Sequence of Posts:
I have changed the dates to put the posts in chronological order starting with the first post. Please forgive any confusion I may have created.

12/8/15 - Here I am, now what are your other two wishes (bumper sticker from my Sister)

I have been thinking of sharing my life after the loss of my wife for several months now ... so here I am. The purpose of this blog is to share my life and hopefully get discussions going between fellow widowers. I have searched the web and have not found anything much about widowers, lots about widows. I guess women like to chat more than men. Oppps, was that a sexist remark? (Oh, by the way, the photo is me at my cabin in the Adirondacks. I have over 20 acres with trails that I have cleared. The sidearm is only to make noise to scare large animals away and plink at dead trees).

My wife died in 2011 from breast cancer which she had 25 years ago. The chemo therapy affected her heart which over the years resulted in heart failure at the age of 65. The last two years of her life was spent in and out of the hospital with pacemakers, LVAD (google that one), strokes and a whole bunch of other shit. I was with her every day and even bought monthly parking passes to the hospital parking lot. I guess the only good thing that came of the time in the hospital is that we designed our head stone, bought matching funeral urns, and said plenty of "I love you". In the end, we had completed out journey and were content in the inevitable.

Fortunately we have/had Living Wills. So when the doctors said she had a week to live and could die at any time, I chose a day and time to stop the life support systems. I gathered her family, my family, and friends to her bed side. She said good by to one and all between gasps of oxygen. Then as they removed each piece of equipment I held her in my arms and told her about all the good times we had: sandy beaches in the Caribbean, ocean cruises, trips to Italy ... and then all was still.

As agreed, we had no wake, no mourning. We had a Mass in which many members of the family participated in the readings and other ceremonial tasks. What we did have was a Celebration of Life party in which the guests were asked to tell the fun things or funny stories about my wife. Having an open bar and good food helped things along.

I opened the funny stories with my favorite one about when we were traveling in Italy. We both spoke Italian to some extent. A man in the Piazza del Duomo (open space in front of the cathedral) in Sicily was calling his dog saying "viene, viene". My wife turned to me and said "that dog understands Ital...", and never finished the sentence. Duh, we were in Italy! (viene in Italian means "come").

Enough  for now ... more to come: my drinking, my loneliness, my growth, and my new life.

12/9/15 - Cleverly disguised as a responsible adult (Bumper sticker from my Sister)

Now this is really off the charts. Even though my wife and I had great closure, not like losing someone in a car crash, I was devastated. This is the weird part: during the first few weeks following her demise, I would sometimes put her urn on her pillow and sleep with her. Sometimes while watching TV I would put her urn next to me on the couch. Now the only normal thing I did was cry myself to sleep. Thank God this only lasted for a few weeks. Then the loneliness set in. I have had long discussions with myself as to whether it is loneliness or being alone. There is a difference. (The photo is me a few months after my wife's passing. I am offering up prayers at the Boudhanath Stupa , Kathmandu, Nepal).

After having a "full time" job taking care of my wife I was now alone in the house, alone in the world except for my loving Sister in another state. Yeh, I have four children, but it's kind of hard to discuss my feelings with them. So I would walk around the house aimlessly and drink. I didn't get drunk, just drank wine constantly to keep the mind numb. The drinking went on for years until a medical condition gave me the option to quit. But more on that later.

The grass around the headstone was clipped on a regular basis. I would often just sit at the headstone and talk to her. She was my wife, my lover and my best friend ... and now all that was gone. I still keep the grass clipped and talk to her, but after four years I have visited her less frequently. I think I am growing up and settling in.

During the past four years I have become more comfortable being alone. The loneliness has subsided, though I still get bouts of loneliness now and then. I have become involved with non-profit organizations as a volunteer and am a frequent visitor at my local library. I currently have begun taking long walks and hikes for exercise. I live in a small historic east coast town and can walk to the town green, library, town hall and shopping. Most evenings I read. My usual fair is two to three books a week. I read ... waiting for bedtime where in sleep I find solace and peace.

I tried hanging out at the local community center, aka. senior center, but the people there are too old. At 78 I feel and act as if I am still in my 50s and 60s. Sometimes my body reminds me otherwise, but not often. My biggest complaint is that I have neuropathy (which in my case is a nerve problem between the spine and the legs manifesting itself as having pins and needles in the top of my feet. Sometimes big pins and needles). I have gone through more medications in the past five years than I can count. However I recently discovered that the wine was a big contributor to my problem. Aw shit, I have to give up the booze. I was a happy camper when I drank myself to sleep. but then I would wake up three hours later with my feet feeling like they were on fire. And drink again until I fell back to sleep. I was totally fucked up.

On November 23rd of 2015 I made the move. I gave up drinking. My life turned around ... I traded booze for less pain and better sleep. I have a new med that helps (now that I have stopped drinking). I have more energy and don't walk around in a fog. I discovered however that I can have one glass of wine with supper, but that is the limit. 

Oh well ... enough for now. Coming up next: a "visit" from my wife and senior dating web site.
   

12/15/15 - Moving on and a spiritual visit from my wife

Being alone, even when you have a lady in your life is sometimes very rejuvenating. I have a cabin in the Adirondacks which I have had for over 40 years. It is only a Spring to Fall cabin. However I went up there last week for four days of monastic living. Just a wood burning stove and 20+ acres of woods. Of course, being closed for the Winter I had to bring water for washing and toilet. It sits off a very large lake. I hiked the trails I had made and walked along the shore of the lake. Awesome!

Getting back to the past. One morning as I was waking up my wife appeared to me. She was wearing a blue blouse and was smiling at me as I lay in bed. The apparition lasted for what seemed like several minutes. I immediately called my Sister who has experience in these matters. I wouldn't call her a spiritualist, but she is sensitive to ghosts and can often see them and speak to them. She said that the veil between worlds is weakest at the time between when a person is asleep and just waking up.

Months later my wife appeared to me again as I was waking up and she gave me a kiss on the lips. Sounds crazy doesn't it. But it sure felt real. She has not appeared to me since then. My Sister says this means that she has completed the process of passing over. I am personally convinced that dying may be the end in this world as we know it, but death  is also a doorway into another world. Heaven and Hell are mentioned in the Bible but who is to say it is not something different. Oh well, what do I know, I just experienced something wonderful.

Internet senior dating site. As I mentioned in a previous post that my wife and I had great closure on our lives and thus my grieving period was rather short. After six or so months I decided to start getting out. I went to singles dances, took dance lessons and found a senior dating web site. I met some really nice women. Unfortunately, some of the photos posted were "a bit" earlier in their life, and some lied about their age. Now this is really crazy. One woman I had been talking to on the phone sounded nice and I called her for a dinner date. She said she was in Florida visiting friends and would be taking a short cruise by herself (her friend backed out at the last moment). I said why don't I fly down to Florida and join her, sight unseen except for photo on the web site. We had a great week of dining, beach and cruise ... however I think she was looking for a "husband" to take care of her. I was not at that stage. I just wanted a woman to travel with and share a little sack time.

Now here is  where it gets strange. My wife told me not to mope around after her death but to find someone and have a new life. One of the women on the dating site sent me and email to start a conversation (and jokingly she still reminds me of who sent the first email) . I was interested because she was cute and lives in my town ... hmmm. We set a luncheon date. Across from the table sat this lovely woman with curly hair and beautiful blue eyes. Wow. She was nice. We talked for a while over lunch and then moved to my house to talk some more. We were so interested in each other that tea time moved into wine time. We agreed on another date. Well that was it. We have been together now for over three years. And she lives only 1.2 miles from my house. We both joke about my wife putting us together, or at least stirring the pot a little. And while we never met in town, I knew her brother.

Up next: a short essay on "Married on Weekends".

12/16/15 - Married on Weekends (A short essay written April 2015)

"The morning light was just beginning to shine through the large single-paned window above her bed. The night before as we laid in bed, we could watch the moon shining through the undulating trees dancing to the silent music of the wind. This morning, as usual, I was awake before her. I rolled over and lifted myself on one elbow and leisurely viewed my companion, the love of my heart. We had spent the night in love’s tender embraces and the taste of her lips lingered in my emotions, sweet as the after taste of a fine wine.

The dark curls of her hair were peeking out beneath the covers as she lay asleep. I could see her face, from beneath the sheet, kind in nature and loving. In her sleepiness she opened her eyes for a moment, not quite awake yet, and she drifted back to slumber once more. She knew I would soon begin to slide my fingers through her curls. I am not sure which of us enjoyed it more. Her hair was always amazingly tangle free, and my fingers would glide from her forehead, across her scalp and slide to the ends of her luxurious hair. In her half-awake state she would murmur a sound of pleasure. I held in my hands the joy of love, comfort and caring.

It was Saturday morning, the middle of our weekend. Our time. We have settled into a weekend routine, her house or mine depending upon our planned activities. I look back now on the three years we have been together and how our love has grown from a simple seed into a budding flower. Oh, we’re not blooming yet, only the future will show us what we will become. But for now, we are happy. Marriage is not in the future, neither is co-habitation. Though neither is ruled out in the future. It’s just that we, having reached our late sixties and seventies, have our own issues and obligations. But the weekends are mostly ours.

We often laugh at ourselves as we sometimes act like over-hormone driven teenagers. “Yes, Virginia there is a Santa Clause” and yes, there is sex after seventy. Well, I’m not quite sure I would use the work “sex”, I would prefer to use “sensuality” and “intimacy”. Something we both had been lacking in the past. She hadn’t been dating for over seven years and was resigned to a singles life. I had been caring for an ailing wife for ten years. When an appropriate amount of time had passed after my wife’s unfortunate demise, I joined a seniors dating web site. My companion, who had just joined the dating site always chides me that she saw me first on the web site, and sent the first email. Hey, I’m not complaining. Our first luncheon “date” lasted into the early evening so I guess we liked each other’s company.

I see that she is beginning to wake up. I slip my hand under the sheets and gently stroke her naked body. Her skin is as smooth as a baby’s. As I gently caress her back and arms I feel the love flow through my fingers, and I feel like I am the luckiest person in the world. I nuzzle my face into her hair and it smells fresh and full of fragrance. I don’t know what she uses, but it sure smells good. I slide my body next to hers as if we are two spoons and I wrap my arm around her. She turns and faces me as I slip my arm under her neck and we lie there gazing into each other’s eyes. She drapes an arm over my body, we touch noses and then a gentle kiss good morning. I gaze into her blue eyes and seem lost in the love that I see there. We squeeze even tighter together and I feel her breast against my chest. I just seem as if it couldn’t get better. Sometimes it does.

We live about one mile apart in the same town. Now that is either fate, or my wife’s spirit is having fun with me. She always wanted me to move on and find a new life after her passing. So I often joke about her putting us together.  My wife and I learned a lot during her last years. Intimacy was rubbing her hair or her feet, which ever she put in my lap as we watched TV. While intercourse was not possible due to uterine cancer, we substituted body massages as our form of intimacy. And to be candid, an hour long tender loving massage seems better than a five second orgasm. This is something I brought forward into my current relationship. Now we have the best of both worlds.

Life is what you make of it, and age is only a number. We agree that what makes it special for us, is that we live two lives: one as friends during the week, and one as new found lovers during the weekend."

Coming up next ... I don't have a clue

12/18/15 - Being alone with my cup of green tea

The past two days I have been alone, J, my lady friend, girlfriend, (who know what terminology to use at this age) has been shopping until she drops and making presents. She is a "tween" person. Between her parents in their late 90's and her four grandchildren (who I love as much as my own ten grandchildren) all of which are within a short driving distance. My grandchildren are spread all over the map and range in age from college to pre-school.

If you are reading this blog, then you probably also wake up alone, in bed, with perhaps nothing planned for the day. Well that's where I am now. My cup of green tea is my companion as I pound on the keyboard. I am in a good space, a quite space. Meditation flute music playing in the living room as I sit in my office. Dinner tonight will be with J's parents and then decorating their tree. J has her tree up but we haven't started decorating it. Me, I put a bow on the front of my truck. I'm a truck kind of person. I have had only trucks for the past 40+ years. No, it's not a macho thing, it just makes sense when you have a cabin and need to haul things around.

As I laid in bed this morning I wondered why I ever started this blog. Was it to share my experiences and help others? Was it therapy for me? Was it to be entertaining with my essays? I suppose it is all of these. I have read other widower's and widow's blogs and have found some interesting and some a recitation of daily events ... opppps, I think that is what I am doing now.

Several blogs, written by those who have written books on grieving, were interesting and I assume have helped others with the grieving process. While I still have my departed wife in my life, I am not grieving. I carry her wedding ring on my key chain so she is with me every day. And J acknowledges my love of/for her. This does not diminish my love for J. The heart can hold much love and love of two women takes up a very small part of it. Of course my heart is also filled with a different kind of love for my family and hers. I thank God that her family is so lovable.

Well now that I have made my brunch, I am off to return my rental movies and swing by the Library to see if I am needed to put away books and stuff.

Coming up next ... perhaps another essay or perhaps more drivel. 
   

12/20/15 - The KITCHAWANK ESSAYS

I thought perhaps I might share some essays that I wrote back in 2013 when I was just coming out of my aloneness, and approaching a new life. They are a series of essays which are an allegory about the trails I made on my land and my mental state at the time.

Here is the introduction to the series. I hope you enjoy them as much as they were a healing part of my life. I will share them over the next few weeks or months depending upon what happens in my life.

At this moment J's Grandchildren are watching a video while we wait for the paint to dry on the Christmas presents they have made for their parents in my basement workshop. Their projects need a second coat, so we wait for it to dry. I have the two oldest boys (6 yrs) and J has the others. I love being a "grandpa", but since we are not married, I am called Al ... which I think is appropriate.

So here is the introduction to the essays.

Introduction:
"He was told that Kitchawank is an Adirondack Indian word which roughly translates into “on the side of the mountain” but research has not verified the usage. In any event, since his property is situated in the Adirondacks, and is on the side of a mountain, or large hill (depending upon your ego at the moment), this is the name he has given to his property.

The author is a man who has lost his loving wife to cancer and heart failure. He also owns a cabin and a decent amount of wooded acreage in the Adirondacks of New York where he spends much of his summer time. He has owned this property for over forty years and has built it up from open forest land to include a cabin, an access road and hiking trails. It is pleasantly situated on a hill side across the main road from a thirty mile long lake. Quite oddly, he considers himself simply the steward of this God-given land and conducts his affairs accordingly.

These series of short essays are reflections and thoughts, all of them true, to the best of his remembering. Some experiences have been combined to hopefully make the essays more interesting and compact.

In these essays the author struggles with his life, the meaning of his life, the future of his life and the relationships in his life. Not unlike the struggles many people have today. Age wise he has just exiting his third quarter century of existence and feels and acts one half of his chronological age. At times his mind and body have a disagreement about this fact. But none the less, he is determined to enjoy what life he has. And preferably not do it alone.

So dear reader, he presents these essays for your entertainment and reflection."

    Index of Essays:
A REFLECTION on LOSS and LIFE
TWO STONES can a MAN MAKE
NEW TRAIL … NEW ADVENTURE
The WHITE DIAMOND TRAIL
The GNOME in his HOME
ON a SNOWY DAY

    Love and blessings to all.

12/22/15 - A Kitchawank Essay: A REFLECTION on LOSS and LIFE (Sept. 2012)

He sat in his favorite spot along the upper section of the red square trail. This was his trail, his forest. He wore his favorite, and only, work boots with their scrapes, mud and dust. He had on his “silly” socks and work-stained dungarees. His tee shirt was soaked with perspiration and his wet arms were sprinkled with flecks of pine needles and bits of leaves. His head, with its sparse, but close cropped population of hair, was covered with a bandanna made into a cap. It absorbed his sweat and kept the deer flies from biting his head … at least most of the time.

He had been clearing different trails of underbrush and overhanging branches. The machete was plunged into the ground and his work gloves were resting nearby. His pistol, in its tan second-hand leather holster, was looped onto his belt. Not that he shot anything with the pistol, but it was his insurance policy. It certainly would not deter a bear, but perhaps the noise might frighten it away. Every so often he would take pot shots at dead trees, just for the fun of it. He was a poor shot and needed some real target practice on the pistol range he had elsewhere on his property.

His favorite spot overlooked the lake below his property. If he could just cut down a few large trees he would have a magnificent view. But why cut down trees if you couldn’t use them. He had no roads yet to retrieve the wood for his stove at the cabin … so he would wait … the trees would wait.

He unfastened the laces and removed his boots and set his gloves on top of them. He used a special lacing technique that allowed more flexibility of movement rather than the typical crisscross method of lacing. His “silly” socks looked like wild flowers in a sea of grass. Purposely mismatched multi-colored banded socks. He once dated a woman who had worn these startling socks, and he made such a big deal out of it, that she bought him three sets of socks. Each set had three socks and all of them had different bands of colors. He was making an “I don’t give a shit” fashion statement to the world when he wore them.


He rested his back against a small elm tree and assumed the half lotus position for his meditation. One foot tucked into the crook of the opposite knee, one foot under the other knee. There is no right or wrong position for meditation, but he liked this position since it made him feel compact, small and all together. The pine needles and grass provided a somewhat soft cushion for his butt. The tree was hard against his back but that feeling would go away once into his meditation … it was part of the meditation exercise to ignore outside influences.

It was the end of his work day. He was lean and decently muscled for someone who would pass beyond the three-quarters of a century mark this month. He loved working his trails. He marked them with colored pieces of hard plastic and even produced an accurate map for visitors. But mostly he made them for his grandchildren, who unfortunately seldom, if ever, came to the cabin. But these were his trails and he loved them. Others came and used them and he was pleased. In a way, this was his solitude and time with the forest.

He began his meditation as always with breathing exercises. He considered himself still quite a novice after nine months of daily practice. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out, relax the body, ignore the bugs, flies and the hard tree at his back. Breath in, breath out, clear the mind. The silence was not silent. Leaves rustled in the wind, animals stirred … and his mind stirred.

He started meditating during his travels in Nepal, shortly after his wife died. He had held her in his arms as she passed away one agonizing night in the hospital. He found meditation to be a calming influence in his chaotic world. His wife of twenty years was his life. They had remodeled the cabin together, hiked these trails together, lived and loved together. They were the center of each other’s universe. There was no sense to her death and he wondered if there was any sense to his life. He had his pistol in its leather holster. He could join her in an instant if he chose to. What would be his choice?

One thing about meditation, that he had not yet mastered, was that thoughts and images intruded into his mind like a slideshow. He would push one aside only to be replaced by another. He often mixed in prayer with his meditation. He believed in a universal God, a one god or goddess or an “it”. Something out there in the universe created the universe … and he chose to believe it was true. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, they were all the same one god that people had strived to create in their image, and mold to their purpose. But there was a God, and he spoke to that God on behalf of people in need, and for himself … and for a future partner.

He desired to transform himself into a new person, half of him had been lost, half of him was empty, half of him needed to be regrown. He meditated and prayed for openness, for acceptance, for renewal … for some fucking thing that would help him become whole again.

Love is such an unknown thing. Love with his wife had crept up on him, silent as a wisp of smoke at night. He didn’t realize the depth and commitment of his love until after she had died. He tended her day and night through her various and many surgeries without giving it a second thought. Had she survived, their life would have been very limited … but he always said yes, yes we would be together, yes we would make the best of what we have. Yes, yes, yes. And then it ended with a no!

“This is not the way the story is supposed to end” he told her on her death bed. Tears streaming down his face. He was saying the phrase over and over again as if the recitation could change things. And their story didn’t end the way it was supposed to.

And now here he was sitting with his back against a hard, unyielding tree, in his favorite lookout over the lake, wondering what life was all about and where to go from here. Like the phoenix would he rise from the ashes and be reborn? Or would he stay ashes? He chose to be reborn, he chose to rebuild, and he chose to be renewed.

His meditation, like most times, wandered over many images and subjects. One slideshow followed after another slideshow. Once in a while he would have moments of “nothing”, and these were cherished. As he meditated he would vision himself bathed in white light from the one God, filling him with strength, light and goodness. He had finally gotten over the feeling of being alone. That was the hard part. Rolling over at night and finding the other half of the bed empty. In the beginning he cried himself to sleep almost every night. But now he thought he was okay. The emptiness was there but it wasn’t painful anymore … just empty.

The cabin and its many acres of forest were his sanctuary. It was a place of reflection and growth. Many times his friends would come up for a weekend and their company was welcomed. What is the purpose of having a God-given land and not sharing it? Not that he lived there year round. Mostly it was several days or a week at a time. The cabin was on the side of a large hill or small mountain depending upon one’s ego. It was inaccessible by car once the snows came. The plumbing was above ground so water was only available from late April to mid October when the temperature was above freezing.

Every inch of the cabin had a hint of his wife’s creativity. Nowhere could he look and not find her touch, her thought or her handiwork. She was his second wife and both were “adults” when they met, romanced and finally married. They had no children living at home, and both had jobs … just themselves. And their courtship would have made the pages smolder if it were to be put in print. And then cancer stuck its ugly head into their lives. First one part of her body was removed, and then more parts, and then her heart failed. This is not how the story is supposed to end. Like in the movie “The Notebook”, they were to die peacefully together in bed.

His legs began to ache from being too long in the half lotus position. Meditation had been a bust this time with all the slideshows. He stretched his legs to regain circulation and waken the rest of his body. He put on his boots and tightened the laces. Stiff legged he stood up, picked up the machete and gloves, and began his descent down the other half of the trail.

Like some lizards, who when losing a tail, grow a new one, he was half a man growing into a full one. He had been “dating” women, not looking for a replacement, but for a new adventure. Replacements are not to be had … nor would it be good to look for one, for one would not be found. But looking for a new adventure? Yes, that was the only reasonable course of action.

The continuation of the trail descended down a long slippery steep section with an easy lateral trail back to the cabin. The scent of pine filled the warm air in some places. Deer feces marked their path, muddy puddles formed here and there from the runoff of the mountain. A sense of wellbeing and belonging began to settle in on him. Here is where he belonged, hiking within the forest and his feet upon the trail. Pines, birches, maples, hemlocks and trees of all description surrounded him.

It was not within his personality or nature to be alone. Soon, and with patience, he would find this “adventure” of a woman. She would not only help complete himself, but he would help complete herself. A partnership. Two people coming together for a common good, a common purpose. To be loved, to be cherished and … to fill the other half of the bed.

12/30/15 - Well, That's the end of this one . . . 

Well dear readers, I pray you had a good year. One of growth hopefully. I spent Christmas with my Sister, a widow since 4/14, and her mature children, grand children and one great grandchild. We spent some quality Brother and Sister time and we did not dwell on our lost spouses too much. Since we are both dating now, there were relationships to share.

J and I went to NJ to visit my past wife's sister, the "baby" of the family. My niece and her two children were visiting from HI and so it was great to see them. Unfortunately they are going through a divorce. Divorce must be in the air. My youngest Son is also going through a divorce. Well, shit happens. It's worse for the children. At least when I was divorced from my first wife of 26 years, all the children were grown and most were on their own.

I wish you all a happy New Year filled with opportunities.

1/15/16 - Two a clock in the morning

Damn I hate it when my neuropathy kicks in. Meds don't have an effect and I don't want to exceed the recommenced dosage . . . so what do I do? I am here complaining to you. A lot of good that will do me. J is spending the night with me and her shoulder is hurting and neither of us are sleeping. She is playing solitaire on her cell phone in bed. And you-know-what is not in the equation as a sleeping aid with all the hurt going on.

On the good news side, my Sister and I will be traveling down the east coast for two weeks visiting grandchildren in VA, our other Sister in SC, and more grandchildren in FL. J will be spending time with her grandchildren to help out her family. But we'll be missing each other and texting each day along the way.

Strange as it sounds, my Sister has become my best friend after my wife's  passing. It is a wonderful thing when you have a wife, a lover and a best friend all in one person. Gosh I miss her. J is wonderful too and I love her, but our relationship is still growing. It is a wonderful journey. And at our age it is unusual. Did I mention that we are 78 and 69? And can still rumple the bed sheets?

Well tomorrow, or should I say later this morning, my sister and I start are two week odyssey of travel. So I guess I will see you after a while. Wish us a safe journey.  No snow in the forecast, but it sure wont be warm . . . even in FL.

1/30/16 - Grand Adventure . . . Damn long road trip

Well, as I mentioned in my last post, my Sister L and I took a two week road trip covering 2,702 miles visiting family. We had fun, I missed J, my Sister missed her boyfriend, and my truck did its job. We scheduled weekends for the grandchildren so we left early Friday AM for a nearby VA hotel.

Our first stop was to visit two of my grandchildren - and of course my Son A and Daughter-in-law H. Saturday when we arrived we played with the children, ages 6 and 8, and then in the afternoon we cheered the Patriots to a win while we scoffed down six boxes of pizzas. Sunday I helped my Son work on a few projects for the children . . .  god do I love working with him. We are developing an adult-to-adult relationship moving out of the father-son relationship. A good thing. (Sorry I don't post pictures of my grandchildren at the request of their parents).

Monday was another road day to SC to visit Sister E and her boyfriend. We holed up in a nearby hotel and met them Tuesday morning. There can be such a thing as too much visiting so we always plan to stay at hotels and make our own "down" time. Anyway, we hadn't seen E for many years, and first time for her boyfriend. We had a great two days visiting local historical parks and the shore. My sister L was disappointed she didn't see any alligators in the swamps . . . water was too cold and they were all hiding in the depths. Oh well. She kidded me that I was going to dangle her foot over the swamp for bait. Hmmm, maybe next time.




Thursday was our time to be alone and visit Myrtle Beach and at least say we did the Boardwalk. Unfortunately, it being the not-yet-tourist season, most of the places were closed. But we found a few places that were open. We had drinks (notice the plural use of the word drink) in one place, and supper in another. I love oysters on the half shell and ate a dozen of them - yummy. All told we had a good but chilly day. Hey, I thought the south was supposed to be warm!
















On the road again . . . to FL and a seven plus hour drive to the hotel. A bar and restaurant were right next door, so that is where we headed. After a couple of stiff drinks (notice that plural again) we didn't feel so tired and our sore butts seemed just fine after all the driving.

Saturday we headed to my Daughter-in-Law's house to visit three grandchildren ages 4, 6, and 8. Boy did they sprout up since last I saw them. At first things were a bit awkward with Daughter-in-Law P since she and my Son are in the middle of a divorce. But the ground rules were set in advance with Son D and his soon-to-be-ex: No discussing the divorce or taking sides - just talk about the children and play with them . . . and we did . . . and they were great. We had some wonderful Grandpa time. Saturday we had take-out Chinese food and played Monopoly until one the the children went bankrupt. Sunday we took everyone to the movies to see Alvin and the Chipmunks and then out for dinner. It is a sad thing when small children are in the middle of a divorce, but they were great and everybody was managing the single parent environment exceptionally well.

The big snow storm, or blizzard, as the newscasters like to call it, came Saturday and Sunday. We headed north on Monday. We did the twelve plus hour drive to VA and stopped just below Washington DC which was buried in snow. We didn't hit any serious snow until Manassas VA where we hunkered down in a hotel.

Tuesday wasn't too bad coming around the DC ring bypass highway. By the time we reached NYC things were well under control and we had an easy drive home. My friend plowed my driveway and shoveled a path to the front door. What a guy!

A great adventure, perhaps more than we wanted with the snow, but it was wonderful to play with my grandchildren and see my other Sister. Praise God for a safe journey.

2/1/16 - Reminiscing . . . 

Today I was going through some drawers in the living room and came across some old photo albums. (save) As I began to go through them a severe case of nostalgia came upon me, prompting me to pour a glass of brandy, and start looking through the albums.

Twenty plus years of relationship can stir up a lot of memories. When we married I had four children, obviously from a previous marriage, all between the ages 20s and 30s. She came with one child in her 20s which fit right between my four. So now we had five. And she instantly became a grandmother. Not sure she liked that too much, being as young as she was. (just kidding). But it was a great joke that she enjoyed telling everyone. (save) 

 So anyway, I thought I would bore you with sharing some of the photos I came across.  But before I get there, here is a curious thought. I have her Daughter and her Husband, who is an orphan. Now both call me Dad . . . and they are married. So I have a Daughter and Son who are married. Does that mean there is incest in the family, or are they simply from Arkansas? (Joke intended, no offense to the families in Arkansas). (save)

The first photo is when my wife-to-be and we were dating. I was living in a single rented room in a house with two other guys (obviously not in the same room - sheesh). She had just bought a new night gown and was showing it off. Needless to say it didn't stay on for long!






We had met at a hootinanny in New Haven CT while she played the guitar and I the mandolin. We played music together at family gatherings. Everybody sang along because we gave them song books and they had no choice in the matter. (save)





The third photo was an experiment in not using the flash while taking pictures, using only the ambient light. Her Daughter was playing the piano. I might add that her Daughter has released several CDs and has produced several Indi videos with her husband. She and her husband are very talented and can be seen on several popular TV series. (save)


 For me, it is time to remember, cherish and love the past that was. AND then move on to the future and fill one's life with new memories, new relationships and new love. For without love, the heart, in time, may shrink and not leave room for newness.

2/4/16 - A Kitchawank Essay: TWO STONES can a MAN MAKE (Sept. 2012)

  

“Hi Dad, hi Mom” he said, and then he walked a few steps to the side and said “hello my beloved”. The hemlock trees surrounding him, stirred awake by the wind, were shedding their needles on his sweating head as well as the ground without distinction. The needle and leaf strewn ground was sponge like under his weight.

Dressed in his work-worn jeans, an old beat up tee shirt, and scared and dusty work boots, he stood before the two bluestone memorial plaques. One was dedicated to his parents, and one was dedicated to his recently deceased wife. Each stone plaque of one inch thick bluestone, measured about one and a half feet wide and one foot high. They had been adhered with all-weather caulking to a large rock at the end of the yellow square hiking trail. The rock stood on top of a small knoll and seemed a fitting place for his loved ones. He had created many different hiking trails through his forested acres of land. Each trail was marked with a different colored plastic marker: Diamond shapes for the vertical trails up the hill side or mountain side, depending upon how one felt about the topography; the square shapes were used to indicate lateral or easier traverses.

His mother had died of a cancer when he was in his mid-twenties and she was buried a few states away. He seldom visited her grave due to the distance. He doubted that he could even find it in the cemetery. But now she was here with him … sandblasted into the bluestone slab. 

He reflected upon how things might have been different in his life had she lived and been able to give him her wise council during his first marriage. While she had not been educated beyond the sixth grade, she had a lot of wisdom, as most mothers do. Perhaps she could have helped him save his first marriage, which unfortunately, ended in divorce.

His father, on the other hand, had just recently passed away at the age of ninety-five. He was a first- generation Italian with a strict, by-the-belt, discipline upbringing. He would tell his son stories about his mother making pasta and his father making wine. He would also tell his son about the times he was punished with the belt for staying out too late at night … he must have been a “hell raiser” in his youth. As the son reflected upon his father’s stories, his father was the best he could have been considering his upbringing and sixth grade education. The father did his job, brought in the money and left the house for his wife to manage.

Unfortunately, as he looked down upon the engraved memorial plaque he did not consider that he, the son, was the best father he could have been either. It could be supposed that he could blame the fact that he lost his mother’s wisdom early on in life, and that his father raised him with the belt strap for discipline. Or perhaps he could simply admit he had not been smart enough to break the “old-world” cycle of home life. In retrospect, he was not the husband and father he felt he should have been for his first wife and children. 

His first wife was a good woman, a good mother but they had grown apart after twenty-six years. It was an amicable parting of the ways, for the most part. The children were grown, some had moved out, and some were in college. He moved out of the family’s house, and for a few years, roomed with two other guys in another house, and in another town. He left everything behind except his truck, some tools, a few pieces of furniture and his computer. But most of all, he left behind his first true love that had been tarnished beyond repair.

As the flies and gnats buzzed his now perspiring body he thought about his first marriage and how he took on the role of bread-winner, house repair man, car mechanic … bring it to daddy and he will fix it. Everyone was managed and cared for. Managed. Sounds like a boss … and in a very real sense, he was. Yes there was love in the house. He loved his wife and children, but he never told his children of his love in words … only in his deeds. Not until later in life when the children had lives of their own did he realize he needed to say the words “I love you” … and when he did … they didn’t say the words back. Perhaps they didn’t hear them enough when they were young and growing up. But now he said them often to his children, and especially his grandchildren. In recent years however, once in a while, when he spoke these words to his children, he would hear them echoed back. He was making progress … he didn’t want them saying “I love you” to a burial marker without hearing them first with his own ears.

Standing at the knoll, ignoring the flies, gnats and falling needles, he saw how he had the two memorial stone plaques engraved in the old-world Italian style naming convention. Father’s name inscribed as the family name, but his mother’s name was engraved with her maiden name. 

The father was Italian and the mother was Polish and he, obviously, was a mixture of both, but mostly he considered himself Italian … a hot Italian, perhaps like his father. He had discovered that he was conceived, out of wedlock, one passionate evening on her family couch. A quick wedding was planned. In those days people didn’t have children before they were married. So there were three people in the wedding photo, but only two were obvious.

He walked over to his parent’s memorial plaque and gently kissed his father’s engraved name and then his mother’s name in the engraved stone. His eyes swelled with tears. He did miss them. They were the best parents they could have been having been brought up in their time period. They were both first-generation immigrants, both had the old-world upbringing, both hard working and dedicated.

The second plaque had his name and birth date, and not being clairvoyant, there was no deceased date. His sister and he were best friends, and she always joked that she would write in his date using a magic marker pen. The second name below his, also in the old-world Italian naming convention, was his second wife. She had died of cancer and heart failure the year before. As he bent and kissed her engraved name he could not hold back the tears. He fell back and leaned against a small hemlock tree and cried. The rough tree bark cutting into his back. He felt so cheated in his life to have lost her after only twenty years of marriage. What a bummer!

He had met his second wife at a musical gathering or hootenanny in New Haven Connecticut. She played guitar and he, at that time, played the mandolin. They made music together for a while and then made a different kind of music. When his divorce was finalized, he moved in with her, and they set up house. They were the best of lovers not being afraid to experiment with their intimacies, sensualities and lovemaking. 

Then they became best friends. Strange. Now you might think that it would be the other way around. But, best friends share everything, give and receive counsel, cry on each other’s shoulder and are buddies. That’s not always the case with married people. Some marriages are two people living in the same house, sharing the same check book, and sharing the same bed … well usually anyways. 

The yellow square trail traversed his forested property of mixed trees from one end to the other. Just recently he had added this small extension to the knoll with the two stone plaques. When he first discovered this knoll many years ago he thought it might be a good place for spiritual and self reflection. After his father passed, he knew how he would use the knoll and the triangular shaped rock sitting atop the knoll. He had cleared the area of scrub brush, cleared the overhanding tree branches and cleaned up the dead branches on the ground. It became his personal shrine to the people he loved and who had passed over.

Alone now, for almost a year, he often hiked his trails. This knoll was usually the first or last stop along the way. Hiking exercised the body and entertained the bugs and gnats. It gave them something to do while avoiding being eaten by something bigger. Here was something they could eat, and if cunning enough, would not be “passed over” with a swat of the hand. He reflected, with a solid whap of his hand on a deer fly, is there a bug heaven? Well, we are all God’s creations. If there was a bug heaven, were they in the same place as humans? Were his loved ones being “bugged” by bugs? Profound thoughts for a hiker … eh?  Some theologians might argue that only humans have a soul, and without a soul there is no “heaven”. And what is “heaven” anyways? Oh well, he wasn’t going there any time soon … he hoped.

As he walked among the pine, elm and maple trees he reflected that he was just leaving his three quarter century mark of life. He had always exercised, and while he had been a heavy drinker in the past, he was now being a lot more responsible about alcohol. He also ate well and had dropped his weight to a respectable one hundred and seventy-six pounds. Standing at about five foot and ten inches, he felt good. His body was lean and was decently muscled for someone his age. At least the women he had dated didn’t seem to mind it when he took his shirt off. 

He had a new life ahead of him and had chosen to be a bit more responsible for maintaining a good body and a sound mind  … what was left of it anyways. He always joked about walking from one room to another to get a pencil and paper to write a note, and by the time he got there, he forgot what he was going to write down. Getting old sucks, but it is better than the alternative.

The yellow square trail intersected the red square trail and he turned left up the hill. Tears having dried, he regained his hiking stride. He liked having his parents and wife nearby. Each of them, in their own way, and in their own time, had contributed to his life. Contributed to his being a person and contributed to his continued growth as a man. 

Thanks mom and dad. Thank you to his beloved wife. Two stone plaques, freshly kissed with love, holding years of lessons and memories."