Sleep was interrupted several times last night but still managed to have a very vivid and interesting dream about my Grandmother and her home; almost a revelation and a release. I pray that theme continues instead of the alternate I've had about that for over 15 years.
I consider it a blessing as I emotionally had the wind knocked out of me when I stupidly opened the drawers in Cutty's bathroom to reveal his grooming items still present. I'd redecorated the walls and visible shelves more to my style, to define 'things are different' but forgot the drawers. Interesting metaphor, no?
I thought of how I have no desire to rid my home of his possessions but I have clung to the most basic of items. I could no more discard his cologne than I can his recliner in the living room nor his house shoes still perched beneath his bed. The walls may be covered with art now when he preferred them bare. The scent of candles and cooking fill the air when he requested there be none to interfere with his breathing. But he's still here. His presence. His territory marked. I gently pushed the drawers shut with the tips of my fingers to avoid disturbing them.
If only there were an easy mathematical equation ~ X number of months grieving for Y number of years married. But I've already experienced how that math doesn't work with weight loss... I cannot show a pound lost for every 3500 calories deficit. How would emotions be any easier?
The sixth month marker of his passing was Memorial day. I've been trying to create a heart shaped stepping stone using some mortar in the store room and one of his personal items (a small antique bottle) including stirring some of his ashes into the mix. The first attempt was a failure; the second is still curing. I don't think it's going to set and hold either. I may get some spray paint and leave it forever in the 'pan' so it doesn't fall apart.
Food and weight? Still no scales being utilized in my life; clothes fitting the same. Sans a short weird 'chocolate craze' yesterday I am eating well. It's ironic of all things I do agree with in Roth's writing I am not making 'eating at the fridge' special. I get the analogy and am treating myself quite well but right now I'm just satisfying hunger and that's not needing making a production of every meal. I'm aware of the 'bites from the fridge' and being mindful of the nibbles and cravings.
I think about how I rejected May's theory on portion control the same way and it had the biggest impact on me once it soaked in. But I feel I've been incorporating the 'grand gesture of eating' for a while now. Time will tell.
And while I've yet to have that euphoric 'high' during exercise ~ I have noticed ... go ahead.. hoot at me if you must.. that I am able to move better and faster since reincorporating the treadmill three times a week. I walk to errands about town as much as I can but noticed I'd slowed... so while nothing is changing on the 'outside' I think some of my strength and stamina had taken a hit. So YES... it's HELPING. As mindless as it feels... I've managed to find a decent series on Amazon ('Suits') and it's holding my interest for a good 45 minutes walk incorporating varying speeds and inclines. And I won't watch it anywhere but there. So if I want to know what Mike and Harvey are doing.. I have to lace up (my sneakers).
Massage therapy this evening. EVERY time I leave there I feel SO much better than I think 'maybe time to start reducing the visits .. every other week...?' and then by the following Wednesday I'm so 'oh.. I'm so glad THAT is today!"
Recognizing this emotion.. there really isn't a lot of routine things I look forward to; I remember DREADING every time Yoga rolled around and began casting about for excuses. My body seems to be running it's on Ponzi scheme on me in that just about the time I decide to back off the 'massage investment' it gives me a nice little return so back I go ... 'Thank you Ma'am.. may I have another'.
More than the decrease in the physical pain being yielded by the weekly therapy ... I truly believe it's helping with the mental. Last night after the 'drawer' incident I soaked in the spa tub and it set my memory bank on fire. I was having flashes of all sorts of past stress pop into my head. I was working a Sudoku puzzle on the bed trying to make my brain relax and bing-bing-bing this thing from work, that thing from that person, like the flashbulb of a camera.
Where does this stuff come from? Stored in that muscle.. housed in that nerve... all moving along like a vagabond hitchhiker. NOW I cannot remember a single one of those flashes specifically. So I pray they went out of me, into the universe, instead of resettling back in my own shell.
A lot of rambling today. Bless you for sticking with me and reading this far. Hope you have a most wonderful day and celebrate your life. It's the only one we get. Make today count.
Bella
