'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

So Bert died. And then George died. And here I am.

These things happened Saturday, the 15th.

Tomorrow most of the copy eds and I are going to go hang out in a park for a while.  Including the copy ed who started in March, whom we've not met in person yet, and who didn't know Bert OR Tracy.  That's kinda nice, I think.

So I didn't wear a bow tie yesterday, and have just been absorbing these deaths, and touching base with not only the nearest and dearest of the departed but a good number of the more ancillary appreciators of the folks (particularly Bert).  I was just telling about how yesterday, when I hit of wall of exhaustion all of a sudden, just as I was putting on my shoes to get outside, I surrendered to the Call of the Nap and conked for a couple of hours---with one shoe on and one bare foot.  It was a weird little thing that feels like the crux of my solitary experience of these losses.

Conversations have included some unusual contact, both on the phone and texting.  My mind comes back to them now & then.  And even though I didn't make it to chorus practice this week, I've gotten a bunch of hugs, here in the early days of less COVID cautiousness with the also-vaccinated.  i like this.  I've made it to hug time again.

Bert used to lurk here, reading this blog.  He'd say something about something from a post infrequently enough that I tended to forget he might be reading, and I don't know how often he looked in, or whether he had lately.  It's a little weird to be writing about him here with no chance he'll be reading it.

There were some complicated parts of my relationship with him, and the way they influenced my way(s) of loving him haven't left me.  Some definite jarring and hurtful bits.  I do begin to think, though, that I'm turning into one of those people who age with loosening up, and big-picture perspective more and more, vs. with increasing bitterness and oft-rolled-out (internally or externally) laundry lists of grievances, grudges, and overarching negative feelings.

Oddly, though, or maybe logically, on some level, it comes with a calmer awareness of (and, like, willingess to see, and consider seriously, cuz I matter to me) the ways people have hurt and disappointed me, and, like, sometimes not been good to me, or for me.  It takes a certain amount of focus on self and fullness of self to be able to do that, and thus to be able to more gracious and understanding of the limitations of relationships, and of their forays into the unacceptable.   Like you really can love better when staring into the face of the not-so-loving parts, and allowing them to be the part of reality that they are.

I rushed to finish my taxes Monday, and it involved having to dash to the library lobby for state tax forms and (luckily) finding my checkbook to pay the $31 I still owed them this year, and then dashing to the post office, where it was sort of charming to see other old-school procrastinators lined up, and not so bad to line up with them.

Yesterday when I got an email from the old cinema in Howell about how they're opening up their pandemic-dealio "back lot drive-in" again, even though the cinema itself is now open, I went ahead and bought a pass for my vehicle to see Goonies, or The Goonies, whichever it is, next week.  I've never seen it.  It doesn't figure to be a great film on the diversity front, but what the hell.  Peter's coming with me, too.  They can only fit 12 cars back there, so we're going to be at an elite event, with our elite selves.  Dunno how YOLO that is, but I sure snapped up that pass in a hurry.
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