Valentine’s Day at the Continuum Care Complex

 

First off let me say that because I’ve been a widow or a caregiver to a stroke survivor who couldn’t go anywhere by himself or handle money on his own, Valentine’s Days since 2000 have been whatever I thought up and bought myself. Which was usually just candy and flowers. Nice but not as nice as getting the “surprise” card and gift from someone who loves you. What I’m trying to say in a round-about way is I’ve grown accustom to thinking of the holiday as one for the young at heart and those who promote it.

 Valentine’s Day here at the CCC lasted several days starting off with a game called the No-So-Newly Weds which was a take off of the old TV game show named The Newly Weds. We were told there would be five mystery couples and, of course, it was the topic of a couple of meals who those couples would be. All but one couple were residents and the fifth couple was our CEO and is wife, who won the game by matching the most answers. They’d been married 40 years. One couple was married 70 years, another 60 and two at 50 years each. Two couples couldn’t match any of the ten questions they were asked. The questions were stuff like: Where did you go on your first date? Who would your spouse say is their celebrity crush? What would your spouse say is their most prized possession? and What would you spouse buy first if he/she won the lotto? What surprised me is how few of the guys could name two things correctly that their wives would have in their purses. It was a fun afternoon’s entertainment.

The weekend before the 14^th T-shirt Tom had a large and very beautiful bouquet of roses of various colors sent to the concierge's desk with a card reading “for all the ladies.” (Found out recently that he is also the person who keeps a dish on the concierge’s desk supplied with tiny candy bars.) The bouquet looked like spring and made my heart happy and my head thinking about the days when I made bouquets like that for the flower shop where I worked. Only back then we didn’t have the high-bred colors they have now. It was quite amazing and must have cost a fortune. Another resident, Bing the Scottish singer, brought two dozen still-warm holiday decorated Crispy Crème donuts to our group dinner table that same weekend.

One day we all found a small Valentine’s Day card in our mailboxes from the management and for a week they’d been advertising a special meal that was served in the fine dining room on V Day. Surf and Turf, with asparagus, champagne and two to-die-for sounding chocolate desserts. I didn't go because I’m allergic to lobster and the meal was pricy, especially if you can’t eat half the entrée but I was able to score a box of chocolate covered strawberries made by one of our chefs.

Also in honor of the holiday the CCC had a guest speaker who has built a business for herself out of giving historical lectures and escorting bus, running and walking tours to various points of local interest. This presentation was on the “Great Romances” in our city. I’m kind of burned out on her, having heard her speak at my old senior hall many time plus I’d heard this talk before so I almost didn’t go. Then I decided I needed support the management when they bring in outside speakers so they’ll keep bringing them in. And really, what else did I have to do on the 14^th that was so pressing that I couldn’t take an hour to walk 100 feet to the next building and hear her again?

Me? Her over-the-top (fake?) enthusiasm is starting to grade on me but I didn’t mention that to anyone here because I remember when she was a shiny-new penny on my life’s landscape, and I am duly impressed by how this young woman started off eight years ago just doing running tours in our downtown area for people in town for corporate conferences and now she’s got 33 programs on her menu of talks and full service tours she can give. I had a front row seat when our senior hall director mentored and helped her branch out from her small niche to what she does today. And Valentine’s Day is the perfect time to celebrate the power of women helping each other as well as remember those who we love or once loved. ©

My latest jigsaw puzzle. Another made by Bgraamiens named Retro Art Squares, 1,000 pieces bought at Amazon. I'm fast becoming a fan of this company. Not as hard as it looks but still took my three days of obsessing.

Valentine’s Day Candy, Cards and Gifts

Every February since my husband died I buy myself a heart-shaped box of Whitman’s candy, the sampler sizes with three or six pieces inside. Why? I’m not really sure. Okay, that’s a little white lie. Early on into widowhood I decided if there’s no one else around to treat me, why not do it myself. I love me, right? No crime in that. I buy a long stemmed rose as well. It hardly seems possible that it’s been nine years since Don’s been gone, nine years of treating myself and one of the first posts in this blog explains how that tradition started…

2012: “My first Valentine’s Day without Don in 42 years is coming. Can you hear it marching towards me? Did you see all the red heart-shaped candy boxes on display in the stores or hear any radio advertisements to send your sweetheart flowers? I did, and I know from reading the writings of other widows online that this holiday is one of the most dreaded dates on the calendar, not just that first year after a spouse passes away but for many years to come.

“Today I came upon one of those candy displays and at first I was going to avoid walking by it. But from deep within I heard my inner voice saying: ‘Embrace the holiday. Embrace the memories that go with it.’ So I walked right up to the display and purposely let my tearing eyes linger over each square foot of the confection. The first thing I zeroed in on was a heart-shaped box with Snoopy on the front and he was holding his yellow bird, Woodstock. It was like a sign from Don. I never understood his love of Peanuts characters but in our early years together I’d gotten more than a few gifts featuring Snoopy and his feathery friend. That is until I said, ‘Enough already! Snoopy is your thing, not mine.’ In all the years we’d known each other he’d always had a Walt Schulz comic strip character somewhere in the house---on a watch, on coffee cups, on an article of clothing, etc. Snoopy even made it to Don’s memorial service compliments of a patch sewn on my husband’s t-shirt quilt that was displayed in the corner.”

After the Snoopy themed stuff got phased out of Don’s gift-giving repertoire, he started buying giant-sized Hallmark Valentine’s greeting cards that often came in their own boxes. They were lacy and sweet both in looks and flowery words. Since he knew his mom and I both had extensive collections of vintage Valentine’s Day cards Don was probably sure he’d picked a winning formula for making me happy on V-Day. He even got in the habit of signing his name on post-a-notes instead of writing inside those giant cards, the theory being they’d be worth more when we got old and gray and wanted to sell off my collection. Surprise, surprise. I got old and gray but the bottom fell out on the greeting card collecting hobby and last fall I sent all of those 8”x 10” Valentine’s to Goodwill with no regrets. I also had six-seven small heart-shaped candy boxes that, surprisingly, were harder to downsize out of my life than the greeting cards. I ended up keeping two that nested together so it looks like I’m half as sentimental as I am. They have Snoopy-themes and I keep them inside my TV cabinet where I see them often---actually just the one on the outside. They are a reminder that while the gifts we receive may not be the gifts we want, it's the spirit in which gifts are given that really counts. Snoopy brought joy to Don and he wanted to spread that joy around.

And that gift giving and receiving lesson is one I’m ashamed to admit I learned late in our relationship. Don tried hard but secretly I often wished he hadn’t spent the money the way he did. Like the time he bought me a large bottle of Joy perfume that sold for hundreds of dollars an ounce. (The real stuff, not the cologne.) My youngest niece had given me a point eight ounce bottle of it that her mother-in-law had brought back from Paris, but my niece didn’t like and I loved it, thus the re-gifting. I hoarded that bottle for special occasions, but when Don gave me the large bottle it didn’t feel special anymore. I would have been happier with another tiny bottle. At least I didn’t return it like the tiny diamond earrings a friend of mine got, then bought herself a pair of winter boots with the refund. Nor did I quit speaking to my husband like an old neighbor did when her husband gave her a vacuum cleaner for Valentine's Day. Ladies, do you think we send out mixed messages or are guys just bad at reading them?

I was hard to please but most of the time that was between me and myself and Don never knew when I was disappointed. And the pressure was on Don because my gifts to him were one-of-kind things that he absolutely loved. One year, for example, when I was into leather crafting I made him a tooled gun belt and holster that he used out West every year on his hunting trips and that I ended up selling on eBay after he died. Another year when I was taking a class on furniture building I made him a cherry box (to learn how to make tongue and groove joints) that held four cartons of cigarettes. He bragged that box up to an embarrassing level. Then a decade or so later the top started to warp and he asked me why it was doing that I and replied, “Poor workmanship” which made him laugh. God, I loved his laugh! It was deep and manly and if a laugh can be labeled sexy, it was that too. I still have that box and it looks goofy with its broken latch from trying to force it closed but for some reason I can’t seem to let it go… ©

Scrambled Mind, Scrambled Blog Entry

A dozen scrambled thoughts are going on inside my head and only a 1,000 written words to share them here. I'll start by recounting something that defies explanation unless you use the word 'crazy' a few times. It involves two nearly naked guys who made the news by rolling in the snow last week when it was so cold you could throw a glass of water in the air and the water would freeze before gravity took over. I don’t care how quickly those guy could get in a hot tub after rolling in the snow, wouldn’t you think the shock to your body could kill you? Apparently not. No PSA warning came on TV after showing the video telling people not trying this at home.

Anyway, on to the next topic. I’m sitting in the same cafeteria, in same booth I usually sit in when I want to get out of the house. Valentine’s Day is coming and I’m doing some reminiscing trying to find a topic to write about…some grand gesture that included candlelight, Champagne, roses and playing kissy-face during dinner and dancing. But the problem is all my memories of grand, romantic gestures come with guys other than my husband. How romantic would those stories be when the relationships ended without a happily ever after? By the time Don came into my life I was over wanting those Hallmark evenings in my life. By that time, however, I was collecting greeting cards and Don---a true Disciple of the School of Collectables---gave me the kind Valentine’s Day cards that come in boxes and he’d sign his name on Post-It notes so he wouldn’t destroy their future value. Made me laugh back then and I still crack a smile when I think of those tiny Post-It notes signed, Love Don.

We did have one memorable meal on Valentine’s Day---or was it on Christmas or New Year’s Day? It was winter, let’s leave it at that. We had a picnic on an ice shelf along Lake Michigan which my older self is berating my younger self for doing. Climbing those icebergs and shelfs is dangerous but all we saw was a pretty icescape, a field of diamonds glistening in the sun. We sat down in our heavy winter gear to eat our chili and drink our hot chocolate, but we didn’t understand there are air holes in those ice shelfs that often have a thin covering of ice over them. If one of us had broken threw an air hole or fallen in between the floating blocks of ice, we would have been sucked under the icy cold water in a hurry. Those air holes are actually ‘ice volcanos’ that can shoot water high in the air when the lake is surly.

Another  change of topics: My Gathering Girls group got together this week for brunch and we ate at a place that scores low on my list restaurants, but when I sent out the e-mail reminders I choose the place to meet because while it might not be a place I like several of my gal pals love it. It’s been around since we were all young and I suspect it holds special memories for them like the Guy Land Cafeteria does for me. Their food is good if you like homemade soups and pies and fried chicken but the “Dutch Boy” is a restaurant my husband and I avoided like a norovirus. 

Why did we avoid the place? Because the owner wore his religion on his sleeve and he reminded Don of the members of a church who hassled the owners of a movie theater where he grew up. Imagine going to see The Lone Ranger and Gene Audrey at the Saturday matinees and being told they were “evil” and the theater was doing “the devil’s work.” Imagine knowing the owners kept it open long after it was turning a profit just to give the town’s teenagers something to do on the weekends instead of drag racing on rural roads or driving into the city. Imagine all that and you might understand why my husband absolutely refused to support places like the Dutch Boy Restaurant with its judgmental religious tracts all over the place. Over the decades most of the religious tracts have disappeared but Don never let go of his dislike for the place. I go there occasionally, now, with various groups I lunch with but it feels like I’m cheating on my husband. 

Anyway all of my gal pals were happy to be out and about, having survived the Polar Vortex Blizzard of 2019 although one in the group lost her lady parts during the storm and can’t drive yet until her surgeon clears her. Another was in New Orleans with a group from the senior hall for most of the storm. Other than major headaches at the airport thanks to the government shutdown going and the weather coming back, she had a great time. The rest of us mostly made it through 'storm week' by building little nests in our living rooms to try to stay warm. Our nests were stocked with La-Z-Boy chairs, TV remotes and guides, books, handcraft projects, magnifying glasses, paper and pens, scissors, tissues boxes, telephones and lap blankets. Ya, I’m describing the kind of nests I'd seen and made fun of when we’d visit elderly relatives in the past. I’m there now and “old people nests” aren’t so funny anymore. ©

These two ice volcano photos are by Lisa A Lehman

 

This photo was taken at Grand Haven MI's shoreline, the one at the top was taken at Highland Park IL's shoreline. The Big Lake creates some strange and beautiful sculptures including ice caves. Exploring the caves like the one in the video below is a popular winter sport in our Upper Peninsula.

     

Another Valentine’s Day Under my Belt

After a long stretch of dreary winter days, Valentine’s Day was so bright and beautiful I had to put sunglasses on as I drove home from the grocery store and serendipity brought Travis Tritt on my radio singing “…it's a great day to be alive. I know the sun's still shining when I close my eyes.” I was feeling good. I even had one perfect red rose with baby breath in the back seat as well as a heart shaped box with three pieces of chocolate candy inside. Heck, if there’s no one else around to treat me, why not do it myself. I love me, right? No crime in that. 

While I was picking out the rose a young man was near-by and he was studying one miniature rose plant after another trying to decide which one to buy. The ex-florist in me wanted to ask him if I could help because I could see he was leaning toward plants that were nearly bloomed out and the ones with a few flowers still in bud would last longer. I laughed at myself when it crossed my mind that he might think I was trying to flirt with him if I offered my opinion. Me 70-something and him 30-something. Dream on, old lady! My second thought was that I should write a note for him to give to the recipient of his gift, telling her she’d better appreciate the thoughtfulness he put into picking it out. He was as serious as a Tibetan monk as he studied his choices. But I had my own perfection to find and that’s not easy in this day and age when supermarket cut flowers are so jacked up on preservatives that they often don’t open. I hate that. 

When I got home I went to my Facebook page. I rarely post anything there---a few animal videos just to let people on my friends list know I’m still alive. Mostly I go there to read my news feeds and look at family photos others post. But I had something I wanted to share so when Facebook asked me “What’s on your mind?” I wrote: “It was on a bright, sunny day just like today and I was selling Valentine's Day flowers in the middle of the mall when Don came strolling in after plowing snow all night. He ended up staying to help me and he was so good with the customers. If that isn't love, then I don't know what love is. Still miss you, Don!” That day at the mall is one of those days that comes floating back to the surface when I’m trying to decide exactly when and where I was when I first knew I was in love with Don. I have five-six memories like that fighting for first place on my love-smacked list.

Like all couples, I could also conjure up a short list of memories when I wanted to kick Don to the curb. But there’s something that happens to many women when we get knighted with our WIDOW titles that diminishes memories of fights and hurt feelings and changes them into regrets or comedy skits. Not long after Don died I was in the toothpaste aisle at the grocery store and a couple was arguing over what brand of toothpaste to buy. I had a hard time resisting the temptation to step in between them with my metaphorical referee’s whistle and telling the couple to buy both brands, for crying out loud! “Isn’t having a peaceful marriage worth four bucks and a little extra space in your medicine cabinet?” I’ll never understand why people argue over trivial stuff like that. We never did that. Ya, right. It’s too bad there wasn’t a newly minted widow around the day I picked a fight with Don because the night before I had dreamed he was cheating on me with a woman who looked like Jennifer Anderson. Back in the days when Friends was the hot TV show he developed a crush on her that lasted his entire life. How does a guy defend himself against a dream? See what I mean about how fight scenarios when viewed after death could easily be turned into comedy skits? The mind is an amazing place when it’s trying to justify our own illogical behavior. 

Valentine’s Day night I dreamed something with details that are fuzzy to me now but when I woke up in the morning I was happy and I knew Don had come to visit me in my sleep. Often times my sleeping life is richer and more fun than my daytime life. And if the need to pee didn’t wake me and force me out of bed, I wouldn’t mind living in that twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness. Too many mornings I throw my legs over the side of the bed and sit there for a few minutes dreading the long, lonely day ahead. I don’t know how to fix that feeling when it comes… ©