Travels, Ticks, Temporary Places, and Halloween

This might be a complicated post. And perhaps that is how it should be. 

It is a really lovely evening—there's what I call a "Tegan moon" in the sky - a sliver of a moon that I first took notice of 33 years ago this month, the night I went into labor and fell in love with my daughter. It's been unusually warm (and I'm guiltily not complaining) with brilliant fall colors—the kind that I just want to take off in the Honda and drive forever.  This weekend I went with a friend and discovered a gem of a place in Vermont that it's hard to believe I've never been to before. I was entranced. Lake Willoughby. Like a magical greeter, a small wild female duck, hopped up on the Maine-like rocks as if to say, "Yes, about time and why aren't you feeding me?" It was another one of those first times for me. The first time I felt rooted, thoroughly at ease, and delighting in the day and the experience.

Stunning Lake Willoughby

Today I spent a lovely tea time with a new widow friend of mine. Her beloved died suddenly 5 months ago. Today marks exactly 15 months since Jim died. There is this bond that forms among widows if given the chance. The experience is so different from any other grief experienced but we hold it in common even if we live it differently. She gets that sorrow is always "in my pocket"—just as in my previous life joy was always in my pocket, and I get that our beloveds are always in our thoughts.

Yesterday Tegan came over for a walk in the forest and dinner. Like this post, it also became complicated. I had made some short ribs with wonderful fall vegetables in a crock pot. It was a feast and the left overs went home with her to share with Lucas who was returning from a family wedding in Utah. The complicated part was the walk. It was incredibly beautiful HOWEVER when we got back home, I found a tick on one dog, and then another, and then another. What commenced was an hour or so of combing out the dogs and flea and tick baths and then more combing out. Tegan graciously chose to beautifully set the table and cook millet to go with the ribs as I disposed of the most amount of ticks I've ever pulled from the dogs in my life—and that is with the dogs having the vet prescribed repellents (which simply means that those evil little insects, jump onto the dog's people instead). Well, as you can imagine Tegan and I took showers, Tegan finding her clothes still here from her high school days, changed into those as we did a load of laundry. Dinner was a celebration feast of sorts.

All of these bits and pieces bring me back to tonight. I'm nice and cosy out on the back deck with the de-ticked dogs, listening to the rebuilt waterfalls merrily singing, forced into contemplating my new reality versus my old. 

Today I washed all of my sheets and blankets because, yes the dogs all eventually ended up in my bed overnight despite the tick fiasco. I've had a hard time sleeping since Jim took ill and especially since he died. I have a pillow that I used to love because Jim would love to hold me at night, my head tucked into his shoulder. His shoulder had dislocated many years ago while skiing and never repaired, so this little pillow eased the pressure. Tonight as I made the bed, I couldn't help but feel how different my life is now versus 15 months ago. 15 years. 15 months. As Tegan said to me today, "But it feels like yesterday". 

I know that this is a temporary place that I am in and yet it is also infused with permanence. Happily married folks will understand the permanent part. When one is happily married there is a deep companionship, there is a "life plan" even if it means old age and death approximately in a similar time frame. Yet I'm a youngish widow. The expectations of our sixties (Jim was diagnosed with cancer when I turned 60, and he 64) are often portrayed as a golden time when all our child rearing days and all our hard working days finally pay off, yet we still have our health. Older but not old. The vision is one of travel, enjoying grandchildren, no longer working as hard. In my case that whole equation has been turned on its ass. I've come to realize that what I expected because of my parents' and paternal grandparents' lives is not true for me. I've been dragged into trying to build something else out of my life. And that while deeply mourning my life partner. I've built my life before, coming out of a hard divorce yet that is an entirely different experience. Anyone who compares the two just has no idea. 

I recently told my first boyfriend this when he told me that it was time that I "got over Jim". Divorced twice, he has no idea. Yet to his point, my life has changed and I need to have more days like my Lake Willoughby day when I once again found delight in what I do not know. It might mean letting go of this beautiful home that was my dream. It definitely means trying to figure out a new game plan. What do I want now that my life has not turned out the way I had always thought it would?

Today I figured out a tiny piece. As many of you know, Jim and I loved decorating the house and yard for Halloween and welcoming all the trick-or-treaters. Even at the EMC, we always celebrated. Channeling Ray to remember the Zombie ride. Last year I could not face Halloween at all—no skeletons, ghosts or grave stones for me: luckily my dear friend Wendi came over, I channeled All Souls' Day. We lit candles and watched Coco. It was perfect. This year the neighborhood Halloween inquiry went around again. It has been on my mind. While waiting at the car dealership (of course our lease is up-ugh), I made a decision. I wrote this to the neighbors:

I’m in, perhaps not to Jim’s expertise but will do my best to create a Halloween experience for the kids.

Come on up,

Ann

Its really a small step, but it is my small step into uncertainty.

And as if a gift, one of the neighbors wrote back:

Ann - Skyler still talks about how awesome you and Jim’s house was for halloween.  

Count us in too.  The lights will be on here at 5 Burke, so be sure to come down the road.

And with that small step, all the other neighbors opted in too. I hope Jim will be smiling down that night.