Vacation Happens ... the bad; part two

Koda Bear

On Saturday of our vacation, two days before it was time to go home, I was lying on a pool chair soaking up the sun, and Dorsey was out on a dive. My mornings in Curacao had become predictable like that. The vacation was quite lazy and relaxing, for the most part.

Then Jordie called me, clearly upset, to tell me the bad news. Koda, our 12-year-old female golden retriever, had died. After only displaying normal age-related issues — but nothing major or serious — she just laid down and died after a bout of vomiting during the night. I felt stunned.

My initial concern had been for Jordie, however. He felt bad not only because Koda had died (and he was there to experience it while handling 10 other animals), but that he hadn't wanted to call us and ruin our vacation. I learned later that he had called all around Amarillo trying to find help with what to do with Koda. He couldn't find any, so he finally called me. 

Koda's favorite spot when
we had that chair. 

In my effort to help Jordie, I didn't have deeply upset feelings about Koda's death. That's what I do. I shut off until I can fully comprehend. It's actually a great coping mechanism because I can deal with crises better. 

My first and only thought was to call Rohn Butterfield, Dorsey's ex-wife's husband. Jordie likes Rohn (who was once his Sunday school teacher and had helped him a few times with high school math and science problems), and Rohn and Vicki had had their fair and unfortunate share of experience with losing beloved pets. I knew they would know what to do.  And I knew they would help because that's what they do. 

I called Rohn. Left a message. I called Vicki. Left a message. Probably less than two minutes later, Vicki returned my call, and I explained what had happened and asked for help. They immediately stepped in to take care of Jordie and Koda. I'm not sure I have ever been so grateful. 

After it was all said and done, the gloomy, awful feelings set in. All the what-if's. All the guilt. All the sadness. All the fears for Dorsey and for Indy (Koda's life partner and best friend). I'm sure the people around me at the pool were thinking, "What the heck!? This woman is crying in the middle of such beauty?" 

Mopey Indy needs lots of extra TLC right now.

Telling Dorsey was a miserable experience, too. He had had a great diving experience. And then everything changed for him. Dorsey's dogs are sacred creatures to him. 

I wanted to go home. I wanted to be with Jordie and with Indy. I didn't want to be in Curacao any longer. Vacation was over, as far as I was concerned. We'd had a good time anyway.

But we stayed and tried to make the most of the rest of our time there. In a blanket of sadness, we went through the motions of doing whatever people do on vacation. 

I bawled the last leg of our trip home. We were going home to a house without Koda, who was pretty much the most perfect dog who ever lived. Dorsey called her a "9th degree Golden Retriever." (That's just a silly thing Dorsey does. Indy is somewhat of a 5th or 6th sometimes because he's ... goofily imperfect.)

Gift from my friend Lisa.

As we have gotten ready for Christmas, put up our tree and decorated (that's another story), waded through feelings of loss for my parents, baked, cooked, shopped and wrapped presents, Koda's absence has produced a noticeable pallor in our home and our moods. 

Again, Lisa created and gave us this
memorial of Koda for us. She went through
all my Facebook photos and found the ones
of Koda to put on this cross. 

Jordie picked up Koda's ashes for us last week. We haven't decided what we will do with her yet. We're trying to figure out the most perfect memorial for the most perfect girl dog ever. 

Oh, how we love and will miss that girl! Nothing can or will replace her. She will forever be in our hearts and memories, and I am grateful for the 12 years of unconditional love we received from her.

Vacation Happens ... the good; part one

Such a relaxing time.

Sunset, last night in Curacao

Dinner one night. Outside.

Dorsey and I spent last week in Curacao, an island in the south Caribbean sea, very near to the Venezuelan coast. As the photos indicate, stunning isn't a large enough word to describe the island's water and beaches.

Playa Kalki beach, known for good snorkeling and beauty. 

We chose Curacao because it met criteria — in the travel guides — for our requirements. Good diving (for Dorsey), which the island lived up to; good food (yeah, mostly ... I had the best chocolate molten cake ever); good shopping (I have no idea ... I didn't even try it because I just wanted to stay on the beaches and relax); and BEAUTIFUL BEACHES.

As for the shopping, we did tour the downtown shopping area on Sunday when most everything was closed. Downtown Willemstad reminded me of a cross between New York City and New Orleans.  Just like that. I'm not sorry we didn't shop, though. Relaxation and beautiful views met my needs.

I was somewhat obsessed with the cat-sized
iguanas all over the Marriott resort. 

 The Marriott Resort was nice. I enjoyed the beach, the pool and the service, although I wonder a little bit what staying at the Renaissance might have been like. It could have changed the entire focus of my stay (not Dorsey's; diving was his thing). The Renaissance (also a Marriott) is located in/near downtown Willemstad, where there is more bustle and shopping.

View from a restaurant of the Renaissance Hotel's beach side.

We always stay at Marriott's when we travel because Dorsey gathers so many frequent stay points through his travels that we end up staying on points wherever we go. (Job perk!)

Like other islands we've visited, tourism is Curacao's life force. Otherwise, poverty abounds on the island. Driving is a nightmare for those of us who have learned to rely on Siri. The streets are not marked!!! So when Siri says to turn left or right on such-and-such street (in Dutch, by the way), we have no idea what that street is. No signs! Who does that?

Dutch is the predominant language, although most locals also speak English. We just couldn't read many signs or directions. Oh, well. We're still alive, right? And we managed to eat the food we intended. :-)

This one came to visit me and stayed awhile
one morning.

 The travel guide said the locals were friendly. I found that true with the staff at the hotel and restaurants, but not so much with just everyday people doing their thing. The driving rivals that of Amarillo drivers. RUDE! And I didn't notice much courtesy to pedestrians. Oh, well. Guess those islanders don't appreciate the money tourists bring to their beautiful but poverty-stricken home. 

OK, wait. I noticed that if we said "hello" first, we received a friendly "hello" in return.  Another thing we noticed is the lack of haste to eat and run. The meal experience usually took about two hours. Waitstaff didn't care to hurry us or anyone else out of our seats, no matter what type of restaurant. That was a strange experience! So unAmerican!!

This was our vantage point.

Perhaps the most unusual experience occurred on Morning Number One. We jumped out of bed and headed straight for the beach first thing.

DEAD BODY!

Yep, he wasn't even covered yet. So we and everyone else watched the hotel staff scramble to put barriers around his body with lounge chairs and a couple of towels. This lasted about two hours as staff guarded the body and waited for "CSI: Curacao" to show up. Finally, the poor guy's body was removed.

I found out later from the massage therapist — who was super nice and good, but still not as good as Amarillo man Larry Brooks at Relaxation Station — that the man was a local, and cause of death was uncertain. Drowning is the predominant theory, although the man was 78 years old. I'm assuming it wasn't foul play, based on the way things played out that morning. Sad.

Overall, the vacation provided much-needed downtime for Dorsey and me after the year of constant change and loss we've had. It was really the first time either of us relaxed, I think.

Dorsey and I like to compare the islands we've been to — he's visited more — and we still say St. Kitt's is our favorite so far. That trip with Kim and Vince over my birthday in 2008 was epic. As for Curacao, we will check this one off the list and relish the fun memories we've been blessed with.

(But soon we will be searching for the next Caribbean island to visit — although I've demanded that the next major vacation is Italy ... and there are beaches there, so Dorsey should be just fine.)

Stay tuned for part 2 ... the bad that attempted to ruin vacation and all the philosophizing that goes with it ...

Tin Cats — My New Life

Blanket chest, ca. 1810-1820, original paint. Love.

Wooden bowl full of stone fruit. 

My new life and business venture — Tin Cats Antiques — officially make me an antiques dealer of early American furniture and decor. (Actually, what we call decor today is what early settlers meant for practical use.)

Tin tray, tin cookie cutters, coffee grinder,
tin and pewter measuring and serving ware —
All were staples of the 18th & 19th centuries. 

 I have bought and will continue to collect items from the 1800s and 1700s.  I have lots of decor and pieces of furniture (although while I have claimed and purchased the furniture, not all is in my current possession — it's a long way to New England from here!).

Pantry boxes, both painted and of natural wood, stored just about
anything and everything. And who could have
imagined a pestle and mortar as decor?

I do not and will not have a shop, but instead will travel to shows and sell through my web site. Dorsey is currently in the process of creating that. My first big show will be at the end of March/first of April in Round Top. Yeah ... the big one. How exciting is that!? For me, it's huge.

I first had experience with Round Top through my mother-in-law, Mary. Dorsey's parents were antiques dealers of the same period and style of antiques that I am doing. When I went with Mary the first time in 1999 or 2000, I thought that was the most exciting thing I had ever experienced, and I wanted to do it. I fell in love with the style and knew I someday wanted a house full of 18th and 19th century furniture. Thanks to Mary, Dorsey and I have always had a few pieces.

Salt boxes were hung on the wall and stored — salt!

And while I loved the idea of making a career in antiques, I never believed it would be possible for me. I was wrong, because it became possible, and it is possible, and it is happening.

This is a spice cabinet, also hung on the wall; each drawer held its own spice.
This apothecary has seen a lot of time, use and heat.

More pantry boxes, a checker board, candle box and yet another wooden bowl. 

Shaker boxes demonstrate the amazing carpentry skills of the Shakers.

I've always loved our dining room "farm" table and Windsor chairs.
These aren't for sale ... at least not any time soon. Unless you want to offer me double their worth —
THEN I might sell them. ;-)

There you have it. I can't wait for the web site to be ready and able to display my inventory. This is going to be a fun, hard and rewarding ride. I am so, so grateful for this opportunity — and I've always wanted to spend extended periods of time in New England —another dream coming true.

I've said it before, but I'll say this again ... it's amazing to me how in the middle of something devastating and sad, God can and does create blessings. In my case, he resurrected a desire that has sat dormant in the recesses of my heart for many years.

The Good and the Bad of Coping with Firsts

It's been almost two months since I updated this blog. I've been in a world of reliving and coping with the events of last year that occurred around this time: Mom's birthday, Mom's stroke that devastated our world, Dad's birthday, Thanksgiving, Mom's move from BSA rehab —where we still had hope — to Hillside Heights (Hell Hole Heights). I remember decorating in earnest Mom's new room at HH. I wanted it to be as festively Christmas as possible for her. I wanted her to experience how much we love her.

And I remember Dad's dramatic decline in health, and Mom's change from being our mom to somewhat like a small and confused special-needs child, and then moments of clarity as our mom. I also remember the thousands of questions and the stress Kim and I felt as we tried to find answers for the future living arrangements of our parents.

For awhile, we had hope for Mom, because she was in the rehab part of HH. Little did we know what was about to happen after insurance said, "'Buh bye, bitches! Her life is over to us, so we are done," and made her move to long-term care (AKA, nursing home).

But that's not yet. Christmas is still coming, so I'll stop with the dreadful memories.

Kim and I (successfully) maneuvered through the birthdays and Thanksgiving, albeit tearfully. I've discovered that since Mom and Dad's initial passing in May, coping has become more difficult again. More tears than usual. More pleas to God for visits from my parents. More unpleasant memories of this time last year. I'm just there again, until I fight my way back to now and the blessings of my life — and the knowledge that all is well with Mom and Dad.

On November 24 — Dorsey's birthday — the Randall High School basketball teams had their season openers at home. Between the girls' game and the boys' game, the school (which would be Principal Steve Williams, boys' coach Leslie Broadhurst, and long-time "House of Doom" game announcer Chris Albracht) took time to recognize and honor my dad for his accomplishments and contributions to Randall, particularly to girls' basketball. Kim and I, along with Jordie, Cole, Vince and Dorsey, stood on the court while Chris read the most beautiful tribute — and "the fire hydrant story." (Stay tuned at the end). I wasn't tearful. I still needed time to process things. (The next day was quite awful, actually. But therapeutic. Things happen as they should.)

The most poignant moment happened when Chris asked everyone to "stand in a moment of silence for Coach Jim Wilcoxson one last time." (I'm even breaking down as I type that.) While I seemed to be in my own world during the presentation, other members of my family noticed, and were impressed and touched by, the dead silence and attention to this tribute to our dad and granddad. The audience. The boys on both teams. Everyone, whether or not they knew Dad. Such amazing respect.

What a beautiful thing Randall did for our dad and granddad. I will be forever grateful.

And so here I am. Here Kim and I are, about to face Christmas, the holiday that has always centered around our parents, where traditions run deep. What to do and how to do it? We don't know. We just will because that's what people do. Everyone who's ever loved someone close will have to or has had to face that year of "firsts." They do it, and we'll do it. Because that's just part of the circle of life.

>>> I have to interject that Thanksgiving was a different deal. For most of our lives, we spent Thanksgiving day playing in basketball tournaments and watching basketball, from my playing days until the day Dad retired. Jordie spent (spends) Thanksgiving with his Dad and his side of the family, and Kim has always spent Thanksgiving with Vince's family. So this year, Dorsey and I spent Thanksgiving at home and with our friend Dow. <<<

Christmas Eve and Christmas day will be the high hurdle of all hurdles for us — at least so far.

So here I sit and type. I haven't yet decorated for Christmas, and it's Dec. 2. But I don't care. There are no rules. Dorsey and I leave for Curacao next week. Maybe I'll decorate when we get back? I need to for Jordie's sake. I suppose we need to be as "normal" as possible.

But interestingly and very God-like, life hasn't been all bad and grief-stricken. I've also embarked on and been engrossed with a new life and business venture that has begun for me — and I'm so excited I can barely contain myself. I've never felt so joyful about something in my life. How can one be so miserable and so happy at once? Life is funny that way. (I will share soon.)

I hope not to wait another two months to write again. It's felt pretty good. :-)

_____________________*********************_______________________

"The Fire Hydrant"

It was the first time for Jim Wilcoxson to coach against girls' basketball coaching legend DEAN WEESE from Levelland. Levelland had long been Canyon's rival in this game, and when Randall High School was born, it didn't take long for Randall to "hate" Levelland, too. It was WAR on the floor between Levelland and the schools of Canyon ISD.

Weese had won many, many — and I say many — state championships. Levelland was to be feared and revered! The first time Randall and Levelland played, Wilcoxson's team — the Randall Lady Raiders — won. (I was there. It was the most unbelievable, exciting, amazing thing I had ever experienced. Loud. Packed. Crazy. I remember how the Randall fans went wild at the buzzer. Truly one of the best days ever in the Wilcoxson family. The Lady Raiders went on to win the 1992 State Championship.)

After the game, Coach Weese was understandably not happy about the game's outcome. As coaches always do after ballgames, Weese and Wilcoxson met to shake hands. Wilcoxson, who never liked anyone to be unhappy and who had great respect and admiration for Weese, said to Weese: "Don't worry about it, Dean. Every once in awhile, the fire hydrant pees on the dog."

Yep, that's typical Wilcoxson. 

That's my dad. Oh, how I miss him and his stories and jokes.

What about time?

Time fascinates me.

Today is Oct. 7, 2015. As I sit on my couch, surrounded by two Golden Retrievers and four (indoor) cats, I reflect on last year …  when I had two Golden Retrievers and three cats. I note the sadness I feel today, yet also the hopefulness and peacefulness.

I think about the fact that my mother’s birthday is Oct. 7, 1945.  On that day 70 years ago, a feisty, intelligent, ornery, sweet and caring child named Nicki blessed the earth.  I’m certain that time brought the family great happiness.

And I would be willing to bet the moon that my 23-year-old mom felt pretty miserable on Oct. 7, 1968 — just five days before I would grace the world with my presence.  If you’ve ever been pregnant, you know how those last days feel.

For my mother’s birthday last year, my sister Kim and I took Mom to Dillard’s to buy her some new shoes.  The three of us probably experienced every emotion known to mankind that day.

Our mother had suffered a small-scale stroke just a year-and-a-half before, and, my, how times changed after that! After two months of rehabilitation, Mom was just about normal. She functioned well enough, but she walked more slowly and off-balance, processed information more slowly, forgot things easily and experienced left side neglect. She simply forgot she had a left side to use, and her left hand often found itself in her spaghetti plate at The Olive Garden.

Mom also stressed out more easily after the stroke, which I never believed could be possible.

So in Dillard’s that day, my mother and her shoe selections took up one-third of the department. Boxes scattered all around us, with some shoes matching and others not. Mom would be in the middle of trying on one shoe and get interested in another. And soon she would forget the shoes she had already tried on and want to try them on again. We helped Mom try on shoe after shoe after shoe to finally make a decision on one pair. We felt badly enough for the salesperson that we told her our mom had suffered a stroke, which caused her to make relatively simple tasks quite difficult.

My mom didn’t like it any better than we did. She felt self-conscious, anxious and exhausted when finished. Kim and I worried that we way overdid things for Mom that day.

Still, it was a good day! We had been together, and my mom had been able to get out for a little while.

So, yes, time fascinates me with all of its changes and complexities, and how, at the same point at any given time, a person can experience a dichotomous range and fluctuation of emotions.

I have often suggested to people going through difficult times to imagine themselves one year from now. What do you think that year will look like? What do you think you will be feeling? Will what you are experiencing right now even matter that much at this time next year?

The proposition certainly gives one something to ponder. With time being an ever-changing, never-ending process, one can’t realistically conclude she will be feeling exactly the same load of misery (or even happiness) in a year that she’s feeling right now.

If someone had told me last year that one year from now my mom would no longer be with us due to more strokes, I wouldn't have believed it. And if someone had also suggested that neither of my parents would be here, I would have been unable to function for the rest of the year. 

What I most understand about time right now is that it only exists in this moment. I have one minute out of 60. I have one hour out of 24. That's it. They might all be strung together to make longer periods of time, but I don't know that. 

I don't know about tomorrow, and I don't need to know about tomorrow. I only need to put one foot in front of the other and do the best I can to make a positive difference in my small world — one second at a time, one minute at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time. 

That's it. That's my time. That's doable.  

Mom and Dad are everywhere

Dad gave Jordie his Tundra last November. 

Jordie and I spent most of yesterday together while he was home for the weekend. The time was special to me because we actually talked quite a bit. We even talked about our grief, and some of the things we have experienced in the past year. (Oct. 16 will mark the beginning of what I truly believe was a traumatic experience for us all.) I also felt like my parents were right there with us, because everything we did and said seemed to circle around, right back to them.

We visited Dale and Connie Blaut at the hospital; it's been two weeks since Dale had a series of heart attacks and then surgery. Hopefully, he will be going home soon (just so he can heal enough to have another surgery in a couple of months). Dad and Dale were tight, tight, tight. If men had BFFs, I would call Dale one of Dad's. They coached, they golfed, they ate foods their wives wouldn't approve of, they drank coffee ... everything. Only God knows what the heck they talked about! And Dale was with Dad almost every day until Dad died. I grew used to seeing Dale in my house every day, as if he were just part of the family. It was the same with Leslie Broadhurst.

I realized when sitting with the Blaut's yesterday that Dad's friends had become family to us. They were always there, both physically and emotionally. I did not know how much I missed those coaching buddies of his — and their wives — until we sat with Dale and Connie yesterday. I loved catching up, and I wanted to hear more. I have really, really missed the Blaut's, the Broadhursts, the Weese's and the Lombards. And yesterday, I saw a post from Ronnie Glenn on Facebook and thought, "Awww, there's Ronnie!" (Facebook has been a great tool for keeping up with people, if only just a little bit.)

Dean Weese celebrated his 80th birthday Saturday with a surprise party. I told Jordie yesterday that I should call Dean and sing him the "Very Merry Unbirthday" song to him, in memory of Dad. Dad's tradition was to call us after our birthdays and sing the song. I loved seeing the pictures of Dean with his family, and his great big smile. I had only seen a very sad and troubled face before.  When the Weese's came to visit us during Dad's illness, one of our caregivers, Barbara, whispered to me, "Mr. Dean is taking this so hard."

Jordie and I had to run to the store yesterday, too. I got some cash and handed it to him. He said, "No! I don't need this!" I told him to take it anyway. He said, "Well, OK. Thanks, Granddad." I told him somebody had to take over! (My dad was notorious for stuffing wads of cash in Jordie's pocket every time he came to visit.)

We talked about Dad's truck and how I've enjoyed driving it, and that I no longer see myself with a BMW instead. I just like the truck. :-)

And I spent a big part of yesterday afternoon hanging out in the yard with Blaze, our newly adopted kitty that my mom adored; Blaze is one of three kitties my parents took care of in their backyard, although one would run off for months at a time, so he almost doesn't count. It was like Mom was there with Blazie and me.

Of course, not all the memories that came back were happy ones, although I'm grateful that now I have the good ones that make me smile and not just cry. I was able to recognize that growth yesterday, too.

When we drove into the BSA parking lot, the same way I always drove in every day for two months after Mom's stroke last year, I felt nauseated. Walking through that hospital, into that elevator, seeing all the healthcare professionals coming in and out of Dale's room, and especially noticing the pullout bed where Connie had been sleeping were enough to send me back to ugliness for awhile. How, other than by God's grace, did we get through that? What a terrible, horrible, awful, traumatic time. There is no other way to describe it.

In spite of that, yesterday was amazing, once again thanks to Jordie and Dad's friends. And I suspect another corner has been rounded in being able to notice and relish the happy times.

I only want to know ...

I have had an emotionally difficult week. I've fallen through whatever protective cloud I've been living in the last few weeks, and I'm back to the reality of sadness. I don't know, did I go through denial again? Did "Moving Day" snap me out of it?

I realized while running the other day that the way I miss my parents is like when I was a kid, and I went away to basketball camp, or to stay with my Mama Lo and PaPa for a week — and even when I was in college and lived in Lubbock for a couple of years.  I would miss my parents terribly, and if I allowed myself to focus on missing them, I would feel horribly sad and homesick. But then I would remind myself that it's only temporary, and I would see them again soon. Much like putting a bandaid on a strawberry burn, I would be all better for a while.

Back then, I could call them, or write them when I missed them. (Back in the Mama Lo and PaPa days, we wrote real, honest-to-goodness, handwritten and mailed letters!!) And, then, I always knew the end date. I had a definitive light at the end of my homesick tunnel.

I'm lost knowing I may not see my parents again for years and years and years. I'm going to feel this void indefinitely. When I have been feeling good about things, I've been able to remind myself I will see them again, and they're all good and happy and all that wonderful stuff. But when I am down, as I have been since Moving Day, I am focused on the forever part of what I don't know.

So in this week of reflection, I've been able to finally pull together in my mind all the things that have randomly floated around like scraps of notepaper since Mom and Dad died. I need — OK, maybe it's more of a want — to know some things to get me through this awfulness.

I want to know what my mother was thinking all those sad, sick months. I want to know how she perceives it all now, from the other side — from a healthy side. I want to know what she was trying to tell us all those times she struggled to communicate. I want to know she understands we did the best we could to take care of her, that we were heartbroken for her condition and her personal suffering.

I want to know whether my mom felt a reconnection with me at the end. Did she know how special that time was to me, even though the circumstance was sad, unfortunate and painful?

I want to see my mom happy, enjoying all the little things she loved. I want her to acknowledge that I recognize I share many of the same enjoyments she did — especially collecting little treasures, piddling in domestic activities, learning new things and taking care of kitties. I recognize we truly weren't that different. Fall is my favorite, too, Mom.

I want to know how my mother felt when she reached heaven and reunited with all three parents. How did she feel about what she learned? How was it to meet the baby?

Does my mother understand how difficult it feels to figure out what to do with all the things she cherished? Is she ok with the decisions we are making?

Does my mother realize how badly I want to know everything she was thinking and feeling during her life? I look at her pictures, and I think, "What was that little girl like?" or "What were you thinking that moment in time?" Mom, I wish you had shared more of your thoughts and feelings with us — more of what you were like growing up.

And, Dad. I wonder the same things about him, yet what he must have been like in his younger days is not as much of a mystery to me — I think because he and I were alike in so many ways and because we've discussed a shared experience many times.

Does my dad now see the story of my life? And does he now have the whole picture of what he meant to other people? He admitted when he was dying and everyone was reaching out that he couldn't wrap his head around it all.

I want to ask Dad if I did ok at the end. Does he know I did my best? Kim took her much needed opportunity to share special times with him at the end; did I waste mine?

Dad, could you hear us talking at the end? What did you think? Did you laugh at us? Did you feel badly for us? Were you trying to tell us everything is ok? What about Kim on your final day with us, when you held her hand?

Do my parents know how empty life feels right now, in spite of all the blessings I have? Do they know how guilty I feel for enjoying myself sometimes? Do they know I feel guilty enjoying their things, and the gifts they left behind?

Do my parents know how blessed I feel that they were my parents, and that I am so grateful, as Winnie the Pooh said, to have loved something (them) so much as to feel such a great loss?

I would really, really appreciate that visit.

Moving day and more changes

Beautiful Blaze has a new home at our home.

We moved furniture from my parents' house over the weekend; we only took the things that Kim and I each will have in our homes. At some point down the road, we will have an estate sale for what is left. 

It's interesting how a person can be stressed out before that knowledge reaches consciousness. That's what happened to me, I guess. I've had a couple of nervous habits since my childhood. Every once in awhile, they reappear, usually under extreme duress. When I find myself engaging in any of those behaviors, I know I'm stressed. I've never been a nail biter, either, but I chewed off every nail on my fingers Saturday.  I cussed like a sailor all day Saturday, too. That's indicative of hidden anger I'm harboring. Why, I don't know. I suppose I'm still just not quite accepting this whole situation ... 

By Sunday, the chronic migraine I've been carrying raged. 

Mom and Dad's house looks sad and empty. I have no words to describe the void I feel. While Kim and I decided we would view taking more treasured pieces of furniture out to have in our own homes as honoring and remembering our parents, the sadness remains. These changes are yet more reminders our parents are gone. 

One piece of furniture I brought home used to be in one of my auntie's houses in Childress. I now have it in my dining room, displaying my parents' china. My mom had the china stored, but I'm bringing it out for two reasons. One, I think it's a beautiful symbol of my parents' long, hard-fought and rewarding love relationship. Two, the china Dorsey and I had — though fine dining rarely occurs in our home anyway — used to belong to him and his ex-wife. I know. Weird. There hasn't really been anything "normal" about our relationship. :-)

The cabinet, the china, crystal and some cut glass pieces.
If you can see the salt and pepper shakers in the front,
those were painted by my great grandmother. 

I also brought home a hope chest that had been in the family, which I will use to store my dad's keepsakes. You know, things like plaques, newspaper articles, awards, memorabilia, objects significant to him ... 

Dorsey and I swapped out our kitchen table and chairs for my parents'. And I brought Chloe's kitty things over, too. 

As you can see, Chloe is happy to have her throne back.

Kim and I divided up the family quilts from my dad's side of the family, and other things, of course. Kim took quite a bit of the furniture from the Childress family. 

Everything we left is still in the house. Everyone has said, "Don't get rid of anything. You might regret it later." Anyone who has been in our position has advised us to wait until much later to make final decisions.

We will. The rest of the things will remain so that if we change our minds about something, it's still there. No hurries yet. 

Last but not least, I finally brought Blaze over to our house. Blaze is the beautiful orange kitty my parents had been feeding outside for several years. I didn't want to disrupt his little life, but decided it was time because he had to be lonely. When Socks reappears, I will bring him over, too. Yes, I truly do fit criteria for Crazy Cat Lady. 

So the journey continues. I'm still hoping and praying God will allow Mom and Dad to pay me a visit. 

Still rounding the corner

If I stop and look at myself and my behavior from far away, I can see I'm progressing in the grieving process. It's been just about four months since Mom and Dad died, and I continue to notice new things. (But first I have to say I can't believe it's been four months; it still seems like yesterday because they are always right there with me.)

I shared in my last post that our trip to Sandpoint allowed me to truly take a step forward in enjoying life again. I didn't know whether being home would set me back, or whether I would continue to move forward.

I think I'm still rounding the corner. I say that because now I can look at the pictures we took after Mom had her stroke in October of last year. I can look at them. I still feel the pain, but I don't avoid them anymore. And when I see some of those pictures, especially those of my parents in those last days, I have reposted them on Facebook. Yes, I know you've seen them all before. But I need them to be right where they are at this time. Facebook friends, bear with me.

I've also posted memes about missing moms and dads.

Some might say I'm stuck on Mom and Dad. I might even have said that about myself if I were actually observing someone else.

I can now see it's simply a matter of revisiting these things with a new pair of glasses. The pain is not so raw I have to avoid them. I can see now I'm moving toward viewing pictures of that time as sweet memories.  Not yet, but I'm getting there.

I also came home from that trip and worked in the yard — in the bird garden we created for my mom. I hadn't touched it since she died. I had simply lost interest in the yard and stopped spending time in it or on the patio. But last week, I pulled weeds, refilled the bird feeders and the bird bath, cleaned up the patio furniture and the grill, and have spent nearly every day on the patio, reading a book or playing with the cats.  I've felt "normal" again.

I also repurposed the "little room" that's part of our master room and bath. That room has been several things since it was first created by Mary and Dick, Dorsey's parents. They used it as a small office. When we bought the house, we also used it as Dorsey's office. A couple of years ago, I made it into more closet space. When Dad moved in last year, I cleared it out to make it his space, if he wanted it. (Turns out, he didn't.) When Mom moved in, we made it her space; it just fit her bed and her belongings.

When Mom and Dad died, I made that space my "mom cave." I put the recliner we had bought for Mom's room at Good Life in it, and the space became my hideaway.

When I returned from Sandpoint, I no longer felt the need to hide away. I realized I have our bedroom, the couch, and a pretty space in the living room in which I could either nap or do my morning study routine.

Panorama of my closet addition.

I gave the recliner to another family member and turned the area into holding more closet shelf space again.

We have some sad times still left on our to-do list with my parents' things. Oct. 16 is a month away ... the day this all began. We have Mom's birthday, Dad's birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas ... they're all coming.

But like everything else, I must confront these things and move through them. As I've learned from others who have been through the loss of parents, though, no matter what steps I take forward, the loss will always feel new and surreal.

I miss my parents more today than ever.

Potatoes, huckleberries and bling

City Beach, Sandpoint, Idaho

My time in amazing Sandpoint, Idaho, ended yesterday. Dorsey and I had been in Northwest Idaho for 9 days, most of that in Sandpoint, although I spent a day and way too much money in beautiful Coeur d' Alene.  But I did my part to support the Sandpoint economy, as well. I'm sure they cried when I left. (I did get some hugs, though.)

While Sandpoint is only a relatively short distance from Canada, I didn't go because I had so many things to see and do in the potato state — yummy french fries at Mack Duff's. I'll save Canada for at least a four-year stay in the unfortunate event that either Donald Trump or Kanye West becomes President of the United States. (I shudder to think about these two outrageous, attention-seeking, egomaniacs in that role.)

Dorsey has had work in the northwest for months; he's already done the Coeur d' Alene thing several times. I wasn't able to go on those trips — or any other for more than a year in order to be with my parents.  In fact, this is the first work trip since before my parents got sick that I have traveled with Dorsey. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until a sense of normalcy seemed to settle upon me while there.

Like Bend, Oregon (still my fave), I could easily see myself living in Sandpoint. It's pretty. It's small. It's a physically active town — you can walk just about anywhere. I love the clothing styles (except maybe the overuse of Birkenstocks), it's laid-back personality, and my political beliefs fit more naturally with this part of the country. (I have no idea how that happened, but it did, and I am grateful ... but that is a post for another time.)

I felt true happiness for the first time since my parents became ill. It's as if my little spirit came alive and said, "OK, fly." And so it did.

Tierra Madre, my twice daily
juice stop.

While Dorsey worked during the days, I developed a little morning routine of coffee on the deck at Starbucks, walking around the beach and the town's walking trail, and then heading over to the juice bar for breakfast.

Yes, I kept up my juicing while in Sandpoint. At least I could feel somewhat healthy in the middle of enjoying things like chocolate mousse, key lime pie, ice cream and oatmeal cookies. (It's definitely time for a three-day reboot.)

And sort of as an aside, I would so like to open a juice bar kind of like Tierra Madre, my favorite Sandpoint juice joint, but I don't believe Amarillo would support it.

Resident kitty

After I had gotten ready for the day and loved on the hotel's resident kitty, I explored Sandpoint, shopped, browsed the town's massive used book store, read lazily (I found a new author I liked that I pulled from my mother's bookshelf!), and made myself a few friends from Sandpoint.

I spent much of my time conversing with the locals about their town, about Idaho and about mutual interests. I've never really done that in my travels before, but now I know I've short-changed myself all this time. Or maybe it was just that Sandpoint people are friendly? (OK, not the witch at the laundromat; there are a few bad potatoes in every sack.) I don't know. I do know I had a nice experience and learned many interesting little facts.

For example, Lake Pend Oreille — pronounced Ponderay — is the eighth largest in the U.S., — Tahoe is sixth — and it was formed from an ice glacier thousands of years ago. I also learned about sweet and amazing ospreys and asshole bald eagles. Really, bald eagles may look majestic, but they aren't very nice. I compare them to human sociopaths. And huckleberries abound! Huckleberry jam, huckleberry syrup, huckleberry ice cream, huckleberry sauce, huckleberry chocolate, huckleberry tea ... probably even huckleberry beer.  I even learned that the reason the Philly Cheesesteak Sandwiches at Joe's AUTHENTIC Philly Cheesesteaks are authentic is because the ingredients, such as meat and rolls, come from Philadelphia.

First night dinner on the lake.

Dorsey and I headed out every night to try nearly all of Sandpoint's restaurants. For a town of not quite 8,000 people, the number of excellent restaurants surprised us. Everything we tried was good, either because of food, atmosphere or both. Several restaurants also featured local live music, which I'm always good for.

As I always do when I travel, I wondered in amazement at the quirky, different,  special, beautiful and even annoying things about the town and culture. For example, driving in Idaho sucked because speed limits are no higher than 65, at best. And apparently, people don't understand the concept of slow traffic confining itself to the right lane. One girl gave me a special wave out the window after I made an honest driving mistake — I didn't know the highway well enough to know two lanes were about to merge into one ... Geez.

It struck me yet again about how, growing up in Texas, I somehow internalized an overly exaggerated sense of pride in the state of Texas ... so much so that I never considered or imagined other parts of the country could be more amazing or offer anything special. Crazy and snobbish, I know. Now all I want to do is visit every part of the United States ... and other countries, too, of course. I believe I have developed a bad case of "the greener grass syndrome."  I always come home to Amarillo wanting to move. Someday maybe we can, but not yet.  (Give me a break, OK? I have lived in Amarillo for more than 40 years. Change is warranted.)

Weekends and summer days.

When I have an extra mil or two.

So pretty.

I think a final thing I noticed on this trip is my love of bling. It's back! When Mom and Dad were sick, I cared only about getting dressed in my yoga pants and t-shirts, and throwing my hair up in a big ponytail clip. Unlike me, I often went days without makeup. I just didn't care. When Dad moved in, I went through my closet and got rid of bag after bag of clothing and jewelry, and what I didn't get rid of then, I tried again after they died. I didn't care about my shiny stuff much. I got rid of lots of fashion jewelry, which I used to crazily adore. I didn't care anymore. I figured I was just getting old and had completely outgrown my midlife crisis of a few years back.

But Idaho ... particularly Coeur d'Alene ... changed that.

Not only does the shiny, blingy stuff rule again, I have created a new wardrobe.

I'm home now, and I have no idea whether my apparent turn of a corner will last. I still grieve. I will never get used to being an orphan. I think of my parents every day, and I worry that the further away their deaths get from me, the further away they get from me. I am now back around familiar things, and we still have their homes and belongings to take care of.  It's still early in this grief game, I think.

I just know that I liked feeling good again, if at least for a little while.

I'm truly grateful for the experience and hope to return to Idaho someday.

I'm a juicer now!

After writing my last post, I focused my energy on my "Juice Reboot." Because I attended to that all week, I actually had a good week and didn't dwell horribly on my losses, and I felt like writing about something new.

Let me tell you about my Reboot.

In five days, I ingested the following:

• 33 apples
• 10 oranges
• 4-6 peaches
• 3+ cups of blueberries
• 10 lemons
• 26+ carrots
• 22 celery sticks
• 5 cucumbers (ugh)
• bunches and bunches of kale
• bunches and more bunches or other leafy green veggies
• bunches more of spinach
• 2 beets (ugh to it's highest degree)
• 1 head of romaine lettuce
• 3 sweet potatoes
• Some parsley, some basil, lots of ginger root
• Coconut water (which is only good with lime, to me)

I did not say I ate that much; I ingested it. I juiced it.

Here's why:

A couple of weeks ago, Jordie and I visited Amy, Marsha and Griffin in Denver. Amy and Marsha had been juicing, and I curiously asked her about it. I had no intention of doing this myself. Then, as Amy began to explain it to me, and the purpose of infusing all of those nutrients at once, my interest piqued.

While Marsha wants to lose weight and get healthier, Amy just wants to be healthier and make sure Griffin gets a healthier start on life. One other thing Amy said caught my vain attention, too.

"I didn't try to lose weight, but I lost a couple of pounds, and one thing I noticed is that layer of ... I don't know ... that ... ugh ... that had developed on my legs ... I don't know what it is ... went away."

I knew exactly what she was talking about!!!

I have discovered that the older I get, no matter how much I exercise, I can't get rid of that layer of "ugh."

We talked off and on about Joe Cross' juice diet and his supposedly amazing documentary, "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead" throughout the weekend. (The two documentaries are incredibly amazing, both educationally and inspirationally. Both currently are on Netflix.)

By the time Monday rolled around for Jordie and me to go home, I knew I wanted to try it. Not to lose weight — I can tell you now if it were another scheme for losing weight, I could not stick with it. Not with my poor eating habits history, and not with my eating-disordered past.

This time, I became interested in my health. For at least 10 years or more, I have suffered from chronic pain. Mostly unidentifiable chronic pain. I've had a million plus diagnoses, ranging from chronic fatigue syndrome to being tested repeatedly for multiple sclerosis and lupus. I've had muscle and joint pain, migraines, stomach problems and fatigue during all of this time. (Stomach problems my whole life, actually.)

I had surgery to remove eight inches of dead colon for some unknown reason, and I have chronic pancreatitis, which is not a problem as long as I don't drink alcohol or eat peanut butter.

I take a ridiculous amount of prescription medications for migraines and restless leg syndrome, plus minor pain killers that only somewhat help.

I've always called myself a medical disaster.

I finally was diagnosed with fibromyalgia not that long ago. Makes sense. And there's not much anyone can do about it, other than manage symptoms as well as possible.

I had gotten to the point with my pain that I was praying for God to do something, anything, to relieve me of this pain. I was only 46 years old and too young to feel this old and be this debilitated by pain and fatigue. And if He didn't do something or give me some insight, then please don't let me live very long because I can no longer stand this pain!

A week later, Amy introduced me to Joe Cross' Juice Reboot. (God thing? I think so.)

I wondered whether getting and maintaining the right nutrients and minimizing my processed food intake would help lessen my pain and reduce the amount of medications I have to take.  (Is it rocket science?)

Sure enough, I got home, watched both documentaries and knew this is the answer. One woman on the second documentary told Joe Cross that after just a few months of juicing a couple of times a day, her pain was gone and she was off all of her medications. So many other people, including children, with chronic conditions were telling the same story.

BOOM!

I bought my juicer, and my journey began this past Monday. I'll tell you about my five-day Juice Reboot adventure (and the Great Beet Fiasco) in another post.

I am now to the juicing and eating part. We will see how this goes. I can tell you right now that after getting through the first days of processed food withdrawals, I have immediately begun to feel better ...

BOOM!


"The Reboot with Joe Juice Diet," by Joe Cross. "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead, 1&2." (documentaries)