July 9

 Actually it's July 16 but it's about July 9.

And Hello, 2022 Ann.  It's 2021 Ann with another word dump.  Y'know, I have other stuff to write about - projects I've been working on, books I've been reading, stuff like that.  But somehow I keep getting sucked into brain chaos.  And I've been falling apart a bit lately.  Crying at odd times.  Suddenly again not being able to stand the gaping emptiness of the bed beside me (I remember last year, first sleeping on the couch for a couple of months, and then only being able to use the bed if I piled it with laundry baskets and whatever else I could find.  Remembering the look he would give me, that made me know that in his eyes I was forever 19.

Because July 9 happened again.  Just like it does every year about this time.  This is what I wrote on FaceBook:

Well, it's effing July 9 again. Is it possible to really hate a date? (answer: yes). Check out the picture - 1999, handsome shirtless man holding a kitten (still makes my knees a little wobbly). Twenty years later, July 9, 2019, we're in the vet's office and he's saying he's sorry and we let her go.

Two hour later we are sitting in the doctor's office, and he is saying he's sorry, but it is leukemia.

And I think that pretty much describes a crap day.

(By the way - those two are still together. I mixed their ashes)

And somehow I feel like my life has been on hold since then. For 9 months we had to focus on battling the disease. Then I lost him and simultaneously gained a pandemic.

I think I've done a pretty good job of holding myself together. I have my volunteer work at the museum. I've made new friends (online). I've joined a book club (online). I exercise (to online videos). I maintain my yard and care for my animals (at least that's not on a screen).

But dammit, I miss him. I miss having him to chat with, to laugh with, to cook with, to share meals, ideas, plans, and projects. I achingly miss having someone to touch.

And you have to put the blame for that somewhere, and I blame it on July 9. Screw it.

It's hard to grasp that I've sort of lost two years of my life - I just don't have a grip on it. And the problem is that time doesn't go in a straight line from the past to the future - because of seasons, and dates, it sort of spirals, like a vulture riding a rising thermal, as you get farther away from the past but you circle over it, looking down, seeing my life with Bob get a little further away, and still not being able to see anything in the future [side note: for that I partly blame the damned Covid. It was almost better, with cases almost at 0 and positive rate of less than 2%. But then everything opened up and over half the county hasn't bothered to get vaccinated so the numbers are climbing sharply again]

So Bob was diagnosed on July 9, 2019, and died March 30, 2020, and for those almost 9 months I did absolutely everything I could think of to help him. I fixed all his food according to his allowed diet, went walking and swimming with him, we counted our blessings almost daily to keep a positive attitude, and I spend the last three months in the hospital doing whatever I could.

And July 9, 2020 through March 30, 2021, I relived every damned day of that. Wondering what I could have done more, could I have helped him more, somehow hearing the words of my father [I don't think I've ever mentioned that I have Daddy issues.] "your best isn't good enough."

My best wasn't good enough. (of course, neither was the best of 6-8 doctors, the other doctors they consulted, and a wardful of wonderful nurses).

Some how I made it through that second 9 months, and got a little better after that. But now it's all crashing in again. And I know I can get through it, but dammit, I'm tired. And after 16 months of being alone - I'm getting lonely. Being in a pandemic isn't conducive to getting out, doing new stuff, and making friends.

So, 2022 Self - this is for you, because I don't seem to have anyone else at the moment. (That's not fair - I know I have Amanda and Robert and the kids, and Mike and Margo. But they're not physically here). I'll get through this again, and be stronger and better and try to lay down the foundations of some sort of new life for you.

Tropical Storm (perhaps Hurricane) Elsa

 She showed up on the radar last week, out past Puerto Rico.  Elsa.  A tropical storm that became a hurricane and now is a tropical storm that might be a hurricane in a few hours.  It might strike east of us (looks like Tampa at the moment) but it's wind and might shift.  Who knows? 

And it's been so oddly quiet since she showed up out there.  Bob loved the weather channel (he called it "Old Guy MTV."  And when something like this came along, the TV would be popped onto the weather channel first thing out of bed, and there it would remain.  There would be tension in the air.  His huge collection of 5-gallon GI water cans would be dragged out from the barn and filled, along with a motley collection of whatever other plastic containers that were never thrown away because they might be useful.  The generator would be tested.  Tarps would be at the ready.

So things would feel a little nervous.  Especially with the TV on.  Fear mongering means bigger ratings, so they will constantly stress the dangers of a storm, and even though it was downgraded to a tropical storm, they will still call it a "hurricane watch" because it might turn into a hurricane again.

But me?  The weather channel hasn't been on at all.  The NOAA hurricane site updates its information about every 6 hours, so I take a quick look to see what's happening.  I started prep this morning, after a leisurely breakfast and my usual morning chores.

No mountain of water cans.  I have about a three day supply of water in recycled bottles (for drinking) and a half-dozen buckets in the bathtub filled with water.  Because I'm on a well with an electric pump (and the generator isn't big enough to run the pump), so if I lose power, I don't have water.  So as well as drinking water for me and the various critters, I also need flushing water.  If push comes to shove I can pretend that I'm a bear and go poop in the woods, but I'd rather be more civilized.

I have the big portable battery (the type that can jump cars and inflate tires and be used for a charging station) up at the house and charging.  I've charged all of my devices.  I moved the FIT under the carport (the old faithful Honda is being left in the driveway, with the logic that the two cars should be separated so they both don't get hit by the same tree).  I've reinforced the retaining wall around the chicken coop so hopefully I won't have to shovel too much washed-in dirt out of there.  I brought the plastic yard chairs onto the front porch.  The laundry is done, and in a bit here I'm going to go wash my hair.

In short - if the power goes out for a few days, I'm ready.  I've learned that I don't mind living for a bit without electricity, but lack of water is a real pain in the butt.  I didn't bother with the generator; the only thing we used it for during the 8 days we didn't have power after Hurricane Michael was to try to keep the fridge cold.  Now that I am One Person there isn't that much food stored in it.

So a couple of hours of sort of putzing around and I'm set.  Yes, a tree might fall on the house, but there's not much I can do in advance about that.  I'll deal with whatever happens.

But there will be no staring at the weather channel, no wondering what else we can to to prepare.  Just me.  Probably knitting.

Crows and the Fourth of July

 Bob always liked crows.  It's the closest thing we have to the mythical raven.  In the mornings he would put dry cat food on the tall stump of the oak tree that came down in the hurricane, and call for them.  I can still hear his voice.  "Crooooows, Crows!"

I still do that, and try to match the cadence of his calls.  Normally what happens is that furry little masked bandits think that "Crow" means "Racoon" and they run over to climb up and get a snack.  But sometimes I see the crows flying around and it makes me happy to see them.

I got a thrill last Tuesday.  I put out the food, and actually saw one fly down and get some.  Then, miracle of miracles - she flew back into a tree and fed her demanding fledgling!   Tonight it got even better.  I had been futzing around the house all day and thought I should try to get a walk in before dark.  As I was doing my laps around the property I could hear the crows cawing overhead.  Then I started to believe they were following me.  I went back to the house to get some food and put it out - and sure enough, Mother Crow came down and grabbed food to take to the fledgling.

Don't know why this makes me so happy, but it does.  

It's the Fourth of July, so pretty noisy out there.  People are shooting off fireworks.  I'm assuming that they're gathered with friends and family, eating hot dogs and hamburgers, drinking Cokes and beer.  Sounds like fun.  I don't seem to be involved.   Partly that's my choice - I was invited to go have lunch with the family today (daytime, so no fireworks).  But we've been getting some pretty heavy rains lately, and thunderstorms, and it was raining this morning and just not the sort of thing I like to take a long drive in (it's only 90 miles but it sometimes seems longer).   And I didn't get invited to anything in town.

I've always been something of a loner.  Not necessarily completely by choice; it's just I never seemed to have gotten the knack of making friends.  I find myself thinking of school days, where recess would find me sitting somewhere with a book, and watching the other kids play.  I was one of those that hated PE classes where kids would get picked for teams because I was always one of the ones who got picked last.  And Bob took after his mother (his Dad was hail-fellow-well-met and would make buddies with everyone he met; his mother didn't want anything to do with anybody.  It was an odd combination).  And Bob and I got along so well.  Over time, people that we had been friends with just sort of drifted - not that there was any real problem, just that they were busy if we ever suggested getting together.  After awhile we quit suggesting.  But we were OK with just each other.

I remember a day or two after we realized that he wasn't going to make it. He was resting; I was leaning my head on the windowsill and looking down at our little blue car that would soon be taking me home alone, and thinking "I guess I need to make some friends."   But the pandemic has sort of taken that option away for the last year and change (although I've made some distant online friends, but no anyone to actually physically hang out with).  It's been Alone Time, and I guess it will be for awhile.  But sometimes I do get a little wistful when I realize that people are getting together.  I've tried reaching out a couple of times but people are busy and you get the "maybe later."  Fifth graders are more straightforward and just tell you to get lost but the message is similar.

Enough of that.  Final brain dump of the evening involves the rainy weather we've been having lately and the resulting amount of branches falling out of the trees.  Yesterday I had finished my first-thing-in-the-morning rounds of feeding the cats (and cleaning up whatever damage they did the night before, either knocking stuff over or hacking up hair balls) and going out to feed the chickens.  Then I settle down to my tea and toast and morning FaceBook and suddenly there is a house shaking THWUMP and the peacocks are screaming and the cats are panicking in six different directions and it's obvious that something big has landed on the roof.  Possibly there is damage.  

So I shrug my shoulders, resume reading, finish my tea and toast.  Whatever damage is there will still be there in a half hour.  So pragmatic.   Then when the rain slacks off I drag a ladder to the house, get on the roof, pull off the honkin' big branch that landed (no damage, thank goodness), and as long as I'm there sweep the leaves off the roof, and also clean out the gutters.  Then clean up and put everything away.

There are those who are concerned that I climb ladders and get on the roof and do heavy work with no one else around.  But that's the thing; at the moment the person I have is myself.  And I'm OK with that.   But sometimes it feels a little weird being that OK with it.  

I was listening to music, and "Bless the Rains Down in Africa" came on.  I was struck by the lyrics:

"I seek to cure what's deep inside, frightened by this thing that I've become."