#sjmcinerny

Tonight. The Eve of my late husband's "DeathAversary." 11 years gone. And the guy didn't even to collect his hard earned Social Security. I've I'm not fond of the "late" descriptor. But it feels a big gentler than "dead." How else would you say it? Do tell.

I'Have you seen the ever popular Emotion Wheel-- you know the one your therapist has in their office. Kind of like the color wheel artists use -- 12 colors in a standard wheel and more as you move to outer rings: Primary, Intermediate, then Tertiary. Warm and Cool.

The emotions core feelings: Sadness. Calm. Love, Joy, Surprise, Anger, Disgust, Fear. and a host of others as you move to the second and third rings. And boy do they dig in. So many to choose from. If you're feeling sadness, move to the next ring and you mibht be lonely, despairing,. remorseful or head to the outer ring and you might be more than sad, you ight be heartbroken, or depressed.

So, tonight I"m feeling calm. In spite of the fact Steve quite inconsiderately died and left me to deal with, well . . . things on my own.

Which brings me to this photo. It is somewhere in Ireland. It felt like the passageway to a secret place. A Fairy Tale setting. A place you might be reluctant to step through. Or excited. (What would the emotion wheel say? Would you change as you moved through. One world to another. Maybe it depends on which side you're starting on.

Of course, I'm overthinking this.Me?

Reflecting on life and what to eat. Easy run by Lake Nokomis. (And by "easy" I mean slow.) Our town is real purty.

Springtime = golf at Hiawatha. The mister’s milieu. After the impossible winter a sunny day and open greens just brought him to life -- along with hanging out with his Geezer Golf Friends. I just heard Chet Baker sing this his Hoagy Carmichael song -- it’s really a breakup song -- but the last verse really killed me.

One year and four months. I’m jetting off. Again. Edna St. Vincent Millay says it far better than I can.

Sonnet 02 Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide

My new obsession: Edna St. Vincent Millay. <BIG SIGH> This is a fine poem. There is something divine in words that evoke emotion and make one long for love -- a love that was, a love that might be. 

Conversation at my doctor’s office

“Address?” “Same”

“Employer” “Oh, I retired.”

“Marital status?” “Same”

“Phone number?” “Same”

“Husband’s home office number?” “He’s deceased.”

 “Oh, you’re not married.”

And she changes marital status to widow.

I don't know anything about Jan Richardson, the writer of this poem fragment.  I liked it for a bunch of reasons --  It's appropriate for the season (of course, ashes). And it reminded me of Sister Elizabeth Mary, our high school chemistry teacher. She was a brilliant Sinsinawa Dominican who chose to enlighten the minds of adolescent girls (she would call us young women) instead of doing research somewhere neat. She was a big, boisterous nun and because we were so mature we called her "Boobs." Snicker, snicker, even nuns have them! Yup, we were girls not young women.

With a huge smile on her face she would do the most wonderful demonstrations bringing the invisible world of chemistry to life. Electrons, protons, neutrons! These particles make up atoms which make up every tiny cell of our being. Neutrons and protons cluster in the middle -- "Girls, the nucleus!" Her fingers intertwined and vibrating with excitement. The electrons orbit the nucleus --"Girls! They're moving! Energy!" Her demo of when an atom vibrated and broke apart was sheer delight.

"Girls! Energy! These things can never be created or destroyed! Only changed into another form!" (I can't remember if she attributed Einstein or not.) Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Yup, Steve and Aaron are out there. Somewhere. Part of the "stars that blaze in our bones." Not their original atoms. Just in a different form. I'm starting to get comfortable with that.

Thanks, Sister Elizabeth Mary. Bet you never thought that your chemistry class would come to reassure me some day far in the future.

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This is the day we freely say we are scorched.

This is the hour we are marked by what has made it through the burning.

This is the moment we ask for the blessing that lives within the ancient ashes, that makes its home inside the soil of this sacred earth.

So let us be marked not for sorrow. And let us be marked not for shame. Let us be marked not for false humility or for thinking we are less than we are

but for claiming what God can do within the dust, within the dirt, within the stuff of which the world is made, and the stars that blaze in our bones, and the galaxies that spiral inside the smudge we bear.