I Have a Job

I have had a job--a career, I like to think--for 32.5 years. I have had the same job for 32.5 years. I have taught at the same school since I graduated from college in December, 1975. I taught high school for one semester, and then was moved to middle school math, where I've stayed for the ensuing thirty-two years. I've taught around one hundred children each year, which works out to about 3250 children over the course of time. I've taught future teachers (two of whom teach with me now), doctors, lawyers, engineers, nurses, physical therapists, and the list goes on and on. I've also taught two convicted murderers (one of whom is on death row for capital murder)and numerous thieves and drug dealers/users. I've had to face the loss of students through death during the school year, as well as later in their lives. The first child that died was killed in a motorcycle accident (NOT his fault; he was doing everything right); another was accidentally shot by her older brother.

I am on my second generation of children, and that's always interesting and usually rewarding. If I know one or both parents, I at least UNDERSTAND the child's behavior, even if I don't like it! I used to tell DH that if a child ever walked in a said "you taught my grandmother", I would know that it was time to retire. I plan to teach three more years (not counting the current school year) because of an opportunity to participate in a special retirement reward offered by my state.

I am especially thankful for my job at this time of the year. I have read on several message boards about people who have lost their jobs and people who are afraid that they will be the next people in their company to be laid off. I remember times in my childhood when my father was unemployed, and it's a heavy burden for a child to bear. There was also a time in my marriage to DH when he was unemployed, and we were waiting for his diability retirement application to be considered, and that was a difficult time. We were blessed with family members who could and did help us, and God's hand was always on us; whenever the bank account was the lowest, an unexpected check or other gift would appear.

God bless and comfort the people who are in the midst of job uncertainty...especially in the midst of a holiday season. God bless and comfort their children, and help them to remember the happy memories, and not what they didn't get for Christmas. God bless the family of our student who was diagnosed with leukemia four weeks ago; her mother was shot by her step-father several years ago, and is confined to a wheelchair, so grandmother is the caregiver for both of them. God bless the students at our school who have collected close to $400 to help buy gasoline for the trips to the children's hospital and food for everyone who makes the trip. God bless the doctors and nurses who care for sick children, and thank you, Lord, that an outstanding children's care facility is only an hour's drive from our town.

"God bless us all, everyone."

You Never Know...

who you'll run into in the light bulb aisle at Wal-Mart. My heat went out yesterday and since it was Sunday (and to avoid a $100 emergency call charge), I waited until today for the repairman to come. I had a very bad afternoon; I have always had either my father or my husband to help me make decisions and arrangements about home repairs, and this time, I was--almost--on my own. My brother-in-law came over and ascertained that the pilot light was still on (we had VERY bad wind Saturday night/Sunday morning), and he called his father to get the name of the repairman that he'd used on several occasions. Here's the surprise--the man showed up at exactly the time he said he'd be here, and it took less than thirty minutes to find the problem AND fix it...for just over $50, which was probably the cost of a standard service call.

Anyway, back to the WM light bulb aisle. I ended up taking the day off since I didn't know how long the repairs would take (worst case scenario was that I'd need a whole new heating unit), and someone needed to be here other than the wonderful woman who cleans my house. I left her cleaning and I went to Wal-Mart. My college roommate and her husband are coming through town tomorrow, and are spending the night at my house. I wanted to spruce up the guest bedroom a little, and get some new lamps for my bedroom/sitting area and the dining room, and that meant I'd need light bulbs.

As I rounded the corner, I ran into the man with whom I'd had a relationship before I met and married DH. We hugged, and talked for ten or fifteen minutes. When I was seeing him, he was recently widowed, and still very much in love with his late wife. There was also a twelve-year-age difference between us, and his children didn't approve of our relationship. It was a heartbreaking time for me; he was the man that I thought I'd marry. It ended up that my marriage with DH was a much better match; we were closer in age, and shared many more interests. However, I learned a lot from my time with him, and some of those lessons have given me strength during the time since DH's death. The man had known DH, and knew that I had lost my father in early 2005, my mother in December, 2006, and DH in March, 2007. We talked about the lessons we'd learned in our time together, and he told me that he (and probably his wife; he remarried about the same time I married DH) would continue to pray for me. It was a nice conversation; no awkwardness and no strain. I just wish I'd put on my makeup before I left the house!! However, he's seen me without my makeup...

Full of Memories and Almost Empty

Mother and Daddy's house is almost empty...and today is the one-year anniversary of her death. We worked again all day yesterday, and took another load to the storage building. My sister and I are taking another load tomorrow after work, and we've each brought a couple of loads of more personal items to our houses. We found a picture of my sister taken when she was about eighteen years old, and I brought it home, framed it, and hung it on the wall. I found scrapbooks I'd made when I was in junior high and high school, along with a photo album from the same years. I found a picture of one of my favorite friends wearing a grass skirt and doing the hula at a party that was probably at a friend's lake house. That friend died of AIDS almost thirteen years ago, and he still crosses my mind every year on his birthday. He sent me red roses on my birthday one year; he was the first person to ever send me roses. I became engaged to DH three years after my friend's death, and I wrote his mom a note telling her of my engagement, and how much I was going to miss having her son as part of the festivities. I used to write her a note a couple of times a year, and I've let that fall by the wayside with my parents' illnesses and death and my husband's illness and death. I need to send her a card during the holidays, and catch her up on what's happened in my life and tell her that I still think about and love her son.

It's Been Almost a Year...

since my darling mother passed away. I was off for the entire week of Thanksgiving, so my family and I spent two full days working at Mother's house. We packed up a lot of boxes and sent them to our storage building. We packed up most of Mother's artwork in plastic, and sent those packages to the storage building. The storage building is climate-controlled, so the pictures will be safe until we can look through them and see what we want and what we want to share with other people. I've had several cousins tell me that if there's anything we don't want, they'd love to have samples of Mother's work to hang in their houses.

I found Daddy's stash of office supplies, and packed most of those up to bring to my house. We found file folders, file folder labels, and copy paper. We--my sister, my niece, and I--laughed as we uncovered all these treasures; we share the office supply gene, which helps to justify MY stash of pens, markers, scrapbook paper, card-making supplies, sheet protectors, stickers...you get the idea. We are all regular customers at office supply stores; Daddy's favorite Christmas gifts were gift cards from Office Max. If he'd been born sooner, he'd have mastered a computer. As it was, he just had a collection of typewriters--different sizes of type (Pica or Elite) and different sizes of carriages--both manual and electric.

I had my immediate family with me for Thanksgiving, and in spite of the losses I've had during the past year, I still have much for which to be thankful. There are so many people who are much worse off than I, and who never had the happy marriage that I had. I hope I can hold onto that thought as Christmas approaches...

Grey's Anatomy vs. My Real Life

I became a Grey's Anatomy fan over the summer. I had to force myself to stay at home and adjust to life without my husband, so I made a weekly trip to Blockbuster (in addition to my Netflix subscription) and watched a LOT of DVDs. I ended up buying last season as soon as it was released so I'd be caught up when the new shows started.

Tonight's episode had a storyline about a man whose wife was critically ill. I won't replay the story here, but she ended up dying during surgery. The only person who sat with the man during the procedure was an intern. There were no family members, no friends, no one except one of the show's major characters. I may have missed some details (I was working on a project while watching the show, so my whole focus was not on the television), but I cannot imagine going through a crisis like this without my support network.

I sat at the hospital from a Thursday evening (5:00 or so) until early the following Saturday morning (5:00 a.m.), and I was never alone. In fact, during the day on Friday, more than fifty people stopped by the hospital to show their love and respect for my husband and me, and to pray with me. One of those people was my husband's ex-wife; I wanted her to be there to be with their sons. I hope I never take my friends and family for granted.

The Retirement Party

My friend's husband retired at the end of September. He is a year younger than I am; she is three years younger. I have known her family since I was five years old; her sister and I went to kindergarten together. My friend and I have taught together for more than twenty-five years, and have carpooled almost the entire time. I have known her husband since we were in junior high/middle school, and he and my sister used to walk to their piano lessons together.

The people in his office (he was the director of our town's branch of a very large state university, and his branch is primarly geared to teachers who are working on advanced degrees) decided to give him a surprise "retirement roast", and instead of gifts, they have established a scholarship fund in his honor with the university. The roast was held yesterday afternoon at a local museum (he's on the board of directors), and there were probably one hundred people attending. When I returned my RSVP card (along with my scholarship donation), I said that my sister would be attending as my guest.

It is still difficult for me to attend social functions without my husband, and especially one that he would have enjoyed. My friend's daughters were our bridesmaids when we were married (they were nine years old at the time; identical twins), my husband and my friend's brother-in-law went to elementary school together, my husband and my friend's sister ran with the same people in high school, my husband had worked with several of the judges and lawyers who were at the roast, and between my husband and me, we knew/know a lot of people.

Well, my sister had to go to the doctor yesterday morning. She had been fighting a kidney or bladder infection all week, but finally decided she needed an antibiotic to help her get well. I picked up her prescription for her so that she could take a dose or two and get ready to go to the party with me. She called about an hour before it began to tell me that there was no way she could go with me. I understood, but I cried for about ten minutes, trying to decide if I could go on my own. I worked up my courage, and put on my new jacket (from Coldwater Creek's clearance sale, and it is a beauty) and headed for the museum.

My friend's mother was one of the first people I saw, and we hugged each other tightly. Her husband--my friend's father--died at the end of August, after fighting cancer for most of the summer. I told her that I had not been sure I could handle the social situation, but I knew she'd be there, and that helped.

The party was wonderful. The food was good (and done by a caterer that was new to me), the bar was open (but I stuck to a Diet Coke since I was my own designated driver), and the slide show was full of memories. The master of ceremonies was a dear friend of the retiree, and we all laughed together at the retiree's foibles, then cheered at his strengths, and ended with a standing ovation for him and his wife.

I called my sister on the way home to tell her that I was still sorry that she wasn't able to come, but that God took care of me because I ended up sitting next to the cutest guy at the party and talking to him all afternoon. She laughed, and then asked who it was. I gave her a few clues--I'd known him since he was five years old, and he used to own a local restaurant--but she couldn't get it (probably because of her sickened condition). When I finally told her his name, she agreed with me that I had been with the cutest guy in the room...and his sweet wife.

We run into each other every few years, and he always makes me feel good. He is someone I've known for almost fifty years, and even though we didn't run in the same circles in high school, he always remembers me, and that's exactly what I needed yesterday. The last time we'd talked, he'd laughed about passing my house and always seeing my husband working in the yard. This time, I had to tell him that I'd moved (he'd noticed that it didn't seem as though anyone lived in the house), and that my husband had died. He knew that Mother had died (read it in the paper), and wondered if I had moved into her house (next door to my old house). I told him that I had moved--kicking and screaming--out of my old neighborhood (where he and his wife still live, but they are in the "historical district", which is about five blocks from my old house), and still miss my 10.5-foot ceilings, pocket doors, and big rooms. I miss the neighborhood grocery store, where I would always run into someone I knew, and the old people from the retirement complex across the street would stop me to tell me how to cook beans...just so they could have someone with whom they could talk. I miss the even smaller neighborhood grocery store where DH would always go to buy meat. I am probably safer in the "new" neighborhood, and I'm close to my sister, but nostalgia comes calling...especially on a fall afternoon with old friends and good food.

Shopped, but did not drop...

My sister and I talked about going shopping yesterday afternoon, but we were both tired. I suggested that we wait until this morning, and shop for about three hours. She picked me up at 9:30 a.m., and we headed to Wal-Mart. We both had a list, and expected to be in and out in about thirty minutes. That was foolish, I know, and it took more than an hour. I bought a new shower caddy (I bought a cheap one when we moved into this house, and it was due for replacement), chrome spice shelves, a new dish drain (the old one was fine, but this new one is red), a chrome corner shelf for one of my kitchen cabinets, sachet packets to put in the guest bedroom sheets to keep them smelling fresh, toilet bowl cleaner, and--most important--dog food!

We left Wal-Mart and headed to Goody's. There were two ladies selling jewelry at the front entrance, so we stopped and shopped with them before we headed into the store. One of the women looked very familiar to us, and when we asked for her card and saw her name, we realized that she and her husband had attended church with our parents. I spent more money on clothes, and then hit the Goody's jewelry clearance. I've cut my hair much shorter than I've worn it for the past thirteen or fourteen years, and I'm ready to change my style in earrings. From there, we went to Cato's, and two shirts and two pairs of earrings begged to come home with me.

We headed for the mall (to eat lunch at Ruby Tuesday's), and a shirt and sweater in Sears also begged to come home with me. Our lunch was lovely, topped off with a shared dessert. Our three-hour shopping trip finally ended at around 3:00 p.m.!

I unloaded my packages, and then went to work on my spice shelf. I think my darling husband bought either chili powder or crushed red peppers every time he went to the grocery store; I found about three jars of each, plus a couple of jars of meat tenderizer! I threw out old jars, and reorganized everything. I then moved on to a couple of the kitchen cabinets, and they're looking much better now. The shower caddy is now in place, and looks much nicer than the old one.

When we moved, my huge, hand-made jewelry armoire was moved with all the jewelry in it. It was held closed with elastic cords, and placed in the back of a truck. All of my jewelry--earrings, bracelets, pins--got jumbled up and dislodged from their individual compartments. I haven't cared anything about organizing it, but the hair cut seems to have been what was needed to get me moving. I went through every drawer this afternoon, throwing out junk, and matching up pairs of earrings. I think I can finally find a pair of earrings every morning, and won't have to wear the same three pairs that I wore for two months or more after DH died. I unpacked all the jewelry I bought today, and put on a new pair of earrings to wear around the house!

I finished up my work time by putting together the outdoor floor lamp that I bought for my deck. It is very heavy, and looks nice setting between my adirondack chairs, just behind the table that goes with the chairs. The weather is finally getting cool enough to sit outside in the evenings, and I think the light will be sufficient for reading or maybe even using my laptop out there. I've just watched the last two episodes of "Grey's Anatomy" from last season, and I'm about to watch the episode that I taped last Thursday night.

Football Season is Here

Football season in our state started at the end of August. DH was a BIG football fan, having played while in high school, and done public address and radio work for several local teams. We watched college games together every Saturday (while he wore his favorite team cap, that would be thrown across the room when things weren't going well), and listened to games that weren't being broadcast. Actually, he liked his favorite team's radio announcers better than any of the television broadcasters, so many times we turned down the volume on the television and listened to the radio guys. That was always interesting, since the radio guys were usually a few seconds ahead of the television...

When I was a child, there was only one television in our house, and my father controlled what was watched. You could either watch a football game with him (college or professional, and he had a very logical--to him--system of picking which team he favored in a particular game), or you could move to another room. Therefore, my sister and I grew up rather familiar with the game, and the players. After DH and I met, he was frequently impressed by my knowledge of the game...with one exception. He made the mistake of asking me if I knew what a safety is, what a touch back is, and there was one other question that I can't recall. I laughed, and called my father to tell him that DH had insulted my upbringing!

Fall has always been one of my favorite seasons, but this one has started off rather bittersweet. I think I am coming out of the state of shock that started with DH's death and funeral. So much time was taken up with things that had to be done, legally and personally, and now that most of those details are handled, I have moved to a new stage of my grief. I have wonderful, supportive friends and family, but sometimes I just have to sit and cry until I can't breathe. I ask God all sorts of questions, but I know I won't get answers until I see Him face to face. When my friend's husband died five years ago, her doctor wanted her to see a therapist who charged $125/hour, and was sixty miles away. All of her friends at school told her that we thought we could provide the same service for free, and one of our male teachers (one of the finest men I know...and I should know, since I taught him when he was thirteen!) told her that he'd come watch television with her for $5/hour, and let her be in charge of the remote! Now I suppose it's my turn for the therapy.

As my mother said, onward and upward...

Three Steps Forward, One or Two Back

I went to see my in-laws last Friday afternoon. They are always so happy to see me, and thank me for coming...and then I cry all the way home. I cry because we all loved DH so much, and miss him with every breath. I cry because I'm happy that I was given such wonderful in-laws, and I wish they lived closer to me so that I could do more for them.

We had a big weekend at my sister's house. My niece and her husband (and that darling baby) came over on Saturday, and then my niece's in-laws came Sunday afternoon to swim, eat, and mostly visit with the baby. They live about 70 miles away, so it wasn't a bad drive, and we all had a nice time. The baby is getting quite comfortable in the pool (with someone holding onto her FIRMLY all the time), and after pool time, she got to draw on the concrete pool deck with her lovely new sidewalk chalk.

I made two cheeseballs, cucumber dip, an almond poundcake, and cinnamon mini-muffins (all from Tastefully Simple mixes...wonderful and easy). My BIL cooked wings and smoked sausages on the grill, and we had boiled corn and slaw. DH was usually the "wing man", so BIL was a little hesitant, but he pulled it off in fine style. I manage pretty well in a crowd, but it makes me lonesome for DH. He had a VERY outgoing personality, and loved to cook and watch people eat what he'd cooked. The house to which we'd just moved when he got sick is set up beautifully for entertaining, and if he'd still been with us, we probably would have had appetizers at my sister's, and moved around the corner to our house for the main course and dessert.

Life is still good, and I have a lot to enjoy and for which to be thankful. I was sick for about two weeks with a sinus infection and a nasty cough that I couldn't shake, and being sick always makes me a little morose...onward and upward.

Who Am I?

There are four of us who teach at my school who have become widows within the last four years. The eldest is sixty-two, and I'm the youngest at fifty-four. We have taught together for more than twenty years, and have gone through three principals, five assistant principals, and numerous educational innovations (most of which came from people who have spent precious little--if any--time in a middle school classroom). One of us has an elementary degree, two of us are secondary math majors, and the fourth is a special education teacher. One of us has two biological children and two grandchildren; another has one biological child, one grandchild, and another on the way; the third has three biological children, six grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren; I have no biological children, two step-sons, a niece, nephew, nephew-in-law, great-niece, and a Jack Russell Terrier. We all belong to the same religious denomination, and three of the same professional organizations. Three of us had happy marriages, one did not.

I recently made a fairly drastic change in my hairstyle (you're wondering how this makes a connection with the above paragraph; stay with me, I have a point coming...). I had wanted to make this change earlier, but my sweet DH liked my hair the other way, so I went along because I loved him. I ran into one of my fellow widows on our way in and out of the restroom, and she commented on my new hairstyle. I told her that I had felt free to change it after my husband passed away, and she laughed. She said that for the first time in her life, she was not someone's wife or someone's daughter...and that she was not an on-duty mother, just a doting grandmother when possible. I told her that I also had that epiphany after my mother died last fall--I was an orphan. She laughed again, and said that we were now just who we are in God, and that's more than enough. She's right...and I think three of us have reached that point, even though we are still mourning. One of us is still looking for herself, and I know her well enough to know that it will be a tough journey. She married at the age of fifteen, so she's almost always been a wife...and now she's not.

The father of another teaching friend is dying. He is blessed to be living his last days at his home, surrounded by a loving wife, daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren. I went by to visit today, and told both my friend and her mother than I had walked in both their shoes (my dad died in January, 2005). Thank God for the blessings of friends and family, and the prayers that hold us together when we can't hold ourselves together. I've been connected with this family for almost fifty years--I went to kindergarten with the middle daughter, and have taught with and carpooled with the youngest daughter for more than twenty-five years. God has blessed me with so many wonderful connections and memories, and they give me strength when my own strength is almost exhausted.

Shhh...The Baby is Sleeping

It is almost 6:00 a.m., and I have entered the high-tech era of baby-sitting. My darling almost fifteen-month-old great-niece is with me for a couple of days. I am sitting in the living room writing this on my laptop and listening to the baby monitor. When her mother (now 29) and uncle (now almost 28) were babies, we didn't have baby monitors, and mothers and aunts and grandmothers slept even more lightly and listened for every sound. We tiptoed into darkened rooms to be sure they were still breathing, and tried not to stumble over anything and disturb their sleep.

She and I made the trip from her home yesterday afternoon. Her mom and dad have gone to San Francisco so that her mother can do a presentation at a national conference in her field, so I graciously (ha!) volunteered to take off two days from school and babysit. This was her first car trip without at least one of her parents, and she cried a little when she realized they were not coming with us. She cried for about five minutes and then decided to do what she usually does as soon as she gets in the car...take off her shoes and socks.

We got to my house around 6:15 p.m. Her grammy (my sister) was here to help with dinner and getting ready for bed, and we put her down around 7:20. She will sleep until around 7:00 a.m., and then we'll change her diaper, eat breakfast, brush teeth, get dressed, and play until time for a morning snack and nap. My niece is a wonderful mother, married to a wonderful man, and was blessed with a child who seemed to have been born with a schedule already set! After a morning nap, we'll have lunch and go visit my friends at school. Then we'll play some more, have an afternoon snack, and then have another nap. After that nap, we'll have dinner, play some more (hard work getting all that play in during a day), eat dinner and get ready for bed.

What a wonderful way to spend a day...

Harry P. and Me

I read my first Harry Potter book about three years ago, I think. I was at my niece's house and borrowed the first two books from her. I borrowed two more from a friend at school, then bought the other two for myself (and sold them on E-Bay for just about what I paid for them). I had heard a lot about the books, and as a middle school teacher, I've always prided myself on keeping up with what my students find interesting. I've also been a voracious reader since childhood, and the idea of a continuing series appealed to the secret soap opera fan in me.

I watched the first three movies all at once (again, from the collection of my niece), and the fourth when it was released on DVD. I haven't yet seen movie #5; don't know if I'll venture to the theater or wait for the DVD.

I am a Christian, and was--thankfully--brought up in a Christian home with wonderful parents. My mother seldom censored my reading material, but she did censor my television viewing. I think she had a good idea about what I read, since she was with me when we went to the public library or to the used book store, but she never said much about it.

When the Harry Potter furor first started, there was a blurb on the local news announcing an interview with someone from the Watchman Fellowship (do a Google search if you want more information). I decided to make it a point to watch, and it turned out to be with a man with whom I had gone to college. He made some excellent points, and I try to use those same points when I am talking about Harry and his friends. My friend pointed out that if we ban the Harry Potter books, we should probably also ban the J.R.R. Tolkien books and the Chronicles of Narnia series written by C.S. Lewis. J.R.R. Tolkien was a devout Christian, and influenced C.S. Lewis in his conversion to Christianity. My friend said that parents should be aware of what their children are reading, and be sure that children understand the difference between fantasy and reality.

I have now read all seven of the books, and have enjoyed them all. As an educator, I know the importance of reading to a student's success, and if the Harry Potter series has encouraged a reluctant reader to take up the habit, then J.K. Rowling has done a good deed. In fact, she mentioned in her interview with Meredith Viera that one of her greatest rewards was being able to encourage reading.

If you are a parent and unsure about Harry and his friends, then please read the books before you make a final decision. You know your child, and you have shared your beliefs and values with him/her. Read the books aloud; talk about the books; use them as an opportunity to develop reading comprehension and vocabulary skills. As many others have commented, Harry's success depends on good choices, not on magic. Use the books to talk about choices, about love, about loyalty, and even the benefits of developing a good imagination (look at how much money it's made for Ms. Rowling!)!

Happy Anniversary...

Yesterday would have been our ninth wedding anniversary. To celebrate, I took a gift to my husband's parents. I went to the town in which I teach (just outside the town in which I live), and went to my favorite restaurant/caterer. I taught the owner, her husband, her four sisters, her daughter, her nieces, and I'll teach her son this coming school year. She serves lunch from 11:00 until 2:00, but the store opens at 9:00 to buy things from the coolers. I bought a chicken casserole, a broccoli casserole, cheddar crusted potatoes, macaroni and cheese, chicken and dressing, and a quart of vegetable soup. All of these were frozen, and just have to be heated for about thirty minutes and they're ready to eat. I also bought chicken fingers, pimento cheese, blueberry salad, apple ambrosia, and cornbread salad. They are both in their late 70s, and their health is not great. They live about twenty minutes away from me, so I thought this would be a good idea.

I spent last Wednesday and Thursday with my college roommate and her husband, and then went to my niece's house for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. My niece (age 29), nephew (age 27), and I got in line at Barnes and Noble around 11:30 p.m. Friday night to get our copies of the Harry Potter book. My niece's sweet husband (I feel silly calling him my nephew-in-law; we LOVE him) was on baby duty with my thirteen-month-old great-niece. My niece finished the book Saturday afternoon; I finished Saturday night because I took several breaks to play with the baby--I put her shoes and socks on so she could take them off, I brushed her hair, we answered her cell phone, she practiced walking...a baby is just what I need to help me heal from my losses, and God sent her at just the right time for our family.

And So It Goes...

I called the air-conditioning people around 10:00 a.m. on Thursday to ask what time the crew would be at the house to install the new unit. The receptionist/office manager didn't know that a crew was supposed to be there; the repairman who was at the house on Wednesday was not in the shop on Thursday, and the office had not heard from him. I called my friend who had been helping me with all these arrangements, and she took over; I was upset and crying (and worried about how much it was costing me to run a small--probably old--window unit to keep the dog and me cool).

The owner of the company called me a little later and explained that the repairman was sick; in fact, he was at the doctor's office because his blood pressure was extremely high. The owner assured me that someone would be at my house on Friday morning to take care of my situation.

The two-man crew was there by 9:00 Friday morning, and worked ALL DAY. They had to make a trip to the shop to manufacture some parts (fittings) and then to the parts place to get Freon. However, there was one last wire to be hooked up, and the installer said it was supposed to have come from the factory already hooked to the proper terminal. He was afraid to hook it up because he was afraid it would damage the unit. He said he'd try to get a repairman by yesterday afternoon, but that someone would definitely be here Saturday morning to finish.

The owner called again late Friday evening to see if everything was all right. He had been on another line when the installer called him, so he didn't know about the latest snag. He also assured me that someone would be here Saturday morning...and he was right. The original repairman got here around 9:15, and had everything hooked up and running by 10:15. I have the thermostat set on 74, but I'll probably bump it up to 76 after the house cools off from being stuffy and closed up for four days.

I thank God for friends and family to help me handle stressful situations. I thank Him for the window unit that kept the dog and me comfortable; for being able to afford the television set-up in the bedroom so I could watch television while I was "stranded"; for being able to afford a laptop and wireless internet so that I was able to keep in touch with the "cyber-world"; and for able to afford to have this new unit installed. It may make things a little tight for the next three months, but if I decide to move in the next few years, it will have added to the value of the house.

My great-niece (13 1/2 months) will be in town for an hour or so this afternoon. She'll be at her Grammy's house (my sister) for a short visit, and that's just up the hill from my house. What fun...

It's Not the Heat...

The rest of that expression is "...it's the humidity." Since I live in what would probably be considered the "Deep South", I am familiar with both heat and humidity. We are in the midst of a rather serious drought, but we've had rain (sometimes "locally heavy" according to the weather folks) almost every afternoon for the past five or six days.

When the lady who takes care of me ("cleaning lady" is not nearly comprehensive enough to explain what she has meant to our family over the past fifteen months) came Monday, I turned the temperature down to 72 degrees while she was working. I was gone on business for a while, and when I got home, it was pretty certain to us that the air conditioner was NOT working properly. We got the filter changed (it was awful; I hadn't thought about it during the months after DH passed), but that didn't help. She works part-time for a heating/cooling company, and she called them to arrange for a service call on Tuesday.

To make a long story short (my dear daddy and I were never very good at making any story short, but I'm trying), the service man couldn't get here until this morning. The dog and I sweated through Monday afternoon and all day yesterday, until I remembered the window unit that is in our master bedroom (and why did it take so long for me to think of that, you ask? My brain is still sometimes in a fog...). So I've spent the last thirty-six hours camped out in my bedroom...which is really more of a master suite, with a television and VCR/DVD, lovely club chairs, and access to my wireless internet. The dog doesn't like staying in here, because the unit is noisy, and she thinks it's related to her enemy, the vacuum cleaner.

The service man checked the breakers, the compressor, etc., and gave me the not-so-good news. I can spend $1200 or $2800; the $1200 will probably get me a couple of years unless something else goes wrong, and the $2800 will get me a ten-year warranty. Will I be here another ten years...I don't know, but if I spend $1200 and then something else goes wrong, I'll end up putting more money into the unit, and probably ending up having to spend the $2800 farther down the road. It was still rainy and stormy today, so he will be here in the morning to do the work.

I lived alone for more than twenty years before I married DH, but I also had my father (who lived next door) to consult before I made big decisions. DH sometimes teased me about being too independent after we married, but I broke down and cried this morning and wanted him here to help me make this decision.

A little girl in my Sunday School class once told me that she couldn't wait to be a grownup so that she could do whatever she wanted. I laughed, and told her that grownups STILL can't do what they want...we have to try to do the right thing and the best thing, and those are not usually the easy things.

On a lighter note, the shoes that I ordered from HSN came this afternoon, and they're just as cute in person as they were on the website...

My Version of Doodling...

A Breakfast Sandwich

My husband was a wonderful cook. He and three brothers all enjoyed cooking, and it was fun to see them together at family gatherings, talking about recipes, grills, cooking utensils, etc. DH's specialty was cooking on the grill (charcoal only, refused to even discuss a gas grill), but one of our favorite meals was breakfast. When we were dating, he would get to my house early on Saturday morning and cook our breakfast before we started on our day's activities. After we were married and he was still working, the Saturday morning ritual continued...bacon, eggs, grits, toast (or maybe biscuits...he even liked canned biscuits as well as those really good frozen ones), and jelly. He also liked bucket steak (that he bought at a wonderful little community grocery store where they still cut their own meat) with gravy and biscuits, and we'd occasionally have that meal for dinner.

After he retired, he would get up with me at 5:30 a.m. and cook my breakfast before I left for school. I am an adult-onset diabetic, so it was important that I have a good breakfast to keep my blood sugar balanced in case I didn't have a chance to eat a morning snack. He'd also usually have my dinner ready when I got home from school, and with enough leftovers for me to have lunch the next day (I haven't eaten a school lunch in about twenty years).

This week, I had a craving for DH's breakfast sandwich. That was my favorite from the beginning; I told him it was one of the reasons I married him. We had the sandwiches during my last Christmas break; he went into the hospital on January 21. The breakfast sandwich consists of two pieces of toast (spread lightly with mayonnaise, and it had to be HIS favorite brand), several slices of bacon, a slice of American cheese (Velveeta was always his favorite...I tried to steer him toward 2% cheese, but he said he could taste the difference), and an egg cooked over easy (we both ate our fried eggs over easy, probably another reason we had such a good marriage). This sandwich could not be eaten as a sandwich (because of the runny egg yolk), but had to be eaten with a knife and fork.

I had a breakfast sandwich this evening for dinner. It was made with white wheat bread (DH was white bread all the way), low fat mayonnaise, reduced fat cheese, and only my second egg of the week, but it was still a wonderful meal. I've had a long week of missing DH, but the sandwich brought back good memories instead of the awful ones that have been floating around in my brain for the last two weeks.

This is a picture from my art journal that I started keeping while DH was in the hospital. This is in a small (about 6" X 8") scrapbook that I bought at Wal-Mart, but my favorites are about 8" X 10", and I buy them at Dollar General for $3.00 (they'll probably quit stocking them now, but I have four stashed in my craft room). I did not inherit my mother's ability to draw, but I did inherit her love of color and her enjoyment of detail work. I section off the pages and draw the basic designs with a black Pitt brush pen, then go back and fill in the color using other Pitt brush pens (at least 48 different colors, just like that wonderful box of Crayolas from my childhood). When I went to the hospital every day, I carried my journal and pens with me (in my bright pink plastic tote from Hobby Lobby).

I am a math teacher by profession, and I think the orderly, geometric feel reflects that training. Someone also commented to me that the pictures are a reflection of my desire to control some part of my life at that time.

I have three other journals in progress--two of the spiral-bound notebooks, and a loose leaf journal/scrapbook that will be kept in an 8.5" X 5.5" three-ring binder. I finished the alphabet cards for my niece and great-niece and put them in the mail yesterday.

Time to change the DVD, get another glass of water, and get back to my drawing...I also got a new Somerset Studio in the mail yesterday, and I'm saving it for later today.

What Are They Doing...

in heaven today?

"What are they doing in heaven today
Where sin and sorrow have all gone away
Peace abounds by the river they say
What are they doing there now
I'm thinking of friends who I used to know
Who lived and suffered in this world below
But they've gone up to heaven and I want to know
What are they doing there now..."
~Charles Albert Tindley~

The first time that I did a search for this song was after hearing it on an ice cream commercial. I think it was for Blue Bell, but I'm not sure. One of the times DH and I heard it was after my dad had died (January, 2005), and it made me cry. I cried because I was sad; I missed my daddy...hearing his voice calling me by my nickname, hearing him chuckle after telling one of his famous jokes, calling to ask him directions (he was more reliable than Google when it came to driving directions) before making a trip, reading one of his letters to the editor in the local newspaper, and so many more things that I still miss. I also cried because I was happy for him...seeing his parents, his sister and brothers, so many old friends; and finally getting the answers to genealogical questions that he had researched for years!

Then my mother died...and I cried again. I cried because I missed her wonderful sense of humor, knowing that she thought her children and grandchildren were the smartest and most beautiful people in the world, and being able to call and tell her something clever that her "granddog" had done. I cried because she was going to get her last prayer answered--she wanted to be in her right mind and be with my dad, and see her parents and the seven brothers that had already gone to heaven ahead of her.

Now DH is in heaven with them, and I thought about this song again today. Our finite minds cannot comprehend the wonder of God's heaven, so we think about it in human terms. When I was sitting with DH while we waited for God to tell the angels that it was time to go get him and bring him home, I told DH that I was jealous because he was going to get to see my parents before I did. When the angels came at 3:40 a.m. on that Saturday morning, I kissed his cheek and told him that I was going to miss him. It was the truth--he's been gone for just over three months, and I do miss him. Since he was already retired, he was always here when I got home from school, and we spent the summers together...cooking produce from his garden, watching the Braves, and playing with the dog. School has been out for almost two weeks, and it's been an adjustment for me. I'm working on a curriculum project for my board of education, and the administrator in charge asked me when I was able to get so much done in the week since our last meeting. I told her that since I'd gotten my laptop, I could work and watch television at the same time, and that I needed something to occupy my time since DH was gone.

Whatever they're doing in heaven today must be glorious...

The Love of My Life...

Someone called last week to check on me, and said something about DH being "the love of your life". I think I'm glad that people thought that he was the love of my life, but he wasn't. Now that I've written that, it sounds different than I meant...and I must explain.

The "love of my life" was the man with whom I had a relationship before I met DH. He was twelve years my senior, and had recently lost his wife of more than forty years. He did not want his family to know about our relationship, probably because of the age difference and the fact that I had a professional association with his wife and children. We saw each other for more than a year, and then he broke my heart. I threw myself into a lot of other activities, and announced to my friends that I was open to blind dates.

I met DH as a result of one of these blind dates, and we knew almost immediately that we were supposed to be together (and married). I wasn't the love of his life, either. I think the love of his life was a woman that he should have married when he was in his early twenties, but events and choices led him down a different path. The path had some rocky patches, and took him some places he should not have gone, but by the time our lives crossed, he was back where God wanted him to be.

We had a wonderful relationship, and a good marriage. DH was my first husband (at the age of 45), but I'd witnessed enough of good and bad relationships to know that marriage was work, and not always wine and roses. We complimented each other in many ways, and had been raised in similar families with similar values. It was a better match than a marriage to the "love of my life" would ever have been. We finished each other's sentences, almost read each other's minds, shared the same interests in music and movies, cooked together, laughed together, and cried together. I helped him become more patient, and he helped me become a little neater and more organized. We loved and cared for each other's parents, and shared one "child"--a darling Jack Russell/fox terrier dog, who has grieved almost as much as I have over the loss of her beloved "Pop".

Maybe he WAS the love of my life...

A Tough Weekend...

We were out of school Friday and Monday for the Memorial Day holiday. I went shopping Friday, and got home around 1:00 p.m. The phone rang just after I got in, and when I checked the Caller ID, I saw the name of one of my favorite cousins. I had planned to call him, since I'd heard from a friend at school that my cousin's wife was in the hospital and quite ill. My cousin was wonderful while DH was in the hospital; came to see him almost every day, and stood with his arm around me when we were making the decision to let DH go. Anyway, I picked up the phone and said his name...but the voice on the line identified himself as my cousin's brother. My heart fell, because I knew what he was calling to tell me.

My cousin's wife passed away Friday morning around 7:30. She was 65 years old, and had been sick for twenty years or so. She had scleroderma, and by the time she went into the hospital this last time, she was unable to eat solid food and weighed around seventy pounds. She and my cousin had been married for forty-two years. They had one son; he died from a brain aneurism when he was eight years old.

My cousin was probably my mother's favorite nephew. My mother was thirty-four years old when she married my dad, and had lived with her parents until she married. My cousin would come to his grandparents' house and my mother would take him to the movies, and he'd spend the night and be treated as a king. When my dad died, he came to the house to see Mother, and told her that he had "forgiven" my dad for marrying her and taking her away from him; Mother got a good laugh out of that. When my nephew arrived at the house (he and Mother had a special relationship, too), he introduced himself to my cousin as "the competition", which made Mother laugh again at a difficult time.

The visitation was Sunday evening, and the funeral was Monday morning. I went to the visitation with my sister, but I drove to the funeral alone. I got there too late to sit with the family, and I did that on purpose. I don't think I could have handled sitting in the same seats where we sat for DH's service. I sat in a place in the chapel where my cousin could see me if he looked at the congregation...if he could see through his tears.

My birthday was yesterday. We're not usually in school on my birthday, but we have a really awkward calendar this year, so eighth grade graduation was yesterday. On Thursday afternoon before we got out for the long weekend, someone put up a floor-to-ceiling sign outside my classroom door announcing that it was my birthday and included a remark about my advanced age (54). I first blamed/gave the credit to a man who teaches with me (I taught him when he was in the eighth grade), who teases me a lot about my age (he'll send eighth graders to my room to ask about Lincoln's assassination...). However, after I thought about it, I think it was two other close friends who made it SEEM that someone else did it. It made my first birthday without DH a little easier, and I love them all for caring about me.

House Party Week

My nephew had outpatient surgery last Wednesday. He's 27, unmarried, and lives about 100 miles away. His mom, my sister, couldn't go over for the surgery, so I volunteered. Since I never had any biological children, I am very close to my niece and nephew. After the surgery, I brought him back to my house to recuperate...and be spoiled. He stayed with me from Wednesday until Saturday, when his mom took him home.

My college roommate (and friend for more than thirty years) arrived Friday night. Her nephew graduated from college Friday evening in a nearby town, and she (at the suggestion of her wonderful husband) came here and stayed with me until Sunday morning. Her first husband died after less than ten years of marriage, so she understands a lot about what's going on with me. We drank coffee, laughed, and went out to dinner at a new Mexican restaurant.

My niece and great-niece arrived early Tuesday afternoon. A friend of my sister's family is visiting the United States from Scotland, and he drove over with my niece and the baby in order to spend the night with my sister and her husband on his way to Memphis to visit his daughter (and then to Austin to see his son). I am now the proud owner of a high chair and play yard (is this what we used to call a playpen? I guess "pen" is not the best way to describe a place to keep a baby...), purchased to accommodate my 11-month-old great niece (and her future siblings!) so that she and her mother could spend the night at MY house.

What fun having a baby in the house, especially one with such a wonderful smile and BIG blue eyes. She woke up around 6:00 a.m., and "helped" me feed the dog and cat (she petted the cat quite nicely; she's still not sure about the dog...). She also "helped" me fix my lunch, while her mother fixed formula bottles for the day, and beamed at me sweetly until it was time for a bottle and a short after-bottle nap. I had to go back to work, but I got to see the baby again for a few minutes after school before they left for home.

I have two more weeks of school, and then I'll have my first summer in nine years without DH...without him puttering around in the yard, coming in to cool off and play his computer games, working in the kitchen together to cook a "traditional" Southern summer meal (fresh vegetables, cornbread, sliced tomatoes, pot roast or pork roast...good eating), playing with the dog, and enjoying our time together. I was blessed to have had him as long as I did...

I talked to three people last week who didn't know that DH had passed away...and they all cried with me.

Bought Myself Some Presents

I'm sitting here in my living room...watching a "House" DVD, enjoying the view of my backyard through the French doors, and typing on my new laptop computer. I used a little of Mother's insurance money and a little of DH's to buy it, and then had my computer man set up a wireless network. The best of all worlds...I can watch television and surf the 'Net at the same time. I bought the laptop from the company from which we buy computers at school, so I knew I would get great service and a good deal.

I still haven't gotten back to working on my scrapbooks. However, I have worked almost nonstop in all of my free time on my art journals. I started on the first one while DH was in the hospital, and I think I've filled up three so far. Most of my projects are never finished; I always leave myself open to add to a scrapbook page or journal page at any time, and I want to pull out the first one and do something else with it. I've picked up several books about art journals, and I'm also interested in collage. My mother was a great artist, and some of her work incorporated collage and some three dimensional elements, too. I don't have the artistic confidence she had or the drawing skills, but I love playing with color and shapes. My nephew was here this past week (recuperating from outpatient surgery), and he complimented my work (after I worked up the nerve to let him see it), and said that some of it should be framed and displayed. He CAN draw, and he's working on his Master's degree in advertising/communications, so his praise meant a LOT to me.

I also bought myself a new set of pens that were more expensive than any others I've tried. I've tried American Crafts pens, Zig pens, Marvy Uchida pens, Sakura pens, and Faber Castell brush pens. The Faber Castell are in first place, and the Sakura pens would be tied for first place if they came in a wider color selection. My newest acquisition is a set of 48 Faber Castell brush pens in a storage box that reminds me of the forty-eight crayon set from Crayola!

I'm also experimenting with various kinds of paper. I had a year-long subscription to Club Scrap, and an obsession with ordering from the Gotta Have More department. There's paper in my stash that I no longer care to use in a scrapbook (Art Deco, Renaissance, etc.), but the back side is a neutral color, and has a lovely texture (tooth, I think it's called in the "real" art department) to use with my pens. I'm not buying a lot of new paper to use, so I can justify buying all the pens I want to try.

If I get REALLY brave, I may post some pictures of my pages here...

My New Insurance Card

My sister and I ate lunch Saturday at Red Lobster. After lunch, we went to Cato, Hobby Lobby, Shoe Department, and Cothran's Bakery. She exchanged a shirt, bought picture frames and a pair of shoes. I bought pens, baskets, and shoes. We both bought cookies and those peanut butter/cornflake candies, and had them at home with Lipton's White Tea. Just after we got home, DH's cousin delivered the rest of my deck furniture--the footrests and table that match the Adirondack chairs.

My sister left, and I walked to the mailbox. Now that I live "in the country", I have to walk down the driveway to the mailbox (or stop on my way in after work). I also have to "signal" the mailman that I have mail that needs to be picked up, but that's a subject for another day...I try to go through the mail as soon as I get it out of the box so that I can shred what should be shredded and throw away the other junk. Yesterday, I got an envelope from the company that handles our teacher insurance, and it was different from the statements that I get telling me how much they've paid on each claim. I was a little frustrated, but because I was afraid that it was a letter telling me that a claim had been denied, and that I would owe a doctor or the dialysis center or the hospital some great sum of money.

I was wrong...it was my new insurance card. The company lets an employee change status during the middle of the insurance "year" if there is a drastic change in life circumstances, and I had a drastic change when DH passed away. My new coverage started April 1, and I'm back (after almost nine years) to single coverage. I will have about $130 more money coming to me every month since single coverage is MUCH cheaper than family coverage, and I no longer have to pay an additional $25 every month because DH was a smoker. I noticed the difference when my paycheck was deposited Friday night (direct deposit), and it will come in handy since I don't have DH's income to help with house payments and other expenses...but not at the cost of losing DH.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

I went to see my doctor three weeks ago. I called the office on a Monday morning to be sure he would be in the office, and asked to speak to a former student who works in the office. She had heard about DH, and wasn't surprised to hear that I was coming by after school. After I talked with the doctor, he agreed that it would be a good idea for me to take an antidepressant for a while, and something mild to help me sleep. My insurance wouldn't pay for what he prescribed until I tried a generic for a while, and the generic is working all right for now. I didn't realize that I WASN'T sleeping until I started sleeping better.

Until two nights ago, I had not remembered any of my dreams since I started on the medications. I have always had rather vivid dreams (a family characteristic, but that's a subject for another posting...), and I had noticed the difference. Two nights ago, I dreamed about DH for the first time since he passed away. I dreamed that he was telling me that he was going somewhere (I'm not sure where) with Gloria and her sister Julia. I have no idea who Gloria and Julia are/were, but something about his decision to go with them made me extremely angry. In my dream, I threw things, I pounded the wall, and ranted and raved. I woke up angry with DH...and glad that I had dreamed about him finally.

I suppose that if we analyze my dream, we see it as the beginning of another stage of grief--my anger at DH for leaving me. I have not progressed to that stage in my conscious state, but I suppose I have when I'm asleep. In my conscious state, I get to a point where I think I can't miss him any more, and then I miss him even more strongly. I have run into one of his brothers twice this week while doing errands (highly unusual in a town the size of ours), which brings DH to my mind even more.

On a lighter note...I do have a cousin named Gloria and a cousin named Julia. They are not sisters, and are on opposite sides of my family. DH never met Gloria, and he never called Julia by "Julia". We all refer to her by her nickname, and the only reason DH would know her "real" name is because she owns a restaurant with a slight variation of that name as its name.

I am making a little progress on the scrapbooks that I'm doing for DH's sons, brothers, and mother. I have trimmed and matted some pictures, and have decided on the general format. I have several odds and ends of business and correspondence that need to get done tomorrow, but I'm hoping to sit in my studio for a little while tomorrow afternoon.

I miss that darling man...

It's Not Supposed to Be This Way

There was some rain during the night, and the grass and trees look so fresh and clean. Most of that awful yellow pollen has been washed off the deck chairs (but is still puddled up under the carport since it wasn't a hard rain). The boys did the yard Thursday evening, and DH would have been proud--it looks as good as it would have if he had done it. In fact, it may look better since they were able to use gas-powered weed eaters. DH could only use an electric weed eater because of the lack of strength in his left hand, and he was never going to be as strong as two teen aged boys working together.

I went shopping with my sister and her sister-in-law. I don't have much desire to leave the house, but I also know I have to fight that feeling. I forced myself to go out to eat with them Friday evening, and then made the shopping trip yesterday. We went to two thrift stores, and I ended up with a couple of shirts, two turtlenecks (I dress more and more like my mother...), and a stack of books to read when I get to point where I can concentrate on reading. We had a lovely early dinner at P.F. Chang's, and I had enough to bring home for dinner this evening.

When my sister picked me up yesterday, she was on the phone with her daughter, my niece. Niece was out of town for four days this past week at a conference related to her field, and got home late Friday evening. They were about to leave to go to a friend's wedding at a city about ninety miles away from us, and they are coming by here this afternoon to eat lunch with us. That's wonderful, but what's REALLY wonderful is that she'll have her ten-month-old daughter with her! My darling great-niece, who is the light of my life...well, in addition to her mother, her father, and her uncle. A "baby fix" will make the next few weeks at school more bearable, and I might feel led to take off a day or two between now and the end of school to get another dose of baby kisses before summer vacation officially starts.

When I checked the caller ID after I got home yesterday, I noticed that my precious mother-in-law had called. She doesn't talk to machines (by her own admission), so I called her back to see if she needed anything. She's been watching the news reports about the tainted dog food, and she wanted to be sure that our dog has not been eating any of the recalled products. Over the past few months, our dog has switched from Old Roy (WM brand) to Mighty Dog (which I think may now be on THE LIST), and now is eating Pedigree. I generally buy dog food at WM, and they stopped having Old Roy, then stopped having Mighty Dog, and I think that Pedigree is almost all they have in the pouches.

While talking to her, I asked about my father-in-law, and she said that he has had some bad days. She said that she had a lot of difficulty yesterday morning getting him out of bed. He has chronic health problems, and does suffer from depression (and takes medication for it). She said that she believes that DH's death is weighing on his mind, and is causing problems. I know she's right...it's not supposed to be this way. A parent is not supposed to bury a child, no matter what their age is. I told DH several times that even though his parents didn't love him more than his brothers, they loved him differently. They had a lot invested in him because of the years of drug and alcohol abuse; they had done everything they could to try to help him overcome his addictions, and supported him when he finally let God help him. They knew him in his "before" years, and they saw him through to the "after" years. His mother remarked that there weren't enough "after" years...it wasn't supposed to be this way.

Don't Look At Me

I have a friend at church that is just about my age (she's a little more than a week older than I), and we have always shared a special bond. We laugh and tell people that we "graduated from different high schools together". She is from a town about sixty miles away, and ended up here with her (now ex) husband, who was involved in the broadcasting business and owned an interest in a couple of local radio stations. Anyway, we loved each other from the start, and were always touched by the good and bad things in each other's lives. One of our phrases got to be "don't look at me", which meant that if we made eye contact, we'd begin to cry...either from happiness or sadness.

During DH's visitation, my friend came through the line, and we said our "line" at almost the same time, but we ended up making eye contact, and crying as we hugged each other tightly. She's had her share of sorrow this year, too, since her former husband announced--after thirty-five years of marriage--that he didn't love her anymore, and needed to get on with his life. God is so good to put people in our lives who are willing to share the sorrows as well as the happinesses.

There were also other people to whom I said "don't look at me", and they understood what I meant. The first person was JD, who is a sixteen-year-old young man who loved and adored my DH. They had a special bond, and I think it grew because of the fact that DH was in his "dark years" during his own sons' teenaged years. JD was his second chance to influence a young man, and he also seemed to fill a place in JD's life. JD's father told me during the course of the past few weeks that he'd never seen anyone else that his son loved and respected as much as he did DH, and that he appreciated all the time DH had spent with him. He's a fine father in his own right, and was not threatened by DH's involvement in JD's life, and I thank him for his words. JD understood what I meant, and we didn't look at each other until he came by last Saturday to cut the grass.

Another person to whom I said those words was DH's friend WL. DH was about 5'8", and WL is about 6'4", so it was just fun to watch them stand next to each other in the church choir. They were both avid cooks, so it was fun to listen to two "manly" men talk about the best place to buy meat for the grill, what spices worked best with what foods, etc. They were also plain-spoken, which sometimes got them in trouble with their wives, who tried to encourage them NOT to say everything that came to mind in a given situation. It broke my heart to see such a wonderful friend with red eyes from crying and mourning the loss of his friend. He made the statement to people at my house that he might have other friends, but he didn't think he'd ever have another friend like DH who accepted him exactly as he was with no pretensions.

The third person to whom I said these words was JR. He and DH got to be friends when working on a couple of church projects. JR is an executive in an industrial construction company, and travels all over the Southeast supervising projects for his firm, but he's just a "plain ole country boy". He was about ten years younger than DH, but that didn't have any effect on their friendship. He went through a rather difficult divorce a few years after we met him, and he took the high road by not degrading his former wife (she didn't chose to take the same high road). DH knew the whole story, and took every opportunity to defend JR, while not sharing any tidbits of information. Because of JR's willingness to cooperate with his ex-wife so that HER children would not be moved from their home until the end of the school year, he has a commute of about 120 miles round trip every day. That didn't keep him from coming to see DH almost EVERY day that he was in the hospital (nineteen days in January and February), spending several nights WITH him in his hospital room, and calling me at least three times a day to check on his friend. When we knew that DH would be leaving us, I took JR into the intensive care unit to see him one last time. I told him to stay as long as he wanted, but that I could NOT stay in the room with him while he talked to DH. Their bond was too strong for me to bear while dealing with my own loss.

I will forever be grateful for God granting me the privilege of observing the love that men have for each other. I will also praise God that I was married to a man that inspired such deep love and affection from people in all walks of life. If I meet you and say "don't look at me", you'll understand why.

Lifting Up My Arms

Today was my first day back at work since DH died. I woke up around 4:45 a.m., and I had set the alarm for 5:10. I got up at 5:00 to give myself plenty of time to do everything I wanted to do before I had to leave the house at 7:00, and I made my deadline--with a shower, breakfast, feeding the dog and the cat, makeup and dressing, and gathering up everything I wanted to take with me. I also sat down and picked up one of my devotional Bibles--the one with the Oswald Chambers writings interspersed with the daily Bible readings. I knew I needed to read BEFORE I went to school...putting on my armor, as it were.

The Old Testament reading for today (I started where the bookmark was from the last time I used this particular devotional Bible) had the story about the men holding up Moses's arms during a particular battle. As long as they held up his arms, the children of Israel were winning, but if they let down his arms, the battle began to turn against them. I sometimes laugh at the messages God sends to us, and this was one of those times. God knew I needed to be reminded that I have a lot of people holding up my arms during this battle with my grief and heartache--I have friends, family, coworkers, and even people I've "met" on various Internet message boards. They are all holding up my arms, and if I start to depend on my own strength, the battle will begin to turn against me.

I went by Hobby Lobby today and stocked up--again--on albums since they are half-price this week. I bought a lot of mini-albums the last time to make gift albums with the baby's pictures. The ones I bought this time are to make albums for DH's brothers, parents, and aunts. I have larger albums already started for his sons with full-sized pictures; I'll use wallet-sized prints for the other albums. I took hundreds (no, I am not exaggerating...I come from a long line of photographers) of pictures of DH while we were married, and I have a good assortment from his "good years" to share with his family. I was weak--I bought just one more batch of alphabet stickers...when will THAT madness end?

Thought for today: Does a Christian really NEED a radar detector?

Just Looking...

DH used to tell his family that he didn't want a visitation when he died. In one of his other "lives", he was a car salesman, and he said he got tired of people coming through the carlot saying that they were "just looking", and he thought that would be what they'd be doing at his visitation...just looking.

He came from a family of four sons, and he was the oldest. He probably ended up having the closest relationship with the third son, because that was the brother that was around through DH's "dark times", and did the most to support and encourage DH in his journey to what he wanted to become. He was the brother who, along with his wonderful wife, stayed with me at the hospital all night long until DH finally left us. He came back in all during the evening to check on me, and he and I laughed about the "just looking" remark. I told him that I had told DH a long time ago that I certainly was having a visitation because I had to give all his friends a chance to come by and tell me what a good old s*** he was.

I had originally planned to do only one visitation for two hours prior to the funeral service, and then have private graveside services. I thought about it all day and all night, and decided that what I needed to do was not necessarily what I wanted to do. I needed to have two visitation opportunities--one for two hours on the afternoon before his service, and again for about an hour or so before the service--so that's what I ended up doing, and DH would have been pleased. We did NOT let people look at him (except for immediate family), because he would have had a fit--they shaved off about half his hair and ALL of his mustache (I never knew him without his mustache). Almost four hundred people came by during the two days, and he would have been pleased...and yes, they all told me what a good old s*** he was!

DH went from being someone who abused prescription drugs and alcohol to being someone who sang in the church choir, coordinated a men's Bible study group, cooked for any church group that asked, and taught a Sunday School class at a drug treatment facility, and he never hesitated to tell people what he was and what he became through God's help. I miss him...

The Day the Music Died

DH started playing the guitar when he was about nine years old, and probably started singing about the same time. His parents both sang, and his mother played the piano. For several years, DH played professionally in a band--playing in various bars and clubs on the weekends, while keeping up a full-time job during the week. He gave up the band when his first son was born, but he never gave up the music.

He had a stroke in 1993, and that affected his fine motor skills, which meant that he could no longer play the guitar. His brain could remember how to make the chords, but his fingers couldn't get into the right positions on the neck of the guitar, but he never gave up the music. When we met, he was attending his childhood church and singing with his brother and another friend. I had kept a prayer journal for several years, and when I described my requirements for a husband, a love of music was near the top of the list.

After our marriage, DH began attending my church, and we had a large adult choir. He sang baritone, with great enjoyment and enthusiasm. We used to do a large theatrical-type production every year at Easter, and DH was onstage for each of those performances from 1999 until 2004.

Our house was always full of music. He sang from the time he got up in the morning until he went to bed at night. I could tell when he didn't feel well because he didn't sing. My singing voice was NOTHING to compare with his, and I took a lot of teasing from him because I wanted to sing, too. He made up words to songs; he said he'd gotten in the habit of doing that when singing in bars because the patrons were too drunk to know if the words were correct. His dad had once said that DH had a better voice than his brother, but that DH sang in bars and brother sang in church. That all changed when DH changed, and his music became part of his testimony and his witness.

When I knew that DH was going to leave us, I came home for a couple of hours. I charged up my cell phone, changed clothes, and charged up my MP-3 player. I had loaded it with a lot of songs from the groups Acapella and Glad, and I wanted to have that music with me while I sat with DH in the intensive care unit. When I got back to the hospital, I took my place again with DH and put on my music. I talked to him and prayed, and the last song I listened to was "We Will Glorify the Lamb" by Acapella. His brother came back in to be with me as DH left, and I know that DH's first words in heaven were songs. His left hand is working perfectly again, and he's playing the guitar again.

The music died in our house, but it will come back. I'm not sure I can ever sing out loud again without DH to make fun of my voice, but my heart will always sing. I'll sing because I had the opportunity to be married to DH, who was an answer to my prayers, and I'll sing because I have the assurance that I'll sing with him in heaven some day.

I miss him...it's too quiet here. He filled up a room when he came in, and he filled up my heart when he came in.

I Don't Know How...

to be a widow. I am almost 54 years old. I met DH when I was 44 and he was 47. We married when I was 45 and he was 48. He had two sons from a previous marriage; I had never been married. The only child we have together is a seven-year-old Jack Russell/Fox Terrier named Jill. We've had her since she was fifteen months old, and she's grieving just as much as I am, but in her dog-child way. I don't fit any of the stereotypes of widows--I'm not young with children, I'm not older with children and grandchildren. I'm just in the middle, and don't know what to do.

God's hand has been on us for our entire marriage, and I know it will stay on me through all of this. He kept us going when DH had to resign from his job, and worked it out for the disability claim to be approved. He worked it out for my lawsuit to be settled so that we could move to this house, in a safer neighborhood, and close to friends, family, and church. He worked it out for Mother's insurance claims to settle in a timely manner so that I will have adequate resources until DH's insurance claim is settled and the other house sells. He worked it out for me to decide to keep working when DH wanted me to retire, so now I have my job to occupy my time and the income to keep going in the style to which we've become accustomed--eating regularly, paying the utility bills, keeping fuel in the car, etc. He worked it out when my uncle refused to let me bury DH in my maternal family's lots. He hasn't settled my pain over that situation, but it will happen in His time and in His way.

I lived alone for a long time before I married DH. I knew how to take care of myself, but it was so wonderful having him to be with me. He used to laugh at me and say that I didn't know how to be married, but I think I learned to be married...and we took wonderful care of each other. Now I have a new skill to learn...how to be a widow.

Emptying the Dishwasher

Who knew what a blessing emptying the dishwasher could be? I certainly didn't...until God brought it to my mind this morning as I emptied ours. I noticed that I had a lot more dishes to wash since DH is home from the hospital and his appetite is increasing. That's a blessing, since that will make him stronger and get him to a place physically where he may be able to cut back or even stop the dialysis treatments.

I have a wonderful kitchen window near my dishwasher, and I can look at my street from that window and see my "new" neighborhood. It is a blessing to live in such a quiet, peaceful place, in a house with enough room for DH and me, with all my "stuff". It is a blessing to live in a neighborhood so near so many of our friends who have been so wonderful to help DH and me during his illness and recovery at home. It is a blessing to have enough money to be able to afford this house, and to be able to pay the power bill to run that wonderful dishwasher.

It is a blessing to have enough food to eat, and people with whom we can share that food. Thank you, God, for the opportunity to empty my dishwasher.

The Power of a Nap

Because of the expected storms, we got out of school today at 1:00, and I was home by 1:20. DH had dialysis this morning; they called him to come in early because of the weather, so he was also home when I arrived. I had been concerned about him since he was sick this morning for the first time in two weeks. However, he seemed much better and decided that we should have macaroni and cheese, black-eyed peas, and ham for lunch...so we did.

We watched television for a while, and then I took a nap in my recliner. In fact, I took several naps, which might add up to one long nap. When I woke up from one of my naps, I noticed that DH was gone from his recliner. He and the dog decided to move their napping to the bed, but I was too content in the recliner to move.

I needed that nap. I've not caught up on sleep since DH got sick. I didn't sleep well while he was gone, and I'm still waking up whenever he moves or gets up, usually just to go to the bathroom. The dog has decided that I can be the one to let her out at 2:30 in the morning (I hope she gets over that when she decides that her pop is better), so that interrupts my sleep as well. I've tried to take a "power nap" most afternoons, but my "second shift" starts when I get home from school--getting dinner, emptying the dishwasher (thank you, God, for a dishwasher), doing a load of laundry (thank you, God, for a washer and dryer and an inside laundry room), folding or putting up the laundry from the day before...you get the idea. Then I try to fit in a walk most days, which takes another chunk of my time. I think I'll do my grocery shopping tomorrow afternoon so that I have all four hours of DH's dialysis time to myself Saturday morning. I bought three large letters at Hobby Lobby, and I want to put collages on them to hang on the walls of my studio. If they turn out well, I think I'll get a couple of letters and do them for my sister--get her granddaughter's initials and use wallet-sized pictures of that darling baby. Be a good late birthday present, even though I already bought her a present (gaudy, clunky jewelry, which she loved) and I've ordered her some bread mix from Tastefully Simple.

Another Saturday Night...

That's the title of an old Sam Cooke song, but there may be some people reading this who don't know who Sam Cooke is. If you don't, do a Google search, and try to listen to the song. It has nothing to do with my post, but it's a great song from a great singer, who died too young.

We are having a dull Saturday night, and nothing could please me more. DH is sleeping, along with his faithful canine companion. He ate cereal and some of my favorite Chick-fil-A entree, which is a Hot Brown. He didn't like the Hot Brown, so that's why he ended up with cereal. I'm sitting in my studio, updating my blog and listening to the wind howl through the trees. We are expecting bad weather from 9:00 p.m. until 9:00 a.m. Sunday morning, and since we live in an area prone to tornadoes, we try to be vigilant.

DH's dialysis treatments are going very well. The nephrologist did grand rounds on Tuesday, and told DH that if his blood stayed as clean as it's been, they will be able to cut back on the time he has to be there for dialysis. We think that probably means cutting back from four hours to three hours, and we see anything along those lines as a blessing. The nurses repeated the same thing to him when he was there Thursday; I'm not sure if anything was said today.

The trip to the eye doctor was Thursday, and we got good news there, too. Our optometrist said that he thought that DH's eyes would improve as DH improved, and that he didn't see any signs of cataracts. He wants to see him again on next Friday; DH said that his eyesight has already started to improve, and feels very encouraged.

Two friends came today and worked on our yard. They also replaced burned out spotlights on our outside light fixtures, and that was just as important to us as the yard work. While they were working on the yard and DH was at dialysis, I rode with my sister to a neighboring town to have lunch with my niece, nephew-in-law, and precious, darling, wonderful great-niece (can you tell that I think she's about the cutest baby ever born?). My sister's birthday is next week, and part of her gift was getting to see the baby. They live about two hours away from us, so we don't get to see them nearly as much as we'd like. Since I have no biological children of my own, my niece and nephew are like my children, and that makes that sweet baby my chance at a grandchild. My niece is in graduate school, and will have her doctorate in a year or so, and then they'll probably move about four hours away from us while her husband works on HIS doctorate (in computer science; hers is in school psychology). Thank goodness for digital pictures that can be sent via e-mail...

Another boring Saturday night...and a wonderful one. I've gotten to see some of my favorite family members, my darling husband is recovering from two life-threatening medical situations, and I'm in my beautiful studio in my beautiful house, with anything I could possibly need and most of what I could possibly want. Sam Cooke didn't have a good Saturday night; I'm having a wonderful one...

Waiting for DH

I am sitting in my studio, waiting for the dog to signal me that our friend has brought DH home from dialysis. It is later than I thought they'd be, and I'm a little concerned. The weather is messy, though, and it's time for rush hour traffic to start up. When I married DH almost nine years ago, I never thought we'd have all the "adventures" we've had...but that's a subject for another post.

We've had a new issue come up--DH says his vision is not right. When he mentioned it for the second or third or fourth time, I got concerned. I know from past reading that vision changes are a symptom/side effect of kidney problems, and I was hoping this would not rear its ugly head with DH. No such luck. I called our optometrist, who is also a family friend, and he's going to work DH in Thursday morning and check his eyes. DH has already had his glasses changed for this insurance year, so this exam will be my responsibility. Dr. David will tell us what he thinks, and if he thinks DH needs to see an opthamologist or a specialist, he'll help make the arrangements.

DH came into my studio last night and asked me if I knew something about his illness that he didn't know. I told him absolutely not, and that's the truth. I also told him that I thought he had the right to know everything, but that I didn't want to get us excited and upset over obstacles that we might not have to face. I reminded him that I told Mother as soon as I could that the doctors thought she had liver cancer because I thought she needed to know and had the right to know.

I walked around our block this afternoon. It was sprinkling on me all the way, and got harder off and on. We live in the part of town known as "the mountain" and our neighborhood is just off the brow of the mountain. Our street slopes, and not very gently. It took me about sixteen minutes to walk it, and I was struggling during the last four or five minutes. That's when I was coming back UP our street toward our driveway. I turned right coming out of our driveway when I started, and that was the "easy" route. If I really want a challenge, I'll turn left and walk UP my sister's street. I've got to get back into shape because I don't know what's ahead with DH and I need to be as strong as possible...for both of us.

I had a telephone call yesterday afternoon from our pastor offering to pick up DH this afternoon, and I had another call this morning around 6:40 from another friend offering transportation of any kind. I had already made arrangements for this afternoon and Thursday afternoon, but we have been so blessed with people offering to help us...and I really think most of them mean it. We have had three or four meals brought to us, including the one that's sitting on the stove right now waiting for DH to get home.

I think I'll go wait in the den for him...

My Craft Studio

Several years ago, I found a quote in an issue of Legacy magazine, and it has stuck with me: "Art is work that is created by an artist. Who is an artist? Anyone who labels himself as such." That changed my thinking...or at least gave voice to what I always knew inside. I read the quote to my mother, and she agreed with the writer...and with me. She was always an artist--with pen and ink; with fabric; with oils, acrylics, and canvas; with bits of wood and other ephemera--and she encouraged self-expression with her children and her grandchildren. What a wonderful woman, and how lucky we were to have her in our lives for so many years.

I have posted pictures of my studio, and I call it a studio because I am an artist, and I do all sorts of artistic things in this room. I work on my personal scrapbooks, I make cards, I write, I edit photographs and order prints, I work on my canvas collages, I work on my art journal, and I simply enjoy the room and its contents.

The room is the smallest of the bedrooms in our new house. When we first looked at the house, I knew that it would be my room and I would fill it with my treasures. I have two bookcases that were built for me by my darling father. I have my grandfather's desk, and I use that for my computer and basket of scissors and pens. I have my great-grandmother's pierced tin pie safe, and it is full of wonderful supplies--paper, stamps, and brushes. I have rolling drawer units full of more treasures, and the closet has boxes of pens, my beloved tote bags, blank canvases, idea books, envelopes for cards, and my Pages by Design templates. There are two baskets FULL of alphabet stickers, and I am ashamed and embarrassed by their great quantity. I may take a vow to get rid of about half of them during the summer break; I have a plan, I think...

The room is painted a deep red, and while I like the color, I think I'd like this room better if it were a different color. The room next door was to be my mother's sitting room, and it is currently painted a bright green (it was a little boy's room previously). Mother wanted to leave it bright green, but I have other plans. I found a wonderful jungle print rug for the floor, and I am going to paint it one of the lighter colors from the rug, and I think I'll use the same color in my studio. It will probably be a grayish-green, and I'll keep the trim white.

My room has a beautiful view of our backyard. We haven't lived in this house during the spring and summer, so I don't know what the view will be when the trees are green, and the grass is not brown. DH grew such wonderful flowers at the other house, but with his health still on the mend, I don't know if we'll have any spots of color in the yard. Maybe I can get my stepson to plant us some things that will bloom and also be able to survive my benign neglect.

My window needs some sort of curtain, but I don't want to obstruct my view. The window is not tight; the cold air comes in right now, and I'm sure that means that warm air will come in during the summer months. If we can get the breeze stopped, then I can get away with just a valance for color.

If I look to the right when I am sitting at my work table, I can see our "woods". Actually, it's just a strip of our lot that we chose not to enclose when we fenced the rest of the yard before moving into the house. I think the strip is about twenty to thirty feet wide, and runs the length of the lot. DH has cleared out a path right next to the fence for me to use when I walk to my sister's house (she lives on the street behind us, two houses up) or for our friends to use when they walk over here. It's a nice path, but I've also talked to my stepson (the landscaper) about putting some sort of rock on the path (he suggested river rock). I'd also like it if the dog across the street stops leaving droppings on the path...his owner must not have heard about the leash law that was passed by our city about twenty or more years ago.

Catching Up...

January 21--DH carried to hospital in an ambulance because he couldn't breathe; nephrologist told us that his kidneys are functioning at around eighteen percent.

January 22--Cardiologist tells us that DH has had a heart attack, and needs to have a heart catheterization to check on the extent of the damage. However, the dye used for the procedure will probably shut down his kidneys completely. DH is moved into the Coronary Care Unit.

January 25--The heart catheterization is performed, and showed that DH needed three bypasses. As expected, the fluids he was given to help pass the dye through his system end up causing respiratory distress, and he is treated with Lasix and a catheter is inserted. He lost almost six pounds in about eight hours, but his breathing returned to normal. He was on oxygen already (since being brought into the ER).

January 26--DH is moved out of CCU into a regular room. He was taken off Plavix, and the doctors wanted to wait five days before doing the bypass surgery. This was to lessen the chances that he would bleed out during surgery. The surgery was scheduled for January 30, but was postponed to January 31 so that enough platelets could be available. There is a statewide blood shortage...

January 31--Triple bypass surgery was performed on DH. He was taken down before 7:00 a.m., and the surgery began just before 8:00. The surgery team called me every hour during the surgery, and the surgeon came out to talk to me when they were done. The surgery went well, and his son and I saw him an hour later. He opened his eyes, but he didn't remember that visit. He was conscious and the breathing tube was out when I saw him three hours later. That was excellent progress. This time he was in Surgical Intensive Care.

February 2--DH was moved into a step-down unit, but did not do as well as expected. He was nauseated a lot, and unable to eat.

February 3--Dialysis was ordered, and DH was carried upstairs to the dialysis lab. That treatment lasted about three hours.

February 4--DH was sent back to SICU, and watched the Superbowl when he wasn't napping.

February 5--Another dialysis treatment was ordered and done in the SICU.

February 6--DH was moved out of SICU into the step-down unit. The doctors are talking about letting him go home...finally.

February 7--Day eighteen of our hospital stay. Dialysis treatment ordered again.

February 8--DH was finally dismissed from the hospital. The floor nurse began working on his discharge at about 9:00 a.m., and we FINALLY got home at 7:15 p.m.

February 10--DH had his first dialysis treatment at one of the local dialysis centers. It was very hard on him, but he managed to eat a little dinner after he got home.

February 13--DH had his second dialysis treatment at the dialysis center. It was still horrible, but not as horrible as the Saturday treatment was.

All Day at the Hospital: Day Three

The short version: DH's heart catheterization is scheduled for Thursday morning. The results will tell us if he can be treated with medication; with stints and angioplasty; with emergency bypass surgery; with non-emergency bypass surgery. I suppose his kidneys will also get a vote in the matter; the kidney doctor (nephrologist?) said that his kidneys are functioning at 18%, and are smaller than normal. That means the kidney condition is chronic, and would have gotten him sooner or later. He will need temporary or permanent dialysis after the procedure. Is he a candidate for a transplant? I don't know. We've just got to get through Thursday morning, and then we'll take the next step...

All Day at the Hospital: Day Two

I arrived at the hospital around 6:40 a.m. I brought gifts--two Krystals for DH to have before they brought his breakfast tray. When I got to his room, he was sitting on the side of the bed, wearing a heart monitor. He said that he was scheduled for a heart catheterization and he didn't understand why that test had been ordered (that also meant that he couldn't eat the Krystals...more bad news). In about fifteen minutes, a doctor came in that works with the cardiology group that is across the street from the hospital. He explained that the blood work indicated that DH has had a heart attack, and needs to have the heart procedure to see if there are blockages. However, the kidney issues mean that if they insert the dye into his bloodstream, the kidneys will not be able to pass it on through and they will fail. That will mean that he will have to be put on dialysis, possibly permanently. He suggested that we wait a few days and see if the kidney function improves, and we agree. He also tells us that DH is being moved to the Coronary Care Unit. I call my principal to tell her that I'll be out the rest of the week instead of just for two days, and then I start calling other friends and family.

They move him within the hour, but I don't get in to see him until the regularly scheduled 9:00 a.m. visitation. His son comes for that visit, as does DH's brother who works in the outpatient section of the hospital. DH is frightened, and we are all concerned. I stayed until the visiting time is finished, then make a Wal-Mart trip for groceries and other odds and ends. I went back for the 1:00 p.m. visit. They've done a Doppler test on his legs (checking on circulation and looking for blood clots) and scheduled a renal ultrasound for later in the afternoon. By the time I get back in at 5:00 p.m., he's had the ultrasound, but has had more breathing distress. The cardiologist came by and ordered a patch to help. The pulmonary specialist has ordered oral medication to help with the nicotine withdrawal, but in the meantime his dinner tray has arrived with no salt to season his food--that's right, folks, he's now on a low-sodium diet. The poor man has lost nicotine, caffeine, his over-the-counter pain medication, fat, and salt all within thirty-six hours.

We are blessed with so many people who have called or come by to see us. My school friends came right after school and stayed with me for about an hour. There were church friends who came starting at about 2:00, then again for the 8:30 visit. Two of the teenagers that have helped us with moving and other work at the new house came for the 8:30 visit, and one was there for the 5:00 visit, too. Four of our friends prayed over us during the 8:30 visit, and that will get us through this more than anything else.

I called my aunt on the way back for the 8:30 visit. I have thought all day about calling my mother, and then I remember that she won't be there to answer the phone. I will call my other aunts in the morning. They all love DH, and will want to know about his health. I am tired, and I am stressed. I will take a shower in the morning, I think, and wash my hair then. I have turned on the electric blanket and the dog and I will crawl in and try to sleep. It's just not the same with only two of us in the bed instead of three...