Just back from the big move. Fortunately my across-the-street neighbor with the big F-150 volunteered to help and we moved most everything this morning while the skies were only “threatening” rain. Moving Jurate came in the middle of the light misty rain this afternoon. Fortunately, the medical transportation guys were real pros.
The new place is a thousand times better. The owner of the facility is a woman who is a social worker, specializing in eldercare. The young woman who’s the supervisor there in the daytime, Yelena, comes from Syria, a refugee from the civil war. She was surprised when I knew all about the events she had been through (obviously only to describe). She said I was the first American she’d met who knew about the war and what people like her had been through. Hopefully any “specialness” created will rub off on Jurate.
The room is nice, very clean, two windows so it’s got nice light. It’s all the way in back so it’s nice and quiet. She’s got a big TV with the full load from Spectrum. I kidded her that she can now catch up on that lifetime of sports watching she so carefully avoided. All the movie channels are there so she can get some nice stuff to watch.
Speaking of movies to watch, I watched “The Banshees of Inisherin” last night since it was on HBO and there’s been all the buzz about it being “award material.” It certainly deserved the Golden Globe for best cinematography; while you’re trying to figure out why you’re sitting there watching it, you can watch the beautiful photography. The acting is similarly good. But for the life of me I cannot figure out why anyone would want to tell that story and why anyone would want to be in it. Someone said it was a comedy, and I know I am often comedy-challenged, but I couldn’t find a darned thing in there to laugh at. So if anyone here has seen it and came away feeling “Wow, I’m so glad I saw that,” please kindly inform this cultural barbarian what it was that I missed.
It’s been four days now that I am here alone. That’s not a problem since “alone” has always been my favorite place to visit. I’m getting used to the fact that now I can do what I want when I want, and not have to worry about the effect of that on anyone else. Yesterday I scheduled myself for three hours writing on the new book and I did three hours without interruption. I cannot remember the last time that happened. Not that Jurate didn’t understand that I was “at work” ten feet away - I used to have a “Mr. Boffo” cartoon that showed the character from the rear, standing in an open door, and to either side of the door is all the stuff one associates with a writing office. The caption is “Hi, Honey - I’m home.” Writers will grab any excuse to procrastinate, but now I can fix things so there’s nothing to distract me.
There are suddenly lots of movies to download and watch. That’s because I’m picking movies *I* want to watch without having to think about not wanting to bore someone else to death with my choice. I always picked movies before that we both would want to watch (with a few exceptions). Just found “Full Metal Jacket” on tomorrow, which I haven’t seen in 27 years, since the first time I tried to introduce it to Jurate and she ran from the room ten minutes in with the “boot camp introduction” scene. Trust me, the first act of the movie, when they’re in boot camp, is the most accurate depicition of what boot camp was back then that I have ever seen; the only thing that didn’t happen in Company 332 was nobody shot the drill instructor - not that it wasn’t contemplated. They can’t get away with ten percent of that stuff nowadays, some kid would go crying home to mommy. But since they all turn out to be pretty competent, maybe all that stuff you can never forget wasn’t that necessary.
Anyway, I won’t have to worry about not driving the car enough to keep the battery charged. This place is 20 minutes away and I’ll be making the trip every afternoon. And I can stop by “the Cheers Bar”, er, I mean the local hobby shop, on the way back since it’s “on the way.”
Overall, things are as good as they’re going to be, I guess.
I finally scrubbed the floor beneath where bed was, which I could never get to. The cats are all wondering where momcat went to.
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I have been happy enough to read your posts without paying, based on Robert Hubell’s recommendation of your work a few weeks back. Though I tend not to gravitate to emotive writing, even when it is well deserved, I nevertheless enjoy your posts and read every one. However, I subscribed so that I can comment on your posts about your wife. I’m sorry both of you are going through this.
My husband recently went into a nursing home after 27 years with (early onset) Parkinson’s. I am enormously relieved of the exhaustion, fear, responsibility, frustration and “in place” loneliness. In exchange, I have guilt (albeit misplaced, but there isn’t always logic to guilt) and not loneliness but solitude. For the most part I am happy for and better off with the freedom and quiet but not always. It really takes some getting used to. I didn’t like having home health aides in my house all the time but now, somehow, I miss them (but not the way the dishwasher was loaded). I miss the sense of purpose (obligation?) and rhythm of the day.
I’m sure this was a difficult decision and there will continue to be difficult moments. It’s not the same as the death of a spouse but its an odd space to live in. It brings into question what you really enjoy and really want to do with your time after decades of marital compromise, and it’s not so easy to figure out when you’re not really “free”. There’s still that connection that you can’t and don’t want to sever, but is growing more intermittent and frail over time. Its hard to become a spouse again when you’ve been a caretaker for so long and when partnership is slipping away.
I wish you the best on your journey.
You think you’re prepared to start letting go, but it’s never quite enough. It sounds like you found a wonderful place for Jurate and the connection to the caretaker from Syria sounds like a blessing upon your choice. Be strong and enjoy the few positives. This too shall pass.