Originally posted on madgeniusclub:
I didn’t forget my post day. I forgot what day today is. This is partly because I’m still feeling like “every day is Sunday” after we finished the heavy part of the house, and partly because today is a wee bit crazy. We just took a load of hazardous waste (paint, mostly) to the local facility, and we’re now getting ready to go to the eye doctor (which is actually a good thing. I think we’ll all agree it will be better if I can write without squinting at the screen and confusing os and es.) Also, I have the Hugo voting to do, I’ve got my country’s 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it; I’m swamped.
So, what can I do that is useful to you on short notice?
Well, recently I had the opportunity to discuss indie…
View original 670 more words
I have been dealing with this type of tiredness over twelve years now.
Originally posted on According To Hoyt:
Yesterday older son and I were talking while driving back from Denver from looking at apartments for him, and we agreed this being dragged around in a vehicle of flesh is a pain in the behind. Because with the drive to Denver and some duties still at the other house (such as being there for handymen and such) we’re netting about viewing an apartment a day.
In fact, he says, the whole apartment thing is a nuisance, because he should be able to just send his mind over to attend classes, of course.
In my case, this is more critical because of course the flesh thing is no longer working all too well, so it keeps giving out on me when I least expect it to.
This is to say that now that we punted back from working in the house 12 hours a day to about 3 hours in…
View original 309 more words
There were a few tears when I woke up about 4 a.m. this morning after a restless night.
Instead of thinking of his death, I want to think of his life. This picture shows that smile that made me love him. And yes, the inappropriate picture to prove that he did know how to use an outhouse.
Now if I could just remember his jokes– although most of them are inappropriate as well. He liked to get me with this one.
If you call a guy who works in the matshop a matman,
What do you call a woman who works in a matshop?
(Matshop means maintenance shop btw)
So yea, I miss the easy laughs and just lying my head on his shoulders with his arms around me. I never thought I’d say that I miss his jokes.
As you know by now, I lost the love of my life, Otto Tune, to cancer on September 19, 2014. Leading up to his death, I was very concerned about his medical treatment and caring for him. He went from a strong stout man like you see in the picture to a frail old man in only a few weeks.
As I have been told many times and as I am learning, the shock and pain never leaves, just lessens as I start to remember the many years I had with him, instead of the last few weeks. As one widow said to me, “at least his illness and death were quick. You don’t have to remember years and years of pain.”
It doesn’t lessen the pain, but at least he didn’t suffer as much as others. I console myself with this.
In May I finished a Green Knight Terraforming Short Story– When I go back, I will use my late-hubby as a template. He would have been a great troubleshooter for some nebulous interplanetary council. He was also mischievous and was very good at getting justice through unconventional means. I will use that. If I told these stories as truth, you wouldn’t believe me. He was very good at getting me to laugh at my foibles and especially at my upbringing.
When I would start a routine beaten into my head by my parents, he would laugh and say “your family puts the fun in dysfunctional.” It would make me laugh and divert me from some gloomy horror type thinking. Foxy does her best to divert me as well.
I started on Xandra Peel this month, but I was caught in some VA paperwork. I have already done more than a ream of paper for them including the last ten years worth of medical records. This month I ended up getting another ream’s worth of paper. I need to do more, but I needed a rest from it. When I went back to writing the A/C died. So I have been dealing with triple digits-see last post.
My only excuse is that I have scheduled in other stories to finish for the next three months. I have Moon Curser, Dark Moon, and more GKTC stories to work on. Xandra Peel will be put away for awhile and then I’ll start on her story again.
So this has been the year for interruptions to my writings. The interruptions have been the most emotional pain that I have ever felt. Even the death of my great-grandmother, who I was close to, did not hit me with this much force.
My nerves are raw and every setback is even harder to bear than the last. Tomorrow I will start writing again– Today is labwork, and errands. The labwork is for my chronic illnesses. Tomorrow– Tomorrow–
I had to use a lot of the tricks we used to do to keep cool during the hottest summers without an electrical appliance to do the job.
So here are my solutions when I realized that my apartment was only ten degrees cooler than outside:
1. Fans – I have three fans that I placed strategically around the apartment to help with the flow of air.
2. Water – I made sure that there was enough water in the dog bowl and my water glass. I drank every hour so that I stayed hydrated. In such heat you don’t realize that you are sweating because the dryness whisks away the sweat.
3. Closed the curtains– so that the sun wouldn’t heat up the spaces.
4. Computers, TVs, appliances – I turned off all of the appliances except the refrigerator so I didn’t have any heat generators in the house. This also meant that I pulled out any charging units.
Just doing 3 and 4, I was able to drop the heat in the apartment down another twenty degrees. Since the heat outside was between 108 to 113 degrees, these precautions helped me to stay well.
The problem with such heat is that the body wants to shut down and save energy. Heat exhaustion and heat stroke are both real concerns. At this point I was more worried about Foxy than myself. When I gave her water, I drank water, which helped me too. Foxy is a small black dog and too much heat is too much heat for her.
I did the other usual things like call the apartment complex. I found out that they couldn’t repair the unit. The unit had to be ordered and replaced. They were able to send me a small A/C unit a day later. It keeps the bedroom cool so that I can sleep. Another problem with so much heat is that you need to sleep, but you can’t sleep.
Many years ago when the heat was high (not quite in the triple digits), my father would do his work in the early morning and the late evenings. He was a ranch foreman. In the middle of the heat, the entire family would retire to the basement which stayed about 72 degrees and either rested or played quietly.
We didn’t have electrical lines carrying electricity for our refrigerators and gadgets. We listened to the radio one hour every night so that the batteries would last longer. We did have an electrical generator, a small motor that sucked gasoline. But, it was expensive to use. Sometimes we had to conserve the gasoline for the trucks and farm equipment.
We were tougher then.
So I survived last week. I will have a new A/C unit this week. TG. I finished a couple of cross-stitch pieces and soon I will finish the last cross-stitch that my late-hubby was stitching before he died.
I have many of his finished pieces. Last September, a few days after his death, I took his daughters to the apartment to give the cross-stitch pieces to them. When I looked at the back, I saw the message in his handwriting: Given to my darling wife, Cynthia. I love you, forever.
I love you forever too.
Dancing with my do-og
yea, yea, dancing with my do-og
Well there’s nothing to prove
and nothing to lose
Dancing with my do-og
So the little Foxy puts her paws up and jumps on her hind legs. I tap her front paws every once in awhile. Doggy picture: The little girl is half chihuahua and half something else–probably terrier. She likes to jump.
Dancing with my dog
*Warning: Don’t expect coherent thought for the next hour. Overloading on endorphins.
Erika T Red, Amazon Kindle, 3.99
Description: In the time of myths, the gods were dying and being replaced with the Christian God. One god, the one who hung on the tree nine days, gathered his people together so that he could manifest into the world through their worship. He lasted a thousand years until his followers scattered to the four corners of the earth. Still he needed a new life. So he used all of his resources to find the last Sybil, prophetess of the Norse people.
In another world of freedom and independence, Erika has dreams of career and travel. She lives in a small city in the Northern Nevada desert, where she has spent her entire life. She feels constrained and suffocated there. Inside she feels she is doomed to wither and die in this small city. Fate called through a wolf and raven. At first she refused to answer. Still her destiny grabbed her by the throat for it could not be denied.
Someone had to travel to supernatural realms. Someone had to face a dying god. Someone had to fight the witch. As Erika is forced into adulthood, she finds that the old gods don’t play fair and that allies don’t give their help for free.
Dancing with my dog–
Good let’s leave the mad creator in the corner. We have the whip ready for more writing… Stay tuned.
The sun’s rays peeped through my bedroom window. I stretched and limped into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The normal routine is comforting. I don’t strain to hear him say “get up sleepy head” or any of the morning jokes.
I start the morning chores without crying into his shirts and pants. I have already given away most of his clothes, although I do wear his Pendleton shirts. They feel like a hug from him. Still I am a little apprehensive about the door, where I put a lot of his things. It opens sometimes by itself. Inside his his tools, his grave flag, and some of his coats. He was into Emergency preparedness. Soon I will go through his go-bag, but not yet.
I start a grocery list for me. I am still trying to figure out ways to make food for only one person. After his death, I couldn’t even look at food. It meant that we would sit down for dinner and talk. Afterwards we would watch the news and I would lean against him with his arm around me. Yes, when we fed each other, it meant more than when we said, “I love you.” Still live goes on and I must eat.
I don’t get that quick shock when I see his picture anymore. It still hurts that he is gone, but the stabs are not as intense and the heart is not as raw.
Many years ago I learned a truth. If I ignore this grief, it will hurt for far longer. I get these sudden urges to send him a joke to his email address or to tell him the newest outrage. He is gone.
There is a little light though. I am writing. I finally finished a rough draft of a story. Plus I enjoy my walks with my dog. I am not affronted by life. When I get a little stronger, I will take photos again.
He wanted me to be happy and to enjoy my life. Not today. Not tomorrow and maybe not this year. When the memories become sweet again, then I will have stepped fully into the light.