When birds sing...

It's a very muggy day, so I decided to go to one of the local coffee shops to do some writing.

It's one of those days that even birds are hiding in the shade.

I was thinking about birds this morning...saw a lot of them yesterday--both in my yard and out at the lake.

When I see either birds or butterflies, I feel like John's paying me a visit.

Not long after John's death, I noticed that every time I was in the upstairs bathroom (at least every morning), a bird would sit on the roof and sing toward the house, looking right at the window. Looking right at me. This would happen just about every morning, so I began looking forward to it. This went on for many weeks. A sort of ritual--looking out the window to see if my songbird was there.

One Sunday, I was in too much of a hurry to glance out the window. I was going to be late for church, after all! In I came...still at the point where I basically listened and didn't participate much in the music of the service. In those early days, I would sit on the far right of the sanctuary, near the memorial garden where half of John's ashes were buried. And occasionally, I would glance out of the window that looks upon that cloistered place.

So, during the sermon on this particular Sunday, I glanced out the window, deep in thought about the message. And on the roof overlooking that garden sat a bird, similar to the one at my house, over 5 miles from the church. Staring at me. Singing. Sorta looking like it was scolding me. Of course, I burst into (quiet) tears. I did that a lot those days (I do it quite often now).

I think that John was telling me, through that bird, that he was near and would always love me.

Now, I don't notice birds on the roof anymore. But I notice lots of things in nature and know that John, my parents, and my brother are all a part of it. And they all are happy and waiting for that day...hopefully a LONG time down the road...when we are all together again.

Remembering my beloved's natal day...

Another birthday has come and (almost) gone. The photo above was taken on John's last birthday on earth-- July 24, 2012. It was a very good day. I took him to Binder Park...and we pretty much had the park to ourselves for about two hours. We fed the giraffes, and looked at the birds. We went to the Hi-Lite Drive in for burgers with my family. We had a cake at my family's house afterward. It was a very good day.

Today was sad...but in some ways, it was a good day, too. I spent most of the morning just hanging out with our "son," Elvis. Watched a couple of movies at home, ate lunch. I had planned on maybe going to Lake Michigan, but realized I really didn't want to drive very far today. So what to do?

Last year, I had the same dilemma, and ended up going to John's favorite restaurant for celebrations: PF Chang. I came in, was seated, and just casually mentioned I was celebrating my husband's birthday by going to a restaurant he loved. They figured out that must mean that he was no longer with me, as I didn't really go into any more detail.

When I finished my meal, they came out with the check. It said ZERO on it. I said to them I had planned on paying and was kind of embarrassed. "I didn't come for a free meal," I think I said. They told me that they wanted to do this, and convinced me to allow it to happen. I started to cry. I cried harder when I read my fortune from my after-dinner cookie, and it said, "A kindness will be bestowed upon you in the next few days." When I went home, I taped the fortune to the bill and now have it where I can see it whenever I think that there's so much evil in the world. There is even more GOOD.

This year, I ended up going to the movies. Ant Man is a part of the Marvel series, and John LOVED comics and the movies connected with him. Marvel, XMen, DC, didn't matter.

Funny aside: The new art museum on the edge of campus has an interesting design. John hated it. I had to agree, at least initially. He never got to see the inside...I think he might have changed his mind, just a little. I really like the place, now, even though the outside isn't something I'd pick. Almost a year ago, scenes for the upcoming Batman vs Superman movie were filmed at this very building. Lots of starts in town: Ben Affleck (who worked out in the football team's exercise room), Amy Adams, lots of others. Elvis and I went one evening to watch the activities. It was fun, but I mainly did it to honor John's love of this genre. And I just thought it was hilariously ironic that this building that John pronounced "UGLY" was used for one of his favorite types of films!

So, I went to see Antman today. And it was very good! I think he would have enjoyed that movie (and would have LOVED the movie from last summer that was from the comics: Guardians of the Galaxy (probably one of my favorite movies of that genre, at least). After the movie, I decided I needed to do something especially for myself...so...I made an appointment at the local Aveda school for a de-stress treatment (similar to a massage, but BETTER). Afterward, since I had a lot of oil in my hair, I had a shampoo and blow-dry. I love the style (I had my hair cut the night before). I love going to the school; a savings and some very nice students and teachers there. I thank my friend, Tory--a graduate of this school--for learning about the stress-free session. It's wonderful, and highly recommended!

After that, I ran home, and picked up Elvis...but before we left the yard, I realized someone had allowed their dog to go number 2 in my yard and didn't pick up after the dog. Ewww! So, a quick change of shoes, and back in the car (will finish cleaning off the flip flop I was wearing tomorrow...I got enough off to be able to put it inside near the back door) to go to a memorial balloon launching a few blocks from the house that I had just learned about earlier in the day. Elvis and I sent one up for John. It was beautiful.

Afterward, we went for ice cream at the local Dairy Queen. I frequented it a lot when John was in hospice...Elvis has greeted the folks in the window many times.

 As you can see, Elvis loves his ice cream. After a quick trip to the car wash and to top off the tank while the prices are fairly low, we headed home.

Elvis takes good care of me. And it was a good day. Just not fair that John wasn't here to celebrate it with us. Or maybe he was with us...

Beagle adventures: If you roll, you pay the consequences, bubba!

Elvis is back to his fun-loving self after spending a couple of weeks favoring his rear right paw. Turns out he had cut his paw at some point, and a foreign object got in and started infecting, causing some pain for this usually-stoic breed dog. I could tell he was feeling MUCH better on Saturday, when--even in the extreme heat of the day--he did his spinning and zooming around the yard, something he does when he's completely happy to be outside and with his Mama. 

The other thing he likes to do: rolling in the grass. Normally, he finds a scent that he likes and rolls on it...and usually, it's nothing that I notice. That all changed tonight after I got home. He rolled in something particularly smelly, and there were remnants of whatever it was all over his fur. 

While John was alive, we did the dog baths as a team. And tonight, I realized why I'd stopped bathing my beagle after John's passing. It's nearly impossible! Normally, I wait for good specials at one of the local places and have someone else bath him. It's worth the money. But I am too far away from payday and didn't want to spend the money and for SURE didn't want him in my car. Eww. 

So...the bathroom looked like a tornado had hit it by the time we were done (as did the bed from his rolling on the bed!), but he's clean! I hauled him into the shower, closed the door, and started the process. He didn't make a noise until toward the end but clearly was not happy with his predicament. He even stood on his rear paws and tried to open the shower door with his front paws. He probably figured "I can open that gate at daycare, this door should be easy!" He didn't succeed, and though it took forever, I was able to get him nice and clean. The picture above shows him still wet, as he managed to escape the towel and used the bed instead. 

He wasn't happy with me, and may never enter that room again with his own free will (or at least until he forgets about the bath), but I think he smells great and is very handsome tonight.

What do you think?

...to the moon, Dad!

There are events in everyone's life...big events, where you remember where you are and or what you were doing when you learned about this event. For example, I was teaching elementary music, and learned about the Challenger explosion from the fourth graders coming into my class in tears at the change of classes. When the events of September 11, 2001, occurred, I was at work, and we were all numb. My mother was at my house, and I called my husband and based on her extreme reactions (understandably!), I asked him to turn the channel or do anything to protect Mom from the horrible visions on the television screen. Since it was pretty much on every channel, he put in a video. He took good care of Mom that day. The thing I remember about that day the most is that everyone called everyone else to make sure they were okay. I called the nursing home to check on Dad. I called my brother. I called other relatives. The need to reach out was urgent and palpable. I know some family members were in the area of the NYC events (along with some friends), and we worried and prayed until we knew they were all safe. 

When I was a grade-schooler, I began my journey as a space geek. My parents subscribed to a kid's science journal that was all about space and about the space program. We were all excited about the upcoming moon missions. The magazine folks even sent me a scale model of the lunar module to assemble. Dad, a retiree from the United States Air Force who had always wanted to be a pilot, shared my love of the sky, teaching us about the constellations on clear nights--we'd all be resting in the soft grass of our backyard while Dad taught my brothers, Mom, and me about the heavens. I think Dad would have loved to have been an astronaut, and was about the age of the first ones. 

So it was on this date in 1969, that we all sat in the living room as we watched the lunar module land on the moon, and then watched (at about this time of night) first Neil Armstrong and then Buzz Aldrin take their first steps on the lunar surface. We realized that we were witnessing something pretty extraordinary. Even now I think it was, especially when you consider the technology of the Apollo 11 mission was equal to a hand-held calculator now. Our smart phones are more powerful, yet we got several crafts and crews safely to the moon and back.

Years later, I would ask him if he wanted to go up in a shuttle, even after the Challenger accident. He said HELL YES! I agreed with him. 

And on the Thanksgiving after Mom and Dad had died, we went to Disney World...and I rode on Space Mountain, a ride Dad and I were in line for in 1979, but it had been shut down for some sort of problem just before we were able to ride. So, I was determined I would ride it someday.

And when I did, I cried and said, under my breath, "We did it, Dad."

We might not have reached the stars together, but it's pretty nice to know that my loved ones that have gone before are out among those stars. 

So at night, when the sky is clear, I always look up. And maybe someday, we'll get to the moon and beyond...or as Buzz Lightyear would say, "To infinity...and beyond!"

Emotional minefield

Just a short post here. It's the second blog of the day; don't get too used to that! Lots of things on my mind today.

As I continue this journey, it's amazing what things end up setting off the tears and sadness. Sometimes, it's obvious. Many times, it's not. At least not to others. And that's okay. 

I watched an award show the other night. One that I normally don't watch: the ESPYs. These awards are giving to honor individuals or teams in the world of sports. Sometimes, it's all about the achievements in their area of expertise in sports. Often, they aren't just about the sports. Some great stories; the braveness of an athlete to admit to the world her true nature, in the face of criticism from many so that maybe she might save some others who want to live their lives as they truly are inside but face bullying or worse by the world. Another story about a football player whose daughter is facing the battle of her life with that horrible thing, cancer, and how the bond is so strong between this obviously outstanding man and his daughter, and how his team supports him through the journey, allowing him to be "a father first, and a football player, second." A woman who, after a brilliant college career, chose to serve her country, only to lose one of her arms--and she now devotes her time counseling other veterans. And the story that felt closest to my heart: the very brave young lady who was able to realize (with the help of a wonderful coaching staff, college, teammates, and even the opposing team) her dream of becoming a college basketball player, despite the ticking time-bomb of a brain tumor lurking in her head. She, like John, is now in heaven, but her family passed on her words to never give up, to fight. And during all of these stories, I cried. Hard. So hard, Elvis was convinced something was wrong. 

There's nothing wrong with crying. Don't misunderstand. John never understood why I would purposely watch certain movies, ones that were sure to make me cry. It's cleansing to cry, I'd tell him. 

I tell you, there are periods of time where I'm the most cleansed person on the planet. 

A lot of times in the last few years, I don't know what movies are safe for me to see in public anymore. Sometimes, I have to research a movie, risking some spoilers to make sure I am able to protect myself. Recently, I saw a wonderful play called Proof put on by a local theatre group (several friends were involved in the production). The afternoon before I went--having never seen the play or the movie based on the play--I messaged a couple of people in the play to determine if it was "safe." I figured I'd still go, but it would really affect where I'd sit and how much tissue would be placed in my purse. It was a marvelous play, and the cast member who contacted me said that it was tender but made me understand I was safe. He was right. Yeah, one part made me well up a little, but I think I would have BJC (Before John's Cancer). By the way, many of the people in the show (at least two cast members and the director) are friends, so I would have gone anyway, but am so glad I did. It did feel safe.

Beside movies, music can be an emotional minefield for me. And those, many times, can come out of the blue. A lyric, a musical phrase...and boom. Or the more obvious: music that John loved. And many times, it can really depend on what kind of day I'm having. 

I cried many times on the two trips to Italy. Seeing all the history...John was a history buff, and had a degree in history. How he would have loved the places I saw. And the artwork. And listening to the music. A couple of tough things happened to me, but ones that actually I don't regret happening...

One of the first couple of evenings we were in Florence, my new friends and I found a nice outdoor restaurant (heck, most of the restaurants in Florence are at least partially outdoors) on the Porta Rossa road. We kept hearing what sounded like gospel music nearby, mingled with shouts from a bar in another direction as the people were enjoying a soccer...oops sorry, football game. After we were finished, we decided to seek out the group. 

From what I could tell, it was some sort of music competition or outdoor open mic. A group was there singing beautiful gospel music--the group itself was excellent, and the only way I could tell that they were local is that there was the slightest hint of an Italian accent in their English lyrics. The director was from the United States, and would explain things in both English and Italian (Florence is a very metropolitan city, with a lot of expatriates from the United States, Canada, and England). I decided to record a few of these songs, and will post them eventually here. 

So...they started to sing a really clever gospel/jazz version of "One Hand, One Heart," from West Side Story. And as I taped the song, I cried pretty hard. Some local media guy, I'm sure, captured it on his camera, but I didn't care. It was beautiful. After the song was finished, another woman on the trip with us--another widow who I think lost her husband much more recently--came up to me and we wept in each other's arms. It felt so sad and yet so healing. I was very glad for the moment. 

Many evenings, I would stroll down to the Santa Maria Novella Piazza, which was a short block from the hotel. It was wonderful to get some gelato and sit and people-watch. Most evenings, there would be some sort of local music performing. Most of the time, I saw two gentlemen--one on violin, the other on clarinet, playing some really pretty music. At some point, they started playing a lovely version of the Pachelbel Canon, which was played at our wedding. The aforementioned woman went closer to listen to it, and started crying. This time, I went up to her and comforted her. I brought home a couple of CDs of their music. I haven't listened to it yet, but will. 

Certain hymns that I've sung with my mother I still can't sing to this day without crying. What's with that? No, that's a rhetorical question. 

Sometimes scenery will be the trigger. Lake Michigan, many times over the years, but more so now. The view of the vineyards in Florence, the city itself, and last year's trip to the Amalfi Coast. Buckets. But most times, I was able to keep that to myself, but truly, beautiful scenery--usually involving mountains or water, but sometimes other things, will truly move me.  Sunsets. Sunrises. Rainbows. Sometimes even the dark storm clouds. The beauty in a human face. The beauty in any animal's face. I think that's why I take photos. I love what I see, so I try to capture it, even though it will never be as lovely in the photo as it is to my eye and fragile heart. 

I'm baaaaaaack.....

It's been awhile since I posted here, and I have a lot of 'splainin' to do. Or not.

Such is a life that gets busy during the week to the point that I'm too tired to do anything after the required activities of the day are done. Not much of an excuse, but I've been wanting to get back to this. I decided that there are way too many distractions to work on this at home, so this afternoon, I've  gone to my favorite cafe to do some writing. It's very good therapy, and I've missed it. Besides, the air conditioner I bought last summer isn't really working that well, and the upstairs (where I spend most of my time) is a little too uncomfortable right now. Don't worry; it's good where Elvis spends time while I'm away. I made sure of it.

Some of the highlights of the last few months: Really, not all that much. The only big things were the big move (not me--my brother and his family) and another trip to Italy (in June).

I really owe some posts on the two trips to Italy. And I will do that, once I've had a chance to go through my notes. The short version here: thanks to my music education, I've been able to take trips to Europe over the years. In 1976 and 1977, it was with the Blue Lake International Orchestra. On the first trip (which was, incidentally, my first-ever trip on a jet!), I went to Holland, West Germany (remember, this was before the wall came down), East Germany, France, and Switzerland. On the second trip, in 1977, I went to Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and briefly returned to West Germany. Then, in 2000, I went to Scotland with an early music singing group I was in--we were in Edinburgh, North Berwick, and Glasgow. More recently, the two trips to Italy with two separate choirs: Last summer, we went to Rome, Pompeii, Sorrento, and along the Amalfi Coast. This summer, we went to Florence, Pisa, Siena, and San Gimignano (with brief visits to the Paris airport--while landing, I could see the Eifel Tower!). No more trips out of the country (except for maybe Canada) for awhile. I need to save money. There's a hinted trip to Austria (I've never been there but have been close enough to see it from a distance) in about three years, so maybe I'll make that my saving goal.

I haven't been on my TerraTrike nearly enough this summer. Seems like every time I have a spare moment, the lawn mowing and yard work seems more urgent. That's what living in a city with fines for overgrown yards does to you.

My brother and his family have moved to a lovely lake not far from here. I really am interested in getting some sort of small craft that I can use by myself on the lake when the pontoon (which came with the property) isn't available. I'm looking at kayaks and peddle boats. I've even heard of a used peddle boat for sale, so I'll be checking that out soon. Anyway, the family has kindly agreed to allow me to store the craft at their house, so I wouldn't have to cart it to-and-fro. I'm even thinking of getting a fishing license to try my hand at fishing on the lake, which is chock-full of fish. Elvis loves it there, and stayed while I was out of the country. His favorite thing is to sit in the lawn chairs in the front of the house and watch all the activity on the lake. He looks like a person sitting there.

We've had a mild summer here...that is, until this weekend. Humidity has been very high the last three days, even though the actual temperature hasn't hit 90 yet here in the Lansing area.

Elvis is doing well. We had some issues at daycare. Initially, he loved it there. Played with all the various dogs--most particularly the labs and beagles--and was Mr Social Butterfly while there. I liked it, because it gave him a chance for socialization while I was at work (for one day a week). But in the last few months, he was getting less and less interested in the other dogs and more interested in worrying about when I was coming back. And my smart boy figured out how to open the room gate; the last day, he was the Pied Beagle, leading all the other dogs out of the medium dog room to run free in the building. Naughty, but it kinda makes me chuckle. So, I decided that if he wasn't having any fun at daycare, I might as well save the money. He's just as happy to hang out at the house and doesn't seem to worry about me leaving for work, because it's a daily routine. The only time he has a hissy is when he knows I'm outside the house...like when I'm taking the garbage out, or mowing the lawn. He wants to be right there. I was doing some yard work on Friday (last day before the humidity was coming, so I decided to take advantage of the comfy temps to do the work), and I let Elvis sit in the yard and watch me. And he was getting a little bored. Come on, Mama. I'm out here to play with you, not watch you chop the weeds! My brother informs me he doesn't like it when they do chores outside, either. Boring, he says.

Today marks the 2.5 year mark since I said goodbye to John. Seems so long ago, and yet, so recent. I paid for the flowers today in church in memory of his birthday, which is coming next Friday. For once, I didn't do the arranging, and I didn't order the flowers. I just decided to throw it up to the Universe to see what would happen. And as I sat down in church this morning, I gasped. In the middle of some very pastel and pretty flowers were three sunflowers: one of John's absolute favorite flowers! And they looked lovely in the arrangement (see the photo). I thanked my friend, Nell, for the arranging--she also did a lovely arrangement in the chapel, too.

I have taken next Friday off. I haven't decided what to do, but one thing is for sure: I don't want to be working during that day, which is the 57th anniversary of his birth. Thinking that one great option would be to go to a beach on Lake Michigan that allows dogs and just hang out with Elvis that day in that area. Not sure yet. I think it'll have to be a day trip, since hotels along the lake are very expensive this time of year.

I'm not doing much musically, other than those two trips to Italy. I may gently ease myself into something this fall; I haven't decided. I'm having trouble with my right hand these days, particularly in the pinky-region and into that side of the hand. I tripped on a  rug in our hotel in Florence (it was a convent in the 14th century, nice sturdy walls) and slammed my hand into one of the walls. Luckily, one of the hotel employees was right there to bring me some ice. No breaks or sprains, just a very bad bruise. But my hand is still achy, and that pinky area of the right hand is pretty critical for bow control. So this year, I took a break from the summer orchestra I play in. I'll go to their concert next week, I think. But it won't be the same as playing. Truthfully, I have to wonder if my playing days are numbered. Playing the violin is a great joy to me, but not when I'm in constant pain (the left thumb is really troublesome with the osteoarthritis, and the left hand is vital for playing the violin!). Years ago, I remember being really sad when I heard one of my violin teachers sold her violin...but now I understand. Not that I'm thinking of doing that, at the moment.

Work at MSU continues. I'm almost exactly 1.5 years from vesting for retirement. That doesn't mean I'll retire at that time, but it's nice to know I could if I wanted to. We'll see what the next few months bring.

Well, that's all for this post. I promise to make more time to post more.