I LISTENED

Sunday morning, I booted the dog out into the stormy weather and then made my way to Fayetville AR for the Listen To Your Mother NW Arkansas. This was the first road for the new car and the first time I used the iPod adapter for the car. I believe that this is number one most wonderful invention of my time: the iPod connector to the car. I have had adapters that were meant to work through the cigarette lighter that required more futzing with then listening to. But this? This thing where the iPod sincs right up with the car? WTF? It totally validates the only reason for getting the new car. Well, that the whole safety thing. So, I bee-bopped my way down Hwy 71 through thunder and lightening and a few loop-de-loops (Joplin confused me) to see Misti and hear her wonderful words. But it seemed that Fayetville was not content to just have one thing happening in their town that day. There was also bicycle race (like the Tour de France kind) going on and streets were blocked off in odd ways so that in order to get to the theater, you had to figure out the maze. In a car. Then I crossed the street after a group of cyclist zoomed by only to see another one coming. I had almost made it to the other side when a photographer lifted his GINORMOUS lens. I was stuck between getting in his way of the shot and being run down by a cyclist. I paused sort of between the two and could feel the breeze of the cyclist as she zoomed behind me. Thrilling.

You know what else was thrilling? The Listen To Your Mother show. I sat in the audience and watched groups of women come in, many faces that I had seen at the BlogHer conferences and then I saw the entire place fill up. One by one we heard the stories. Stories that made me laugh and cry and empathize. But I have to say, I cried the most when Misti spoke. It wasn't the words that got me so much as just that she was there. I cried because Chris wasn't there. I cried because I was so dang proud of her. It was wonderful. After show, me and my car got shuttled between Misti's sister and Misti so I could follow them all back to Misti's mom's for dinner. We laughed and ate good food and I was welcomed into their home like family and I could have easily stayed. But I remembered my poor puppy outside in the rain, starving and pathetic and I decided it would be better to go home and rescue him. And that's how I ended a very lovely weekend.

I'VE BEEN EATING

Just in case you were wondering, I have been eating. For the most part, I've even been eating really well. This time of year always makes me crave fresh, not out of a can, vegetables. Saturday mornings, I'll get up really early and head over to the City Market. The outer wall of the market is all conventional fruits and veggies. They save the three middle isles of the market for the local stuff. I try to buy as much of the local produce as I can get away with. It's usually a tad more expensive then the conventional, but still cheaper then the regular grocery store. But I'll buy oranges and mushrooms from the conventional side. There's lots of asparagus and onions on the local side as well as greens and potatoes right now. One evening I made a skillet dish of diced potatoes, green beans, diced marinated tofu and mustard greens. There's a similar dish I make with cabbage, potatoes and Field Roast's Apple Smoked Soysages. I pan fry the potatoes until just about done, then add in the soysage to get the chard bits. Last, I dump in the cabbage with a little bit of veggie broth, put a lid on it and steam until the cabbage is warm. I don't cook the cabbage to death. I like still green with a little bit of crunch. I fixed the mustard greens the same way. I'd never had mustard greens before, but I'm pretty sure I'm having them again. They were delicious.

But the thing I've been most addicted too lately is this beet salad recipe from Whole Living. You can grate the beet and mix it together with the chopped scallions the day before so all you have to do is assemble the salad before you eat it. The first time I made it, I didn't have the cucumber and instead of arugula, I used the mixed salad greens from my garden. I've been leaving out the cucumber ever since. This is my new favorite salad. I can grate the beets in the food processor, dump it all into a giant ziplock and toss it into the fridge and always be ready to have salad. I didn't know I'd like raw beets, but the simple lemon and olive oil dressing makes it the whole thing zing. It's the kind of salad I want to eat every day and making the salad is almost as fun as eating it. Beets are awesome. They stain everything they touch with this bloody purply color. If someone were to walk in before you'd gotten a chance to wipe your hands, they would think you just gruesomely murdered someone. I'm planning on being in a constant state of beet gore just for the thrill of it.

WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS

I have this everything notebook. I carry it around with every where I go. It's for those moments when I need to write things down, like blog entry ideas or music lists. Sometimes whole blog entries end up on the pages. But mostly it contains grocery lists and meal plans. There's a sketch in there of how I'd like the living/dining room to look and also a sketch of the garden so I remember what I planted. When Chris got sick, I started writing more in that notebook. Some things I thought would eventually make it's way to the blog. Most of it was garbage that I just needed to get out of my brain. Well, I've been doing some more of that, just not in a notebook. That's why things have been sparse over here. I wasn't going to say anything until I knew what it was I was actually doing. But I realized that this thing was something I've been working on everyday. It's not just some one off. I did a word count today and have 11,809 words and I still have more in my head.

It's different from writing for the blog. I don't know how to explain it. This thing I'm working on is a memoir of sorts, a collection of this time in my life. It allows me to write things without feeling judged or like I've written something to get sympathy. I'm not giving the blog up by any means. The blog is my connection to world. This thing I'm doing now may never see the light of day.

I just thought you should know is all.

THE AIDS WALK I'M NOT WALKING IN

Hey, remember when I used to do the AIDS Walk every year? I would get on here and beg you guys to donate money to support me. Oh, those were the days. The good ole days of when I used to use this blog for good deeds. The AIDS Walk of Kansas City happens in April, like April 28th or something. Like soon! Yeah, I didn't get my act together in time for it. Plus, I'm still used to AIDS walks happening in late September or early October. In Oklahoma City, it always happens the week after the Komen Race For the Cure, which is bad timing on the AIDS Walk if you ask me. Well, obviously I'm not doing the walk this year, but my friend Terry is. Actually he does it every year. He's just a good person that way. I know there's a lot of people raising money for various things right now, but if you find an extra few bucks laying around maybe you'd like to donate to the cause. You can make a donation here. He would be oh so thrilled. He might even raise a drink to you in thank you.

ALL THE BORING DETAILS

Well, I've done it. I've cleaned out the office. I should probably put quotes around the clean out part. Really, I just moved stuff to the basement. But I can say that for every haul down to the basement there was an equal haul out of the basement. I did some rearranging of furniture which opened up some shelving. I was finally able to unpack a few elephants. I was surprised at how happy it made me to see my old Steiff's. They'd packed away for years now because there was no room for them when we moved in with Chris's mom. Eventually I will get curio cabinet and then all of the elephants will make it out of storage. Yes, I am crazy, but not so crazy that I can't pair down a bit. I managed to fill two boxes with things for a garage sale, something else that needs to happen soon. I'm happy with the progress I made this weekend though. As a result, I have a decent yoga and meditation space that can easily double as a guest room. Two of my favorite framed pieces have been hung up on the wall. It's starting to look like someone really lives here. Next step is to print out and frame some of my own photographs. This year, I focus on the living room. Next year will be the bedroom and the next and the next. We'll see.

The rest of the weekend was lazy and filled with boring British mini series on Netflix. I ended it all with an Easter egg hunt at my friend Terry's. It was the bow on top of the weekend. Good people, good food, good fun. I took plenty of pictures which you'll see eventually. I'm sure they'll make an appearance in a Love Thursday entry. But for now, I remain on the couch. I stayed home from work today with goopy allergy eyes and a sinus headache. I'm making the most of it with more British TV and Benadryl.

TREATS FOR EVERYONE

Chris and I used to be in charge of Traci's pets when she went out of town. Autumn was the first. The first weekend we had to check in on her, we worried because she hadn't eaten any of her food. So, Chris and I gave her lots of extra cookies. We had obviously been played because she ate all her food right after we left. When ever I went to Traci's, the first thing I would do is head back to her mud room, grab a cookie and give it to Autumn. Autumn knew that Cindy = cookie. I continued this tradition when Juno (the wonder weenie dog) came along. But it all started with Autumn. I always thought she looked like a Dingo. She was so beautiful. She had her rowdy moments but usually seemed so calm and peaceful. She was the Buddha of dogs. It breaks my heart that Traci had to say goodbye to her yesterday. You guys? We need to send some extra love in Traci's direction for a bit. Loosing Autumn would be hard under any circumstances, but now in particular...well it's a little extra hard. Traci has now lost two of her best friends with in months of each other.

I don't know what goes on out there in the "beyond", but I'd like to think Chris and Autumn are some where nice together. Maybe sitting by a campfire, Chris with his mug of coffee and Autumn laying at his feet with the most awesome bone to gnaw on. It's a lovely picture. And as Kizz taught us, Treats for Everyone. So say we all.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

Last week, the buzz around the water cooler was the Mega Million (you have to say that part with a loud boomy ecoey voice). Everyone talked about buying a ticket and the things they'd do or buy. Chris and I used to play this game. He would say "if we won the lottery, what kind of car would you buy?". I usually picked something like a Mini Cooper or a convertible VW Bug. Today, if asked it would probably be the new Fiat. My car choices never ceased to amuse Chris because I never chose anything extravagant. I could by any car I wanted, but I always chose something reasonable. A co-worker asked me last week what I'd do if I won the Mega Million. I think he was a little disappointed in my answer, because, once again, I chose a reasonable route. My plan used to be simple: pay off all debts and save the rest for travel. Pay off all debts means all family debt. My parents, my brother and sister would no longer need to worry about bills or retirement. I would not quit my job, but I would take early retirement. But then as I was walking back to work the other day after dropping off the V for her new tire, I remembered the coffee shop pictured above. When Chris and I first noticed it, we were both smitten with it. Then we realized that it's closed. It's been closed all this time and remains that way today. It always has that "could it be open?" look because some times there are cars there. There's a University across the street and the coffee shop is a convenient free space. What's a bit eerie is that everything is as it should be inside. It looks like the barrista working that night closed up for the night and then no one ever came back. They just walked away.

If I won the lottery, I would buy that shop. I would hire someone really good to run the place. I would hire people who really needed a job, people who have had a hard time finding a job because they live on the street or out of their car. We would offer really great coffees like Americanos and espressos and lattes at the usual prices but also always have a carafe of good coffee with a "pay what you can" price. We would sell baked goods from local bakers and if you walked into my shop hungry with no money, you would be guaranteed a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. We would be open for late night study sessions and have space for knitting clubs. All would be welcome. Except mean people. The hateful and rude can find coffee elsewhere.

That's what I'd do if I won the lottery.

WEIGHT

When I first put Chris's ring on a chain around my neck I was shocked by the weight of it. It felt so big and heavy and almost hurt as it banged against my sternum. As I put it on I remembered the day he had lost it. He had lost so much weight that the ring had simply slipped off. I remembered his panic at the realization that it was missing. I remembered how I tried to calm him at the same time frantically searching in all the usual places and then finding it in the crack between the cushions in the chair. I remembered the look on his face when he put it back on and it just slipped right back off, the realization that he would never get better. All of this flashed into my brain as I clasped the chain holding that ring around my neck. The day we got Chris's ring, he spent hours putting it on and then slinging his hand around trying to get it to fall off. Testing it. Testing to make sure it was a proper fit. I remember putting it on his finger when we got married. He had just washed his hands and I couldn't get the ring to go on. I ended up screwing it onto his finger. We laughed about it afterward. I used to talk about replacing it one day with real gold and silver. Every time I mentioned it, he would say "No Way! This ring could save your life in an under water derrick". I used to get mad at him when I'd find it sitting on the coffee table. I remember how I could never really hold his left hand because the ring would cut into my finger. I remember how he never forgot to wear it.

The other day, there was a moment when I didn't feel the ring. Did I forget to put it on this morning? Did I loose it? How could I loose it? Surely I'd know if I'd lost it. All of these thoughts flowing through my brain during the seconds of panic as my hands fluttered to my neck and my fingers made contact with the cool metal. Then came the sigh of relief as I slid the ring onto my thumb and twisted it around and around. There's a comfort in the soft smooth inside of the ring. But then came the realization that the ring doesn't seem as heavy, that I can hardly feel the weight of it at all any more. I've gotten used to the weight or stronger with carrying it around. Or a little of both.

BUDGET

Guys, I have been busy. Like with a capitol B. Over the weekend I planted a garden, put clean sheets on the beds, took glass to recycling (if you'd seen my glass recycling you know that this was important), got a new tag for Hooper, got a pedicure, and painted my living/dinning room. I know right?! And it didn't stop there. I got home yesterday after work and got on my yoga mat, cooked dinner, washed up, cleaned the bathroom and worked on a budget. A budget. I've always been the girl who didn't really know anything about her finances. If I wanted something, I'd tell Chris and he'd either get it or say wait and I'd shrug either way. I never really payed attention. I know this so 1950s housewife. But you know what? I had my jobs and Chris had his and this one of them. It's not like he withheld anything from me or gave me a monthly allowance. I just didn't care about any of it. Obviously, now I have to pay attention and I have kind of. I mean I pay the bills on time and stagger things out so that I have money for food and what not and I'm staying on track. But that's about it. More like treading water. So I decided that it was time to sit down and do a serious budget and here's why.

Yesterday, I don't know why, but the idea to buy a new car just got into my brain and that this was something that needed to happen soon. Lately I've been holding my breath whenever I start up the old Malibu because I'm not always sure it's actually going to start. I worry every time I make a trip to Oklahoma that I'm going to end up stranded in Kansas somewhere. There's nothing really wrong with the Malibu that I know of. It needs new ball bearings (expensive) and probably an oil change (not so expensive), but it just doesn't fill me with too much confidence. There are sounds and glitches. Also, I want to travel and part of that traveling means having a reliable vehicle. So I started looking into what it would take to get me a new car and this lead me to really looking at my finances.

I first made list of all the bills I pay every month and started looking at where I could cut back. I've already cut back the cable bill by $50 and have decided to use the Dave Ramsey method of paying off credit cards. Next step is to see about cutting my phone bill in half (this may mean a new phone number...sorry). I think I may have a garage sale or at least start a craig's list of things for sale. And I found this budget worksheet to help me keep things organized. I like it because it's free and easy to customize. My deadline to get some things paid down and in order by July, because I think that's when I need to tag this car and I do not want to pay for another tag for this car. Apparently, I'm really starting to get into this whole being a grownup thing.

So, what about you guys? What are your budgeting tips?

FOURTEEN

Fourteen years ago today Chris and I were in Las Vegas getting married. I wore a beautiful suit styled dress my mom made for me. My bouquet was red roses and purple status. Chris wore a tux which we rented the day before the wedding. The chapel was The Chapel of Love and the ceremony was exactly eight minutes long. Misti called us right after the ceremony. We don't have decent pictures. I have one of the few OK pictures hanging on my desk. We had a reception the following Saturday at my parent's house. The weather was nice enough to be outside and I took my shoes off and ran around barefoot. Mom's irises had bloomed. Our cake was made by our good family friend, Karen. It was beautiful, but most importantly it was the best tasting wedding cake I'd ever eaten. Chris's cake was decorated with a Millennium Falcon. Every thing I can remember from those days are all smiles. That's all we did for weeks. Smile and laugh. I regret that we didn't get proper pictures of us all dressed up. I think that was the last time we were actually dressed up in fancy clothes. I regret that my dress didn't fit properly. I had lost weight right before the wedding and the skirt to my outfit had to be pinned up so that it wouldn't fall off of me. I regret that I didn't savor the time. I let the time zoom past without taking a moment to say "whoa nelly" and slow things down. Actually, that's my overall regret. I regret that I couldn't slow time. I regret that I don't have that watch from the Twilight Zone that let's me stop and freeze things. I regret that I couldn't make the good last longer.

I'm not going to lie. Today's one of those days where it would be easy to curl up on my bed with a few bottles. Today is one of those days where I separate. The shell of me sits here at my desk looking normal while the gooey insides of me curls up in the corner under my desk and hides from the day. It is a day where I don't want to talk to any one or answer any questions. A day where every memory, particularly the good ones, stabs me in the heart like voodoo pins. Today is really one of those days where I should be treated with caution like the way you'd treat a wild animal. Step cautiously away. Don't provoke or feed. Just quietly step away and precede with caution. Why, that's how I plan on treating myself today. With caution.

DREAM A DREAM

I've heard lots of stories from people about dreams they have of Chris. They always irritate me because I don't dream about him. Or if I do, like the other night, he's just there. Just like every day we were together. He's just present doing the same old usual Chris stuff. He does not impart words of wisdom to me or reassure me or yell at me or any of that "beyond the grave" stuff. The other night I dreamed that a bunch of us were hanging out. Me, Chris, Tiffany, Tom and Amy. We were lounging around some random living room eating the most awesome popcorn. The popcorn was really white and cheesy. For some odd reason it was kept in pantyhose. You had to pour it out of a leg to eat any of it. It was really messy, but totally awesome. We may have been high or drunk or both. Tiffany was telling us all about the time she was squatting in some house. She would write tons of bad checks just for the sake of writing bad checks. I remember hearing Amy say "you didn't?!?!" and me just rolling my eyes and saying "of course she did". Tiffany said that she still had some of the bad checks she'd written stored in a shoe box somewhere. Chris piped up with popcorn dribbling out the sides of his mouth and said "how do you think she paid for the boob job?". And that was it. That was the dream. It ended with us all eating pantyhose popcorn.

Maybe it's because Chris and I were more of a collective, a team. We didn't so much as impart wisdom to each other, but more like we supported each other in the wisdoms we passed around. Or it could just be that he told me everything useful before he died. With exception to the Internet stuff. But that's what Todd's for now.

CHOOSING TO CHOOSE

We interrupt this regularly scheduled grieving program for an urgent rant. An entry where I stand up on my soap box and yell out to the people that you are crazy and your brains are too tiny! OK. Not really. I mean, I am going to step up on that box, but I doubt very much I'll do any yelling. The truth is, over the years, I've become politically lazy. I still vote, or I did until we moved. I just don't get involved any more. Campaigning will do that to a person. It takes a bit of shine off the whole penny process. I read up on the issues placed on the ballot and decipher the lingo of the bills and then vote or not vote what I feel is best. Yup. I said "not vote". If there's an option on the ballot that I don't agree with either way, even if my option is the "lesser of two evils", I don't vote for it. I don't mark that spot with my little voter's marker. It may be because so many of us have to make so many choices regarding the simple things, like what kind of milk to buy, we get tired or forget that we can also make choices when it comes to the big things. Life is all about choice. Every single bit of it. And right now, I am making a huge effort to choose to not get all crazy and reactionary. I say this because someone will post some misconstrued piece of garbage "news" on their social media outlet with a Hell yeah and fist bump to God and sit back believing the crazy. For instance: Please raise your hand if you believe the President of the United States (any of them) have all power over government and country. OK....how many of you are standing there with your hands in the air? Please, hopefully, none of you. But you see, someone made the choice to post the drivel and then someone makes a choice to "share" the drivel and so on and so on. It starts this wave of anger and fear that just spreads and continues to feed on itself and it is ugly. I just think instead of "sharing" or posting the drivel to begin with a person should stop and check the facts. Make a choice to educate yourself on the subject.

Each choice we make has some sort of consequence, I know. I get that. I can live with the consequences because I made the choice. I have a harder time of living with the consequence of other peoples choices, particularly if the consequence of their choice was take my rights to choose away. This may be another fault of mine, but you know that saying "Do unto others as you'd have done to you"?. Well, that's also the way I look at voting. I would never want to take away your choices or force you to take on my beliefs. So why would you want to do that to me? Aren't we America! The Land of the Free!? Or have we become the Land of The Free except....? I find the later unacceptable.

So here are some choices I am making today. First of all I choose to not even acknowledged people who are derogatory. Period. If we can't communicate with each other respectfully, then we don't communicate at all. This also applies to things posted online. Respect yourself and respect those around you. Some people are so quick to throw out a "What would Jesus do?". Do you really think Jesus would be so hateful? If so, I must have a completely different version of the bible. Secondly, I choose to not support those who wish to take away our rights to choose. I'm not just talking Presidential Candidates. Political parties, religious groups, mean people. I won't support it. Thirdly, I choose to believe that none of us are an island. There's a reason why we're all stuck on this planet together. We need each other. So for fuck sake, be nice.

LEAKY EYE SYNDROME

Things were going just fine. F.I.N.E. I had a great weekend full of fun stuff (that's a whole other entry). I cleaned up the old garden and picked up garbage from my back yard. My ex-landlord came and got my washer all hooked up. I washed clothes and bath mats! I vacuumed. I cooked my most delicious version of grown-up Mac-N-Cheese yet. Garlic. Always add garlic. I slept and only woke up once in the night around 3 AM. It was a good weekend. But then Monday arrived. I've been having a hard time getting up at 5 to do my my yoga practice. Most of you I know would say "Who wouldn't have a hard time getting up at 5 AM?!?" and I admit it's a crazy time of morning. But this used to not be a problem. I have always been the early-to-bed-early-to-rise girl. Always. My parents used to come up to my room to tuck me in at 9ish and find that I'd already tucked myself in with that night's book hanging from my fingertips. Getting up at 5 AM should not be a problem. But it is. Or at least it has become a problem. This morning, I promised myself to get on my mat as soon as I got home just as long as I could sleep in a little bit longer. I had my yearly lady parts exam this morning, I needed the extra snoozin'.

Except, I didn't have my exam. I got to the doctors office, filled out paperwork, and waited in the waiting area listening to the receptionist argue with my insurance. "No, her husband died on the 10th. Her insurance shouldn't have ended on the 10th." This was the conversation that repeated itself in a loop until finally I was told that I would need to speak to someone at work and that since I was "un-insured", the doctor would not be able to see me today. I was able to get a prescription for my birth control that was running out and meet my new doctor. She seems really nice and was adamant that I should not "go without" and that if I needed for some crazy reason to get another note, to call her office immediately. I don't know how or why or what happened, but the tears started by the time I reached the elevator. And by the time I had reached the car, I was full on gasping for breath sobbing. And then just when I had gotten myself under control, the parking attendant said "have a nice day". Those four words started a fresh wave of tears and snot and hiccups as I made my way back to work. By this point I was pissed off because I couldn't get myself under control. And then when I finally did get myself together, I was pissed off that I had to walk into work with a face that screamed my loss of control.

Then Talaura reminded me that I'm grieving. And I was like "Oh yeah...". I really must learn to cut myself a little slack. Oh, and I did make it onto my mat.

ETIQUETTE

There used to be set rules for widows in mourning. During the Victorian era women wore black dresses and veils. There was a period of full mourning for a year, followed by a period of half mourning for year. During half mourning, the widow could wear gray (yippee!). There were lots of rules. Prim and proper ones. Rules like "no dancing". I think we all remember that scene in Gone With The Wind where Scarlet wanted to dance at the cotillion, but couldn't because she was still considered to be in mourning. There she was, all in black, tending to one of the charity booths and pouting. Poor Scarlet. I think it's odd and yet somewhat a relief that those stuffy rules of etiquette have dwindled down to just one day all in black. Though, even that rule is not strictly enforced. Today's society has chosen to make up it's own rules of mourning. This is most likely for the best. I've never been much of a proper etiquette type of gal. I was taught proper table manners and can use them if need be, but I can most likely be found with my feet in the chair and an elbow resting on the table. I have, for the most part, thumbed my nose at proper behavior and have generally adhered to my own rules of etiquette.

I don't say these things because I think I might be doing something wrong or I need some sort of validation for my behavior. I write this stuff down, because these are the thoughts that just so happen to be roaming around in my brain. Odd random thoughts like "what should a widow in mourning look like?" pop into my brain while eating oatmeal. While I was filling out paperwork to get my washer and dryer, the salesclerk asked me all kinds of questions, but nothing about Chris. And I thought to myself, "he doesn't know I'm a widow". I thought this in awe, like "wow! He can't tell!". But why should he know? He doesn't know me or Chris. There's nothing on my outward appearance that says "WIDOW HERE!". I mean, if you're looking closely you may notice Chris's gigantic wedding ring that I now wear on a chain around my neck and be able to deduce something, but for the most part I appear unbranded. Sometimes this worries me. Maybe I should be wailing and pulling out gobs of hair or refusing to move from the couch for days unshowered.

But instead, I get up every day and shower, and be an active participant in my daily life. I'm just keeping on because I don't know what else to do.

CELEBRATE

Saturday, we all gathered together to celebrate the life of Chris Maddera. And it was spectacular. My heart is full of so much love and laughter and yes, there were tears, but the laughter is what I'll hold onto the longest. Chris made me laugh every day we were together. I see it only fitting that his life was celebrated this weekend with so much of it. It was so beautiful and magical to see and hear from the many people that Chris touched (figuratively and literally) over the years. I'm still in awe over how the tribe came together in this incredibly crappy moment to put such an amazing tribute together. The beautiful words, the balloons, the images, the music, the snacks, all of it perfection. I'd like to think Chris would be proud and happy and humbled by how much he is loved. It was a perfect way to begin the healing process.

Over the weekend, I became known as The Widow Maddera. I was even hash tagged as such (thank you Birdpony). I was hugged a million times. I laughed so much, my ribs hurt. I saw a baby elephant and I even took some pictures. I cried at goodbyes and frantically begged people to be safe and take care of themselves. And now I'm home in our little yellow house staring at the giant plant that work just dropped off and thinking of washing machine purchases and living room paint and waiting for the Vet office to call and say my dog is ready for pickup. Preparing for a new routine.

And wishing that the weekend had lasted a million days.

STORIES

My dad called me Monday to say that he was just outside of Coffeeville and wanted to know if he could sleep on my couch and then if I'd like to drive with him to Omaha on Tuesday. I thought this sounded like a brilliant idea. I'd never been to Omaha. And so we went. Him in the driver seat, me acting as copilot. As we drove across rolling hills of snow and through fog and frost, we talked and laughed. And he told me this story. He said that his dad's dad married a woman whose last name was Puckett. They had only been married about a month when a big storm came rolling into town. He was worried about his young bride alone at home, so he left work to make sure she was OK. When he arrived at home, he found her standing in front of the windows. When she saw him, she beckoned him to her. She said "come and see this beautiful storm". My dad said she was always like that, always calm. Then dad turned to me and said "you have her blood".

As he told me this story, I could see this unknown woman, standing in her simple house dress in front of the window as lightening struck the ground outside. I could see her clearly, watching it all in awe and wonder and I thought to myself how often I felt like that. I thought about all the times I stood watching storms in wonder and awe. And I thought, maybe I am just a little bit like her.

Update: The Celebration of Chris Maddera will be Saturday, February 18th in the Davis Hall Little Theatre at USAO in Chickasha, Oklahoma at 2:00pm with reception to follow. Come share your stories, and join in the laughter that will surely follow. In lieu of flowers the family asks that you make a donation to Heifer International or Kiva.Org.

http://usao.edu/driving-directions

ADDING TO THE PROTOCOL

Someone contacted me yesterday to see how I was doing. She said I'd been too quiet on the internet. I really haven't had much to say and even now I'm not sure. I had a weekend full of family and friends. Full of laughter and love and even a few tears. Now I'm alone, adjusting. It's odd and surreal. I feel pretty proud of myself. I got up this morning and showered. I made a lovely breakfast burrito. I've answered emails and messages. I've cleaned out the medicine cabinet and I've filled three carpenter bags with his clothes. Things I've kept: one Star Wars T-shirt, two sweaters, two flannel shirts, and one army jacket. Oh yeah, and two pairs of smart wool socks. I feel like this is reasonable. It's amazing the aftermath of death. All the things that get left behind. All the stuff. His office...that's going to sit and wait for a while. What's the rush?

Everyone has sent so many kind words and love. They mean so much. I've been trying to respond to all the emails and messages, but it gets so overwhelming at times. Telling the same story over and over. Wednesday, I knew that things were done. I cried all day that day overwhelmed with a sense of loss and the inability to do anything for him. He was in so much pain and could barely communicate with me. So I did most of my grieving then, curled up next to him. And when he left us on Friday he was finally without pain. And that's it. That's the story. And I'm OK with this. We both are at peace.

We are planning a memorial of sorts for the 18th. I don't have details yet except we're trying really hard to get it set up at USAO. I will post more when I know.

SPEED

Currently I am holed up in my bedroom. I'm hiding really. I'm thinking about not leaving this bed until they come and take his body from the living room. The shell that's left is not my Chris. My Chris decided to leave here this morning, pretty soon after I had gotten to work. Before I left him this morning, I kissed his forehead and told him not to hang on for us. I told him to let go. We'll be fine with out him. It's the first lie I've ever told him. I look around me and just can't fathom. How? Why? What? I know at one point through this I remember saying if he has to go, please let it be quick and painless. I just didn't realize how quick. Silly and selfish really. I had a month to prepare for death. Most people don't even get that. Still, I feel at loose ends. Not sure really what the next step should be. So instead I've decided to hide on my bed with my laptop and write a blog entry. My comforter is blue. It's like a raft and I'm not leaving here. Not just yet.

There's no protocol for this. No step 1. So I'm making this up as I go. Step 1: Stay on this bed as long as I fucking can. The floor is lava. Step 2: Figure out all the other steps later. Some where in the protocol there is a spot for gratuitous profanity. Hell, fuck, damn, shit, mother fucker. I just broke my first rule and got off the bed to get out something for him to wear. It was only for a second. Burned my feet just a bit, but I'll be OK. I'll be OK.

I'm not a weeper or wailer type of person. I never have been. I've cried and shed my tears, but right now I'm all dried up. That may seem a bit heartless and cold. That's fine because I feel a bit heartless and cold. Remember, there's no protocol and I get to make it up as I go. I will say that I am so glad I called his mom when I did. I glad that she was here to say goodbye. I did that right.

But I'm not leaving this bed until they take his body. I'm just not.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Chris and I have always said that any year you survive, is a year worth celebrating. Plus, celebrating Chris's birthday was on my list of things to do and you know me and to-do lists. Check. Check. Check. I can't say that it's been a fireworks and fun house sort of birthday celebration, but I think it's been good. I made everything jambalaya which he ate. Traci and her Chris brought our favorite vegan cupcakes from Green Goodies, something else he ate. Todd flew in for the weekend and said something about biegnets. So there's been plenty of good food and good company. I didn't get Chris a present, but I've made little wishes for him. I wish for him a day without hiccups. I wish for him a day without worry. I wish for him a day without tears. I wish for him a day without pain. I wish for him a day full of laughter. I wish for him a day full of love. I wish...

Happy Birthday Chris!

THE WORST ROLLER COASTER

We had been sent home to die. At least that's how it felt when our oncologist suggested hospice care. They don't want to do chemo because his liver is not functioning. And we had a week of preparing for death. One night we laid in bed and talked about ashes. But then I started thinking "what if?". What if we can get his liver functioning? I've seen so many stories online in various health chat rooms of people with cirrhosis of the liver, and being on transplant lists, and livers riddled with tumors. I've read so many stories of the wonders of Alpha Lipoic Acid and Milk Thistle. One story I read was about a guy who had been told that he would die without a liver transplant. He walked with a cane. He started a regiment of ALA and Milk Thistle and now he runs every day. It's hope I can buy into.

Last Thursday they went and replaced his drains with bigger ones. The procedure left him in a lot of pain and he still didn't want to eat or drink anything and the last few days have been a constant battle. Battling the need and inability to take in nutrients. Battling pain. Battling to move. Battling to maintain some sort of hope. I begin to feel the darker worries set in. I worry my will for him to live is stronger than his own. I worry that tomorrow will be worse than today. I worry that I just don't have enough super human strength to fix him.

And then we'll have mornings like today. The kind of morning where the pain is manageable. The kind of morning where I get him to eat a whole carrot and some grapes and drink half a glass of Gatorade. The kind of morning where I feel like we've done something successfully. And we start to chug up that hill preparing for the next drop, curve or twist of the ride. And just maybe tomorrow will be better than today.