Baseball, War and a Month of Memories

I’d rather watch grass grow than to go to a baseball game. I’m not a sports fan of any kind but I am a fan of cultural history and when the senior hall offered a lecture on the history of baseball during the Civil War I signed up. The bus picked us up Thursday evening for the event that took place at our state’s presidential library which is located in a city near-by. The speaker, a professor/author and well-known baseball historian is a member of The Chicago Civil War Round Table, an organization a Google search tells me is very large and active in its endeavor to preserve all things related to the War Between the States. It seems odd to me, at times, that we’ve romanticized a war to the extent we do with that war, but that’s a debate for another day. It’s enough to say the results of the Civil War merit that treatment on one side of the debate and on the other side, yearly reenactments of the deaths of so many men seems beyond morbid. The older I get the more of a pacifist I become so you won’t see me in the role of camp follower, doing what some women did during that war. The reenactments remind me that fighting is so deeply bred into humans that, I guess, romanticizing fake fighting is better than the real thing. Too bad we can’t get the rest of the world on board with that thought. Keep them so busy with reenacting past wars they don’t have time for new ones. 

Back to baseball: Dispelling the myth that baseball was invented during the Civil War by Abner Doubleday, a general in the Union Army, was the centerpiece of the lecture. The fact is scholars all agree, now, he had nothing to do with baseball---the game actually evolved from games played with balls during medieval times and no one person invented it. But the myth held on long enough for the National Baseball Hall of Fame to be built in Doubleday’s home town in 1937. An interesting and often funny lecture, I learned that the soldiers on both sides of the war spent more time playing baseball than in actual battles. It was also interesting that Lincoln had a ball diamond on the White House lawn. Who knew!

Speaking of Don---I wasn’t? Oops, that reference got lost in a rewrite. Anyway, April is a month filled with memory triggers for me. Don’s and my birthday fall in April as well as our anniversary and that of my mom and dad’s. My mother died in April and both my brother and brother-in-law share a birthday on the same day in April. And now I have a great-great nephew with an April birthday and soon they’ll be a great-great niece’s birth to celebrate in April. Last weekend I went to the first ever birthday party for little C.S. His mother made an assortment of homemade quiches and the best ever strawberries dipped in dark chocolate. Gifts and cake, too, came with the afternoon. It was good to build some new memories for April, happy memories filled with hope for such a young life. What a bright little boy. Already he’s learning how to point to letters on a wall chart. I may not live long enough for him to remember me, but I’ll bet one day he’ll read the words I wrote in the family genealogy books and learn about his connection to the Civil and Revolutionary Wars. His grandparents, both retired teachers, will see that he learns to love written words. And that pleases me.

I’m looking forward to summer and one of the first signs I get that its coming comes from my neighbor. They are so deep into medieval reenactments that they actually use handwoven clothe to hand stitch into costumes that are very specific to certain centuries of medieval life. Every summer weekend they’re off to reenactments, medieval fairs and jousting tournaments. I’d like to go to one. I heard the pig roasts are great. One day soon they’ll empty out the shed where they keep all their medieval gear---lances, shields, chain-mail, goal posts, a white tent with a pointed “roof” and colorful flags---no horse back there, but someday I expect to see one. Every knight with shining armor needs one. Can you believe it, they actually met at a jousting tournament. How’s that for a romantic way to meet. I can’t wait to ask them if the fairs include ball games. It’s nice to see a young couple so emerged in something fun that teaches at the same time. And maybe that’s the value of Civil War reenactments, too. Maybe it’s not so much about romanticizing war as it is about teaching history. ©

Note: The lithograph at the top is of a baseball game at the Civil War Salisbury Prison in North Carolina. A prisoner from the north recreated the scene when he got back home after the war. 

Three Full Years a Widow

The third sadiversary of Don’s passing is coming up soon and I don’t know how to feel about that. I do know that I’ve let him go and I am at peace with where he’s at. But I still think of him daily. How could I not? I often feel him still around me. It may seem overly dramatic to quote a well-known poem here but I’m going to do it anyway. It was printed on the remembrance cards handed out at Don’s memorial service and sometimes when I read it, it speaks so softly to me I can barely hear it; other times it shouts out, ”Listen, widow lady!----”

I give you this one thought to keep –

I am with you still--- do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am a diamond glints on snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grains,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

I am the sweet uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

The soft stars that shine at night.

Do not think of me as gone,

I am with you still in each new dawn.

Many widows know exactly what I mean when I say sometimes I feel my deceased husband around me. It’s a palatable feeling that probably comes from having known another person so well, you know exactly what they’d say and feel in any given situation. But I’m willing to believe it could go deeper, more mystical than that. If a 3-D copy machine can make real, three dimensional things like car parts---and they can---then why can’t the universe turn three dimensional living beings back into energy forces that can’t be seen? If Man can build a ‘magic machine’ like that then why should we put limitations on what Mother Nature can do? Spirits on another plane of existence? Why not? 

At my first sadiversary I pronounced that my first year of widowhood had been all about survival and as my mission statement for the second year ahead, I proclaimed it would be a year for rebuilding a social life as a single woman. My success at that mission was a mixed bag, given the fact that often it’s a hollow feeling social life that I created with no deep attachments formed. But I get out of the house, see people, and have a little fun here and there. I don’t stay at home doing comedy acts in the dark on the off chance they might entertain a ghost in the house. Recently a fellow blogger posted a comment about my failed attempt to find a few close friends that is worth repeating in this post. Jean from Step Into the Future wrote: 

"After my marriage ended when I was about thirty, I went through something similar regarding friendships. I kept trying to create a single ‘best friend’ pair bond that would have all the emotional characteristics of a good marriage -- one person that, above all others, you can confide in and rely on in the world. It took me many years to realize that friendship is different from marriage and that I need different friendships for different aspects of my life, needs, and interests. It can be an uphill battle, though, because I think our culture is always telling us that meeting our needs with many relationships is inferior to meeting them with just one primary relationship.” 

She is one smart woman and I’m so glad she shared those wise words here. I get it now, you can’t replace a soul mate like he/she was just goldfish floating at the top of the tank.

At my second sadiversary (a year ago) I wrote a new mission statement: To seek contentment and I’d give myself a C+ on reaching that goal. I have lots of room for improvement but I don’t have to hang my head in shame. I didn’t stand still emotionally this past year while taking up space here on Widowhood Lane. I feel calmer inside, more in control of managing my expectations. Less desperate because I realize, now, that “being alone in the world” is a false perception that I’d nursed to perfection since Don passed away. It was never true. Family, old friends---they’ll be here if I truly have a need. They can't walk my walk, but they'd be here....

This week I’m at the dawning of my fourth year of widowhood and I’m still working on a mission statement for the coming twelve months. The fact that I don’t have one might actually be a good sign? Maybe deep inside I know I no longer need a mission statement to motive myself to put one foot in front of the other when I get up in the mornings. I’m tying up loose ends from the past and I’m moving forward into the future. But make no mistake about it, Don may not be here physically but he is woven to the fabric of my life. For better or worse, that will never change and that is something that all widows understand. ©

This is my favorite photo of Don. It was taken in 2003, a few years after his stroke, when I had a Red Hat Society party at the house. It was at the tail end of the party after half the women had left when he came wheeling out of the bedroom where he'd been the whole time. One of the ladies still there made him an honorary member. I like the photo because it shows his great smile, twinkling eye and sense of humor. He couldn't say (or write) more than 15-20 words back then but there is no denying that he could still communicate with his expressions.

April Widow Woes

"It's strange indeed how memories can lie dormant in a man's mind for so many years. Yet those memories can be awakened and brought forth fresh and new, just by something you've seen, or something you've heard, or the sight of an old familiar face."

Wilson Rawls, Where the Red Fern Grows

I don’t like April anymore. It used to be one of my favorite months. Don and I were both born in April, we were married in April and my parents celebrated their wedding anniversaries in April. But my mom also died on Easter Day in April and most of Don’s ashes were interred in April. April sucks when it comes to memory triggering days that drag me kicking and screaming back to the land of sadness. And with the turn of a calendar page today, I’m back to listening to my inner voice that keeps nagging to adopt another dog. Ya, like that would give me the companionship missing in my life and be a smart thing to do at my age. My life already seems to be more complicated than I can take right now without adding another living thing into the mix. Heck, Sunday I was even thinking my house plants need to run away from home before I kill them. I don’t want to be held responsible should they feel neglected. I wish I could find good homes for four of the ten plants because lately I’ve been planning their demise---maybe put them outside for the summer and “forget” to bring them in before the first frost. But without their photosynthesis cycle to turn the carbon dioxide in the house into oxygen my house would probably become my own death trap. And one of those plants is 55 years old! How much longer can it live if it runs its natural course? See what I mean, my life is too complicated.

You should see my dining room table. It’s covered with priority mail boxes filled with stuff I have listed on e-Bay. For several years April 1^st has been kick off day to start e-Bay back up again---I don’t like doing it in the winter. But this year the weather isn’t cooperating and the garage is too cold to work out there where I usually do my e-Bay sales. It drives me crazy to have the clutter in the house but it also drives me crazy to lose a month of selling time, should I wait for spring to come to Michigan. I have a three stall garage that is also longer than most---a wheelchair van accessible design---so I have plenty of room out there to work.

While in the process of trashing my dining room table I got a call from the real estate agent who got my phone number from an acquaintance from the senior hall. He had called before and I told I wasn’t ready to move. This time he wanted to know if I’d gotten the material he sent me on how to have a garage sale and he said he would “help me with one if I needed it.” What a laugh. If I wanted garage sale prices for specialized stuff I don’t need a stranger to help me. I told the guy the person who gave him my phone number jumped the gun, I’m not ready to move and I won’t be until they build a senior condo community on the other end of town. “Is the community aspect that important to you?” he asked. “Yes,” I told him. What’s the point of moving if I don’t get what is missing in my life in exchange for all the trouble? I thought. “You friend wanted to get rid of the responsibility of keeping up a yard. I know that’s important as you get older and I can find you a nice condo near-by,” he replied. What responsibility? I make one phone call and write one check in the spring. But I didn’t say that. I hate pushy people who tempt you into being rude. I may be old but I haven’t crossed the Rude Bridge yet…at least not on a regular bases where I’d have to own the character trait.

I’m in a bad mood today, can you tell? Stay tuned I have some fun things to do the rest of the week so I should be back to my bouncy, optimistic self the next time I write. ©

The Ghost is Back in the Building!

How do I get myself into these things? I got a call from a real estate agenda. It seems he got my contact information from an acquaintance/widow I sat next to at a senior hall luncheon earlier this week. She is building a condo and selling the home she and her husband lived in for 35 years. I, of course, expressed interest in the process she is going through. I asked questions to keep the conversation going and I told her that someday I want to move to a condo, too. But what did I say that led her to believe that I’d welcome a call from her real estate agent? If I was in her place, I might give someone my agenda’s contact information, but never the other way around. A salesman is a salesman, for crying out loud. Unfortunately, I talked to the guy for 10-15 minutes. Big mistake and I should have known better. I’m betting now he’ll be like a bloodhound in hot pursue of a coon even though I told the guy I’m not planning to move for a couple of years. Maybe if he calls again, I’ll tell him I have no more need to move to a smaller place because I found a boy toy to move in here. I checked out the agent’s website and one of the comments left said they appreciated that the agent prayed for their sale to go through. Really? No wonder The Big Guy doesn’t have time for bringing about world peace! He’s too busy overseeing real estate transactions!

A few hours after The Call I noticed a ‘for sale’ sign on my next door neighbor’s front lawn. Crap! I don’t have a lot of contact with those neighbors but they are friendly and their kids are respectful of the property lines. It’s a two story house with a two-level party deck that is big enough to hold all 360 members of the Mormon Tabernacle choir. What kind of neighbors will I end up with? If they start out by tearing down that hideous deck I’ll bake them a pan of brownies every week until I move from the neighborhood. I’ve hated that deck since they built it and I had a couple of 15 foot pine trees planted to prove it. All the want-a-be architect in me sees when I look at that deck is a lot of money spent foolishly. It isn’t even attached to the house! Who does that? If I had designed their deck, it would have been accessible from their upstairs bedrooms and their main floor family room. “Mind your own business, old woman” you’re saying to your monitor. Don’t get your panties in a wad. The neighbors don’t know how I feel about their white elephant.

My friends who were going to take me out for lunch this week in memory of Don’s two year sadiversary ended up canceling because their son-in-law’s father died and my friends had to do lot of babysitting surrounding his funeral---twin babies not even a year old. We got to talking on the phone about the deceased and it seems the consensus in the family is that the man threw his life away, that grief finally killed him. His wife had died ten years ago and after that his life fell apart and he never got it back together again. He lost his job, pushed his family and friends away---lost everything. He just didn’t care anymore to go on without his wife. I told my friend that the guy’s wife wouldn’t have wanted that for him and I suppose it shouldn't have shocked me that talking about this topic got me teary-eyed. My friend---the guy in the couple---and I are crying buddies. Over the past two years our conversations have often triggered one or both of us to shed a few tears. And it‘s good to have one close friend in the world who you can do that with without judgment. He’s like the son we never had.

Today was the day I was supposed to go to the movies with the Red Hatters, but I woke up this morning---on Don’s sadiversary---with the alarm clock acting screwy, flashing the time in a way it has never done in all the years I’ve had it. Even unplugging the thing and disconnecting the backup battery didn’t help. When I plugged it back in it was still flashing its two inch high red numbers. As frustration set in the first thing I thought of is that Don’s ghost is playing games with me again, like he did with my wedding ring so many months ago. “Get up sleepy head,” the flashing clock seemed to say. “Don died two years ago today and it’s time to play in the memory garden.” Then I looked outside the window and saw how hard it was snowing and before I knew it, I was e-mail the Red Hatters that something came up and I couldn’t meet them for lunch and the movie.

I know, where did my resolve and will power go? I can’t even remember the last time I avoided going someplace because the past was holding me back. I should have pushed through the tears the flashing clock brought and went off to play with the living instead of staying home to play with the dead. I never used to believe in ghosts and spirits, but isn't it a strange---and maybe even an awesome---coincidence that today of all days that clock decided it wanted to be grow up and be a flashing billboard instead of a time piece? And to add to the strangeness, why did it quit snowing within seconds of me sending the cancellation e-mail? ©


P.S. The photo up above was taken in 1973 at a 50's party and the clothes we were wearing were clothes we actually wore to our proms in the late 1950's, before we knew each other. I didn't even know this photo existed until earlier this week when a friend e-mailed it to me. I have so few photos of the two of us together and I was so excited and pleased to get this one.

Four Widows and a Block of Cheese

This past weekend I went out of town to a 50^th anniversary party for one of my cousin’s. It was a happy event for a wonderful, giving and kind couple who has contributed nothing but goodness to the world. I was in her bridal party and it’s a telling statement regarding the disproportion of women to men in my age bracket that when we lined up for the reenactment photos all four of us bridesmaids were still alive but only one of the groomsman was still kicking around. But what I found fascinating was, quite by accident, I ended up sitting next to a stranger who’d been widowed within a few weeks of me and for most of our adult lives we lived within three blocks of each other. What are the odds of this chance meeting three hours out of town? I only knew three people at this event---the celebrating couple and the bride’s brother---but I didn’t feel out of place or lonely. Like magnets coming together two widows found each other and the common threads running through our lives.

Then the next day I went to a baby shower and was talking to yet another widow---this one is under 35 with young three children. Her husband died from an overdose of prescription drugs just a few months after my husband died. She looked much happier than when I saw her at Easter and her future looks bright. She’d moved closer to her core family, got a new job and a new boyfriend that she says is a serious relationship, and her kids are settling nicely into a new routine. I hope she takes it slow with the new guy but then again, why wait if you’re lucky enough to get a second chance at love? The past is past and we can’t have it back. Speaking of luck, both the young widow and I won good luck bamboo plants playing baby bingo. How cool is that?

Have you ever heard of the book, Who Moved My Cheese? I picked up a copy at the senior center for a quarter but I’d read about it on the internet back when I was looking for grief support related stuff. The book is used by a lot of corporations that are trying to motivate their employees not to resist change. It’s a short parable featuring two humans (Hem and Haw) and two mice (Sniff and Scurry) who all lived in a cheese station connected to a maze. When their cheese came up missing the mice quickly scurried off through the maze to look for more while the humans grew hungry and depressed mourning the loss of their cheese. They were afraid to go back out into the maze---they’d been in the cheese station happy and content for a long time---so they kept waiting for someone to bring their cheese back. They even grew angry at the unfairness of having what they valued taken away. Yadda, yadda, yadda---you get the picture and I think most of us widows can see how this parable could be applied to the grieving process. The block of cheese in the story is, of course, a metaphor for what we want to have in our lives.

Sniff in the parable represents the kind of attitude that some of us have regarding unwanted changes our lives, those who see the changes coming before they get here and are prepared when it happens. Scurry represents the kind of person who didn’t see change coming but springs quickly into action when it comes along. Haw represents the kind of person who takes a long time to read the hand writing on the wall, is slow and scared to move foreword but eventually does adjust to change. Hem, represents the kind of person who stays rooted in denial and is left behind in misery. The lesson of the parable is that we humans over complicate things. Life is constantly changing. We need to change with it.

Which of the four characters in the parable do you most closely identify with? In widowhood I am a Sniff. In the back of my mind I always knew my disabled husband could die before me so I was more prepared than the young widow at the shower who lost her husband unexpectedly. She would be more like Sniff. She has  worked hard to pick up the pieces and is moving forward at a rapid pace. The widow at the anniversary party was a Haw---afraid and paralyzed in her grief early on but has since found a way to plot forward. All three of us are hopeful that at some point we’ll be able to savor the adventure of finding and tasting new cheese. And the forth widow, the one most like Hem? I didn’t see her over the weekend because she’s been sitting at home all alone, out of sight and waiting for her old cheese to magically reappear. ©

“When you move beyond your fear, you feel free.”

“The quicker you let go of your old cheese, the sooner you find new cheese.”

“It is safer to search in the maze than to remain in a cheeseless situation.”

Spencer Johnson, M.D. author of Who Moved my Cheese?