Post Christmas meanderings.

I'm so glad Christmas is over.

We had a great time catching up with family and friends a few hours north. My Davey had some quality time with blokey cousins in their 20's, and they enjoyed his company too. Some of the time they were doing work on Grandpa's little farm together, other quality time was spent in lounge chairs watching the Boxing Day Cricket Test. I really enjoy seeing my Davey having good bloke time.

I caught up with some dear friends and had some relaxed time that may have involved champagne, and that was really lovely.

There were no family frictions, because the factious members didn't show.

A favourite Aunt (I'm actually named after her) shared the news on Boxing Day that she has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and has only a short time to live. This Aunt lives some distance from me, but encouraged and supported me greatly when my Rob died. However, her attitude in the face of this is that at 85 she knows her time is ending and will be able to tie up many loose ends and say the farewells she most wants to. My father commented that she is facing it well, and that her husband (his brother) served in the war and won't let this worry him. I let the comment slide, but inside I wanted to tell him what a foolish, idiotic, unempathic comment this was. Serving in the war does not prepare anyone for the loss of their loving partner after 60 plus years of marriage! Grrrrrrr! Thankfully Dad doesn't live any where near my uncle, so his lack of understanding should have a minimal effect.

As usual I didn't really have time to think of my Rob on Christmas Day. It's just darn hectic. There were moments though, and those moments were as heart piercingly poignant as ever. He should have been 51. He should have been there to help me navigate the foibles of my parents, but I had to be grown up all by myself. Then the moment of thought would be overtaken by busyness and lost. Now that Christmas and his birthday have passed, I feel less stressed and the feeling of the world being out of kilter and having to consciously make an effort to be cheerful has passed. The feeling is also one of wanting to remember my Rob but not having time to and not feeling right about that. It's just so difficult to organise Christmas for my children, help them to cope with the total disorganisation of my parents while helping them to see that wonderful things about my parents AND have time for private reflection. It's all part of the juggling act.

My grief is bearable, containable, now. This is the first Christmas since Rob died we've had Christmas at my parents'. They've been able to come to me for the last 5 Christmasses, and the rest of the family has acceded in kind consideration to me, which I'm very, very grateful for. Rob was such a big part of organising Christmas at my parents'. We would always ready their house for the influx of family, organising bedding, food, and ah, first and foremost, CLEANING! My parents are no longer able to travel this year, and I was OK with that. We did things a bit differently, but we did Christmas at my parents without my Rob, and I had a great time. Though skulking off for champagne with friends helped!

I've adapted to my life. I hate the burden of solo parenting and the demands that places on me, but I'm getting through that too. I'm at peace with my life and am grateful for the many, many rich blessings I have.

Slip sliding away

I took delivery delivery of my new car today. The car I looked at and decided to buy last weekend because the car I've had for the last 11 years is costing more in repairs than it's value, on a very regular basis. The time to change cars had come. Actually, it was time to change about 4 years ago which is why Rob & I were looking at car options in the month before he died. Then my life turned inside out and changing cars just didn't rate much more than a passing thought.

I really liked my old car. It was a model with lots of extras. Extras that are not included in my new base model car. My old car was a station wagon, but I always enjoyed driving it, I enjoyed the comfort levels it afforded. My new car is also a station wagon, and although it's 3 years old it has only 22,000 ks on the odometer (13,500 miles) and still has the new car feel to it. It's a sensible car for me to buy, and really, it's very nice.

I kind of enjoyed making this purchase without consultation with anyone else and the eyebrows that raises. Why is it ok for a man to do this but not a woman? I feel irritated in the extreme when I'm considered incapable of making important decisions because of my gender. I'm perfectly capable of researching road tests, resale values, service issues and the like, thank you for your concern.

So, I'm now the owner of one perfectly sensible 4 cylinder station wagon and all I feel is relief that I've managed to negotiate the paper work and finance in what was, and continues to be, a pretty hectic week.

And I feel sad. I've parted with another link to Rob. It was our car. Rob loved it, I loved it. We had some great family road trips in it. Now the tangible link to those memories is gone from my life. I have a car that looks and feels new and has absolutely no link to my husband.

Replacing my car was the right thing to do, and I should have done it well before now, but sometimes doing the right thing is just a little heart wrenching. The life I once had has slipped a little further away.

Lost opportunity

I took Davey to the podiatrist today to have his 6 monthly check-up for his shortened ligaments and muscle sheaths which he does stretching exercises to correct. Happily the stretching exercises and orthotics in his shoes are returning his curled under toes to a state of normalcy.

It was difficult to find an appointment time that suited both the podiatrist and fitted in with our school and family schedules. It still involved a bit of juggling to fit it in (which stressed me, non-one else), but we succeeded and all is well.

After futsal tonight Davey asked me where his Achilles is. I showed him. Oh, he said. That really hurts when I play soccer of futsal.

Damn shame he didn't mention that to the podiatrist huh?

Is cyberspace really taking me into the future?

I've just been friended (there's a new fangled word) on Facebook by people I was a mad 20 something year old with. I feel as though they're from a whole other life. Certainly it was a whole other phase in my life.

Of course I accepted them as friends, and I look forward to finding out about their lives.

Yet there's part of me that wonders if I want to. It feels a little like a backward step. It's a part of my life that I left behind.

Maybe I'm afraid they'll reject me. They're pretty cool characters and ah, my life choices are different to theirs, and I'm a loooooong way from cool. I'm very comfortable with my uncoolness, yet it's funny that I'm suddenly conscious of it with these blasts from my past.

I don't really know why this worries my at all, in all likelihood we'll do our polite catching up then ignore each, so nothing will have changed.

I'm being unfair, but...

Our church had a music night tonight. I worked behind the scenes, as did my Davey who manned the data projector and lights. Zinni sang her heart out in an accapella choir which sounded magnificent as the beauty of 40 combined voices lifted the audience to a place of sheer delight.

Later in the night a man who I find to be quite superficial (this judgement has a bearing on my story) sang a song about relying on Jesus in all things. The only words I can remember of the song are "The widow who sits and cries tears for her loneliness".

I didn't feel gratitude that the song captured my situation. I felt anger. Anger because the man singing has no frigging idea.

Anger because that's not how it is. I don't sit and cry. I DO. My life is about doing, not sitting and moping!

Anger because I know in his mind he's singing about a woman dressed in black, helpless and pathetic. Anger because he doesn't connect me with the term widow. I doubt that many people at church do attach the term widow to me. The stereotype doesn't match my red hair, my humour, my lack of patheticness.

Yet a widow I am. And it makes me angry that this man will use the term that descibes my situation in a song to arouse emotion, yet never once offer an actual widow in his sphere any form of spoken or practical support. I feel anger that he's used a description that applies to me in a way that buys into an incorrect stereotype with no connection to the actual experience.

Did this man do anything wrong? No. He's just an innocent man who is blessed to know not of what he sings.

Me? I guess I'm buying into the stereotype by being a bitter widow!

Proof

My girl is definitely growing up.

I have proof.

She tied the garbage bag in our bin and took it out to the wheely bin. Without being asked.

Woo hoo.

Castellano III

I have just written a short (very short) biography on Rodolfo Enrique Fogwill, an Argentinian author. This was homework for my Spanish III class which I've just started. As this homework was written in Spanish, I'm feeling just a little pleased with myself. It may be midnight, but I have completed my homework!

Ahora sueno. (I'd place the tilda above the n to correctly spell sueno, but I'm not able to make it happen and too tired to care.)