How's The New Place?

 Sunday, August 4, 2024

"How's the new place?" they ask. 

Some might wonder how I could not love the "new place".   After all it's cute, right?  Reminiscent of a little New England style cottage. 

Everyone who visits always comments on how cozy the "new place" feels. 

"It's low maintenance, gated security, plenty of activities available and clubs to join," they say. 

I am trying to love the "new place".  I've dressed it up with curtains and carpets.  I'm in the process of giving the kitchen a face lift with shiny new cabinets. 

I've hung Ross' prized artwork and displayed his precious thrift store finds.  

All of the furniture here in the "new place" is the furniture I brought with me from our old place.  I've re-arranged the living room a hundred times.

I placed the "Big Toe" flower pot, the one that always made us smile, under the front yard tree and had the landscaping redone.

But as much as I try, for now, it's just a place to hang my hat and rest my weariness. 

And so, when they ask "hows the new place?"  

I answer, "Ross isn't here."

My Joy My Ross

 My love, my Ross, passed away on February 12, 2024, exactly twenty-seven years and one day from the first time we met. 

And each and every one of those days of  knowing him, being with him and loving him brought me joy.

Joy, a seemingly simple little three letter word, embodied all that was Ross. 

 I believe it was just his nature to generously give of himself.  

One foggy and rainy winter night we were on the way to a holiday gathering at a friend's house.

As we headed down the dark highway, only several yards away, we witnessed a car swerve and crash into another car. When we got close enough, Ross immediately pulled over to the side of the road, jumped out of the car to see what help he could give. 

Yes, he was that person. 

I think what I loved most about him was his respect for my individual self.  

We were opposites as far as personality goes.  He a confident social extrovert, I a shy introvert uncomfortable in a group.

But, whenever we were in a gathering he made sure to encourage and include me in the conversation.

"Did you know that Lynda writes a blog?" he would say.   Or, "Lynda is a beautiful knitter." 

He was a kind soul.  His soft brown eyes gave that away.

Even if someone may not have been kind to him he would say, "But she's a good person." 

He was great with customer service people.  Never expressed irritability but somehow always got what he set out to achieve.  

With a twinkle in his eye and a sly smile, he would say, "I just used the force." 

Did you know he had a dancing name.  "Boogaloo Swimp".  Don't ask :)

He had a catalog of jokes, sometimes complete with accents when necessary.  And although he probably told me the same joke more than once, I'd still giggle. 

He was my yarn shopping buddy.  My podcast co-host.  He knew the knitting lingo.  "Do you have any FO's to show me?" he'd ask. 

He loved being Pop-pop.  

Although I miss so much already, am achingly heartbroken and wonder what I'm going to do without him, 

I feel so blessed to have had those 27 joy filled years with my love, my Ross. 

The Birdfeeder

 Friday, April 14, 2023

I Cried A Little This Morning

 I have not been honest with Sadness.  Pretending she does not exist. Paying her no mind.

It's been a painstakingly long, brick by brick process to build a wall that she cannot penetrate.

Oh, I've had conflicts with Frustration and Anger.  Big battles in which they were the victor.  I would come away bruised and weary, guilty tears of regret readily flowing.   

I foolishly believed those bouts with Frustration and Anger gave me the strength to complete a wall that Sadness could not invade. 

Undaunted, Sadness whispers to me.  She says things like "You know the illness, it's what we call The Long Goodbye.  Surely that must make you sad, doesn't it?" 

With Anger egging me on, I defiantly reply, "He's still here! I take care of him,  I touch him, I kiss him good night. I am not sad.  We have not said good-bye!"

Sadness is relentless.  She follows me on my walks.  "Remember how you and he walked this same path, together?  Isn't it sad that he's not here with you today?"  

I quicken my step to try to out pace her and turn up my music to drown out her taunts. 

The other day, uninvited of course, Sadness came with me to browse around my sweetheart's and my local favorite garden center.   It was a springtime ritual.  He would look at the vegetable and herb plants.  My interest was the flower plants. 

That day, I impulsively purchased a $75 bird feeder.  Guaranteed to keep the squirrels at bay.  

"What would he have had to say about that?"  Sadness asked.  I thought about that for a minute or two as I carried my purchase to the car. 

Today I hung the feeder at the edge of our patio.  The spot is perfect.  I can see it from our kitchen window and also from our bedroom window where my sweetheart lies in his hospital bed. 

A few little finches immediately found their way and began pecking at the seed.  I watched from the bedroom window as empty seed pods floated onto the newly spring-green grass.

As I excitedly turned to tell Ross that the birds had already found the feeder,  I caught a flash of bright red  out of the corner of my eye.  

A cardinal was on the feeder, his mate waiting patiently on the ground for her turn. 

"Sweetheart,"  I said,  Mr. and Mrs.  Cardinal are here."

  I imagined his smile, and knew what he would have said.  

"See I told you buying that feeder would bring you joy.  Anything for my sweetheart, you know that."

It's okay, Sadness lovingly whispered,  it's ok. 

And I cried.