Blog My Mind

  One week from now will mark the second anniversary of my husband’s death. The first year I spent running from Hell. Two days after I watched my husband slip away from this life, I drove to Oregon to pick up my dad to take him to his best friend’s memorial service . Four days after I watched the man I love slip away from this life, I attended that memorial service where I saw people who knew us both, most of whom did not yet know he was gone. I hadn’t had time to process my husband’s death, and then I found myself mourning a man I’d known since I was a kid. A week after I watched my partner slip away from this life, I was sorting our belongings into keep, donate, or dump. With my dad’s help I made trips to the landfill and the Salvation Army. If I see my husband again in the hereafter, I’ll remind him he can NOT talk about my love of shoes or my closet full of clothes. The amount of clothes and shoes that man had was staggering, especially given he wore about 10 percent of them. S...

  I got a wild hair to go fishing. I blame it on my new car…a Subaru Outback. I decided to embrace my Oregon residency by buying their unofficial state car. I believe it’s in Subaru’s computer chips to want to drive to a fishing hole, a remote trailhead, the beach, or even Idaho. The first road trip was, indeed, to Idaho where I spent my birthday with my best friend and her kids. More on that later.             I wasn’t sure if my pontoon boat would fit in the Subaru, nickname Cross-eyed Sally. To be explained. The last time I used my pontoon boat alone I owned a pickup truck. The whole kit and kaboodle fit in the bed in one piece. All I had to do was drag it out of the bed and into the water. With some creativity, the pontoon boat frame and bladders, oars, motor, battery, life vest, tackle box and cooler all fit in the back of the Outback. I left just before dawn. When I started little red Cross-eyed Sally in my carport, I l...

       Graffiti Week in Roseburg. Five days of car shows for gear heads, car enthusiasts young and old, or anyone who simply likes the sound of a muscle car driving by. My dad and I have always shared a love of classic cars. He did a frame off restoration of a 1954 Chevrolet, and he helped me restore my 1972 Nova. He taught me how to change a tire before I left home. “You need to know this if you’re alone and stuck.” He made sure I knew how to change the oil, check fluid levels, add antifreeze, replace wiper blades. I still change my own wiper blades. To hell with AutoZone. I still check fluid levels, but changing oil is best left to the professionals on newer cars. And I ain’t as young as I once was. Crawling under a car is a project now I’d rather not take on.      I committed to take my dad to a couple of the Graffiti Week events. His failing eyesight made him give up his driver’s license two years ago so I am now his chauffeur and seeing eye daug...

            This morning while on my way to take my dad to a doctor’s appointment, I waited at a stop light in front of the local high school. I remembered when my parents used to say, “Look both ways before you cross the street.” The automatons I watched cross the street didn’t even look UP, let alone look both ways. The pajama-clad teens had their noses stuck in their phones, oblivious to their peers walking next to them, to the fact they were crossing a rush-hour busy street. They somehow put out a feeler for the curb and stepped up, still not looking up from their screens. It was like watching robots that had been programmed to go from point A to point B and their GPS told them when to step over a curb and when to hang a right.   I know I’m showing my age, but I would have been horrified to go to school in my pajama bottoms. The only time I wore pajamas to school was during spirit week on Pajama Day. Even then I didn’t wear my “real” PJs but...

  Today’s writing prompt is brought to you by Death, Grief, and Unpacking the Damn Baggage. I had lunch with a new-ish friend. She has been my dad’s neighbor since about 2016 and she and I have had passing encounters over the years. The more we talked, the more we realized we’re kindred spirits. She’s a card-carrying introvert as well, so we don’t get together often. She works from home and is completely fine with not seeing people for days on end. My soul sister! We have some of the same interests regarding spirituality and other-worldly things and can chatter on for days on the subjects. And of course, we talk about my dad, laugh, and face-palm. She walks with him every Saturday morning, and most Saturdays they go to town together, have lunch and she takes him grocery shopping. She took on a lot of the weight after he quit driving and before I could get down here full time. We all need a neighbor like that! And more than all of that, she’s comfortable letting me talk about John...

  I don’t know what it’s going to take to get my writer’s bone fixed. A writer’s bone cast? Surgery? Lobotomy? Oh wait, that’s for a different problem. It’s not like I don’t have subject matter to write about. Grief? Check. Major life events? Check. Bad decisions? Check.   Roughly five times a day, I regret my decision to bring another dog into the mix. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Cooper the Boxer dog and the transition has been easier than I ever thought possible. He minds extremely well and once he knows the rules, rarely breaks them. He and my five-year-old pittie mix DD have moved into step like they have been together for years. There hasn’t been a snarl, fight, or tussle since I brought him home. But I had moved into a period of contentment with DD and Molly the Cat. DD has always been the perfect dog within the confines of the house. She minds well, has never been destructive and has no separation anxiety. Take her on a walk or have visitors, and it’s a different stor...