Going to be a Fine Year

Over the New Year Holidays and since I’ve been feeling off. Sleep, my new best friend comes often and stays long. Post nasal drip plagues me; if you have it, you know what I’m talking about. This is physical stuff, not me with my usual whiney attitude over losing my husband.

Whenever I hear conversations about allergies, I hear something about winds from Africa and sand. A day at the shore breathing salt air helps tremendously, but my allergies haven’t been this bad since I lived near a coal yard in Chicago.

Of course, it may be the wheat; I eat way too much bread. I read that food allergies trigger other allergies and the foods we crave like bread cause it all basically. Just swell.

My allergy addictions get the best of me in high-stress times like when a bunch of my stuff breaks all at once and my car is one of those broken things. Just before everything broke, I booked a four day trip to St. Thomas when I caught the nice holiday sales. Live music on Water Island by world class performers, do I have to tell you how excited I was?

Light switches in the kitchen and both bathrooms refused to turn off; I took action, turning off the appropriate breakers. Repair could wait. Both toilets started leaking, so I turned off the water to both toilets; all of this happened before Christmas company.

My attitude remained positive; after the holiday I could hire a new handyman. I could get by, but my friend came to have fun and so we drove my car to Fajardo and Ponce, all over the island. The island beauty will grab the air right out of your chest.

Explaining my house problems to my guest humiliated me, but what the hell. If pouring water from a bucket to flush the toilet is too rustic for you, sorry; that wasn’t nearly enough. On the patio, I noticed a steady stream of water from the roof near the water tank that should have dried up with the rain. Goody.

All I wanted to do was to go to sleep, my joints ached and my face felt swollen. My company left early; I found a handyman, slept a couple of days, and then went to the gym. After a few days, I felt well enough to think about driving to Isabela or maybe just go home; I didn’t know.

I felt and heard a pop and my car stopped; I managed to get it off the road. The funny thing about hitting the end of my rope is nobody cared. I wanted to scream or cry or hit something, maybe. Time to inhale deeply, a few more times, since this had to happen after close of business before Three Kings’ Day and I was flying to St. Thomas on Friday, the thirteenth.

One nice thing about being a senior citizen is you’ve had plenty of time to learn how to get over yourself and get on with it. I handled my car problems, went on my trip, where I had a good time until a waitress upwind of me sprayed a cleaning solution in the air that I happen to be allergic to and instantly became wheezing ill. For two days of the trip, I slept like a bear in hibernation.

The night I made it to the concert on Water Island, classical vibrations by talented musicians danced with the dendrites of my neurons. The magic of performance ignited my spirit when I needed it most. 

Carlos Jimenex, my car’s fine mechanic had her ready and running on time. I and my stuff are on the mend.

Sugar Rush

Sugar, so sweet and delectable steered my holiday awry. Sugar, so tasty on the tip of the tongue carried mouths through foul odiferous words laying waste to friendship’s fleeting greeting.

Holiday ranking Happy Halloween at the top with sweet rewards based on the number of doors knocked would spawn a lifetime overachiever; who knew?

Change coasting on sedentary years informs senior bodies of the future. Take heed; don’t be stupid, but alas it’s inevitable.

My sugar tooth fairy flew in on Delta. Where’s the desert menu? Got to run; let’s go! Where’s the bakery? I haven’t seen any bakeries. Oh, would you look at that! It’s time for coffee and.

Let’s go; let’s go.

Here I am dark and rich; you know you want me. Dribbles on my lips gave me away; what could I say?

Dark chocolate led me down the path to pain and suffering.

Dark chocolate cake, please! I’d like a brownie.

And on the third day like a lump I laid unable to move complements of pain in ankles, knees, hips, and back. A new, never before discovered pain in my right shoulder stabbed the center of the joint as I heard the words Merry Christmas. WTF, what have I done to myself? My middle finger knuckle hurts.

New Year’s resolution: self-control. Is sixty-eight too late?

Company

Company came; company went. Company wore me out. Out the door by eight to be there at nine every morning felt a bit much when coupled with getting back late each night.

Regular exercise gives me stamina, so I informed my companion of my need. “You can workout anytime you want before eight.” She told me as a matter of fact. She had our days planned. I tried to comply, but couldn’t drag myself to the gym before eight with breakfast, shower, and dress, so off I went another day without my exercise, but the next day.

“We need to leave soon. It’s going to be another day wasted because you won’t leave on time.”

Grit my teeth; stifle the scream wanting to leap out, every aching bone in my body instantly got pissed. “I’m not going,” I said. “You go, have a good time. I’ll catch up with you later if I feel better.”

“I’m your guest,” she thundered. “I expected to go with you. How do you expect me to get there? I came to see…”

Alas, my nice isn’t as deep as I’d like it to be; I interrupted her.

“You’re a grown woman; take a cab. Can’t you understand I hurt?”

There must be a list of telltale signs of an only child. Perhaps, I should have consulted it.

Walking at breakneck speed so we can see everything or standing on the corner unable to keep up wasn’t the fun adventure I’d hoped for, but pressed on gamely.

Note to self: establish ground rules before company comes.

I WILL be taking the time to exercise. I WILL rest as necessary.

If I don’t want to do something you want, go without me. I will try my best to please my guest, but my limitations need to be respected. We will share what we can and come prepared to follow your agenda without me if I can’t. I mean no offense.

Despite problems, minor skirmishes, and occasional bad language we parted on a positive note. Rough edges come with deep souls. Absent bad intent, all is forgiven by both. Friends are too few.

Not Home Alone for Christmas

Christmas, the time of family caring and sharing comes crashing down on those of us left alone. My fourth Christmas without my husband won’t be home alone.  A flurry of activity in San Juan with a friend I met in Santo Domingo last year should occupy this holiday.

My lament when Kirt lived was we didn’t have a big family to share the holiday. His people died, mine moved away or brought the woe in woe is me. On our holidays at Starved Rock Lodge, we lounged before a roaring fire in a huge stone fireplace decorated with animal heads and garland, photographed bald eagles, and swam in an indoor pool. I loved the person I was with and now I’m alone with an acquaintance.

It sucks, right? That’s always going to suck. Being positive is a conscious choice; noticing every slight, anger at every wrong, and in general keenly observant of what is wrong is my heritage. On which side of the family I’m not going to tell you.

Work to mend the shreds of my heart continues. I choose not be melancholy; I choose to be happy. Somebody, please tell me; how do I do this? I’ve been sad so long that it feels like carrying a brick in my backpack.

On my fourth Christmas without my beloved, I’ll soak in the beauty of San Juan, while listening to the life story of a new friend. I won’t be alone. Be well.