I'm sitting outside on the patio, my bum on one stripey-pillowed patio chair, my feet stretched out and crossed on another. I have my new hearing aids in, just recalibrated today, so that I can hear two squirrels squaring off with each other and yelling at the tops of their little lungs. Who knows what they are communicating but I suspect it's got something to do with a land dispute and a little pique about the fact neither one of them can get to the highest bird feeder in the yard. My husband has finally come up with a device that frustrates their constant efforts.
I've done a couple of jobs I needed to do, concerning Mom's estate today--set up an estate bank account and closed down a credit union account, so I feel satisfied about that. And I got myself an iced, grande' Americano at Starbucks after the hearing aids and the banking, so I am a happy camper.
Tomorrow, which is supposed to be as warm and beautiful as today, we are going up to Bruce Johnson's farm in Sedro Wooley for an alumni picnic. It should be a splendid day as there will be beer and Potato Salad by Ralph, two of my favorite things. The farm should be peaceful, I love Bruce's wife and maybe I can get her to sing one of her songs that I also love, we'll talk about writing I hope and the November writer's retreat that I'm sure is in the works. My dear old friend, Jeanette, might be there, too, and she is always a joy to be around.
I think I am coming out of the Forest and Fog of After Death Responsibility. I seem to be thinking more clearly, though my memory is bad right now. I have been lost in that forest, not sure which way to turn, loaded with "shoulds" and conflicting opinions, mine and a significant other's, for 3 months now. Cleaning out the house of garbage and furniture is nearly done. I had my brother in the kitchen day before yesterday, making decisions about which pots, pans and utensils he'll keep. There is only one cupboard left to go through. I think that progress, which is easy to see, has caused the lifting of the fog. Until now I could barely see to the end of the tunnel. Now it's in sight and important duties are being crossed off the list. The dumpsters were picked up yesterday. We've had them since the end of June and filled them three times. That's a lot of garbage. I'm pretty much over the shock at how much my folks saved, couldn't throw away anything. Must have been something about the Great Depression and WWII. It was also about having two sons that stored all their stuff in the house, whether they were living there or not.
I'm reading Mom's diaries and reading fiction, too, but the diaries are more riveting. I was living at the same time and in the same vicinity, visiting now and then, but didn't realize what was going on with Mom and Dad during Dad's last years of life. Mom stopped writing in her diaries 6 months before Dad died. I can read about all they were going through and I'm sad I wasn't more help, but I truly didn't know what was going on. Mom didn't confide in me. It makes me wonder if I want to keep my journals around when I am getting close to death. Mom always wanted somebody to read her diaries--she said so many times, but I'm not sure I want anyone to read those intimate thoughts about married life and my friends and children. And would my children want to read them? TMI, they'd probably say.
Anyway, today is calm, productive, warm, good-smelling, a little caffeinated, satisfying. I like it.
