Welcome to the Misadventures of Widowhood blog!
In January of 2012 my soul mate of 42 years passed away after nearly 12 years of living with severe disabilities due to a stroke. I survived the first year after Don’s death doing what most widows do---trying to make sense of my world turned upside down. The pain and heartache of loss, my dark humor, my sweetest memories and, yes, even my pity parties are well documented in this blog.
Now that I’m a "seasoned widow" the focus of my writing has changed. I’m still a widow looking through that lens but I’m also a woman searching for contentment, friends and a voice in my restless world. Some people say I have a quirky sense of humor that shows up from time to time in this blog. Others say I make some keen observations about life and growing older. I say I just write about whatever passes through my days---the good, bad and the ugly. Comments welcome and encouraged. Let's get a dialogue going! Jean
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Saturday, August 22, 2015
This woman has been on vacation! Yes, a genuine, long-overdue vacation where I packed my bags, put the dog in a kennel and took off for some R & R. I didn’t go far. My niece and I checked into a Bed and Breakfast in my favorite tourist town along Lake Michigan. I’ve been going to Saugatuck since my teens but I’ve never stayed overnight unless you count the times in my late twenties when my husband and I brought sleeping bags over to the beach and fell asleep under the stars. Those were the good old days when we were carefree and didn’t worry about getting caught with our pants down. Literally. (Raise your hand if you think I’ve shared too much information here.)
|Main Street, Saugatuck|
|Our Bed and Breakfast|
|The Susan B. Anthony Room|
|The Felt Mansion|
|The pier in the distance, Lake Michigan. The photo at the top was taken looking in the other direction.|
Sunday, August 16, 2015
Don was a hunter with honor. He followed the laws to the letter, never took a shot that wasn’t guaranteed to be a kill-shot, and he never baited game animals. He didn’t believe in those things and his manhood-ego didn't depend on him coming home with a dead animal strapped to the hood of his truck. In the last decade of my husband going out west during hunting season, he got a bigger thrill out taking award worthy photographs of wildlife using a telegraphic lens that would have been the envy of any paparazzi. It happened to my dad in his last years of hunting, too. The older they got, the less they had the heart for bringing down an animal that was minding his own business. The older we all get the more we appreciate the frailness of life and the senselessness of not co-existing with nature. If my window peeper could talk, he'd probably say that's why he moved into a widow's yard. He knew I'd be too old and soft to have 1-800-iKILL on my speed dial. ©