This is Halloween?

 My favorite Halloween music video:

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=this+is+halloween+voiceplay

Halloween, 2022.  Sort of didn't happen

Halloween has always been MY holiday.  I would look forward to it months in advance when I was a little girl.  Mom would help me make our house into a mini haunted walkthrough instead of just handing out candy.  She would also help us make costumes.  As a adult, I would start planning a costume somewhere around August.  When we lived in town, I would have a big Halloween party.

That faded when we moved out here - it was just a bit too far for most people.  And we had no trick-or-treaters.  But eventually we fell into helping out on the Haunted Trail at the museum, finally ending up being on the small team that designed, built, and ran it.  It was creatively exhilarating and exhausting.  But after about 15 years, we were all, well, 15 years older and a bit more tired.  And it was *too* successful.  It was fairly simple when we were running 300-400 people through a night.  When it starting hitting over 1000 it was overwhelming.  And then the woods that we ran it through got cut down (long and annoying story there).  So we gave it up.

But the old warhorse in me still itched (and itches) for Halloween.  Although we didn't do the trail, we did help out with the costume contest on the grounds, dressing up ourselves as well.

We couldn't do that for Halloween 2019, because Bob was on chemo and couldn't be around crowds.  And there was no Halloween Howl for 2020, because Covid.  Nor 2021, for the same reason.  This year - well, Halloween Howl has been permanently abandoned.  It became a money loser rather than a money maker after there was no longer our haunted trail.

A few miles from me there is a woman who has done a fairly elaborate fundraising haunt for several years.  I didn't check it out the last two years because - guess what? - Covid (Annie don't do crowds).  I thought that with Covid numbers down and five vaccines in me that I might volunteer this year.

She isn't doing it.

I wanted to try the method of making a Jack-o'-Lantern where you drill some holes where you want the features to be, stuffing in some peanut butter, and putting out for the squirrels.  Some of the posts online look nicely disturbing:

But when I drove into town Saturday (to take a D&D class but that's another story) there were no "pumpkin patches."  There weren't even any at the grocery store today.

There was still a glimmer of why I love this holiday.  After work I went out for a sandwich before I went grocery shopping (so I wouldn't empty the shelves into my cart) and my order was taken by Wonder Woman.  There was a pirate sitting at a table, and at Publix the guy bagging groceries was wearing a Marvel costume, complete with cape.e

So tonight I started watching a TV series based on "The Haunting of Hill House" (because I can't find the old Julie Christy one anywhere) and ate some Halloween candy.  And, just to show willing, I did set out a dish of bread and milk, and one of brandy (the fae have to be posh tonight - I didn't have any whiskey).

Maybe next year I'll do something.
 

The Visit

 Every time I try to write about the trip, it comes out sounding like a school kid's report on "what I did on my summer vacation."  

What we did wasn't important.  The important stuff was the small stuff.

So to cover what we did (because 2023 Self may be trying to remember).

Tuesday, October 18, I got there.  I laughed when I walked in the kitchen; they knew I was coming and I spotted three boxes of wine (not bottles; boxes).  They did say that one was almost empty.

Wednesday was the Gardner; I wrote about that.

Thursday we went for a long walk at an educational farm/park whose name escapes me, because I had said that I just wanted to experience Fall In New England.  The air was cool and crisp, the "color" beautiful, and I loved being out in it.

Friday we went to the Eustis estate, a beautiful fully restored 1829 "aesthetic movement" home, that was an actual home up to the 2000's.

https://eustis.estate/  (rats - I didn't take pictures, and their web page won't let me copy.  But it was gorgeous)

But the important things:

They got to spend some time with Diane.  We've been friends for 40+ years.  Mike met her briefly some 20 years ago.  It sort of reminded me of when he came to visit in 2019 which was the first time he met Don, Della, Rob, Amanda, and the kids.  It seemed strange to realize that Mike had never met my family.  The same feeling as Wednesday - Diane has been my little sister, my chosen family.

Friday morning they "met" Ebaida.  She has also been so important to me; I can't now imagine my life without our daily sharing.  So we did a short FaceBook video call.  She of course was charming and adorable.  Like Diane - I felt a need to have people that I love know each other.

Having conversations.  Not texting, not phone calls, not a video chat.  Face to face talking (even if I did have to keep telling them to lighten up a bit - they're both into world events and politics, both of which are a bit dark at the moment and dammit - I was on vacation).

Looking at Mike's wee tiny bird parts, hearing his plans, and visiting his workroom.  He had it built several years ago; it's only a little over 200 square feet because anything bigger would have meant trying to cut or blast rock.  It's amazing how much he crams in there - 2 or 3 lathes, a CNC cutter, fancy air evac, all matters of equipment, computer, storage.

(pictures taken from either end.  The dive helmet in the corner is a foam one that I made for him).  

Things that used to be normal.  Wandering into the kitchen in the morning, someone making the tea, saying "good morning" to a person, not my Google portal.

Meals together.  Yes, the kids come to visit every 4-6 weeks, but they like eating out.  It's not like having company for a bagel for breakfast or a sandwich for lunch - or company at all for 3 meals a day.

Sharing.  I introduced them to "What We Do In the Shadows."  I mentioned a book (Neil Gaimen's very creepy collection of short stories called "Trigger Warnings") and Mike picked it up from the library the next day.  A couple of favorite videos - and the "behind the scenes" making of them.   My favorite cooking videos - the group called "Sorted Food."  Later, after I had showed them one video, I realized that I had said "I like to watch their videos while I eat; it's almost like having company."  Did that sound pathetic?  Did they notice?

Playing with Mike's fancy VR setup - so much better than the couple of cartoon-like demos I've used before. Except that my bruised hand is still healing from where a monster was coming at me - and I sucker-punched his bookshelf.  Ouch.

Just being around other people.  Barring work, I spent more time with them than I have been around anybody for the last 6 months or year total.

Downsides.  I wrote about the lonely nights.  Lying in bed and hearing the quiet murmur of of Mike and Margo talking, remembering those before-bed sleepy talks.  Missing my "cuddle pillow" (although there were three pillows on the bed and I did hold one - but is it strange to think that you're somehow being unfaithful to a pillow?)

Totally random occurrence.  I normally don't do FaceBook on my phone, but one evening I was on it briefly to check with Ebaida about our video call.  And I had a private message from another woman who used to be in our short-lived book club.  She has been having a *lot* of medical issues.  In her message she wanted me to know that she had decided to go on hospice care, and to thank me for being a friend.  Just how does one respond to that, especially if you've just run upstairs for a minute and dinner almost ready?

So yes - ups and downs, mostly ups.  And I managed my first trip away from home, so hopefully the next one (to Harry Potter World with Kim and Diane) won't cause as much panic.

And there was a homecoming.  It was odd getting off the plane with no one to meet me.  And surrealistic driving home, because it was the same route and same time of day that I drive twice a week coming home from the museum.  I wasn't expecting much when I got home; cats are not people or dogs, and they're usually a little restrained ("oh, were you gone?  I hadn't noticed').  RiverSong came and rubbed my ankles, but my dear Hamish went bonkers.  He was body slamming and head butting me and making his funny little "brrp!" noises and I felt that I had really been missed.  Maybe a little too much - when I tried to walk he kept prostrating himself on the floor in front of me, which would have been cute if I hadn't been quite so focused on trying to get to the bathroom.

I was a little hyper over the next two days - trying to settle back into the alone life (although, oddly, not as lonely.  I've noticed that it's mostly around other people that I feel lonely).  But I'm back into the routine again.

I'm glad I went, but it's good to be home (writing this with Stumbles on one side, ReddBugg draped across my arm, and Hamish on the back of the couch).  Crazy cat lady is back in her woods.

Day One: The Gardner

 My first day in Boston, Wednesday, was also Margo's day to work at the Gardner Museum.  Rather than calling in, she opted to do her shift (only 3 hours) so that I could spend some time there.  The Gardner is gorgeous beyond words, both in the collection of art, furniture and artifacts, and the architecture itself.  Just to look into the courtyard is to feel your blood pressure gently drop.

But the highlight for me, beyond the museum, was the fact that Diane (hey sis!) came to join us.  We've been friends for over 40 years (how is that even possible?).  Michael wandered off by himself so that she and I could catch up.  When Margo got off we had lunch.  There's just something so wonderfully comfortable being with people that you've known for decades.  That feeling of belonging.

After we got home Michael brought out his little treasures to show me.  For many years now he's been fascinated by the singing bird boxes, tiny automata popular in the 17th and 18th centuries.  And bit by bit he's been teaching himself the skill set to someday build one.  So by "little" treasures, I meant miniature.  There are tiny slivers of ivory that will be an articulated beak.  Tiny metal frameworks for the bird body and head.  He's learning how to feather a bird by cutting tiny bits off real feathers and layering it on.  Tiny hinges less than a quarter inch apart.  The part that really boggled my mind was part of a mechanism to move the bird.  It was about an inch long - a stiff hair thin wire that was somehow going through a barely thicker wire.  He had actually drilled a hole in the second wire.  At the juncture was something that looked like a little blob, about 1/16th of an inch across.  He put it under his microscope to show me - it was a tiny gear.  His challenge for that had been to make the piece of equipment to cut a gear that tiny.  I really can't comprehend being able work on that scale.

After dinner I introduced them to "What We Do In The Shadows" and then we wandered to bed.  Unfortunately, that's where things went a little downhill for me.  Alone, away from the day's distractions, the homesickness came pretty hard.  I would wake up every hour or two, look at the clock, calculate how many hours before we would be getting up, and also how long until I could go home.  That would end up being the pattern for the rest of the trip.

But it was a good day - with hugs, laughter, good talk.  Things that I haven't had for awhile.

There and Back Again

 I made it.  And I'm back home.  This might take several posts to unpack the last week.

Leaving was hard.  The last time Bob left home, he never returned. It was so hard to walk out, lock the door, drive to the airport.  I had to hold back the tears and the panic.  After I boarded the plane, I visualized the cats, one by one.  The the chickens and the squirrel.  Even the goldfish.  And my land.  I prayed that I would see them all again.

The panic eased after the plane took off.  It was a Done Deal.  It was too late to change my mind, to turn back.

First stop: Atlanta.  The world's busiest airport. It's like being part of an overturned ant nest.  I got off in concourse B and my next flight was T.  Fortunately, my flight coming in landed 17 minutes early, which gave me enough time to walk.  Even before Covid, I never liked crushing onto the the coach/tram/whatever they call it, to be spewed out again at the other end.  I'd rather walk off my nervousness than add to it.  But it was a brisk 40 minute walk (God bless whoever invented wheelie bags) and I got there just in time.

Logan airport in Boston isn't nearly as big as Atlanta, but there was still some exercise involved and a certain amount of wondering where to go (Mike and Margo said they would meet me at A202 which is fine if you have any idea where that is).

I had been thinking all along that I might break down the moment I saw Mike.  I've cried every time I've thought about seeing him again.  The last time we saw each other was May 2019, when he came to visit to see for himself what devastation a hurricane can wreak.  Bob was driving us around, and I thought he was just getting a bit tired after awhile.  We didn't know that he had leukemia.  That was a month away.

But I didn't.  By the time I saw Mike and Margo, whatever protective barriers I have had clicked into place.  I was very happy to see them, but not to the point of breaking down.

New England is beautiful in the fall, and I enjoyed it as soon as we got out of Boston (they live in a smaller town called Dedham, only a half hour from the airport).  Honestly - I don't remember much of the rest of the day.  Food happened, as did wine.  I got glared at by the resident cat, Moonlight.  She does not approve of other people coming into the house besides the resident servants.  Unlike my cats, who simply disappear at the sight of a stranger (my critter sitter saw only two of the five cats while I was gone), Moonie keeps an eye on intruders, glaring.  Although she will accept treats if they are placed down for her; I tried holding them in my hand and got mama-cat-slapped for playing games.

And that was Tuesday.  There is much more, but it's getting late and I have to get up early tomorrow for work.

Going Out - and the Panic

 I've started going out more.  Covid numbers are down, and while I've grown accustomed to be a lonely recluse, part of me thinks that it may not be mentally healthy to limit myself to the Museum, the grocery store, and the occasional visit to the dentist.

But it's making ever more aware that Bob is gone.

One example - there is a pioneer settlement in Blountstown, the next town over.  They have an old loom that they wanted to get in working condition.  A member of the weaver's guild in town asked if I would go with her to look at it.  It's actually in good shape - it just needed a good cleaning, rust removal, and some oiling.  The person who had invited me to go wasn't interested.  I reached out to the rest of the weaver's guild and no takers (note:  I have been a lurker in this guild for at least 25 years.  In general, they seem to like to be thought of as weavers but no one seems to be actually doing anything)

I had stuck my toe back in the waters of the guild in an attempt to build some sort of social life.  And when I found myself working on the loom in Blountstown, my inner mind was thinking that if I was going to work on a loom by myself, I could just as well do that at home).  But I like the Pioneer Settlement, and the people there were grateful for my help, so it's OK.

But it made me feel lonely.  It's about a 40 minute drive there.  Bob would have gone with me.  We would have chatted - he probably would have helped me.  Maybe go to lunch after.  And, of course, ridden home together.

As it was, drove there alone, worked alone, drove home alone.  Glad to have been of help but in general got depressed.  

Oddly, if I just stay at home, I don't get down.  And I'm OK going to the museum; I did that drive alone for several years, so it's nothing different.  Anything else just underscores that whatever I'm doing, I'm doing on my own.

Which brings me to my current state of panic.  I'm flying to Boston tomorrow to visit Mike and Margo.  I've warned them that there will be tears; I desperately want to see them.  I want someone to take care of me.

When my friend Kim's mother died recently, she flew to visit her biological father (the divorce had been when she was quite young) and her brother an his wife.  And she said she just sat in a chair and they brought her tea and when they asked what she wanted for dinner her reply was that she couldn't even get those brain cells together to make that decision - so they just brought her food.

Because of damned Covid, I never had that luxury.  If I wanted tea, I had to go make it.  If I couldn't decide what to eat, or get up the energy to fix it, well, eating didn't happen (and yes, there were some days that I simply didn't bother to eat).  I had the animals to care for.  And other things, like getting the AC replaced and the leaky roof fixed and the rotted porch torn out and replaced.  

I've been pulling myself up by my own bootstraps for 2 1/2 years.  And I'm tired.

And yet - there have been the panic attacks ever since I booked the flight.  It's really hard to make myself go.  Any time I have gone out, I'm good for just a few hours before the urge to come home gets overwhelming.  I feel safe here.  And, of course, the last time I left home - to go to Shands with Bob - well, things didn't turn out so well.  I screamingly don't want to leave.  It's all I can do to not bow out.  I keep telling myself that I'll be home Saturday.  I can do this.

And I cry every time I think about it.  And it's going to be so hard.  For the last 50 years, if I ever went anywhere, Bob would drive me to the airport.  He wouldn't drop me off; he'd come inside so I could get a last hug before I went to the gate.  As soon as I arrived, I'd call him.  And call him every evening to tell him of my adventures.  When I got home, he'd be waiting at the gate and I'd run into his hug and then tell him about my trip on the drive home.

Tomorrow morning, I will drive myself to the airport and leave the car in long-term parking.  Go through security and get on the plane.  I will not call when I get there, or any other evening.  When I come home, no one will be at the gate, and I will drive myself home.

It's crippling.

I want to go home.