Solitude - not for sissies

A CASE FOR SILENCE

I go to my living room, find my favorite chair, take out my iPad and watch Burden of Proof. The house is silent so, along with a glass of lemonade, I delve into my perfect solitude. I do my best daydreaming when surrounded by silence.

The alternative is to swim in loneliness. I miss my wife terribly; although, there are times I feel her presence in the house. No ghost is she; rather, she is a warm and a welcome, subtle ripple in the air. All in my head probably, but still comforting.

Generally, upon my wife's death, I think people felt a miasma of loneliness and despair would fill my future, but it didn't. In the quiet of my situation, I whisper her name and wish her good morning and good night. I am never really alone.

I am glad I am an introvert because I honor silence and aloneness. I can be alone even in a crowded room. I just retreat into myself and live in my bizzaro world where poetry has taken root and rhymes are alive and making a racket; but, I need a little real noise; OK, a lot of noise, in short spurts, to keep from growing old. My grandchildren provide enough clatter to fill that role and I love the fact my entire family is concerned about me, frequently calling or dropping in. That is noise that surpasses my quiet, zen existence. I look forward to their calls and visits. I am incredibly patient, But when the children leave, I am exhausted and I wallow in my solitude. I have no choice. Silence is a part of me.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT AND ME

I did break the curse yesterday. I went to the local Safeway without incident. It was eerie to see the bakery and meat counter closed and even weirder to see the paper towel and toilet paper aisle devoid of product, like some old communist Russian cold war grocery.

A word, if you will, on the virus that is keeping me housebound. I know it will be defeated eventually but it is a struggle. Every evening we check the numbers but they keep rising. My genuine gratitude to our front-line soldiers, the medical heroes

I am getting emotional, almost teary-eyed. Many parkies have hyper-emotions and find themselves weeping at the strangest time. It is a common symptom of PD, just another gem of our condition. I am the worst.

I can get emotional at the sight of linoleum!

A note to our southern neighbours. If you are a fan of Trump

"Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide."

John Quincy Adams

Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance

The only sounds in the house are the sounds of cars and the occasional person passing by, and I am feeling like the Lady of Shalott.  I am a prisoner in my home, a self-imposed quarantine, 'tis true, but I am still behind metaphorical bars.

With a wall and a half of windows, our living room is full of light.   I can sit and watch life go by, and keep track of the shadows as they creep across the street until they disappear into the evening.  I am The Lady of Shalott.  The lady had a curse and so do I.  My curse is having sentenced myself to self-imposed isolation to avoid the microscopic menaces that could kill me.

I am getting anxious, wanting to go out into the fresh air.

 I intend to soothe my anxiety today.  I am going to leave the house and to hell with the consequences.

Out flew the web and floated wide; 

The mirror crack'd from side to side; 

'The curse is come upon me,' cried 

                                        The Lady of Shalott. 

I ain't afraid of no curse but I can't help thinking, the Lady of Shalott died as a result of having 

unleashed her curse.  Nevertheless, I am going to go to the store, protected by a 6-foot force
field covering me and so, to hell with the curse, I am releasing myself.  

Freedom!

I will apprise you  of the mortality rate tomorrow.........if tomorrow ever comes 

"Squitters and Collywobbles"

“أن تكون حزينًا يعني أن يلاحقك سوء الطالع ، فلا شيء يحدث كما كنت تتمناه” ― الطاهر بن جلون, البلد

I agree.

The Queen thinks she had an annus horribilis. Her castle burned down. So what! Big deal! It was nothing like my last year I was overjoyed at the passing of 2019. The things I could tell you, but I am not going to. Instead, I shall attempt to return to the positive bloke I was...you know.... before my annus horribilis.

(later in the day)My road to positivity just got blocked!

Apparently the apocalypse is upon us!

I just got home from the grocery store. This store and the next one were sold out of toilet paper and hand sterilizer. People are afraid of being quarantined by the coronavirus. O.K. this virus attack is a little terrifying, but toilet paper!!! I can understand using skin sanitizer but I don't get the demand for TP. Even the one-ply was gone! Do these people plan on living on the toilet for the quarantine period? How many times does one go to the bathroom, even if you are afflicted by the Aztec two-step, 2 - 5 times per day, a lot, but not enough to warrant a run on toilet paper (get the pun?) If you are a parkie, you will be lucky with one movement every three days. Wicked constipation is a symptom of PD. It is formidable. It's an hour-long gut-wrenching, wailing knockdown, which the parkie always wins but, winning aside, he knows he has been in a fight. There is always that good feeling of accomplishment at the conclusion of the ordeal, but as somebody said "constipation is a sign of good health...in Pomeranians"

Long live Montezuma's revenge"

"squitters and collywobbles"....Sea of Poppies by A. Ghosh

Pomeranians....Samual Beckett ”

just a revered moment in time

I was confused when I added the time that has passed since she left us.   The calculator said 1024 days but that is far too many.  It only seems that long to me and my kids but, it is shorter than forever and I can't forget our life together.  I can't block her from my future.  I think I must be getting better because I only get emotional periodically now but every so often golden moments, brief emotions trapped in time, bring it all back.

Yesterday, I filled the cookie jar and I remembered her joy when the first time she filled it, all for the grandchildren.  The ever-present kaleidoscope of the past brought back other memories, her sweetness, her strength, her total love for her family and more and more and more, until I morphed into a whisper of tears.

 Shar, you gave me forever within the days I have left.