvOLWSzciczFLoG2eLJsic1WYbxF5CucWqeqVk/s960/2021+April+5+basil+and+parsley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV951_ONiSiNGxAobzhpXRYzDkjv3jpZMDBRdcu-MTFydDifoVdqB_K-INynT2TbEGucmmJkkmZQQ9WRFfaN1N3ezpsZE11BFMmDdJ-RAvOLWSzciczFLoG2eLJsic1WYbxF5CucWqeqVk/s320/2021+April+5+basil+and+parsley.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Yesterday I was busy, bought rosemary, basil and parsley at Home Depot and planted them. Love that scent of rosemary which I pot each year. Really enjoy cutting my own fresh herbs to use in my meals..<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Dn1eQbZDlOFKG-u0Cj9mVrvcOGRd4jzzMMZsXE2enuVFJDLBCeo95-WBDAjEDrEHOtgUSvYagBS77i3P4zd_3u6P56lw-430RNmJikufl8Dm4OkfOCe5UJDWQMySpzuTE00WJBPJv80O/s960/2021+April+5+rosemary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Dn1eQbZDlOFKG-u0Cj9mVrvcOGRd4jzzMMZsXE2enuVFJDLBCeo95-WBDAjEDrEHOtgUSvYagBS77i3P4zd_3u6P56lw-430RNmJikufl8Dm4OkfOCe5UJDWQMySpzuTE00WJBPJv80O/w150-h200/2021+April+5+rosemary.jpg" width="150" /></a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />Dirt digging lifts my spirits I have been doing it all my life, early memories with my granpap Teofil digging in the dirt, maybe I was 4? And this year is no different. I resisted a temptation yesterday to buy more roses for the very diminished front rose garden, but going along the aisles I talked myself out of it. Jerry was better at digging the deeper holes for rose bushes, here and I worry about their winter survival. I have lost most of the ones I started with. In summer we get the dreadful Japanese beetles here and they have no repellant so that means I have to catch them by hand, usually early in the morning and drown them in a jar, just like my grandma Rose did except her jar had kerosene and I use only detergent in water. I guess I will have to be content with my memories of my 400 roses in CA. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GbWZar1ZLfFuER0n5LcJXDfXRQ1OdMSCz16x1PpUJSB6uReTcPaqnrgOoRNu4WF5PHP8FbQ_IKx3dwKrvRjgDNp_bn_lgjnAg_uBBWyULQAcxIxYkcbq9ZboLIMA1FbUVVe0GG0jkD1M/s2560/20210404_184207_007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GbWZar1ZLfFuER0n5LcJXDfXRQ1OdMSCz16x1PpUJSB6uReTcPaqnrgOoRNu4WF5PHP8FbQ_IKx3dwKrvRjgDNp_bn_lgjnAg_uBBWyULQAcxIxYkcbq9ZboLIMA1FbUVVe0GG0jkD1M/s320/20210404_184207_007.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday our snow plow guy stopped by with his bill for March and said he was done with snow but I should not worry because if we get a storm he will plow me out.. I agreed I am very done with snow too and now that I have dragged the furniture out onto the deck from the season room, it is done. I now have reclaimed the season room for living in. I like to sit there the few times I do sit down thru the day. It is peaceful,. An afternoon glass of wine goes perfectly there. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Being a local friend too he asked me how I was doing and getting used to being by myself. I told him it is not easy after 53 years this is a new routine but I am not the only one living alone and I will fake it till I make it. He said, Well you might not always be alone, you are a good looking woman and some guy will come around." To which I almost shouted, "not for me never ever.." He laughed and said he knew he'd get a rise out of me that way. I suppose it was a complement as well as a tease, but I still miss Jerry and know I will forever,. I cannot expect different after 53 years. No one will ever replace him. I am financially ok and do not have to move nor adjust my lifestyle downward, do not have to work, did not have to make anymore quick decisions changing things. That is positive, many are not so fortunate, but we planned carefully and I worked at my career 34 years, and we saved. So here I am faking until I make it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-9206764733045850462021-03-31T14:07:00.006-05:002021-03-31T19:29:37.024-05:00No Skin Off My Nose<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6trM9395-B0HtSv4Z3KxJRzYnweflbaf5TC17b5oCYWRY9xqQ6FPaTMibdFID4vM2ZIopU8-3ylZAl92TRm-xladdpLiu6vTR2vg-HYUUjLhUD-5aiv32wW5syAxIutzAgoBWOCjRprdU/s403/When+someone+cares.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="403" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6trM9395-B0HtSv4Z3KxJRzYnweflbaf5TC17b5oCYWRY9xqQ6FPaTMibdFID4vM2ZIopU8-3ylZAl92TRm-xladdpLiu6vTR2vg-HYUUjLhUD-5aiv32wW5syAxIutzAgoBWOCjRprdU/s320/When+someone+cares.png" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Judging behavior not the person and based on experiences. I tell myself "no skin off my nose" about things I try to not let bother me lately and often I find it is what I try to convince myself of with the annoyances of what Jerry's son does or does not do. Yes, supposed to be my son too after being married to his father for 53 years, but I do not feel that comfortable with him and I do not believe he does with me either. After all his head has been directed by his mother and even though he was here through and on Jerry's last day, and did what he felt he could, the attitude resumes. While here he sat with his phone most often. Was ready to leave as fast as he could which was ok with me. No way would I try to explain to him that just maybe a bit of support would have been nice. The words and promises, "if you need anything just call me..." Sure, as if it were that easy. They live in CA, we/me in MN. So that is empty to me. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Actions speak louder than words and lack of being in touch and overall lack of concern resonate clearly with me. Now not even occasional texts from DIL. What else did I expect? Not much really but guess I had hoped for better. What has me referring to no skin off my nose is the latest as time approaches for Jerry's committal service in May. "We'll be there" he said when he was here and on the phone since. And they will. We means he, DIL, and adult grand daughter and grandson. Although both grands are married with their own lives (?) they are still interwoven. That is how they live and it is a lifestyle neither Jerry nor I understood having been independent people who managed to live away from family and who raised our late son to be independent as well. Not so they. So he called to say they had booked their hotel suite would fly the day before the service and leave a day after. Staying at a hotel across the river in La Crosse. I ponder why other than they know it is the "right thing to do" they are flying in for the service. Perhaps he really does care, but this feels very nonchalant. Obviously no concern about if I might need something because there will be no time for it. </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I can hear Jerry telling me, "you expect too much from people" </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">At least the granddaughter is in touch, phones at times and talks. I feel a closeness, love for her. The grandson, nope not after his snit when we were in CA in 2015. He hurt Jerry and never apologized and so I was done then and remain done. When I am through I am really through, truly a no skin reaction. Perhaps it is defensive on my part to not experience the same treatment again. I prefer to think I am wiser than I used to be and have learned that when people show you who they are, believe them the first time. Do not give them another chance to show you. Forgive, sure but that does not mean interact or return for another dose. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I would love to have had time to spend just with granddaughter who called to share her exciting news that she is pregnant, expecting their first in September. Her hubby will not be coming along, someone has to take care of the home and their 3 dogs! But that will not be either and Mom and Dad are in control. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am also a bit disappointed that SIL will not be staying longer, but her partner is coming with her and he has a medical appointment on May 10, the service is May 7, so they will need to return to Denver quickly. What was I expecting? Maybe that she would be able to stay for a week or so and spend time with me. Yet I understand and she did a lot when Jerry was ill. Marty has issues to be dealt with and yet he is making the effort to be here in support. And Jerry reminds me from afar beyond, "you expect too much from people. Expect nothing and they will not disappoint you.". </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> I did not realize my expectations were so high but now I am learning that really they are. W</span><span style="font-family: arial;">hen I got annoyed about something Jerry would remind me to "consider the source. People only know what they know. For some with limited life experiences they do not know much. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I suppose I expected that they might have a taste of grief I am working along. Maybe they do. I am perhaps looking through my own expectations and how I have and continue to act helping through deaths, burials, funerals. It was never about me, always about them. Now that it is central to me, I feel it is still just about them for their convenience for fitting into whatever all else they have happening. I suppose I expected that these really were concerned about me just a little, and yet now I clearly feel not so and I am disappointed. I know I am on my own. I know I will survive. And I know I will get through this. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I will be here alone again right after the committal. nothing new, I have been alone these month s now since December. I will deal with myself and my grief just as I have been doing. I will survive because I have to. But this has been a reminder that all I have is me and the Lord. and my friends here whom I try not to pester. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> I follow a FB group, "Grief Speaks Out" and usually always gain some tidbit of wisdom or comfort from reading, and commenting. Most of us in that site are currently in grief stages, some have been there for years, some are new to yet another grief, like me, some are young, some are old. The other day we agreed how grief does not have a timeline. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqMDvZiHf8lIRfAZViVgt6K0IFQe_2ulbtk6u3vaJg9Bg-83ekUp-mORowbKzhOzn5Qp1ovFaD_5PF1k9W7lHnYYNMlDmxCQcWeeshm7VMPCn8Fdkd6OCaGfNRXhZMiCIbmJBuifa9UPK/s564/Grief+rollercoaster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="564" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqMDvZiHf8lIRfAZViVgt6K0IFQe_2ulbtk6u3vaJg9Bg-83ekUp-mORowbKzhOzn5Qp1ovFaD_5PF1k9W7lHnYYNMlDmxCQcWeeshm7VMPCn8Fdkd6OCaGfNRXhZMiCIbmJBuifa9UPK/w400-h300/Grief+rollercoaster.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">I think I am doing well and most who see me agree. Some marvel, some wonder, I suppose. But only a few really know that this is the most lifechanging event for me, possibly worse than losing Steve, our son, because after all, I still had Jerry and he was my rock. Few know me well enough to realize and the truth is most people are talk and that's where it stops. </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Best to not reflect on what is beyond our control and on those things we cannot change. Survival means getting back to it, no skin off my nose. . </span></div><div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p></div>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-90664425205063923122021-03-08T10:40:00.006-06:002021-03-30T15:25:49.088-05:00Lenten Meditation on why me<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdNbRIt-SZR67YqlT3469CVrCH680dqHlcqUBBasDltVW4M0fLY0FIoKHBWdrhc6WpxZFWdXw5tLPdk5JijLRPGY8oaB6TGXW1d_1x5fLjTfGjJCbvbvxyg5J48xCM7_2PQ0aqs7DIxH9/s2048/20210307_122251.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdNbRIt-SZR67YqlT3469CVrCH680dqHlcqUBBasDltVW4M0fLY0FIoKHBWdrhc6WpxZFWdXw5tLPdk5JijLRPGY8oaB6TGXW1d_1x5fLjTfGjJCbvbvxyg5J48xCM7_2PQ0aqs7DIxH9/w480-h640/20210307_122251.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday's meditation in the Little Black Book, pictured on the left, appropriately reflects a lesson about the crosses we get to bear in life. been through can share. When Jerry was so ill and coming to the last months of his lfe, our PCP told me at my annual visit, "we all get our crosses to bear." So true and I was certainly thinking why me, why him, why us, why now, just WHY?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Years ago in PA a longtime friend and I were commiserating. we have both lost adult children, a grief only those who have encountered can share. We admitted that at times we thought this "why me?" As we talked about the questions we would be asking the Lord at the end of our time on earth, my friend said, "likely when we ask why, why me?" we might be shocked to hear the Lord respond, "why not you, you are nobody special." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Ever since, I have followed my why me thoughts with that response, yes indeed, why not. Some of us are given heavier crosses certainly, but if we have faith and trust, the Lord will bear them with us. This does not ease some of the pangs of misery that we feel at the moment but it can provide comfort. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This Lenten meditation was another good reminder....it happens in this existence, our life here on earth. We can only try to Be Still and Be Not Afraid. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #3d4242; font-size: 17.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Happiness
can only be achieved by looking inward and learning to enjoy whatever life has,
and this requires transforming greed into gratitude."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;">
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="color: #3d4242; font-size: 17.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">—
St. John Chrysostom<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></span><p></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6733427454505364336.post-62777548433730346452021-03-01T15:47:00.007-06:002021-03-01T15:47:59.726-06:00Grief stages and reality of aloneness<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-024g4aUGG12UVu8l-3VjrJ4Rw7ol5NuiSp_Ker5IafAWS9UsCWzYLIFPi_2M8FToWNczDn5xsqu6dwMBENSjg1cFf1-JsMdI5dn5O-dQb9vZ-ldonceUQ1KCuj-6-f7RK9M_6iz5gAY/s640/facing+trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-024g4aUGG12UVu8l-3VjrJ4Rw7ol5NuiSp_Ker5IafAWS9UsCWzYLIFPi_2M8FToWNczDn5xsqu6dwMBENSjg1cFf1-JsMdI5dn5O-dQb9vZ-ldonceUQ1KCuj-6-f7RK9M_6iz5gAY/s320/facing+trees.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Before mass the other Saturday evening, our deacon asked me how I was doing and said he thinks about me frequently. I replied, "I am doing good, I think, and others seem to say so too. I have my moments but I expect them and I let them be." He asked how long we had been married and when I told him 53 years, he replied, "when you share a lifetime together like that and that is a lifetime for many and beyond a lifetime for others, you can expect to grieve. It is absolutely perfectly natural." I shared with him that I think I am at peace, if this is peace because I know I did all I could for those months and the last hardest weeks, when I so worried about how I would continue to care for him as he became weaker and could hardly get up out of bed. All I could do was pray. But God was with me and still is always. I knew Jerry despised becoming frail and feeble, his main complaint was he hated not being able to do anything, he would say, "I can't do anything." He had always been strong, healthy. He had overcome and survived. At Jerry's last breath when he gasped and was gone immediately and I saw the peaceful look of comfort that came all over his face immediately, I knew he was better off, that his struggle ended with victory of eternal rest and that we will be together again, that we will be together in my heart here on earth as long as I live." " He agreed that my faith is my great sustainer and I replied, "yes, I know ...it has held me through the loss of my only son and others...it is all I have left and it will just have to be there for me. Somehow I always suspected I might become4 a widow because Jerry was 7 years older than me, but with his health and the longevity of his family, his genes surely meant a long life ahead. He would tease that he would see 100 and surely he could have if those lungs had not been ravaged." </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Later, after mass, at home, I pondered if all the practice I have had these past few years in losing my dearest to deaths has numbed me or prepared me. I have been blessed with little despair, not the weeping and sobbing as some do at all. The losses may have helped me to realize that death is the end of this life for each and every one of us, no one gets out of this life alive. It certainly has required me to become resilient, but then I had Jerry alongside me as my rock, now just me and God. I have had plenty of grief rehearsals. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Currently a longtime friend from PA is grieving and marking her first a month loss of her husband. But she has family and from her FB posts her daughter stays the night with her, she does not face aloneness and seems to be unable to cope. She is truly mournful to the depths. I feel sorry for her and yet, I feel a bit annoyed. I think, "get a hold of yourself, you have support, family people right there....and remember you are not the only widow in the world." But I do not say that to her, I only do as others, offer a few encouraging words and will send her another card soon. And yet I compare to myself and my situation. I know we are different people and perhaps I am super strong because I have to be. There is no one who will shoulder this with me. There are days when I hear from nobody and on gloomy cold wintry days I keep myself busy inside doing something, any project, because I have no human contact. I can make phone calls and I do. I can post to FB and talk with others and I do, but it is not the same as having another person around. But I just have to get used to it, Jerry is not coming back. </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> This I know. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">t is now just me and I must do my darndest no matter what. I must take care of me. I promised Jerry I would. In fact I think once I got it into his mind that I would be ok and he believed that he was free to leave this earth. The last week he would say, "you are strong, you will be ok, and I will always watch for you." This little cartoon I saw years ago is so appropriate, . </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE01hc1qHZDa_WqwxyGLJpu2neDdbJzSJmrli7PgeMWREfJZj9IHJ_fPptPwjM0yC_C_1wVazB4eGqwikyu-udqR48JrVaYCYrg1IzTSt76dTgf0xBLxnM02mnxRJxdunPgVv7hQrgmTKp/s1352/Elf+Dying+thought.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="1352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE01hc1qHZDa_WqwxyGLJpu2neDdbJzSJmrli7PgeMWREfJZj9IHJ_fPptPwjM0yC_C_1wVazB4eGqwikyu-udqR48JrVaYCYrg1IzTSt76dTgf0xBLxnM02mnxRJxdunPgVv7hQrgmTKp/s320/Elf+Dying+thought.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTe5UIkfzXgfbGhPSBVaoR1BngYhGTIlVM3_MjF9gSUG9aarqswat-3bpBiBUVv3d7Sxla-TDl857NlZmWgD8wUOdCBI-cgViTpDbMxEJnucYqltj-MW6rrPQ2ECN-tW8GKg5NS46wawnr/s694/Charleston+SC+Mom+%2526+Dad+April+44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="694" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTe5UIkfzXgfbGhPSBVaoR1BngYhGTIlVM3_MjF9gSUG9aarqswat-3bpBiBUVv3d7Sxla-TDl857NlZmWgD8wUOdCBI-cgViTpDbMxEJnucYqltj-MW6rrPQ2ECN-tW8GKg5NS46wawnr/s320/Charleston+SC+Mom+%2526+Dad+April+44.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother and father <br /> 1943 Charleston, SC</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I think back over my family and all the women who became widows, not a one of them sat around and wept nor carried on. It just is not our way, not that they did not grieve, they too were hurt, devastated, but they knew life must go on. I think of my Mom, pregnant with me, WWII era and my father a B24 pilot in the Army Air Corps. He and his plane and entire crew disappeared into the Atlantic. No trace ever found. Mom was <br />young only 20 and alone there in South Carolina when she got that dreadful news, her mother, my grandmother went to her on the train and brought her back to PA. Mom always said, "life is for the living." She did remarry and life did go on. My grandma became a widow later in life and then immediately moved into our house. Years later </span><span style="font-family: arial;">when</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> she came out to CA to help me, a dumb young, struggling single mother, she said that she wished she would have had a way to keep her own place instead of moving in and cautioned me to always be able to take care of myself. Life was different then for her, she had no income. She said back then that "you never know what life will throw at you so just be sure to keep your hands folded to the Lord. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Something else that has given me strength is my foundation in change management in career days, way back when I was implementing quality teams, etc. Part of the training focused on the stages of grief based on the research work of Elizabeth Kubler Ross into deaths. Death is the ultimate change. We learned about DABDA, and how some people cycle back and around and may become perpetually stuck in one cycle or another. She asserts there are 5 stages of grief, reflected by the first letter of each, and peoples reactions vary. They may not smoothly flowing from one stage to another. They may not move through the stages in a linear way. </span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>D</u>enial</b> What? Can't be. Will not happen. No way</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>A</u>nger</b> How can this happen.. I do not deserve this. This is not fair.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;">Where's God?</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>B</u>argaining </b> Just another month, year, day, etc. I will be a better person. I will do.....</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>D</u>epression</b> My heart is broken. I can't go on. I </span><span style="font-family: arial;">want to die. </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><u>A</u>cceptance</b> So this is the end. Let me be still. I can go on. I must persevere</span></li></ul><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I feel blessed and that my faith has me at acceptance. That my faith and life brought me to this. And though I do not like it, I wouldn't have chosen this, it is now here .And I must go on, alone. And keep my faith.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Pat's Posts http://www.blogger.com/profile/14874413075596466636noreply@blogger.com0