This day

It's May 18. Wayne would be/is 77 today.
I guess it is terribly inaccurate to say  is. So be it.

I went to the cemetery yesterday, I suppose to get it done. I mean no disrespect, and I do like the spot we chose for him--and me when I die, which I don't want to do, especially because I know how far down that coffin is. But I do not feel his presence there. Perhaps if I stayed for hours I would.

I left a red rose and a rose-colored carnation in a very humble vase. They are in the corner on his headstone.

What is this about?

Just that he is my husband. I have moved on, so to speak, but I am not "over" it, his death. And by now I may be able to accept that he is "better off." That's been a hard one, although that is what people insist and say.

And I do not consider myself single, which means I do not go to the singles dinners and firesides and so on, no matter how often I'm "invited" or "encouraged" to go or told I really should go because they're so much fun and "so and so" always goes. Like that should matter.

One more time: I'm not single. I'm married. He's just not here. Enough said? I suppose so.

Did I mention I miss him?

A Thought

We believe in life. This life, the life before and a life after with the people we love here also loving us there. 

I believe in that. I count on it. And I hear myself say from time to time it had better be true, all of it. That's what I said when Wayne died, pretty sure I said it when my mother died. I want to see them again, and my dad. 

After all, what good is living if it only just ends in nothing?

The Widow's Plea

My daughter Alyce has one child, the miracle baby, Saxby. He is one outstanding guy.

She also has many friends. One of them has established a web site, gofundme.com/BigBrotherSaxby. Its aims are simple: raise money/make Saxby a big brother.

Give the site a look. Donate, if you can.

Thanks,
Alyce's mom

P.S. Today is the wedding anniversary of Saxby's great grandparents, Wilford and Lola Brimley, my mother and father. It would be 83 years.

From me

Children can bring you joy.
They can also break your heart.
Probably you knew that already.

There Is Light in 2015

I'm not sure how to write this. Someone who reads it will think it ridiculous. I can't help that.

It's about the line of nine lanterns along the outer wall of the garage at the front of the house. Between the wall and along the concrete walkway that leads to the front door is a two-foot space. When we first built the house, we had flowers there against that wall. I had zinnias and marigolds and columbine that climbed high on the wall. I liked the color and the evidence the flowers gave that I actually cared about flowers and about the outside of my house. This lasted about three years.

The neighbor across the street had a cat. The cat would come over, dig in the dirt and use my flower area as a toilet. The digging was bad enough, but the smell was awful. I wasn't happy. I sprayed stuff that was supposed to deter animals, and I poured Clorox around the area. Nothing worked. So I gave up on having flowers. Wayne covered the ground with plastic and gravel and installed the lanterns.

It was a good thing, although after the neighbor moved and took the cat with them, I wanted to tear out the lanterns and plant something alive again. But I didn't do it. I got so I counted on the lanterns to come on every night--as the timer bid them to do--and go off in the morning. It was automatic, a nice line of small lights every night. Wayne set the timer. If a light occasionally burned out, I replaced it with the tiny bulbs I bought at Home Depot.

When Wayne died, my first thoughts were not of the lanterns. But I did still count on their light.

I figured out how to set the timer--I'm not helpless. But this summer something happened. I don't know what. The lights stopped coming on. I fiddled with the timer, thought I had it fixed, but no. A time or two the lanterns would come on as they should, but not always. A few times they came on in the morning and went off at night. Not hard to fix, you would think. But over a period of several weeks, nothing seemed to work automatically. I would manually turn the lights on in the evening and off next morning. Sometimes I didn't want to bother with it. So the place was just dark. And I was very frustrated.

Then one night a few weeks ago the lights came on at around 7 o'clock. They went off again at 7 the next morning. A fluke, I thought. I hadn't turned them on or off, and I hadn't touched the timer in more than a week, so I figured it was some little happy accident. Next night at 7, the lights came on, off in the morning. Hmmm. Well, it can't last. But it has. Those lanterns come on every night at 7 and go off every morning at 7. I still check every night, just to make sure, and because I enjoy what seems to me a small miracle. Maybe even a tiny miracle.

And that's the part someone will find ridiculous, but I say, "Think what you want." For my part, I believe Wayne stopped by and fixed the thing. For me he did that. I can get rational and say it couldn't be, not possible, and I certainly don't know how such a thing could happen, but still, I believe it. They were his lights, and I was pretty unhappy that I couldn't make them work. So he fixed them. Why not?

And what will I say if they stop working? I don't know. I'll deal with that if it happens.  In the meantime, I'll tell those Rake-up Boise folks who are coming in two weeks, bless them, not to touch my lanterns.

Humbled Today

We take too much for granted.

I speak for myself. I take too much for granted without pausing to give thanks.

I hereby offer humble thanks for my life, my parents, my health, my family, my home, my church, my Savior, where I live, my country, my heritage, all blessings that are mine that I have never really had to think about because they have been mine.

I give thanks.

And so on

A long time silent here.

That does not mean anything except that I haven't written.

As to my widowly feelings. It's still the pits being a widow. I don't recommend it.

I still love my husband, miss him, would like to see him up there at his sink, shaving, or just lounging in the family room, his chair tipped back, a nice little fire going.

And so on. It's not news.