“Not in Assisted Living (Yet): Dispatches from the Edge of Independence!

Welcome to my World---Woman, widow, senior citizen seeking to live out my days with a sense of whimsy as I search for inner peace and friendships. Jeez, that sounds like a profile on a dating app and I have zero interest in them, having lost my soul mate of 42 years. Life was good until it wasn't when my husband had a massive stroke and I spent the next 12 1/2 years as his caregiver. This blog has documented the pain and heartache of loss, my dark humor, my sweetest memories and, yes, even my pity parties and finally, moving past it all. And now I’m ready for a new start, in a new location---a continuum care campus in West Michigan, U.S.A. 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. Stick around, read a while. I'm sure we'll have things in common. Your comments are welcome and encouraged. Jean
Showing posts with label in-laws. Show all posts
Showing posts with label in-laws. Show all posts

Saturday, November 24, 2018

A Holiday with the In-Laws


Due to my own loose lips on Facebook, one of my great-nieces on my husband’s side of the family got wind of the fact that I was going to be alone on Thanksgiving. She told her mother and her mother called me and said: “I’m not taking ‘no’ for answer. You’re to be on my doorstep at twelve noon tomorrow.” I did try to say no, that I’d be fine alone but she repeated “Twelve sharp! You don’t have to bring anything” and I said, “Good, I don’t have anything in the house to make and the stores will be too busy tonight.” But her daughter had a request of all the guests. We were to bring one of our favorite things---something small we are grateful for. She was bringing, for example, Oreo cookies to hand out during the ‘favorite things’ game. 

Serendipity kicked in after I got off the phone when I remembered that Amazon had just delivered a box of Turkish Delight Pomegranate Pistachio jells. (A Christmas present for myself.) Oh-my-god are they good and with a 65% sugar content these small cubes of candy melt in your mouth. Supposedly they were developed in its current form in the 10th century by Arabic apothecaries and they are the great-granddaddy to our modern day jelly beans when a smart confectioner in Boston in the 1860s put a hard sugar shell on them instead of the classic powdered sugar. Turkish Delights are also known as “Lokum” named after the Sultan who helped to popularized them around the world. Who knew jelly beans came with such an interesting back story. Anyway, I got out some paper cups made to hold mini tarts and I filled fifteen of them up with Turkish Delights to pass around.

This exercise in sharing something we love was more fun than I expected it to be. Everyone told a story about why they brought what they brought. My niece-in-law handed out circus peanuts, one of her daughter’s brought chap sticks for everyone. Twinkies, Ding Dongs, beef jerky sticks, Reese's Peanut Butter cups, incense, Pepsi, new car scent tags for our cars----lots of laughter came with the stories. I told the history of the Turkish Delights and how one of my guilty pleasures is to occasionally try something new that’s made in another country. Several of the stories were so sentimental they came with tears as people told about the long-gone person who introduced them to their comfort food. And it was great hearing people talk about their Uncle Don (my husband). Everyone knew he would have brought coffee and our sister-in-law---the mother or grandmother of everyone in attendance---would have brought slices of Polish kielbasa. It’s kind of cool, really, how certain foods can bring back memories of certain people. My dad was the Fig Newton cookies guy and I can’t see Brach's Orange Slices candy without remembering my mom. 

Thanksgiving was a day of good food and fellowship and I came home with enough food for two more meals (plus a bag full of favorite things). No family in my life-long experience has ever had so many good cooks as in my husband’s. And no one had their noses buried in a cell phone. Being the oldest person in the room it was quite obvious---at least to me---that I crossed over ‘The Line’ a few times when I blurted out things I probably shouldn’t have, the way old people and young children do. For example, after my niece-in-law’s husband said, “I’m always careful” I blurted out “And yet you ended up with all these kids.” He was talking about carpentry but everyone laughed at my joke. It was one of those rare afternoons when I didn’t try to edit any of the words that passed over my lips. Unconsciously I knew that no matter what transgression I could make, I’d be forgiven. “That’s just Aunt Jean” and we love her flaws and all.

Why would they cut me slack when others might not get it? Because I came into the family 48 years ago as the barefoot, hippie girlfriend of the family’s baby brother. Don’s oldest brother---the deceased father or grandfather of everyone there on Thanksgiving---got a kick out of how much I shocked the uptight, next-in-line brother and how much I confused the ever elegant Cary Grant-like third-in-line brother. I was just as likely to sit down on the floor and play with the kids as I was to hang out with the adults. I didn’t drink or smoke but I could ride the pink elephant in the near-by park and I loved board games. They didn’t understand me but in their eyes I was a good influence on their baby brother. I only met Don’s father once because he died soon after but he sealed the deal for me when he told the family, “This is 'The One' Don needs to settle done with.” I remember that day as if it was yesterday. I was wearing a t-shirt with two giant foot prints on my chest and all the other ladies were dressed in their Sunday best---I didn’t know I was going to meet the family that day---and I sat on a footstool next to Don’s dad. He teased me unmercifully and I gave it right back at him. The rest is history. ©

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Pass-Around Widows, Easter Traditions and Other Stuff

 
For a week now my urine smells like fried chicken and I haven’t eaten any in months. But every time I pee lately I want to go to KFC. At first I thought I’d finally contracted some dreaded disease that only effects widows who don’t eat enough fried foods but a quick internet search leaves me believing I either have a urinary tract infection or Maple Syrup Urine Disease. (Yes, that’s a real disease. I’m not making that up for your amusement.) I’m voting for the UTI. MSUD is an inherited disorder and growing up, I don’t recall anyone talking about maple syrup as they came out of the bathroom. Not to worry, tomorrow I’m going to the dentist which means I have to take a heavy round of antibiotics so the germs from cleaning my teeth don’t settle in my artificial knee joints and I’m hoping some of those antibiotics find their way into my bladder. If not, I’ll have to go pee in a cup at the lab and hope they don’t leave it out in the elements this time. Last year when I had a UTI they accidentally froze my specimen and I had to go back and do the pee-in-a-cup trick all over again. I hate that trick. There are some things guys are just better equipped at doing and this is one of them.

My nieces threw a surprise 75th birthday party for my older brother a few days ago. (He canceled the one he and his girlfriend were going to throw together.) It was so good to see everyone in the family except my brand new great-great nephew and his parents who live out of state. My brother was thoroughly surprised and everyone loved the photo book I made and had printed at Blurb. It’s going to be a good summer for family get-togethers---two showers and a wedding invitation are already filed in the pages of my day planner and I’m working on a cousin’s get-together at the cottage where I spent all the summers of my youth.

Easter was good, too. The night before I got a call from my niece-in law asking me to join her huge family for dinner out in the boondocks. It was her mother’s first Easter without her husband and I think the invitation had something to do with that, but she was fine---seemed to be holding herself together pretty well and enjoying herself with all her kids and grandchildren around. Most of the adults in attendance and I have crossed paths for 42 years of going to weddings, showers and funerals so I didn’t feel entirely out of place.  At one point in the afternoon five of her grandsons packed their babies up in their strollers, grabbed a beer or wine cooler and off they all went for a walk around the lake while we women folk sat in a sun circle talking. If someone 40-50 years age would have told me how much attitudes about fatherhood joys and duties would change I wouldn’t have believed it. But I think all the hands-on stuff is good for guys, their families and society. Why should women get all the fun and bonding time with their kids? Time to share, ladies.

As fellow blogger Belle Rum over at Cul-de-Sac-Chronicles recently wrote: “We make traditions and we keep them for years. Then things change. Kids grow up and move to another city, loved ones die and we are left to celebrate even when it doesn’t feel like a time to celebrate.” My own family’s holiday traditions fell apart years ago when my mom died, new ones were born, then reborn again and again---the last time to fit my husband’s disabilities. (Wheelchairs limit your invitation venues big time.) This is my third Easter without Don and new traditions have not yet been established, so I was grateful to grab a little holiday spirit, even if vicariously through someone else’s family. These past few years since Don died I’ve been the elderly aunt passed around on the holidays, never quite belonging anywhere yet never quite an outcast or third wheel either. Life is full of mystery and sometimes I wish mine was like a book and I could sneak a peek at the last chapter to see if holiday traditions ever find me again. Or is this it, the new normal for me? Am I now officially living in the land Pass-Around Widows, never knowing from one holiday to another where we’ll be next? ©