Jeep

 Well, that didn't take long.  The jeep is gone.

It was Bob's pride and joy, and a vital part of WWII history.  The 1942 Willys.

Bob bought it, derelict and sitting in a barn, in December 1979.  He putzed around with it for the next 15 years, and then finally it went to stay about two years at a restorer's.

We had a lot of fun in that beast.  Sometimes we'd just take it out for a drive.  It's been to a lot of parades, Bob in his WWII kit, me as Rosie the Riveter.  One time for an FSU parade, Bob had to be a parade marshal so I got to drive it with our local astronaut Norm Thagard as my passenger.  At various other parades we would load it up with WWII veterans.  Bob's favorite part was in the display area afterwards, when the vets would come up and lovingly touch it, like someone seeing an old hound dog they thought was long gone, and tell us their stories.  Heck - even my mother.  Post WWII when she was in Japan with my father, she could check a Jeep out of the motor pool if she and her friends wanted to drive into Tokyo (I can just see my mother, in her early 20's, a farm girl from Illinois, driving a Jeep in Japan).

One time, we went to dinner after a parade, and when we came out, there were four vets sitting in it, laughing and swapping stories.  Rather than look embarrassed for sitting in someone's car when we came out, they handed us a camera and asked us to take their picture.

After Bob died, Robert and Amanda asked me to keep the jeep.  That was Uncle Bob's legacy.  Maybe we would all ride in it in a parade.  They could pass it down to their kids, and maybe someday to their grandkids.  Of course, because of Covid there were no parades for two years.  They got involved in other things.  The jeep has just been sitting in the barn.  I at least kept a tarp over it (cardinals like to roost in there, and I didn't want it spattered) but I never drove it (it actually takes a lot of muscle - no power steering or brakes).  The kids got on with their lives.  They rarely come to Tallahassee, and never go down as far as the barn to look at it.  Their kids - Dane and Zeke - have shown no interest.  Robert and Amanda don't have the interest, time, storage, or money to maintain a vehicle that's now 84 years old.

I've been feeling increasingly guilty over the years as it's been slowly deteriorating.  Yes - it's a unique vehicle.  Even part of my identity "why yes - that's a WWII Willys jeep under that tarp."  It's a legacy of Bob's.  But honestly - it's also a white elephant, something that must be stored and maintained.

Perhaps it's because I'm now wearing Bob's ring that I found the courage to grit my teeth and make the call.  Letting the jeep slowly rust away is not the way to show respect to Bob's memory.  Fortunately - it's not going to some stranger.  There's a man a couple of towns away, Russell Deese, who has made his living for forty years restoring and selling military vehicles.  He's worked on this jeep before.  He and Bob were friends.  I just wasn't expecting it to happen so quickly.  I emailed him on Friday evening - and Sunday afternoon he was here with the trailer.  We talked about Bob (he even came into the house to admire Bob's models).

Then came the moment when I teared up. He asked me "how would you feel about this going into a museum? We could put a plaque with Bob's name on it."  Apparently there are plans to create a military museum in Tallahassee, and Russell is on the board.  If things go according to plan, and the jeep goes in, it will be restored and cared for and I can go see it.  If not - it will go to a collector who will maintain it properly.  That is what I really want, to honor Bob.

Does it hurt to give it up?  Hell,yeah.  We bought that jeep 46 years ago.  It's always been around.  Now the barn feels like a big empty cavern.  And I'm no longer a woman who owns a WWII jeep.  But it also feels good to let go of the guilt, to not let something that was important to Bob simply rust away.  His legacy will go on.

Time for a Brain Dump

 I would give my weight in gold
For one last chance to tease you

I would burn my castle down
For one last chance to please you   (Weight in Gold)

I wrote in my last post how I love wearing Bob's ring.  I do, definitely. But there's something else, like a little twinge.  For six years I would look at it from time to time, almost with a sense of patient waiting.  What was I waiting for?  Subconsciously - that there would be a time slip and it turned out that everything worked out the way it was supposed to?  Or that it was all a big mistake, or just a dream?  That if I was patient enough - he'd put it back on again?  Getting it sized to fit me, made it mine.  I feel closer to him - which makes me realize even more that he's out of reach.

I went to see Project Hail Mary last week - I was curious because they were using practical effects and Rocky was a puppet.  Very good movie; I predict Oscars.  But, of course, they had to leave out 80% of the book - the part that I called "science porn."  But dammit - it happened again.  That imploding empty feeling I get (like after the play last week) as I walk back to my car alone.  I would have loved to go grab a cup of coffee and talked about the movie, but I don't know anyone who's into science fiction.
I'm semi-tempted to see it again.  I love "behind-the-scenes" insights (I've been watching a lot of YouTube videos).  There's an app that you can download that has the director's commentary throughout the movie (obviously you listen on ear buds).  I thought about just listening to it - but you have to be in a theater.  Which means sitting through the movie again.  Maybe they'll make it available when it shows up on home streaming.

After going to the theatre and then the movie (and having to drive into town for my rings) I once again opted out of the Chain of Arts in the Park.  I would like to go see all the art; I doubt if I would buy anything because I'm still drowning in too much stuff of my own.  The traffic is heavy, the parking horrendous, and the whole place is crowded.  I ended up that afternoon sitting on my back deck with a book, coffee, snacks . . . and a small pile of peanuts.

I sipped, nibbled, read, looked at the trees, listened to the thrum of the hummingbird's wings at the feeder, and the wild chirping when a mother wren came in with a bug for her wide-mouthed chicks in the nest in a corner of the deck.

Now, the brain dump.  I've been feeling restless and somehow oppressed.  Feeling like there are things that I've left undone.    When I get in this mood, I know that it's time to get a cup of tea, a notepad and pen, and figure out what's bothering me.

It's a lot of little things, a few big things, stuff that will take a few minutes, stuff that will take longer, and stuff I just have to accept.

Worrisome:  The drought here is getting really bad.  Fires are popping up all over Florida.  What can I do about this?  Well, nothing.  Maybe get my bug-out kit ready.
Annoyance:  I have realized that having a fire is a big part of my enjoyment of the continual cleaning up of the yard.  Picking up yard waste only to put it in a pile lacks a sense of reward, as does cutting up a tree and finding someplace to pile the chunks.  Also, this year I was going to give the azaleas a serious cutting back.  I don't know if it's caution or paranoia, but it strikes me that a living growing plant is less of a fire hazard than a large pile (the azaleas cover the entire front of the house - it will be a lot) of dead branches and drying leaves.

Worrisome:  I had my dexa scan last week.  My doctor called - my osteopenia/osteoporosis is slightly worse.  So much for my logged in 2,000 miles of walking in the last two years, taking my meds, my manual labor at the museum, my moving of cinder blocks and cut up trees and carrying 50lb bags of chicken food.  I don't want to end up like Dad, who one day was putting the sheet on the bed and fractured his back, and later jumped up from a chair to help Mom and broke his leg.  So I'll be going in for an infusion treatment.  The problem with an infusion instead of pills is that once it's in, it's in.  You can't stop taking it.  Fingers crossed that I don't have any reaction.
Annoyance:  I wanted to look to see just how much my numbers have changed since last dexa two years ago.  This is done by the online health portal - I tried for about a half-hour to get in.  It apparently doesn't recognize my email (I have noticed that their system periodically reverts to an old email that I no longer have access to).  So now I have to make a phone call to try to get that worked out.

Annoyance:  Time to take the car in for annual maintenance.  For some 24 years, first with the old Honda and now this one I just went to the dealership.  But year before last they broke the clips on my hubcaps, and last year they ripped the undercarriage skirting loose and were really annoyed when I wanted them to repair it so it wasn't dragging the ground.  This means that I probably have to go to two places - on for fluid change, and one to get the tires rotated.  And first I have to buy new hubcaps because a couple of the current ones are held on with zip ties.

Annoyance.  I sold the old car trailer to Rik (actually, I traded it to him for a sheep for the museum).  I can't find the title.  I went online to get a replacement but it doesn't show up.  Usually everything we got went under both names, but apparently the trailer was only under Bob's.  I tried to set up an account under his name, but his driver's license has expired so I couldn't.  Now I need to make an appointment and go to the DMV to see if I can get a title.

Hanging over my head:  Bob's jeep.  Amanda really wanted me to keep it (she's very sentimental).  But it's just rusting and rotting away, and I feel awful about that.  Maybe I was thinking/hoping that someone would contact me and be interested in it - but that's never happened.  I told myself last year that as soon as I passed Bob's death anniversary that I would start checking around - and then I didn't.  I did the first step - I just talked to my nephew Rob to tell him that it was time to make a decision.  If they want the jeep, they have to come get it (and probably rent garage space somewhere).  Meanwhile, I did write a WW2 expert (who recently gave a talk on jeeps, so I got his contact from the library) and he said he'll ask around, and also gave me a web site.

And there's some little things that I just need to take care of.

I think what's bothering me is that the theme running through all this is "I."  I have to do this, make that call, schedule that appointment, I have to go deal with this, I have to be prepared for an emergency.  I I I I I I I I I.   I feed the cats, I take care of the chickens, I call to have the annual maintenance on the air conditioning, I have to go buy hubcaps (and windshield wiper blades while I'm at it).   I sometimes get so exhausted from being "I."  I miss being "we."

OK - it helped to write it all down.  It's nothing that's not doable - I just have to suck it up, and do it.

My Ring Is Back

 My ring is back on my finger, thank God.
Even after a month, I couldn't get used to not having it.  I would find myself sometimes shaking my hand just to try to relieve the weird sensation.  I would wake up with a bit of panic in the night because something was wrong.

After wearing it for 54 years, perhaps it has become a horcrux.  All I know is that I've been feeling really stressed for the last month, and as soon as I slipped it back on again, I could relax.  Yes, it's different.

Before:

Now: 

Do I miss that wee diamond (marquis cut!)? Yes, of course.  Like I miss the 19-year old who didn't care what size the diamond was (it ended up being 1/5 carat) as long as it was a marquis cut, who tried to climb Bob to grab it as he held it out of her reach.  But I'm OK with it.  I was not OK with not feeling that ring on my finger.  And I didn't even want to think about getting a "replacement" diamond (honestly, I'm not that much of a diamond person).

I feel like I can breathe again.  Especially since it now has a companion on the other hand:

As long as I was getting one ring remade, why not two?  That's Bob's wedding ring.  I've kept it (of course!) but in a box to look at once in awhile, and sigh.  I know a woman who wears her husband's ring on her thumb - Bob's ring was far too big even for that.  There's the "ring on a chain" standard - but chains can come undone or break, and it would have to be something that I took on and off, because I spend so much time outside.  Now I can just wear it, all the time.

I love it.  I wish I had thought of this years ago.  A bit of him with me.  It feels so good.  Empowering.  Can a hand feel empowered?  Well, of course!  "Rings of power" is a thing.  Rings have from pre-history had meanings of power, symbolism, cultural meaning.  I am now me on my left hand, but Bob on my right, and I feel just a tiny bit more whole than I have for years.  A little stronger.

Like he's still with me.

The Play Went Wrong

 I've been to three plays at the FSU School of Theatre in as many years, and every time I wonder why I don't go more often.  The acting is great, the production values, settings, and costumes are wonderful, and the tickets are cheap - about as much as a couple of hamburgers.

This play had a lot of problems.  Missed cues, fumbles, the curtains falling off the wall, props broken - it all went wrong.  But considering that the title of this production is "The Play That Went Wrong" it all went wrong in all the right ways.  By the end, I had laughed for two hours, and the entire set, walls and all, was on the floor.

I even treated myself to a takeout from Cava for dinner.

Yes - I did have that feeling of - sadness?  wistfulness? when it seemed that everyone in the theater was in couples or groups, and I was the only one going solo. And it would have been fun to have been laughing with someone.  But my point of view about going solo (to the circus, or the RenFair, or out to eat) has changed over the years.   At first, it felt really weird.  Like everyone else had a partner or friends, and I didn't.  I think the change in my mindset came a year or so ago.  Jeff was in town, and we were going to meet for lunch.  I got there and waited inside - it was a hot day, so I wasn't about to sit in the car.  And I waited there for 20 minutes.  I just figured that he had gotten hung up at work.  But then I got a text from him of "where are you?"  It turned out that he got there, didn't see my car, so he just waited for me, outside in his truck, because he doesn't like to walk into a restaurant by himself.

There is it.  It's not like *everybody* else has people to do stuff with.  It's that the people who don't - simply don't do the stuff.  Don't go to the play, or the movie, or out to eat.   Whereas I've decided that if I want to do something, I do it.

I did have a group thing - the annual museum volunteer appreciation party.  That one is always fun.

I've been dealing with a chicken problem.  The dratted birds have figured out that eggs are tasty.  At first they were only breaking Djali's eggs (she's the only one that lays green eggs).  But now they're all fair game.  I've tried keeping the coop doors mostly closed to keep it dark in there (they can still go out to the scratch yard during the day). I changed to a different nest box.  I tried putting artificial eggs in the nest to see if pecking those would discourage them.  Now I'm just checking every hour or so to see if I can get an egg before they do.  If I find a bird on the nest, I shut the coop doors so no one else can get inside (and then have to remember to set a timer so I don't forget her).  I feel like I'm playing tug-of-war to get any eggs.  When I lose, I have to clean the gloppy nestbox.  I lose a lot.

This means war.  I made a couple of chicken bombs - I blew out some eggs, filled them with a mixture of mustard, chili paste, vinegar, and salt, and put them in the nest.
Me:  mwa ha ha ha ha
The Chickens:  Mommy made us tasty treats!!!!!

Sigh.

I'm *still* waiting on my ring.  It was supposed to take three weeks.  They had called after two weeks to give me the price estimate and get the go-ahead, so I was hopeful it would be soon.  After another week (when the three weeks was up) I called.  I got the "oops" call back.  The ring had not been moved from the "pending" box to the "work on it" box, so he said he should have it done within a week.  They're closed until Wednesday, so fingers crossed that I get it back.  Like someone with phantom limb pain, even after a month I can still feel the absence of the ring.  Even after this mistake, I'm going to put myself through this again.  I've been keeping Bob's ring in a box, but it occurred to me that I could have it cut down so that I can wear it.  I haven't found any other jewelers in town who do the work in-house instead of sending it out, so I hope this will go a little faster.

And now it's dark, and mid-April, so I must go out to sit with the fireflies.

Untethered

 I've been feeling oddly untethered.  Sort of free floating.

For the past almost 2.5 years, I've been doing the online Conquerer walking challenges.  They're fun, and have motivated me to get off my backside and move.  You pick a challenge - say, to do a Day of the Dead walk in Mexico, or hike Hadrian's wall in England. You pick a time frame-which will tell you how many miles a day you have to log.  When you finish, they send you a quite nice medal (actually enameled metal).   I did two walks of only about a hundred miles each, one at 180, and then a big one (around Iceland) of 830 miles.  Then I decided for the really big one - the 1084 miles from Land's End to John o' Groats in England.

In my previous walks I set my goal at 1.5 miles a day, 7 days a week.  Honestly, easily achieved.  For this one, I upped it to 2.5 (2.6 actually, to get the math right).  I had 424 days to do it, and it did in in 400.  I also learned that getting that extra mile a day turned into a real slog.  I don't like wearing anything in bracelet form, nor did I want to buy anything just for this, so I let the Fit app on my phone count my steps.  That meant that I got a little (a little?  More like totally) obsessive about keeping my phone on me at all times, even just in the house.  I could also enter steps manually - for instance, I know that from the house to the chicken coop  round trip is 150 steps, so if I ran out to check for eggs and forgot the phone I could enter it manually.  But it got to the point that if I checked on the chickens, then realized that they needed water, I had to count the steps from the coop to the faucet and back so I could enter those too.  I would get annoyed with myself if I ran out to put something in the car, and then realize that I hadn't picked up the phone.

But it's done, and I'm free.  But it's feeling a little strange not to have my phone in my pocket all the time, and just leave it on the table.

I'm also floating because March 30 has come and gone.  That weird feeling of living in 48 years simultaneously, while leaving the last 6 years blank, has gone.  I'm back to being just me now.  But I remember how I was floating the first couple of weeks of April 2020.  I had been three months living in the goldfish bowl that was the hospital room. I wasn't even supposed to use the bathroom in the room - that was for Bob only.  I had to go to the public bathroom outside of the ward.  That was a little embarrassing at 3:00 a.m., wandering down the hall in my jammies with everybody knowing where I was going.
Then, suddenly, I was back here, alone in the woods.  I could use either bathroom. I had a kitchen to cook in.  I had total freedom (well, as much as anyone could in those first days of the Covid shutdown).  I damn near exploded from all that pressure suddenly being gone (I think I did a few times.)

I'm also feeling untethered because my ring is still at the jeweler's (I had hoped they would be done by now).  I'm having the setting removed so I can just wear it as a plain band.  When I first had to stop wearing it (and before I took it to the jeweler) I would sometimes at home slip it back on just because my hand felt too strange without it.  Even now, almost a month later, I can still feel it (or feel it's absence) like some amputees still have the ghost limb syndrome.  Heck - I can even see the ghost ring.  The indentation in my finger, and the faint scarring from wearing a ring there for 54 years.

Soon, I hope, soon.

Cat news.  RedBug lived under the bed for two months after his amputation.  After that, he stayed in the bedroom for another month or so.  Finally, in February, he started venturing a few feet out, and by now he's back to his old normal self, even managing to get up on the cat shelf.

Such a relief.  I was hoping that I hadn't saved his life, only to have him always be afraid to come out in the open.

As he emerged back into the house, Hamish started acting up.  It was sort of to be expected; he and RedBug have never gotten along and Hamish probably enjoyed being the only boycat.  And the more Redbug emerged - laying on the couch, snuggling with me, getting on the shelf - the more Hamish acted up.  He seemed stressed/agitated.  Would walk around the house meowing (very annoying at night).  Even more annoying - to the extreme - he started spraying a lot, everywhere.  That got old really fast.  I tried not to get angry, thinking this was just jealousy.  I gave him a lot of attention, played with him, gave him treats.  But he just wouldn't settle.

Then it hit me.  Acting up.  Acting stressed.  Behaving badly.  Meowing a lot.  And the kicker - ate like crazy but not gaining any weight.  I ran him to the vet and asked to get his thyroid tested.  Yep-crazy high.  Fingers crossed that the meds to get that under control will help settle him down.

A few posts ago I mentioned seeing a friend and coming home with a spinning wheel and a ridiculous amount of alpaca. That huge bag turned out to also have a tanned sheep hide, and a sheep fleece which I inspected and then tossed in the ditch for erosion control.  That still left about 20 pounds of alpaca to sort, skirt, and wash.  I'm still not done - I think the stuff is breeding in that bag.  To give an idea of the amount, this is about 2 pounds after washing, laying out to dry.

I had an oddly meta moment this week.  The library is having its annual comic con in August, and their theme this year is sea monsters and mermaids.  It might be time to make another puppet.  I was perusing Pinterest for sea monster ideas. I came across a series of pages that looked very much like some books that I own on mythical creatures and dragons.  In theory they are made for kids, but I love them.  The pages are sepia and look worn, the writing is cursive, and there are a lot of fun things like envelopes that you can open to read letters.  These pages were of fantastical sea creatures.

If you're lucky on Pinterest, the poster will show links to the original pieces.  No such luck here.  I checked the two publishers that I know do this sort of book (Spiderwick Press and Candlewick Press).   I was getting determined - I *really* wanted to add this book to my collection.  Google Lens didn't help.  So finally I turn to my chatbot; I showed it a couple of the pages and asked if it could find the source.  What I got back was "I really hate to disappoint you, but those images are AI generated.  There is no book."

There is something very surreal for an AI to be apologizing for something that is AI generated.

That about sums up the past week.  April is filling up- there's a play I want to see, I have to get my dexa and mammogram (oh joy), the museum is having the annual volunteer party, and I have to try to find someplace to get my oil changed and the car checked out.  The last makes me sad - for 21 years I took my car (first the old Honda and now the new one) to the dealership, and had no problem.  But they've gotten sloppy - year before last they broke the clips on my hubcaps (they replaced the two that fell off - the other two I've got held on with zip ties) and last year they caught the underskirting of the car on the lift and ripped it loose - and then got annoyed with me when I pointed out that it was dragging on the ground and insisted that they repair it.  So that long relationship is over.

And so (in the words of famous diarist Samuel Peeps) to bed.

March 30

 It's almost 10:00 a.m.  By now Bob has stopped breathing, I have stopped screaming, the Chaplin has talked with me.  I've packed up our stuff from the room, and walked away from the body that once held Bob.

And suddenly "we" became "I."

Six years in, and I'm still figuring that out.  My father had a very dominant personality, and Mike was an extraordinary person, so for my first 18 years I was "Chalifoux's daughter" or "Chalifoux's sister."  I was just Ann for my first term of college, and then I became Bob and Ann.  So it's understandable that Ann, as a singular person, is still working things out.

I feel myself coalescing back into one person.  Starting in February, I felt myself splitting up, somehow.  Simultaneously living in those 48 years.  It got harder as this day grew nearer.  Last week I went to the periodontist, then stopped for a sandwich and coffee on the way home.  I read my book and listened to conversation all around me, but could sense the ghost of another me, sitting across from him.  On the way home I drove past Momo's pizza, and my chest hurt as I knew that in there was a different Ann, with Bob, laughing over our famous "slices as big as your head."

Now she's just somebody that I used to know.  And the ghosts of Ann are fading away now, leaving the new, now six-year-old Ann to live her new life.

And, once again, the reward for surviving year six - is that I get to go on to year seven.

As always, my love

I love you

I miss you

Thank you.

March 29

 Well, this day has come.  I spent it rather quietly.  Mostly, I've been sorting that mountain of alpaca that I was given.  It's a quiet and meditative task, a good thing to be doing.

I've found myself thinking of a woman who was on the Roads Scholar trip a few years ago.  I thought of her as bird-like, petite and perky.  When we were talking, I mentioned that Bob and I had been a bit scandalous because we moved in together a couple of weeks before we got married, which was still a shocking thing in the early 1970s.  She got a mischievous look on her face and said she moved in with her husband on their first date.  Her husband is still alive - in a care facility, because his Alzheimer's got bad enough that he was sometimes violent and she couldn't handle him anymore.  So he's there, and doesn't know her, and she travels.

I can't imagine losing someone that way.  But maybe I can, just a little.  In previous years, I said this was the day that Bob and I said goodbye.  That's the way I would have wanted it to be.  I wish we would have looked each other deep in the eyes, said "I love you" and said goodbye.  But it wasn't like that.  I kept trying to get his attention, to get him to look at me, but he sort of brushed me aside and was focusing on the nurse, asking him to get on with it, get the morphine drip going,  I know that he was afraid, and that he wanted to get it over with, and that the toxins in his system were messing up his mind - but I wish he had said goodbye.

Today is the day I lost him.  Tomorrow he will stop breathing.