It will never cease to amaze me how one day I can be nestled in the armpit of hell, and then the next morning as I watch the sun rise my heart is filled with gratitude and I know all is well. This past weekend was a bit tough. I didn’t really think Thanksgiving was an emotionally charged holiday for me, but Friday afternoon, midway through my grocery shopping for Thanksgiving dinner, grief swept in. And suddenly I knew: I did not want to do this alone.

Not the day itself; I won’t be alone (although Faith will definitely be missed). I’ll have guests at the table for dinner, and I am quite looking forward to their company. No, I’m referring to the whole process; planning the menu, buying food, cleaning house, setting the table… all of those oft overlooked activities leading up to the event itself.

I came home that afternoon, put away anything that might spoil, and left the rest of the groceries on the dining room table to be dealt with later. I spent my evening sitting in front of the television, thinking about everything I SHOULD have been doing, but accomplishing nothing.

Fortunately, a friend messaged me, and we spent the next hour or so chatting over Facebook messenger. She lifted my spirits, and the next morning I was able to get up and get started on the housework. There’s still much to be done; I’ve never been the greatest of housekeepers even at my best. I hope my guests will overlook the dust and ever-present dog hair!

I am so grateful for my friend. It means a great deal knowing that someone is thinking about me, checking in and just saying hello.

Gratitude is an interesting thing. Author Brené Brown stated it well:  “So often we think that joy makes us grateful, when in reality it’s gratitude that brings joy.” I have found this to be true in my life. Gratitude is a choice, a conscious counting of blessings. And when you take stock of everything you have to be thankful for, your perspective shifts; the door cracks open and joy quietly slips in.

I find these days that I have an underlying core of joy that sustains me, even when I am nestled in the armpit of hell!

So, what am I grateful for? Many things, but I’ll tell you about the ones that are foremost in my mind right now.

I am grateful for my Facebook family, my friends and sisters, those women who have suffered a loss similar to mine. They have supported me and sustained me, and have helped me to shift my focus away from my own loss and pain as I offer support in turn.

I am grateful for the special friendships that have grown out of this group of women. I have new friends, many of whom I have never met in real life, who care and listen and offer their support. We are able to laugh and cry together in a mutual understanding that requires no explanation.

I am grateful for my friends here in Las Cruces as well, friends old and new with whom I can share a conversation over a meal or coffee, walk through the Farmer’s Market, or wander about Old Mesilla with our cameras in search of beauty.

I am grateful for my family, distant though they may be, and the wonders of virtual reality that allow me to spend an evening with them in fellowship and fun and games. I am grateful for the roof over my head, and for the animals under that roof who keep me company.

I have so many things to be grateful for, when I pause and pay attention.

And just now I am gratefully anticipating Thanksgiving leftovers! Ah yes, the leftovers, for what is Thanksgiving without that turkey sandwich, feet propped up in front of the tv, watching a holiday movie with a friend! Yes, I will miss Faith. And I am grateful for the absolute certainty that she will be here with me in spirit.

So, my friends, now it is your turn. What are you grateful for?

Photographers can be a bit crazy, often going to extremes to capture that perfect image. I have a friend who regularly takes his camera to the depths of the ocean, bringing back beautiful photographs of the creatures of the sea.

My father was a photographer, among his many other skills, but he took very different risks with his camera. I have memories of more than one occasion when the family gathered around a holiday meal, faces in expressions of dismay, watching our lovingly prepared food grow cold as Daddy set up his tripod, examined his light meter, set and reset f-stop and aperture and shutter speed in an effort to capture that perfect exposure! He survived the danger, as photographers will; evidenced by the many images we enjoy in publications such as National Geographic.

I, too, have been bitten by the camera bug, I’ve played with photography for many years, and I do have a handful of images that I am proud to display. I don’t take my camera to the depths of the ocean (although maybe I should add that to my growing bucket list, right after exploring the length of Route 66!). These days I tend to point my lens more often towards the heavens, capturing sunrises and sunsets and clouds and horizons. And my favorite model? The moon!

I bought a new camera over the summer, a Fujifilm X-T30. This one is a mirrorless camera, a new technology different from the old standard Single Lens Reflex. With it, and a proper zoom lens, I have been able to capture some lovely detailed images of the face of the moon.

I sat outdoors at 2 AM this morning, in near freezing temperatures, in an attempt to capture a historic partial lunar eclipse: the longest lunar eclipse in 580 years. It began at 11:02 PM MST last night, not finishing until 5:03 AM this morning: six full hours in duration. The peak was, as you may have guessed, at 2:02 AM MST.

I am sure there are many more beautiful images scattered about the ethernet this morning, produced by photographers far more skilled that I. But here is my humble offering. I hope you like it.

As I pondered this eclipse, as the Moon crossed into the shadow of the Earth, I was struck that even in the darkest of times that beautiful light does not disappear; it can never be extinguished. May your light so shine, my friends, as we approach this holiday season, and may your morning skies be filled with beauty.

In case you hadn’t noticed, we are still in the throes of a global pandemic. I began teleworking at the beginning of COVID-19 isolation, and am still working from home on a part-time basis some 20 months later. COVID-19 is a terrible virus and has altered our reality to a new version of normal.

Talk about slippery stones!

I have been fortunate. With one exception, any friends or family who were affected by the virus suffered only mild cases and did not require hospitalization. That single exception, however, was frighteningly real. Thankfully, my friend is home now and recovering from a close brush with mortality. I have the deepest of gratitude for the medical team at New Mexico University Hospital who made her one of their miracles.

But for all its horror, I found a silver lining in this epidemic. I came home from work on March 13, 2020 and spent the next 13 months with Faith, in close quarters almost constantly, as I worked from home and we were quarantined from the rest of the world. To some this might sound like too much! But it was the nature of our relationship that we enjoyed spending time together more than anything else in the world. Without COVID, I would have been away from home 12 hours a day, 9 days over every two weeks. Instead I was so fortunate to have spent that precious time in Faith’s presence.

We talked, we cooked, we watched television and movies, we assembled jigsaw puzzles, we became far too familiar with the restaurants and menus on DoorDash and UberEats, we befriended our Wal-Mart delivery lady… and we played games.

One game in particular, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, released on March 20, 2020, a mere seven days after quarantine began here in New Mexico. It’s a lovely game if you aren’t familiar, played on the Nintendo Switch gaming system. In the game you create a character, an avatar as it were, who moves to an island with anthropomorphic animals as friends, neighbors, vendors and visitors. Each island begins rustic and empty, but the possibilities are only limited by the imagination of the player. And best of all? You can visit other islands, created and decorated by other players anywhere in the world. My most notable visit was to the island of a lovely young woman in The Netherlands, but we were also so happy to spend time playing with my great-niece halfway across this country. Animal Crossing: New Horizons was a lifesaver and a social outlet for many people who were otherwise alone.

Faith and I spent many hours playing together, visiting each other’s islands, decorating, fishing, catching bugs, watering flowers and wishing on shooting stars. The memories of that time are precious to me, though I have set the game aside for now. It just isn’t the same playing alone.

Animal Crossing: New Horizons is still with me, however, and will always be a part of me; quite literally, in fact!

Only days after Faith passed away, I was introduced to a wonderful and tragic group of women on Facebook, all of whom had lost their own wives and partners. This group is filled with wonderful, supportive, compassionate, wise, and sometimes funny women. Their support over the past seven months has been priceless and I have gained a number of dear friends. But while I was still new to the group, someone posted a question: “Have you ever considered getting a memorial tattoo?”

Until that moment, I would have sworn I would never decorate my body in such a permanent fashion. Why do anything that you might regret down the road? But from that moment on, I could not get the idea out of my head. I started planning my first tattoo.

On one of the Animal Crossing Facebook groups where I was a member, a young woman had offered her services as a tattoo artist, designing patterns based on the game itself. I contacted her and told her what I wanted and why, and she sent me a lovely design depicting two butterflies recognizable from the game. With this design in hand, I went to a local tattoo shop to schedule the actual work.

I had plenty of time to think about it, more than a month as it happened. I wanted to get my tattoo on our anniversary, the day on which we would have, should have celebrated 25 years together, and so I requested an appointment for that date. As the day drew near, I almost backed out, convincing myself to downsize to something smaller and unobtrusive.

On the day before my appointment, however, I was standing out in the back yard as the dogs went about their business. Little white common butterflies had been profuse so far over the summer, and I would often see two or more at a time dancing together. But on this day, as I watched the white butterflies, a monarch flew into the yard: the other butterfly in my commissioned design. It was the first and indeed the only time I saw the common butterfly and the monarch in the yard together. And I knew in my heart Faith was telling me: “If you’re going to get a tattoo, you’d better make it a pretty one!”

And so, on July 20, 2021, I visited Elexis at Porter House Ink in Las Cruces, NM and came home with this:

The butterflies are significant, and not only for their presence in our game. If you knew Faith, then you would know of her love for these fragile creatures and the wonder of their transformation from caterpillar to chrysalis to beautiful butterfly.

I have not regretted my tattoo for even a moment. I have been told since by friends that these body decorations are addictive, and indeed I have already made plans for my next one, as I document my journey down this stream of life.

Ah, but that is a story for another day.

A favorite quote of mine, from some anonymous source, goes like this:

“We don’t stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing.”

I haven’t felt so much like playing lately; this emotional rollercoaster I’ve been riding is taking up much of my time and attention. But I’m hoping and praying that this is a temporary phenomenon, and I’ll be back to my playful, youthful self in good time. I’m not ready to be old!

And in truth, this day is not so dark as I had anticipated. I am not alone. My friends are showering me with attention and love today. And last night I received an incredible gift from a new/old friend. You know the sort: you meet for the first time, and you feel as though you are continuing a conversation started in another lifetime. We have known each other before now.

My friend has a very special gift; she channeled a message to me from Faith, from across the veil. The message itself? Oh, that is private, my friends, and personal. But this message assured me that Faith is with me still, loving me, looking out for me and taking care of me always. And knowing this, how can I be sad today? Faith has made the day special, once again.

….

In closing, I’ll share a bit of a Facebook post I just found:

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.

I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.

And so, on the occasion of my 64^th birthday, my wish for you, my friends?

I wish you enough.

I wrote my introduction some ten years ago, with good intentions for a blog. But I never could seem to find my way across the river to that wonderful, flat, spacious rock where I knew I would find the inspiration to continue writing.

Just over seven months ago, I stepped onto a rock that not only wobbled, it flipped over and dumped me into deep waters. Just over seven months ago, Faith Arlene Brown, my beloved life partner of almost 25 years, passed away from sudden and unexpected heart failure.

The water was deep, the current was strong, and I have been buffeted from rock to rock, struggling to keep my head above water. I am not done; it will be an arduous task finding my way back to the shore. But for now I have washed up against a safe and stable rock mid-stream, and there I found my muse waiting for me.

Over the course of the summer I have received my first tattoo, discovered some wonderful new (old!) friends, learned how to befriend my grief and more. I’ll tell you about all of that later on.

For now, though, if you would accompany me on this journey, steel yourself. I’m just getting started!

(originally written Monday, November 8, 2021)

I hate my birthday.

It has nothing to do with aging. Part of me longs to have that next 2 1/2 years under my belt so that I can seriously consider retirement.

No. I hate my birthday because next week will be the first time in 25 years that Faith will not be here to celebrate it with me. Faith will not be here to shower me with thoughtful little gifts, and at least one big one that she spent too much money on. Faith will not be here to sing Happy Birthday. Faith will not be here to bake me a cake, or make sure I get my favorite meal. Faith will not be here to make the day special.

I’m sure my sister will call to sing and wish me a happy birthday, though I would be perfectly content to treat the day the same as any other, no big deal, get up go to work make it through the day and come home…

I have friends who won’t allow me to NOT celebrate. They’ve promised to take me out for Taco Tuesday. We’ll go to Andele’s Doghouse and I’ll get my favorite, pork tacos al carbon. And I’m sure I’ll enjoy the evening, and we’ll talk and laugh and share a meal together.

But there will be an underlying current of melancholy, of aloneness, of grief. Faith will not be there. Only her memory will be present. It isn’t enough.

It isn’t enough.

In the past, I’ve anticipated my birthday as the onset of the holidays. Thanksgiving comes the following week, and then we are launched into the Christmas season with all the decorations, the baking and cooking, the music and movies, the friends and fellowship, the parties, the love – oh! the love!

But Faith is gone. I will be alone Christmas Eve night, quite possibly for the very first time in my life. There will be no one else here when I wake up Christmas morning. No Christmas stockings, lovingly stuffed, hanging from the mantle. No cup of coffee or tea while Christmas music plays and we take turns opening gifts with child-like excitement. No dancing around the house to The Clancy Brothers singing Buala Bas (Jingle Bells in Gaelic!). No joy, no fun.

No Faith.

Yes, I will go to my good friend and neighbor’s house for a waffle breakfast and fellowship, and later she will come here for dinner and cookie decorating and movies. The day will be full – once I get beyond that initial shock of alone. But the grief will be present.

Faith will not be here.

And then comes the New Year. Without Faith. Alone.I will survive the holidays. I will get through. I will call for help if it becomes overwhelming. I will grow, I will proceed on my journey of discovery, of learning who I am when not half of we. And life will go on.

And there will be an underlying current of melancholy, of aloneness, of grief. Faith will not be here. Only her memory will be present. It isn’t enough.

It just isn’t enough.

I hate my birthday.

A river jack is a rock, worn smooth by the flowing waters of a river. Some are large boulders, some are small pebbles. Some are solid and stable, some are wobbly, or slippery with lichen and moss. I spent many a childhood afternoon hopping rocks on a small mountain stream, trying to find my way along or across without getting my feet wet. Sometimes it would be easy, with large steady rocks close together. Sometimes the rocks would be smaller, or slippery with moss, and I’d have to step with care to keep my balance. Occasionally a rock that looked steady would surprise me and wobble under my feet. Other times the rocks would be too far apart and I couldn’t move forward without stepping into the water; if the water was too deep to wade I might have to turn back and find another way.

And sometimes, despite all caution and careful balancing, I would fall in.

What an analogy for life! I’ll be hopping rocks in this blog, jumping from one river jack to another and trying to find my way. You’re welcome to come along for the journey.