December Tomatoes

What can I say, tomatoes in December.  Can they be more perfectly decked out in red and green? The avocado tree has gone crazy as usual.  I get this yield on a pretty regular weekly basis from November through March. And only one-half of the tree hangs in my yard!

Holiday Lost

Christmas approaches.  I have no desire to engage in Christmas this year. When I left my house, I left most of the Christmas decorations. You see, doltoid always hated the whole process of decorating for the holiday. He enjoyed the gifts and a tree, if he didn’t have to go out with me and get it. In fact he always arranged for us to go away over Christmas and New Years. At first it was great fun, but I really missed seeing my family. Little did I realize this was all part of the unconscious isolating process of abuse. See, it’s so well disguised. How could you criticize a vacation to Hawaii or the Caribbean? After many years I just stopped buying any ornaments or decorations at the after-holiday sales. Why bother? I was never going to get to use them.

Then, after he sold his company and 9/11 happened, he changed. Suddenly he bought lights and put them up outside with no coaxing. He even suggested going and getting a tree. To top this off, he helped put the lights up! It was wonderful!

Over the years, I shopped yearlong for my husband’s holiday gifts, carefully tucking away any little hints about the things he would enjoy, the things he would love. I wanted him to open each gift, and laugh and smile at me, and say, “You remembered.” He didn’t. He enjoyed them but never deeply, in the way one would when they realized the thought and love put into each gift. Maybe I’m just a pathetic romantic.

The house I rent is too small for a tree. I gave away the Christmas tree stand to a neighbor. I didn’t need it anymore. I had so many boxes of holiday decorations from the last 6 years as well as the early years, each a piece of a day, an hour, a minute spent with him, I left most of it at the old house when I left. About a year ago, I had a tag sale and sold most of what was left. I said, “Take this, be happy,” but I knew I was selling myself. Each memory.

And now Frost is gone. G#@%*%@ doltoid and his #*@%& viagra.

Looking Up at the Stars

About 2 years ago my brother surprised me an I Pod Shuffle with the following quote inscribed on it. I didn't even know you could get something inscribed on a device if you ordered it on line! He made an excellent list of music to go with it and I've enjoyed it ever since. It's the quote, however, that has stuck with me in moments when I feel like I'm being swallowed up:

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking up at the stars.

Oscar Wilde

Keep passing the open window…

Today's title is a line from the movie, Hotel New Hampshire (I think). It was an odd little movie but this line and its implied meaning have always stuck with me. The picture above is Frost as I'll aways remember her...a happy angel. She was only allowed on the sofa when I put an old sheet on it and it made her so, so happy! (...sniff....)


More thoughts...

As she left, I told her to say "hi" to my other angels and promise to look for me. I am so utterly empty. No one to wake me at 6 am with a “woo-woo-woo”. Or to “lecture” me about the fact that she had to wait even a minute before being let into the house.  No one nosing me for “pets” as I sit in my office at my computer. Like mom and dad, it was so sudden and unexpected. It is utterly devastating.  I am all alone now. No more "kisses" which she learned from Angel. It was the gentlest lick on the nose. And now it is gone. Forever.

I’m glad she died at her own accord and time. I really didn’t want to have to put her to sleep.  With her urinary incontinence, I was afraid I’d have to. I can’t believe there’s no one who will come in and check on me or try to train me (after 14+ years) to get her treats. I’ve had canine companions for the last 30 years and am not sure what to do other than call the pet crematory tomorrow and arrange for her final passage. I will then have 5 jars of ashes. I told my brother I want them buried along with me under the yellow magnolia tree.

I want to tell mom or dad.  But I can’t. I hope they’re hugging Frost. I just walk from room to room, catching myself going to look out and see what she's doing and then I remember. The pain is palatable. It's so much more than just her loss. She was the last vestige of a life now gone. She was the last little bit I had. Now I feel totally lost and adrift. No anchor, no compass, no stars to guide me. Drifting without direction in the lonely sea of emptiness. I'm so tired of it all.

The days and months of my life have become a field of land mines of loss.