Summer and the Shadow Mountain Moon
Tuesday gratefuls: Mary in Texas. Diane making plans. 44 again this morning with Rain overnight. Paying bills yesterday. Chicken Saltimbocca from Easy Entrees. Jon, Ruth, and Gabe coming up Wednesday evening. Blue Sky. White Clouds. Bright Sun.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Touching conversation with Kate’s friend, Lauri Knox. Learning how Kate talked about loving me to her. Grief. Memories of Kate.
Much as I dislike it I spent time on the phone yesterday making sure our dental insurance got changed to one person, paying a bill dating from cataract surgery last fall. Changing credit card numbers for ongoing billing. Fun. Exciting. Domestic thrills.
My goal right now is to clear out all the outstanding bills, medical and otherwise, then get started on the new, regular budget. Have to get Social Security survivor’s benefits. That will help. Today.
Even though it’s nit picky and detail oriented (to this big picture guy) I find this work satisfying. I like paying people for services they have rendered. Makes the equation balance.
Got the house cleaned yesterday. Marina Harris and Furball Cleaning. The place feels so much better afterwards. Smells better, too.
Once the bills and budget stuff finish up working on Kate’s clothing, jewelry comes next. Pruning the walkout, that big closet next to the boiler. Various drawers and shelves. Kate’s chest of drawers.
Lauri Knox came over yesterday to look at Kate’s long-arm quilter. She’s a friend of Kate’s from Bailey Patchworkers. As she left, she said, “What a beautiful soul she was.” We talked then about Kate, about how she was. About her spot on the bench, a place made holy by her presence there. On a bench made by Jon, designed by her.
She also said Kate used to talk about how much she loved me. This brought tears to both of our eyes. Lauri couldn’t remember the words, but the feeling of unconditional love, she said, was always present. I find these moments so special, as if Kate has reached across the veil and touched me. The tears they produce are lacrimae, sacred and purifying.
She also asked me if I was going to move. “A lot of people just can’t be in the house. So many memories.” No, I said, I plan to stay. I’m not that kind of person. I didn’t say that memories of Kate in this house make me smile. Feel good.
Both Lauri and Jackie, our hairstylist, live in Bailey, a small mountain town further west from Conifer about 15 miles. Both of them, too, have a latter day spiritualist understanding about death. Lauri has a memory bench where she goes to talk to her mom and dad. “I’ve not sensed Kate, not yet anyway. She’s off on her own adventure.”
Jackie has offered twice to give me the number of a psychic who lives in Indiana and helps her communicate with the spirit world. When I was in last week to get a haircut, she said about Kate, “She’s up there channeling right now.”
Christianity is a similar story. It’s not hard to see how it can produce offspring in secular religiosity. When I go to my class reunions in Alexandria, I stay at a Christian Spiritualist camp in nearby Chesterfield. Not a huge movement anymore, but one with roots well down in the soil of Victorian England. Check out what Sir Arthur Conan Doyle thought was his most important work. Hint: It wasn’t Sherlock Holmes.
Not a lot different from the day of the Dead, Samain, All Saints. See the wonderful Pixar movie, Coco.
What happens on the other side? Hell if I know. My best guess is extinction. But it’s just that, a guess, and no more well-informed than any other guess. In fact I hope I’m wrong. It would be delightful to think of finding Kate again, of finding Celt and Vega and Tully and all the others. Playing in the Fields of the Lord. Whatever that might mean.
Not holding my breath though.
Breakfast, then calling social security. Big fun.