Category: In search of gratitude

Opening the windows

In an attempt to restart this blog, I have formed A Plan.

Every morning on Facebook, I write a small good morning post, sometimes newsy, sometimes not, mixing the mundane, with the ridiculous, because, really, that’s my life.  The Plan is to bring that post over here, for folks who don’t Facebook, and for those who pass by from time to time, to see if there’s anything new going on.

Today is the first such re-printing.

Saturday. Rainy and cool.

Coon cats woke me up at 6, then conspired to put me back to sleep until 8:15. This follows last night, when Firefly curled in against me on the sofa and put me to sleep. I’m sure there’s A Plan. Or, yanno, they just like being comfy.

Breakfast was oatmeal with walnuts and peach jam. Lunch will be soup.

The flannel sheets arrived yesterday, and I washed them last night, put them on the bed this morning. They feel so nice that I was tempted to give them a test drive. But — later.

I thought today was “change out the cat litter” day, but it turns out not; I did a complete change-out before I left for Vermont, which seems like it was months ago, which is my screwy time-sense coming in to play. Ah, well. This is why we have time maps.

It is change-out-the-cat-fountain day, which I’ll be getting to as soon as I finish my second mug of tea, here. Then laundry, and other business of the day.

In Finch news, Perry Wink and I have begun our 101st day together. He’s an adult, because birbs age fast, and has at last achieved a cat companion. I’m trying, but remain slightly creeped out by the bloblike companions. This is, admittedly, Just Me.

Speaking of Just Me, I decided that I would watch “Astrid” last night (people who love the show, my comments are about the show not about you or your preferences in pleasure viewing). I will not be continuing. Not only does the first segment start with a man dousing himself with gasoline and lighting himself on fire on-screen, Astrid herself was a little too close to home. I remember mapping out phone calls before I made them, so I’d be sure to transmit the correct information in a socially normal way, and the feeling of panic when there was a vary. (I once called somebody to ask them a question before I had Breathed In, and when they answered the phone said, “MynameisSharonLeecallingforXandIwouldliketoknowthisnthat.” The person I was calling paused for a moment, then said, very gently, “Wow. Are you from New York?”) I’ve gotten much better, with lots of practice, and lots of years, about making eye contact when talking to people, but it was sorta painful to watch. This is, in case it’s not clear, a tribute to the actor who plays Astrid. She clearly Gets It.

And! Speaking of Getting It! I heard from Alex Picard, who is voicing Sea Wrack and Changewind.  She was asking after some pronunciations, and mentioned that she had that morning read “Will-o’-the-wisp” and been moved to tears. Always a good feeling for an author, to hear that something they’ve done really connected with somebody.

I think that’s All the News.

Below, two pictures of Rook.  The first taken in July 2024.  The second taken November 22 2024.

While one lives, both stand

Grief puts funny ideas into your head.

For instance, for awhile back in March, I was convinced that Steve had left me — walked out of our partnership and left no forwarding address.  I couldn’t imagine why, and spent way too much time minutely reviewing our past, looking for my error.

Then I became convinced that we had gotten done at this house, and were moving on.  As has been the case in previous moves, Steve had gone on ahead, leaving me to clean up these last few things before I joined him.  This delusion is particularly pernicious because for those of us who speak Metaphor, it’s true.   Only it’s not.

Anyhow, it’s been my goal for some while now to find or create for myself a place of gratitude for having been privileged to share so much time, love, and magic; for having had Steve in my life.  While it’s certainly a very lonely, hard, and scary thing to no longer have him for back-up, for taking the lead, for producing surprising — and occasionally infuriating — insights — surely unrelenting misery was not the best lesson I could take from our life together.

So, I started looking for ways to achieve, at first, equilibrium.  I didn’t expect to leap from misery to gratitude.  I expected there to be a process, and backsliding, and all the things that attend the pursuit of any mighty goal.

Steve and I not only shared our mundane lives, but we shared an active and beguiling fantasy life.  The worlds we built, the people who live there, the lessons, the philosophies — those also fed the richness of our partnership and informed our mundane lives.

One of the things we said, between ourselves, is that we were lifemates — better together than apart, if not two halves of a wiser, more creative, and more patient being.

I got to thinking about that, about three weeks ago — lifemates.  In the Liaden Universe® that Steve and I had built together, lifemates — a true wizard’s match — meant that one spoke for both.  The trust in that is breathtaking, if you think about it, and yet — I trusted Steve to speak for me in matters, for instance, of health, if it came about that I could not speak for myself.  Steve had bestowed a similar trust on me.

Of lifemates it is said, While one is alive, both stand.  That struck me forcefully, especially as there is, in reality, still an Us to be tended, if only in terms of our work together, which isn’t finished yet.

I was still mulling this over as I was wandering through an arts festival a couple weeks ago.  I had visited one building, and talked briefly with a silversmith, passed on to buy cat toys, and was walking toward the next building when (Steve) said, very clearly,  “Maybe the silversmith could size my ring so it would fit you.”

And I thought — Yes. Maybe she could.  And then I would have visible proof, for comfort, and for those moments when the loss looms greater than the memory.

I walked back and asked the silversmith if she would size a silver ring for me.  She said yes, and I went home, got Steve’s ring and came back.

I picked up the resized ring today, and — I felt something click when I put it on my finger, and maybe I heard (Steve) laugh.

Below, our rings.  The ring on the left is mine; inscribed with Mette, the rune for courage. Made by Phil Jurus, oh-so-very-long-ago.  The ring on the right is Steve’s, and I sadly no longer remember the name of the rune for persistence. Also made by Phil Jurus.