by Diane: My widowhood dream

 by Diane

The early morning dream was just before I would awaken for the day - a time for almost lucid dreaming.

The dream took place at an Arizona highway gas/deli convenience store. Coming back from the toilets, Fisherman Hubby beckoned me to go back to the van across the street to leave.  I didn't want to leave before eating at the café, but I followed reluctantly across the street where the others were gathering to leave.  I was tardy being last in the group to leave. As I slowly walked across the street towards the van, I was flabbergasted. At the right of us was a large black cinder cone-shaped old fumarole. 

 I turned to Fisherman Hubby, " The fumarole has eroded a lot since we were here last." No answer. I turned away towards the increasingly quickening to fall black stones running as fast as water into a hole surrounding the fumarole.  The falling black shiny stones were not threatening me. To the contrary, they were falling into a deep hole in the ground.  The glittering black rocks were moving too fast to see their actual composition but they reminded me of semi-precious jet. Jet like Jean-Val-Jean the convict turned his convict identity around by establishing a factory making black jet buttons and with the profits he became a philanthropist.  

I waited for surely I would be missed and the van and Fisherman Hubby would come right back for me. When it didn't, I felt a little empty  with thoughts of never seeing Fisherman Hubby ever again.  I was mostly concerned about not having my purse with ID and credit cards. As I walked back towards the Deli,  I didn't look back. I entertained thoughts of how I could manage now. Be like an amnesiac? I now am free to make a new identity separate from my marriage identity entwined with Fisherman Hubby. 

In retrospect after being fully awake I see the black volcanic cone like the unexpressed anger that grew in our relationship between me and Fisherman Hubby as his ALS progressed. Also my growing fear that his anger would erupt. For short spirts before exhaustion he was frightfully strong in legs, arms and hands. Plus he was not aware, how in his need to control me, he could push his fingers into my chest hard enough to really hurt me. I did once yell at him not to push me and his feelings were very hurt that I would think he could and would.

In my new beginnings I revel in the spaciousness of our home. And I continue to find it hard to give up some of his things. Do I really need two really heavy 5 foot long crow bars? I just gave away to a grand child Fisherman Hubby's waffle maker.

With this post, I am thinking the widowhood series is winding down and I am taking a short recess until April. In April when the shop/studio will be useable and I will be sharing the results. Now on to doing taxes and such.

by Diane: Hiring help and forecast for a stay in place widow

 Thankfully the means just fell in place for my being able to manage as the only occupant of our home we shared for 35 years.  In the not so distance past I thought my being a widow meant I would naturally seek out assisted living. But before Fisherman Hubby's diagnose I thought the change in living quarters was years in the future. I thought Fisherman Hubby who was slowing down a little each year and I would seek out a senior living community as soon as next five years or so.  But then his rapid decline between February, 2020 to his death in October, 2020 from bulbar ALS caught us all by surprise. I commenced my journey into widowhood October 8, 2020.  

    Among the the happenings that started my desire to stay in place were our previous yearly consults with our financial advisors. Our advisor planted the seed of aging in our own home. Still might change my mind and look into a senior living option, but the prospect of independently perusing my desires is now looking exceptionally good.

  Family and friends give me great support emotionally and with assistance in shopping and high tech assistance as well as home maintenance.

    Another most important help is having an experienced contractor and all around handy man with a work record of 35 years, David Torres. The right person to hire is rare.  I believe our relationship is good partly because I follow my mother's example of how to  relate to hired help. She showed them positive enthusiasm that I try to emulate. When a worker is feeling appreciated he is happier and does better work. I still have a lot to learn on hiring and communicating my needs to hired help.

    Working on projects with Fisherman Hubby gave me experience on how to draw plans and present the tasks I need being done.

    When I started sorting through Fisherman Hubby's shop and garage things, I came to realize that both of us were cramped for space. Little by little on my watch I found good homes for his clothes, his sports paraphernalia and manly garden tools.  Some of his inventive hand made tools are finding new purposes. A giants eye dropper made with a rubber horn squeezer has an additional curved spout making it sound like a  faint blow horn.  Doing as best I can, I have a  representative number of his tools on display behind his work bench. Electric sanders, saws and drills are saved in the house garage so when the studio shop is complete, they will become permanently saved in the shop room. The shop/studio still is half his and a challenges me to do a little woodworking.

Some want to call my studio a "she shed". I like how poetically "she shed" rolls off the tongue. She sheds are the work of creativity but my studio is a vessel where creativity and freedom of movement is the reason for the studio. A place where I can paint big because my aging body needs to keep exercising.  Contrary to movement is being confined to a chair where I would quickly get stiff from my age. And I would make tight creations.

So much has changed at my home in the past four and a half months, I am very happy. Even with the challenges of the pandemic. In my case because of the pandemic I feel an urgency to live as much as I can now. I celebrate being able to do all that I do.

by Diane: Update 27 of mini-art respites from caregiving: Addressing changes

 I love our home especially now.  With Fisherman Hubby's neuromuscular decline, a two story house with stairs would be awful. Our rooms are large enough to accomadate all the necessary equipment to make him more comfortable.  The house is small enough to be kept clean. The largest area is the kitchen dining area. Behind the table in the center of the wall is a bulletin board where I can pin up new work. Food alone does not nurish.  Living with my paintings nourishes my need to be creative.  Currently I pinned up  two pieces on  from my painting companions.  The letter"T" composition is by an Oregon granddaughter's boyfriend. The letter "Q" composition is by the granddaughter from Utah. The Q could also be seen as the capital "A" on it's side.  The two negative areas left by the letter "A" could be seen as one piece woven behind. Simplifying the landscape into letter shapes is not easy.  I am proud of their process.

These are stressful times.  Two of my own readers said that personal stress bubbled over with strong negative reactions to this blog when some topics angered them. Or they were not interested unless photos were accompanied with explanations. They just wished I would have a blog just about Fisherman Hubby and our ALS journey.

I made an attempt to recover from a UTI and post on a Word Press blog that I quit in 1914.  It recognized me and I began to compose a blog but kept making blocking errors.  So working another blog will be a learning curve.

Maybe next week I will continue updates on my Word Press blog and then for other topics I will post here.

Fisherman Husband is needing more care and again I am seeking help.   If visiting Angels can not find help , I may try private individuals looking for work. Every day there is a change in his needs. We are accomidating so far with the help of many friends and family. We are blessed.