Four things

—1)
No nap.
I worked out at the Canandaigua YMCA yesterday (Thursday, October 11th, 2012).
When I do I’m so blasted I have to take a nap.
When my wife was alive these naps usually took one to two hours. Now I can only stand 10-15 minutes. I become aware of my grief.
When I got home my cleaning-lady was leaving, so she stopped so I could pay her. —She cleaned while I was at the YMCA; I trust her.
My electrician called and wondered if he could come to complete my troubleshooting jobs.
I said of course, knowing how hard it was to connect with him.
Every time he calls me he has to apologize for not showing up, not calling me, etc.
But by now my nap was looking tentative. It was almost 4:30.
The electrician arrived and began working outside. I would walk my dog, but it was no longer to a park up the street. It had to be around my property, so I could let the electrician inside my house.
My nap had become impossible.

—2)
Electrician follies.
The electrician was working slowly; I had two fixits inside my house.
It was fast approaching 6 p.m., and I had to feed my dog, plus prepare my own supper.
One inside project completed, the electrician had to go to the hardware before it closed.
By the time he returned (about 50 minutes later) it was past 7 o’clock, and I had already taken my dog for a second walk.
I was working around the electrician to prepare and consume my own supper.
I made cocoa, after it looked like I couldn’t.
The electrician finished about 8 p.m., and it was dark outside.
He disappeared into the gloom to his truck to prepare his bill.
He was gone about 8:20; I had cut him a check.
I suppose what I’m saying here is if this had all happened two months ago it would have freaked me out.
I remember all too well a guy cleaning out my basement at that time.
It freaked me out, and I got extremely depressed.
It was fast approaching suppertime, and it was raining.
Madness like this piles up and I freak. I suppose it’s a grief side-effect.
But my reactions are no longer extreme, which means I didn’t freak over the electrician follies.

—3)
Feelin’ good.
After the electrician left, I felt very normal.
Like perhaps I was finally out of the woods.
Grief side-effects had previously been dominant. But they no longer appeared to be.
Okay, I’m feeling pretty good right now, but what about tomorrow morning?
I’ve been through this before. Feel normal at bedtime, but depressed the next day getting up.
True-to-form, I felt awful the next morning (this morning).

—4)
Starfish.
Somewhere in the vast property sits one of the dog’s toys, the starfish, abandoned by the dog, and not found by me.
I took the dog out yesterday afternoon for her first walk, and she grabbed her starfish.
Well okay, I never get to play with her any more, so let her take out her starfish.
She usually abandons it, after which I carry it around and back inside.
After a distance she noticed I was carrying her starfish, so I tossed it for her.
She grabbed it, and carried it around some.
Then I saw the dog without the starfish.
I traipsed back to find the starfish, but didn’t find it.
I gave up; maybe I could find it on our second walk an hour or so later.
But I never found it.
It stayed out all night, and it rained.
That starfish may be gone forever.
She’s taken it off in the woods somewhere, and my finding it will be by chance.
So much for being considerate of my dog, when it seems I no longer can be.

• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit.
• RE: “When my wife was alive......” — My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17, 2012.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” as in Scarlett O’Hara), a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s seven, and is our sixth Irish-Setter, a high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder.] By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s our third rescue.)