Seven for Dinner

This past Sunday I invited three couples here for dinner. They are long-time friends of Bill and mine who helped during Bill’s illness and who have been kind and thoughtful to me since Bill’s death. For example, one of the couples hosted a birthday dinner for me this year.  The wives are good friends, and I see them frequently for lunches. But the men are my friends, too.

It was a lovely evening filled with lively conversation and laughter. I enjoyed the time with my friends, but I felt sad. I missed Bill acutely. Perhaps they did, too. Bill and I had shared so many good times with these friends, over many years. I think that was what made it so hard for me.

I realized the next day that since Bill’s death, I have hosted breakfasts, lunches, and potluck dinners for women friends, a holiday open house, and church events…but only one other dinner party for couples. That was the birthday dinner party I threw for myself after Bill’s death, for these same friends.

Will I do it again? Probably, and the next time perhaps it will be easier. I hope so.

Three Years Later

So what kind of a dog are you going to get

You asked

A week before your death

I don’t want to talk about it

I answered

And for months later I researched dog breeds

And debated puppies and older dogs

And getting a dog at all

Tonight your ghost sat down on the couch next to me

Your ghost fingers reached down

They petted the old dog asleep on the floor

Your brown eyes met mine

She’s a good dog

You said

A good old dog

You told me before you died that I was strong

Say it again

Say it again

Say it again

“Nothing is ever easy” my mother used to say. Not true for everything, but I was muttering those words yesterday morning, when I tried to power wash the aggregate concrete patios by my pool. Two months ago I decided to purchase an electric power washer, instead of hiring a company to power wash all my patios. It is slow and messy work, but a job I can do myself. I knew I didn’t want to cope with a gasoline-powered power washer, but thought I could safely use an electric one. A month ago I used the power washer on my kitchen patio and the stone patio by the pool. Not perfect, but they looked much cleaner when I was done. However, the very dirty patios at the deep end of the pool were a logistical challenge; the plug on the cleaner would not fit the recessed electrical outlet at that end of the pool, and the garden hose was too short. I had to find another electrical connection (extension cords don’t work, a safety measure) and a second hose, and I put it off for more pressing jobs. Yesterday I was determined to clean those patios. It took lots of steps to string the electric line and the hose. Those two problems solved, I set out to clean the patios—and promptly snapped off an integral part of the handle, a lever that kept the power hose in place. I hiked back to the yard hydrant, turned off the water, and sat down to ponder the broken piece. See that little blue rectangle next to the black hose? It took me about thirty minutes of studying the manual and trying various ways to snap the lever into place. I am very stubborn–my mother used to call me mule-headed–and at last I succeeded. After that, the actual cleaning was…hmm,  well, a snap!

“The Internet is down!” I would call to Bill and then walk away from the computer. After a while he would go to the study, do something mysterious, and the Internet would be back. This morning I sat down at the PC to check my e-mail: no Internet connection. Without the Internet, I can’t do my online banking, send messages to my friends, watch movies on my iPad, check the directions to the horse show this Saturday, buy stuff on Amazon, or publish this blog. Staying connected is essential.

My son-in-law told me how to reboot, and sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn’t. I have rebooted the PC up to thirty times before the connection is restored. I have given up calling my service provider because they usually want me to unplug the router and plug the modem directly into the computer, and my son has warned me that removes my first firewall line of defense, leaving my computer open to hackers who will swoop down and invade it. Just thinking about that makes me nervous. So I reboot.

The other day I found written instructions from Bill: “Plug in the modem and wait until the cable light shines steadily. Then plug in the router.” And what do you know: that worked! I got the Internet back this morning with just one try. Thank you, Bill.

Wait until the light shines steadily.

One warm afternoon in May I stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway–and into a cloud of thousands of small flying insects. “Termites!” my brain immediately registered, despite my never having seen a termite. I shrieked and closed all the hall doors, to keep them out of the bedrooms. Then I popped open one of the doors, shut myself in the study, and searched the Internet for “termites swarming inside house.” The advice I found was to vacuum them up, so I zipped through the swarm as quickly as I could and came back with my vacuum cleaner. They were emerging from the knotty pine paneling high up on the wall of my living room. It felt like a low-budget version of Hitchcock’s “Birds.” After thirty minutes of vacuuming the swarm stopped. One of the difficult things about being a widow is that when bad things happen, it is up to you to take care of them; there is no partner to share the load. I looked up names of termite companies on the local Checkbook, and started calling. The first inspector came the next day, confirmed that the tiny bodies I had saved were termites, and wrote up a plan of attack. I was tempted to sign the contract, but decided to get a second estimate. That was a wise decision; the second inspector was much more thorough, checked every room in the house including the attic, and went inside all the outbuildings on the property. He found evidence of termites in the family room, in the horse barn tack room, and the garden shed. Thanks to all the information I had read on the Internet, I understood the procedures in the contract, and when the technicians came out and applied the chemicals, I did not think they followed the specs. I asked the inspector to come back out and check; I was right, they had not followed the specifications, so the techs returned and did it right. I watched.

Here is what I learned: termites are everywhere in the ground, just like earthworms. Even if you live in a brick house on a slab, termites can enter your home through a crack in the slab. Termites love damp soil, they can tunnel more easily. I have had the leaking gutters repaired, and will be installing extensions to the downspouts. At the horse barn there was mulch piled against a wall, a rotting tree stump, and a Virginia creeper climbing up the side of the barn–none of that helped. It cost about $2700 to repair the barn. The house doesn’t seem damaged. If we had had regular termite inspections, we could have prevented this problem. Sometimes you have to learn the hard way.

One of the helpful books I read a few months after Bill’s death was Widow to Widow by Genevieve Davis Ginsburg. It is filled with practical advice including the importance of finding a trust worthy handyman. A year ago I hired a man to repair the fences around the horse pasture, but he was helping me out more as a favor and this year said he had no free time. Meanwhile my list of repairs was growing longer and longer; I try to do as much as I can but I am not a carpenter. I had been collecting the names of handymen from friends; one came out, looked at the work to be done, and never contacted me. Finally a friend suggested Ken who is a builder and home remodeler, but also does home repairs when he has time. I know and like Ken who is a member of my church. For the last three weeks he has been here, working on my repair jobs. The photo is the east side of my horse barn; the corner had rotted away from water and termite damage. Even the studs had rotted. Ken rebuilt the entire corner plus part of the gable. Yesterday despite temperatures in the mid-90s I applied the primer to the rough-sawn cedar siding, a very messy and tough job. I asked Ken to paint the gable. There is a point at which being gutsy and tough becomes stupid; getting to the top of the siding was high enough ladder work for me! If you don’t have a good handyman, keep asking your friends and keep looking. Tomorrow: lessons in termites.

Today is the third anniversary of the death of my husband Bill. Cancer took him one month short of his 68th birthday. We were married forty-five years. After Bill died, I searched on the web for words of advice from widows. I found a few, but not many for my age group. The past three years have been tough, but I am finding my way. I hope my adventures and advice will help those newly widowed and also those on parallel paths with me. Don’t worry, there will be laughter as well as tears.