I'm Still Thankful

It's hard to be thankful when Thanksgiving falls while you're still mourning. But there are so many things in my life that I am thankful for, and I need to remind myself of them. 

I'm thankful for all the family and friends, both mine and Herb's, who have gone so far above and beyond in their efforts to support me and my family over the past months. 

I'm thankful that I have a financial cushion that has allowed me to take the time to manage my grief and do all the practical tasks that need to be done on my own schedule without having to try to find or manage a job yet. 

I'm thankful for my wonderful children (biological and otherwise), who have borne up with such strength and courage and resilience in the most difficult time of their lives. My love of and pride in them has buoyed me up through many a dark moment. 

I'm thankful for all the people who have stepped in when I was unable to manage, whether it was covering my volunteer responsibilities, feeding my family, helping with transportation, assisting in cutting through red tape, advising me when my brain was too foggy to figure things out, and simply showing up at my house with coffee, food, wine, flowers, helpful books, their children, a hug, or an entire Scout troop. Words cannot even express how much those visits and that assistance meant to me. 

I am thankful for our Scouting family, both the Scouts who spent time with my kids to let them feel normal, and the parents who offered rides and meals and support and advice and sympathy and listening ears. 

I am thankful for our church family, who not only fed us, but prayed with and for us, let me cry when I needed to without judgment, and checked on us regularly to make we were okay physically, emotionally, financially, and spiritually.

I'm thankful for the many compassionate professionals who have helped me manage removing and adapting the many accounts in Herb's name so that I can handle them directly. And the many more who helped with insurance claims, medical and financial planning, estate untangling, home and yard care, and technology problems.

I'm thankful that my family will be able to stay in our beloved home, with all its cherished memories, until we are ready to let it go and move on. I am thankful for the memories of this place that will come with us when we do. 

I'm thankful for the 17 years of love and joy and adventure that Herb and I had together. I wish we'd gotten 100 more, but I cherish every moment together and I wouldn't trade a single moment for the world. 

Music That Brings Me Joy

One of the most important things I have learned during my journey of grief has been the need to actively seek out sources of joy. For me, that joy has come from everything from coffee or cocktails with friends, to watching the birds in my backyard, to spending time with my children, to baking, to music. Music is especially precious, as I went through a long period when music did not bring me joy; a long period, in fact, when I couldn't even bear to listen to music at all. But now the music is back, and I am able to find joy in many different genres of music. 

If you need some joy in your life, try experimenting with these wildly varying pieces of music, each of which brings me joy. 

Song of the Blacksmith, from Holst's Second Suite in F
Genre: Classical (Instrumental)
Why I love it: As a French horn player who performed with various wind ensembles and bands over the years, this is one of my favorite pieces both to play and to listen to. From the crisp opening chords emphasized by the snare drum to the delicious horn lick (at about 0:14 in this recording) to the sound of the blacksmith's hammer (starting at 0:40) to the little hesitation after the "contrapuntal" section (at 0:50) to the chillbump-inducing resolution of the final chord, this piece is sheer musical brilliance. 

Sucker, by the Jonas Brothers
Genre: Pop
Why I love it: In a word, boomwhackers. In a few more words, a catchy melody, an irresistible beat, tight harmonies used sparingly, fun accents like clapping and a whistle break (and, you know, boomwhackers), and an actual ending instead of the typical fade out. Plus bonus points because I can understand all the lyrics without having to look them up. 

Uptown Funk, by Mark Ronson ft. Bruno Mars
Genre: Funk? Dance? R&B? Jazz Fusion? I have no idea. 
Why I love it: I cannot physically sit still while listening to this song - I have to dance and sing along. The lyrics are great statements of confidence, including gems like "Gotta kiss myself, I'm so pretty," "I'm too hot...Make a dragon wanna retire, man," and my favorite, "Smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy." That's smooth. And it's another song that ends instead of fading out. Nice. 

Alleluia, by Randall Thompson
Genre: Classical (Vocal)
Why I love it: With no lyrics other than the word "Alleluia" plus a final "Amen," this piece focuses on beautiful melody and harmonies. I love the sustained notes in the upper voices contrasting with the moving notes underneath, I love the passing dissonances, I love the expressive dynamics, especially the soaring dynamics and acceleration of the end section (starting at about 4:04 in this recording), I love the reverent hush of the final bars, and I love the way the closing "Amen" simply hangs in the air for a moment before evaporating like a wisp of smoke. 

You'll Be Back, from Hamilton 
Genre: Broadway
Why I love it: I am not a fan of Hamilton - it's simply not my style. But this song? I hit repeat every single time it comes up on my car playlist. The catchy tune, the harpsichord accompaniment, Groff's delightful received pronunciation and shameless pops from legit voice into falsetto in "you cahn't go ooooonnnn," and the final "Everybody! -- dah dah dah" section are all brilliant. I dare you to not sing along to this one. 

From the Start, by Laufey
Genre: Jazz
Why I love it: My daughter introduced me to this delightful Icelandic singer. Her smoky voice and mellow style is a throwback to jazz singers of the 1940s like Billie Holliday and Ella Fitzgerald. Her singing is so effortless and smooth that just hearing it relaxes me, body and soul. (Also, her name is pronounced something like "Leh-vay." You're welcome.)

Dance of the Hours, from La Gioconda
Genre: Opera (instrumental)
Why I love it: It stands on its own as a fun listen, but once you've seen Fantasia, you can't help but picture smarmy dancing crocodiles, hippos in tutus dancing en pointe, an ostrich kickline, and a recalcitrant elephant thrown in for good measure. If you can listen to this without smiling, you have a cold, cold heart. 

All Falls Down, by Kanye West ft. Sylveena Johnson (no, really)
Genre: Rap/Hip-Hop
Why I love it: "Love" might not be the right word for this one, but it does bring me joy, because I added this song to my playlist after my kids had a very serious discussion about "which of our songs Mom would like - or at least be willing to listen to." Yeah, I find it a little repetitive, and I'd like more of a melody, but I will admit to the cleverness (or at least hilarity) of blatantly forced rhymes like (just assume everything is [sic]) "Now tell me that ain't insecurr, the concept of school seems so securr, Sophomore, three yurrs, ain't picked a carurr, she like, 'I'll just stay down hurr...'" Bonus points for the bathroom acoustics change at 1:44 in the video. 

Higher, by Michael Buble
Genre: Jazz
Why I love it: The pulsing rhythms, the pounding timpani, the intense vocals, the Latin feel, it all pulls you in. And it tickles me to know how creatively the video was choreographed and directed by Derek Hough to hide the fact that Buble is a terrible dancer (check out this fun "making of" video). It's just plain fun, from the opening whoosh and string tremolos to the ending crashing chords. 

You're Welcome, from Moana
Genre: Broadway/rap
Why I love it: It's funny, it's witty, it's charming, and it combines a catchy tune with spoken word in a way that's closer to a musical theatre patter song than true rap. And the percussion underneath has a great island feel that's both in keeping with the setting and gives it a unique feel. Also, the Rock, well, rocks. 

Queen of the Night, from The Magic Flute
Genre: Opera (vocals)
Why I love it: Anyone who can sing this aria, I am convinced, is superhuman. These vocals come closest to the limit of what a human voice can do of any piece I've ever heard. In addition to the sheer technicality of the music, the overblown drama of the whole opera, and this piece in particular, is just scrumptious. Can't you just imagine yourself sweeping around a stage screeching out this number? Okay, maybe that's just me. 

Hey-Ya, by OutKast
Genre: Funk
Why I love it: The nasal falsetto in the repeated "Hey-yaaaa" refrain is fun, as is the marching band feel of the "boopy" little counterpoint going on under it, and the pulsing rhythm makes you bop your head to the beat. I can't understand most of the lyrics, but I did catch, "Y'all don't wanna hear me, you just wanna dance," and that about sums it up. 

Into the Unknown from Frozen, performed by Panic at the Disco
Genre: Broadway/Pop
Why I love it: The original version from the film, sung by Idina Menzel and Aurora, is great, but this cover featuring Brendan Urie's brilliant and powerful vocals gives the song even more impact. I can't belt like Urie, but I can't help but sing along anyway every time this comes up in my playlist. 

Mambo Number 5, by Lou Bega
Genre: Jazz
Why I love it: Rap has its roots in this style of jazz, with its mix of talk-singing, not-quite-monotone melody, and a rhythmic backup with multiple percussion instruments and a pulsing bass line. It even includes a little record scratch effect! Not only is it a fun listen, but it also reminds me of the musical connection between generations. What we love isn't really that different, after all. 

Walking on Sunshine, by Katrina and the Waves
Genre: '80s Pop
Why I love it: It's the sound of my teenage years, it's the sound of first love, and it's the sound of sheer happiness, the kind you only experience during the purity and innocence of your youth. How on earth can a monotone guitar break (2:16-2:28) be so much fun? I dunno, but it sure is. 

Lassus Trombone, by Henry Fillmore
Genre: Brass band/March
Why I love it: Trombones are innately funny, and this classic Fillmore march makes the most of their comedic swoopy abilities. If it's half as fun to play as it is to listen to, I might resurrect my short-lived career as a trombone player. 

Happy, by Pharrell Williams
Genre: Pop
Why I love it: The title says it all. It just makes me feel happy!

Find the music that makes you happy. 

The Hardest Day

It wasn't the day I got the call that he was gone. 

It wasn't the day I saw his body. 

It wasn't the day of his funeral. 

It wasn't the day I picked up his ashes. 

It was my birthday. 

You see, as horrible as the first few days were, it wasn't real yet. It hadn't sunk in. The shock blurred the edges so the pain was dulled with confusion and a haze of unreality. The pain was diffused and unfocused. But now, it's slightly less horrible, but it's so very much more real. The pain is crisp and clear. It's sharp as a razor. Sharp as shards of shattered glass.

My family did their best to make my birthday as normal as possible. My sister and brother-in-law had us over last weekend for dinner and cake and presents. My daughter brought me coffee in bed. My son wished me happy birthday. My aunt and uncle called and sang to me. A few friends sent gifts. I got calls and texts and Facebook messages and emails from literally hundreds of friends and family. 

But it wasn't the same. There was no bouquet of roses, no homemade gourmet dinner with appetizers and wine and candlelight. There was no date night at the Melting Pot. There was no dressing up to the nines and taking selfies. There were no birthday kisses. 

It hit home, and it hit home HARD. I cried all day. Well, I cried all day until my kids came home from school. Then I pulled it together and put on a brave face for them. But when they left the room, I cried some more. When I drove my son to his trombone lesson, I cried silently in the darkness of the car all the way there. And I kept crying in the parking lot, wiping my face before he got back in the car. When I went to bed, I cried myself to sleep. 

It was the end of so many traditions of love and family and feeling special and being cherished. It was the closing of a chapter of my life that was so incredibly special, so incredibly wonderful, so incredibly a part of who I have become, that it felt like losing my entire identity, my entire purpose. 

But I can make it a beginning, as well. One chapter has ended, but there are other chapters waiting to be written. There are new traditions of love to begin. There are children on the cusp of adulthood to be loved and guided and celebrated and launched into lives of their own. There are opportunities to grow in new ways. There are other relationships to be developed, and cherished, and relied on. I still have an identity and a purpose, they're just different than they were. And that's hard to accept. I'm not good at change. I never have been. 

But change is inevitable, even when it's hard. Even when you have to be dragged, kicking and screaming and sobbing, into a new chapter, that new chapter will come. I don't have to like it, but I have to accept it, because I can't control it. 

What I can control, however, is how I deal with it. So I will choose to deal with it with grace, with courage, and with faith. I will choose to set an example for my children of how to deal with adversity. I will choose to make the best of what life has dealt me. I will choose to write this new chapter with my head held high and my eyes on the future and my heart open to a new way of life. I will choose to go on. 

But first, I think I'll have another good cry. 

Then I'll be ready to take on whatever the future holds. 

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord,
“plans to prosper you and not to harm you,
plans to give you hope and a future."

- Jeremiah 29:11

Fashion Review: Monster High Generation 1

This blog is a specific request from my daughter. She loves watching the Monster High television series and movies and critiquing the characters' clothes (the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, apparently), and asking me for my opinion. So when she sent me a series of pictures of various characters and asked me to comment on their looks, how could I say no? So here are some of the Monster High Generation 1 characters, and my critique of their fashions. 

Name: Frankie Stein
Monster Heritage: Daughter of Frankenstein's Monster (aka The Creature)
Notable Info: German
The Look: Teal and black plaid minidress with white yoke with Peter Pan collar, black mesh puffed short sleeves, a black and white polka dot necktie, and a flared skirt with black mesh crinoline, accessorized with a black and silver studded hip belt, black and white striped platform heels with an ankle strap, and a black and red short-handled purse. 

The Critique: The silhouette of the dress is very cute, and I love the teal and black color scheme. But the purse color is awful with the outfit, and the style is very matronly. A teal clutch or wristlet would be much more appropriate. The shoes are a little clunky, and I feel like a pair of high-top sneakers or black ankle boots would be more age-appropriate.

  

Name: Draculara
Monster Heritage: (Adopted) daughter of Dracula
Notable Info: Vegan, 1600 years old, Transylvanian
The Look: White pleated miniskirt with black mesh crinoline, electric pink corset-style vest, charcoal gray blouse with white ruffled collar and cuffs and pink neck trim, charcoal gray hose, and pink laceup boots with black straps. She also carries a black parasol with pink trim. 

The Critique: I actually really like this look. Its simple lines are youthful and flattering, as is the pink/black/white color palette. The demure lace collar contrasts nicely with the tailored silhouette and the bold boots. And I love that her pink and black hair matches her outfit!

 

Name: Clawdeen Wolf
Monster Heritage: Werewolf (older sister of Howleen, below)
Notable Info: Age 16, from Brooklyn
The Look: Purple pleated miniskirt with black mesh crinoline and studded belt, black and pink animal print cropped tee, purple cropped jacket with lavender trim and lavender fur collar, and black-and-purple strappy open-toed gladiator boots, accessorized with a pendant necklace and studded choker. 

The Critique: The purple and black color palette is great with her dark coloring, and I adore the fur-trimmed jacket, but the tee looks out of place in both style and color, and I don't love the combination of the low-cut skirt with the cropped top. A black and purple print leotard top would be a more flattering look. But the hair and boots are terrific!

Name: Lagoona Blue
Monster Heritage: Sea monster/sea nymph
Notable Info: Age 16, Australian
The Look: Pink sequin top with a wide black band at the top, under a cropped teal jacket with black sleeves and teal cuffs, black shorts with a wide teal waistband and teal trim, teal fishnet bike shorts,  black platform wedges with pink trim, and a pink floral headpiece. 

The Critique: I love the black and teal color scheme, and the pink top reminiscent of scales is a nice pop of contrast, tied in nicely to the hints of pink in the shoes and headpiece. But there are simply too many parts to this look which make it feel very busy. I could do without the fishnet shorts, and the jacket could be simpler. But it's not a terrible look. 

Name: Cleo DeNile
Monster Heritage: Daughter of Pharaoh Rameses
Notable Info: Over 5,000 years old, Egyptian
The Look: Gold wrapped cropped leggings, aqua criss-cross babydoll top with sheer split bottom and black trim, accessorized with gold gladiator wedges, a single gold wrapped elbow-length glove, gold chandelier earrings, and a gold headband studded with aqua gems.

The Critique: This is my favorite look so far. The leggings and glove are a nice nod to her "mummy" heritage while still being cute and stylish, and the sheer babydoll top is both sexy and demure. The long earrings add a touch of elegance. 

Name: Abbey Bominable
Monster Heritage: Yeti

Notable Info: Age 15, Nepalese
The Look: Off-the-shoulder black fitted minidress with colorful traditional embroidery wrapped with criss-crossing cord and white fur trim, with white fur gauntlets and thigh-high boots, accessorized with a short blue collar necklace, dangling snowflake earrings, and a white fur headband. 

The Critique: I love this look even more than the last. The white fur accents are a nice balance to the darker fabric and colorful embroidery, which is a lovely nod to her Nepali heritage. The blue necklace is too similar to her skin tone and might have been better if it picked up one of the other bright colors in the embroidery, but that's a minor nitpick in what otherwise is a lovely ensemble. I would absolutely wear this dress! 

Name: Spectra Vondergeist
Monster Heritage: Ghost
Notable Info: Died in the 1800s at age 15, German
The Look: Sleeveless black chiffon fit-and-flare dress with a purple insert down the front of the bodice and silver military trim, with a modified handkerchief-style above-the-knee skirt with purple lining, accessorized with a silver chain belt and calf-length pink boots with silver chain trim. 

The Critique: The overall silhouette is great, and I love the way the trim on the bodice gives a 1980s, Michael Jackson vibe. The hint of silver on the skirt creates some lovely visual lines, and the touches of silver throughout provide a nice unifying detail. But as a ghost who levitates, she missed an opportunity for some gorgeously impossible-to-walk-in sleek stilettos instead of these clunky boots. But otherwise, a nice look. 

Name: Toralei Stripe
Monster Heritage: Werecat
Notable Info: Age 16, American (likely Californian)
The Look: Black and pink bias-cut plaid minidress over black ankle leggings with pink slashing, topped with a cropped black jacket with pink piping and accessorized with open-toe black and pink gladiator sandals, a black-and-pink plaid shoulder bag, a gold buckle hip belt, and a tan ascot-style scarf. 

The Critique: This is quite a cute look, and honestly the only change I would make is to switch the gold belt for either solid black or possibly tan to match the ascot. Otherwise, it's a great ensemble!

Name: Operetta
Monster Heritage: Daughter of the Phantom of the Opera
Notable Info: Age 15, ethnically French but very Southern American

The Look: Wide-cuffed cropped jeans, a white blouse with short puffed sleeves and a purple collar, topped with a purple corset belt and accessorized with white platform heels with metallic spiderweb and G clef detailing, a metallic beaded mask shaped like a musical note, a metallic belt, and a red coffin-shaped guitar case, also with spiderweb detailing. 

The Critique: The outfit feels very 1950s, and I definitely get a Southern vibe, but although I see the musical tie-ins, I'm missing any nods to her French heritage. Her look is also much more casual than the other girls, so I would love to have seen the pants in a dressier fabric or at least a more formal style, possibly even a denim ankle-length flared panel skirt, to add some drama and elegance. 

Name: Howleen Wolf
Monster Heritage: Werewolf (younger sister of Clawdeen, above)
Notable Info: Age 15, from Brooklyn
The Look: Belted black minidress with yellow ladder patterns and blue and pink flowers, topped with a deep purple jacket with 3/4-length sleeves, accessorized with knee-high laced black wedge boots, black fingerless biker gloves, red fishnet stockings, and a black beanie. 

The Critique: The print of the dress is busy and colorful enough that the accessories need to be simpler and more unified to avoid becoming distracting. Skip the fishnet stockings and make the jacket black instead of a contrasting color, so the accessories are all plain black, and this look would work much better. The black beanie on the vivid pink hair is adorable, especially with her ears peeking through!

Name: Twyla Boogeyman
Monster Heritage: Daughter of the Boogeyman
Notable Info: Age 15, Eastern European descent
The Look: Black and white three-tiered ruffled miniskirt with dark periwinkle edging, dark periwinkle jersey with vertical black pinstripes, bell sleeves, and a black velvet bow at the neck, accessorized with a silver belt and silver bangle bracelets, and black and purple ankle boots with silver laces and elaborate heel details. 

The Critique: The dark purple and black could have been drab, but the various textures created by ruffles and prints brought visual interest, and the silver accessories lightened the look somewhat. The shoes look a bit heavy and clunky, but they're balanced but the sweet bow at the neck and her pale green and lavender streaked long wavy hair. Proof that accessories can make or break a look!

Favorite look overall? I have to go with Abby Bominable, simply because it's a look that would work on so many people - including me! 

And if you'd love that look yourself, check out this great dress from Etsy for only $44 that has a similar style: 

Pick up a two-pack of feather boas from Amazon for $14 and you can add white trim around the shoulders and make a simple pair of gauntlets and a headband.

Then finish off your look with a cozy pair of tall white faux fur boots, like this pair from Amazon for $56.

You'll be the most stylish Yeti in town!

How Do I Miss Thee? Let Me Count the Ways

Grief, when it comes right down to basics, is simply missing someone who is no longer there. 

My life and my husband's were more intertwined than a lot of couples, which means that there are a lot of normal everyday things that make me miss him almost more than I can bear. It feels like he ought to be there in every moment of my life, but he's not. I miss him every moment of every day. 

I miss him when I wake up in the morning and his face on the pillow next to me isn't the first thing I see. I miss warming my cold feet on his warm legs before I get up. I miss him when I have to go downstairs to get my morning coffee myself instead of him bringing it to me in bed. I miss the lingering scent of his bodywash and the warmth of the steam from his morning shower when I go in the bathroom to brush my teeth. 

I miss hearing him working in his office, or on a phone call sounding all business-like and organized and in control. 

I miss him when I eat lunch alone instead of having him come out of his office and announce that he's cleared his schedule for a few hours so we can go out to lunch, or to Costco, or to the hardware store, or take a walk in the park across the street. I miss watching him pretend his Costco cart is out of control as he careens across the parking lot. I miss quietly singing together, "We are Farmer's, bum ba-dum-bum bum-bum-bum" whenever we get the cashier who looks like J.K. Simmons. 

I miss him when I'm cooking dinner and he's helping out while dancing to Sinatra or Buble or BYU Vocal Point or Broadway tunes. I miss cocktails and nachos on the porch. I miss going out to dinner and him asking the server for a taste of 2 or 3 different wines so he can do a "taste test." I miss the way he always ordered his martini: "Tanqueray martini, extra extra dry, shaken hard, up, with a twist (lemon; sometimes he had to clarify)." I miss sharing an appetizer of calamari, or cheese steak egg rolls, or steamed dumplings. I miss telling him I don't want dessert but having him still order a creme brulee with four spoons because he knows I really want dessert. I miss the way, when the server asked if he wanted a second cocktail, he would look at me and raise a single eyebrow, silently asking if I was willing to drive home so he could say yes. I miss the way we'd always stop by the band and request a song to dance to when we were leaving Eddie V's.  

I miss relaxing together in the hot tub after the kids are in bed, listening to the quiet night noises, like the owls hooting and the occasional plane overhead and the deer rustling in the woods. I miss our late-night talks, and our late-night silences. I miss "solving the world's problems" over a nightcap. 

I miss being on stage together. I miss navigating while he drives. I miss shopping for Christmas presents for the kids together. I miss planning vacations together. I miss sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching movies together. I miss private jokes like, "Era? What era?" and "50 pounds is 50 pounds" and "LI! LACS!" and "Tell me about the piano." I miss him bringing me flowers "just because." I miss happy-happies. 

I miss debriefing in the car on the way home after a party or a show. I miss planning parties together. I miss cleaning the house together before and after a cast party. I miss singing and dancing together at parties. I miss catching his eye across a crowded room during a party and knowing what a wonderful time we're both having. I miss watching him teach people to saber champagne. 

I miss kissing him during that first backstage cross after the opening number and again before the curtain goes up in the Victorian scene in the Reagle Christmas show. I miss kissing him every time we got into an empty elevator. I miss kissing him on the Ferris wheel. I miss kissing him good morning and good night and have a good day and I love you and I missed you. 

I miss having a partner and a best friend and a sounding board and a fan club president and a cheering squad. I miss a hug at the end of a good day or a bad day. I miss having a shoulder to cry on, and a faithful fan to celebrate with. 

I miss him not noticing when I get a haircut. I miss him forgetting to take out the trash until we hear the truck down the street and him throwing on clothes to bring the bins out to the curb before it gets to our house. I miss being wakened by his snoring. I miss asking him what he'd like for dinner and having him respond, "Hmm, I'll have to get back to you," and never getting back to me. I miss shopping for my own Christmas stocking stuffers and Easter basket fillers because that was not his thing. I miss him getting a little too loud after his second (or third) cocktail. I miss him walking into the living room and obliviously changing the channel on the TV even though I was in the middle of watching something else. 

I miss hearing his voice. And his laugh. And seeing his face. And smelling his smell. And sensing his presence. 

I miss ending a phone call with, "I love you and I miss you." 

Because I still love him. And I still miss him. Almost more than I can bear. 

Me and Eleanor Rigby

I'm not exactly what I would call a Beatles "fan," but I do enjoy their music. And I find some of their lyrics to be particularly interesting or meaningful. One of my favorite Beatles tunes is "Eleanor Rigby." I find it to be quite sad, but also quite relatable. And these days, I can identify even more with the "lonely people," and with Eleanor in particular. 

A statue of Eleanor Rigby in Liverpool

I've always been struck by the lines, "Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door. Who is it for?" What did it mean? I didn't understand. 

But now I do. I get you now, Eleanor. I, too, now have a face that I keep in a jar by the door. Because sometimes my real face is not appropriate for public. Like last Sunday, in church. I teach the kids' Sunday school class, which meets during the worship service, and I needed a little extra time to set up my classroom that morning, so I got to the sanctuary late and decided to stand at the back until it was time to lead the kids out. 

And everything was fine, until we sang the opening hymn. Which happened to be one of my late husband's favorites. And the last time I had heard it was at his funeral. I actually made it through the first two verses before I fell apart. With tears running down my face, I tried to keep singing, but only a croak came out, so I stopped. I dug into my pocket for a tissue, trying to put my face back together before the "passing of the peace" that always followed the hymn, when everyone turns and greets each other, and before it was time to lead the kids out of the service. I had to pull it together, and quickly. 

So I put on the face that I keep in a jar by the door. The face that covers my true feelings. The face that is socially acceptable. The face that was able to cheerfully pass the peace to those around me, and to greet the children in my class, even when inside, I was falling apart. 

It's a useful thing, that face in the jar. I use it with my own kids on a regular basis. There are times when I am dealing with my kids and I feel overwhelmed, so I put on the face. There are times when I'm in public and I have a "moment," but I don't want to freak people out, so I put on the face. There are even times when I frighten myself with the depths of emotion that suddenly wash over me, so I put on the face. 

It feels safer that way. It feels necessary, sometimes. It spares other people discomfort, or unease. The face is a way to hide my true feelings when it's not the time and place to show them. Sometimes I even use it when I know that those around me will understand, and offer sympathy, but I just can't bear receiving sympathy at the moment. 

But it has its opposite, as well. As much as there are times when I hide my feelings, I also find times to let them out. Sometimes the emotion just hits me and, if I'm alone or in a safe place, I can let it out. And there are also times when I find myself in a safe place and choose to let those feelings out. 

I think it's important to let them out. Bottling them up somehow makes them multiply, like Tupperware lids in a little-used cabinet or tangled wire hangers in the guest room closet. They're not so bad when you originally tuck them away, but if you leave them alone for a while, they grow until they're a huge mess when you finally open that door. They'll come crashing into you and knock you for a loop. 

One of my favorite words is "catharsis," and giving vent to those overwhelming angry/sad/fearful/hopeless feelings at an opportune moment provides catharsis. It's like switching on an emotional garbage disposal: It makes a lot of noise and it stinks and sometimes it's a little messy, but it does get rid of the nasty stuff you don't need. More nasty stuff might build up eventually, but as long as you keep dealing with it on a regular basis, it doesn't build up to the point where you need to call in a professional. But if you DO need to call a professional, that's okay, too. 

We all do what we have to do to make it through life. Sometimes, that means keeping a jar by the door. 

  

I'm on Fire

Whenever someone asks how I'm doing lately, I think of the line from Evita, where Eva Peron, who is dying of cancer, states, "Some days are fine, some a little bit harder." That is the understatement of understatements. No days are truly fine, and "a little bit harder" means "nearly impossible to survive." Even now, nearly five months after my husband's death, some days are manageable, if not exactly fine, and some days are merely blind groping through the necessities of life and no more.

But I have learned to forgive myself for the bad days, and to take advantage of the good days. So when I have a good day, I try to do everything that I can possibly find the motivation to do, to check off as many items on my "to do" list as I can. When I have a good day, I'm on fire. 

Sometimes that looks like scrubbing the bathrooms and doing several loads of laundry. Sometimes that looks like making a bunch of phone calls and writing a bunch of emails and filling out a bunch of forms. Sometimes that looks like decorating the house for the holidays. Sometimes that looks like mowing the lawn and raking the driveway. Sometimes that looks like cooking and baking up a storm. Sometimes that looks like picking a corner of the house and organizing it. And, just as importantly, sometimes that looks like curling up by the fireplace with a book and a cup of coffee followed by a soak in the hot tub, followed by a few hours listening to podcasts and doing crossword puzzles, and ending with curling up by the fireplace with a book and a glass of wine. Self care is hard on a bad day, but it's important enough to make sure it happens on a good day. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm continually dropping the ball, like I should have done more of the practical things by now, that I'm behind some imaginary deadline. But every time I start to feel that way, someone comments on how well I'm doing, or how much I'm doing, or expresses admiration for everything I've done so far, and I am reminded that I am my own worst critic. I see myself as a dumpster fire, but those around me - those with clearer eyes and a less biased perspective - see me as "on fire."

Maybe I am a dumpster fire on my bad days, but maybe that's not a bad thing. There's certainly plenty of things in my life right now that could use a cleansing fire. Maybe the bad days are there to purge my emotional dumpster. But they leave just enough fuel that on the good days, I'm still on fire. 

 

The Kindness of Strangers

My kids are now old enough to want to design their own Halloween costumes, rather than doing a themed group costume with the family. So although I wore a simple red-and-white striped shirt and red-and-white pom-pom beanie for my "Where's Waldo" themed Trunk or Treat display, I didn't bother to wear a costume on Halloween itself. But I think I missed an excellent opportunity to dress up as Blanche DuBois from A Streetcar Named Desire. 

Why that character in particular? Because I identify with many parts of her story. She was widowed young, resulting in a loss of income that terrifies her. Although she is clearly intelligent, she is sheltered and inexperienced in many ways, and lacks confidence in herself and her ability to navigate life on her own. She is worried about her future, and admits, in her own words, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."

Obviously, there are a lot of aspects of her character that I don't identify with. I'm not frantically searching for a new husband to look after me, I'm not an alcoholic, I'm not concerned about losing my looks, I'm not a social outcast, and I'm reasonably certain that I won't end up institutionalized. But I, like Blanche, am very much dependent on the kindness of strangers at the moment. 

I'm dependent on the kindness of friends and family, too, of course. I could not have survived the past few months without the support of those closest to me. But I have been surprised, and moved, by the kindness also shown to me by strangers. 

The many local businesses who do work around my house and yard, for example, have been flexible and kind in scheduling appointments and explaining to me what they're doing so I can do it myself in the future, going above and beyond the expected services. Several of the invoices I received clearly reflect a very basic service, when in fact they provided much more. One invoice from a local vendor even listed, "Cost of services: $X. Amount due: $0." Sometimes it isn't even people who know my current situation. I replaced my son's cell phone the other day, and when I thanked the technician for setting up the phone, commenting, "It was worth every penny of the service fee!", he paused and said, "I think I can refund that fee for you." And he did. It was an unexpected kindness, and it made a difference in my day. 

Sometimes the strangers are acquaintances rather than tradespeople or vendors. Various organizations that my kids participate in have covered or discounted fees and offered transportation assistance. Volunteer positions I held but couldn't quite manage for a while were quietly covered by others stepping in, frequently by people I didn't know or at least didn't know well. I have a stack of books on grief and loss on my bedside table sent or recommended by friends of friends who have experienced a similar loss. I received letters of condolence from friends of my husband that I had never met, and from my own high school and college friends and acquaintances with whom I had long ago lost touch. But they felt the need to reach out to me and offer me kindness. 

Kindness makes a difference. And after a loss, kindness is all the sweeter.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

-Excerpted from the poem "Kindness," by Naomi Shihab Nye (full poem here)