Widow Marching Through March

My mind is a blank and it’s hard to know where to start writing a blog entry when that happens. It’s not that I haven’t been busy going here and there. I’ve had something going on every day for the past five days and that trend won’t end until Sunday.  It’s always that way the third week in the month but my “busy week” doesn’t necessarily translate into interesting. Take Friday, for example. I went to the annual Lent related fish fry. Big deal. I ate too much fish and brought home a piece of chocolate cake as a reward for being a big-girl widow who went all by myself.

Saturday my monthly house cleaner showed up, a nice college kid who is going to school to become an occupational therapist. I love it when I get the students. They know how to carry on a decent conversation. After she left I did my grocery shopping which is always a highlight in my boring widow’s life. If they had a camping department with tents on display---they have everything else---I’d probably stay overnight sometime. It would be easy to do, too, since they’re open 24/7 and if you got caught you could claim all sorts of things that would sound plausible.

The next day I got a surprise. (I was going to write, “…an unexpected surprise” but aren’t all surprises unexpected? That’s the minutia of my writing process; last week when I wanted to use that word---minutia---it took me a half hour for my dyslexic brain to figure out how to spell it so now I’ll probably use it in a dozen times before I wear it out.) Anyway, Sunday my older and only brother called to say he and his lady friend wanted to take me out to lunch. We hadn’t seen each other since Christmas---we don’t live close---and he hadn’t been to my house since last summer. We had a great visit as only people who’ve known each other since birth can do and teasing has something to do with that statement. He’s redecorating his living room and I gave him an oil painting that our mother painted which pleased us both. The redecorating project is kind of funny because all the women in his life---me included---want to influence his decisions and he’s not buying any of it. His lady friend wants him to remove some shelves he built with my dad and I’m suggesting anything but the chalk white walls he's leaning towards. One of his daughter’s tells him if he wants to paint the walls purple, do it. “It’s your house!” Of course she’s right but women love to build nests so we talk color and décor even if no one’s listening.

The guy in green in the photo at the top of this blog entry is someone who makes a lot of appearances around my part of the state because of his involvement in all things Irish. He came to our senior hall luncheon yesterday along with a bagpiper and the four Irish dancers in the photo. The two oldest, a boy and a girl, competed in the World Championships in Scotland last year and will go again this year. Needless to say, they were good! It was like having a mini River Dance troupe dance less than twenty feet away from where I was sitting. I had to take my hearing aids out, though. They apparently don’t like bagpipes and screeched with certain notes. As the monthly luncheons go, this one was great except the corn beef was on the tough side and I don't like cabbage. What made it good, besides the entertainment, was the conversation. I was invited to sit with a woman who I met briefly when I was a teenager but didn’t see again for forty years. Last year I walked past her and she said, “Aren’t you Jean blah, blah blah?” Can you believe that? How she was able to see the teenager she met so long ago in the old woman I’ve become is beyond me. I look in the mirror every day and I can’t find that girl in my reflection. And trust me, I’ve searched for her in earnest. 

Tomorrow is Red Hat Society tea day again and that means I get to help pack Easter candy in bags while the others talk about a bus trip planned to Wine Country this summer. The trip is taking place the same day as a senior hall quilt tour down in Amish counties in Indiana. What a tough choice that was. I have closer acquaintances in the Red Hats and I’d have a better time with them. But trips to Amish country don’t grow on trees so I signed up for that. I’ve always loved the mystique of poking around Amish towns and country sides with my husband every summer before his stroke. If I ever witness a mob crime and have to go into the Federal Witness Protection Program an Amish farm is one of the two places I want to be relocated. The Outer Banks of North Carolina being the other place. Yes, I’ve read one too many romance novels where the FWPP was a common theme. When I was a worn-out caregiver it was my fantasy get-away to be in the FWPP. 

I started this blog entry with no clear theme and I end it without having found one. But I already know what I'll probably write about next time. To finish out the week Thursday I have an appointment to get my taxes done, Friday my Movie and Lunch Club meets and Saturday I’m going to a baby shower where all the ladies and all five babies in my family will all be in one place. ©