Shoe Cleaning, Mahjong, Good Friends and Old Wives Tales

There's an old wives tale that says deaths always come in threes and that's been true for me this past week. No one especially close to me, but two of those who died effected people I care about. You know how that is…they feel pain and you are left wishing there was something you could say to take it away. Of course, we all know there isn't a thing we can do except act as a sounding board and/or send sympathy cards out to the appropriate people. In this case, I'm sending out a half a box cards to great-nieces and great-nephews who lost their grandfather or stepfather. Additional cards will go to a newly minted widow and her daughter (my niece-law) and the daughter of a one of my old Gathering Girls group members. And, yes, I'm old enough that I now buy sympathy cards by the box full. No one tells you this comes with living into your eighties. 

The latter woman who died shocked me the most. I hadn't seen her much since I moved three years ago although we did occasionally talk on the phone. To this day those bi-monthly lunches we Gathering Girls had were some of the most fun times I've had in my life with gal-pals. I never had to be on my best behavior with them---never had to hide my political views or my lack of a church family like I did with my Red Hats Society group or in my current living situation. She beat breast cancer once but lost the second battle with it. 

I'm going to turn this around to happier thoughts. As I sit here I'm in a very clean apartment even though my monthly cleaning lady doesn't come until Monday. How did that happen? you might be asking. The son-I-wish-I-had and his wife came to take me out for lunch and she'd never seen my place. I wanted her to be able to look to her heart's content without me being embarrassed by a layer of dust or the things that seems to clutter up the corners like my Mahjong set and mat and an assortment of footwear that has a way of gathering around the only chair in the apartment that is low enough for me to put them on and take them off.

Tim has been a great friend for decades. He will even get a 10% slice of my estate when I die, should anything be left over at that point in time. The way the price of everything is going up and up these days, I'm starting to worry that I'll outlive my bank account. I'm obviously not worried enough that it stopped me from signing up for Retail Therapy Sessions through the holidays. But I've reigned in that horse in case anyone else named in my estate was worried. 

Have I told you guys about my last big splurge? I sent off the lightest and darkest Mahjong tile from my 1930s Perching Parrot Bakelite set to a service that matched them up with enough orphan tiles so that I can turn them into jokers. You have to do that with all the early sets if you want to use them to play American Mahjong. At the risk of boring the non-players reading this, I also bought on eBay one wooden tile for my new/old 1923 Babcock set. What are the odds that I'd find something that small and old to complete the set? I love people who recognize that there is a lid to fit every pot in the world of collectibles and I only had to pay ninety-nine cents to win that auction. The seller, however, is charging me twelve dollars to mail it. He should have had his opening bid higher but he hedged his bet with his shipping charge. I don't care but some buyers would ding his ratings for that. I see it as a miracle that someone across country had a tiny, 100 year of thing like that and went to the trouble to find it a home. We are kindred spirits. 

Tim and his wife spent three hours with me and that laugh-filled visit combined with 2025 popping up on the calendar put me on a manic streak. I've been so productive every since, checking off stuff on my to-do list that I thought would take me deep into January. One of those things involves the Gogooda shoe washing bags pictured up above, bought during one of my Retail Therapy sessions. I have two pairs of tennis shoes that were both looking grubbing but are still in great condition. Magic erasers and other shoe cleaners weren't making much difference. Looking at the price of new shoes, I decided to try these bags out and I am happy with how the first pair came out. Those bags even have pockets inside for the laces and the soles. I may pre-treat the second pair for even better results. 

The set (2 bags and two shoe trees) cost $23.00 at Amazon and were very quiet in the washing machine. (I have a shoe rack for my dyer which makes shoe drying quiet as well---first time I ever used it.) If my little "infomercial" tempts you, don't buy the yellow ones as a few of the reviews mentioned the color bled on to their shoes. 

Normally, I'm able to talk myself out of something I didn't know I wanted after until I saw it. But the siren call of Retail Therapy that gives us a temporary high was my rebellion against the week when I wrote about the Swedish Death Cleaning. I don't do Retail Therapy to fill an emptiness or other need inside me very often and I don't recommend it so there no need to plan an intervention for me, thank you very much.  ©

Until Next Wednesday.  

 

Before

 

After

Fourth Sadiversary on Widowhood Lane

My mom died on Easter thirty-two years ago, my dad died on Christmas fifteen years ago and my husband passed away four years ago this coming week. With Mom and Dad’s deaths both falling on holidays it’s impossible to let their sadiversaries slide by without thinking about them. With Don’s I get through the holidays before the anticipation of his sadiversary gets kick-started on New Year’s Day. Even though he died on a nondescript day in the middle of a nondescript month I doubt I’ll ever reach a point when it will be just another day on the calendar. Still, if I was in charge of publishing church calendars I’d make his sadiversary a Red Letter Day like Mom and Dad’s. 

Recently I found myself sorting things that had to do with Don’s funeral---sympathy cards, the guest book, letters and the alike that came out of the messy closet in the room I’m re-purposing. Four years! It was time to throw those greeting cards away, I decided, but people spent time and money picking them out then writing notes inside so I wanted to read them one last time. Would they affect me differently than they did in 2012? The answer is yes. As I sat reading I savored the words where before I read them in a state of numbness. This time I wrapped myself in the warmth and caring they expressed. I kept several cards for the handwritten messages inside and I kept the five letters that were either read as part of the memorial service or just appeared in frames in the visitation room. I had completely forgotten about those pages of shared memories. And I kept Don’s medical bracelet, of all things. It’s not like anyone else can use it with all the stuff written on it: Severe aphasia, heart patient, atrial fibrillation, stroke patient, diabetic non-insulin dependent, takes Coumadin. Plus the bracelet had his name, the name of his internist and hospital engraved on the stainless steel. They had to use both sides of the metal to get all that stuff on it.

Hallmark and American Greetings know their business: “No one else can comprehend the sadness in your heart. You knew this man completely---others only knew him in part.” “In memory and celebration of someone who made this world a brighter and better place.” “Let us remember the smiling, the laughing, the talking, the sharing, the caring and the loving.” “We’re never really ready when it’s time to say good-bye, but slowly we accept what has to be, letting go of what we must…..” Yup, over the past four years I’ve let go of the tears, the sadness, the regrets but I can’t let go of a stupid medical bracelet! It’s too personal and represents everything Don went through in the last twelve years of his life. The idea of throwing it in the trash with garbage headed to the dump didn’t feel right. Back in the box it went with the letters, memorial program and a copy of the eulogy although I made a notation on my day planner to bury it by Don’s cemetery stone next spring.

On my first sadiversary I characterized the year I’d just been through as being all about survival and on my second sadiversary I labeled the previous year as the rebuilding year. During my third year of widowhood I was on a mission to seek contentment and that goal ended with mixed results---the desperation of the search dissipated but not the search itself, if that makes any sense. And now here I am trying to summarize year four of my widowhood in five words or less. The best I can come up with is this past year was a slow march towards resignation, and that resignation stems from the realization that if I move closer to my family I probably won’t see them any more often than I do now. My nieces and nephew are part of the busy sandwich generation; they have parents and grandchildren who---rightly so---will always get first dibs on their free time. Nope, moving won’t be a panacea to cure the lack of closeness that’s been missing from my life since Don died...although I haven't completely ruled a move out of the equation. If I could take the senior hall activities with me the decision would be a no brainer.

There you have it. I’ve taken my widowhood temperature and I pronounce myself ready to embark on the fifth year of living without my soulmate. It’s time for me to get my act together and turn woo-is-me into wow-is-me. It’s time to rediscover myself at the end of a paint brush, if there is a me still there. With that goal in mind, I'll post a photo tour of my new, re-purposed room over the weekend. The chair came today. I still don't know what to call the it---art room, play room or art studio/guest room. Maybe I'll set up a poll and let the blog community decide for me. ©

 

Life is a journey of sweetness and sorrow,

Of yesterday’s memories and hopes for tomorrow,

Of pathways we choose and detours we face

With patience and humor, courage and grace,

Of joys that we’ve shared and of people we’ve met

Who have touched us in ways we will never forget.

American Greetings


Within our hearts,
the ones we love
 are never really gone---
In spirit and in memory,
their legacy lives on.

Hallmark