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Monday, October 14, 2024

Three Apples

Life event update time, since there's no Vegas bidness going on.

There was no question that I would return to the Greacey Palms Senior Putt Putt Trailer Park for the winter, at least, in my mind.

The summer in Flusherville came and went and the best I can say is I got through it, and had a pretty good Vegas trip last month.

But things were different all around. The house is physically the same, all the things are here... but without Karen it's just a place, a box of memories and pain, for now anyway.

It's almost as if my world knows she's gone. The cherry tree out front didn't blossom. The old oak out back that survived the 1998 ice storm, that fought back even though it had been torn literally limb from limb, that even grew new branches here and there, the old, proud sentinel, too tough to give up - fallen into rot in the stone fence. Given up and gone.

The apple tree that sprouted spontaneously from a thrown apple core long ago didn't bloom much. I looked and looked and all I could see this fall were three sad apples.

Life is there, ticking over, but a shadow of what it once was. 

As happens every fall and winter, the change in light sends me reeling into despair and depression. I get as much sun as I can and the feelings come and go, but when it's bad, I'm completely overwhelmed and tears are never far off.

Add to that the loss of the best friend I could ever have, my partner and soul mate, and it's a recipe for self pity and pain.

And still, though, I am moving forward. Somehow.

I know this sounds grim and in a way selfish, but it's the bare truth, and I think you deserve that. It's not that I don't count my blessings, either. I'm so fortunate to have a place to go away from winter, and the means to get there. I'm so fortunate to have had such an amazing marriage with someone who could play 1200 hands of video poker an hour on the right machine. Accurately. I mean, let's get serious here.

Plans to return to Florida, and play music with my friends down south provided just enough spark to make trudging through the emotional morass of this bit of time worthwhile.

Preparations start in the summer, and my 9,031 item checklist guides me through all the things that depression makes me want to avoid.

But another of life's curveballs happened - a disturbance in the gulf that looked to become a hurricane.

And in the early going, it had a bead right on my house down south.

Well, everyone who has been anywhere near a TV or news site knows what happened. Milton did form, and kicked the ever living crap out of much of Florida.

While things were still uncertain, the track drifted south, which I thought was good.

It wasn't. The very worst of the torrents of rain were to be found in a bloody red Paul Bunyan thumbprint, rain under it drifting across the state for hours. And my house was in the middle of it all.

I'm not sure I can articulate the anxiety and stress of watching it all unfold. Hours watching every little wiggle, every update from NOAA, every detail on the broadcasts.

On top of that, the cameras I have mounted on the house let me see the battering we were taking. I worried for my friends and neighbors that decided to ride out the storm. I worried for my property.

About 11:30 pm while watching one of the feeds, as I fretted about the water that was lapping at my shed door, and looking to get under the house - how high would it rise?? -  it all went black. Power gone.

I'd get no more direct information till late the next day.

And in the Greacey Palms, as in much of Florida from Madiera Beach (where the Quad Queen and I honeymooned so many years ago) through to Orlando, it was chaos. Water. Wind. Damage. Destruction. Bradenton. Sarasota. Tampa. St. Pete's. Hillsborough County. Polk County.

Somewhere north of a foot of rain fell on the Greacey Palms.

Well, the house survived. A neighbor sent a photo that showed the water up to the shed door entrance. There's water under the house, but I'm hopeful it isn't too much and the AC ducts underneath have been spared. I lost some siding and an awning.

But saddest of all for me, was the loss of the struggling but beautiful Jacaranda tree that Karen so loved. It had become a symbol of her for me, and I treasured it. That tree had already been knocked down a number of times, and I did everything I could to nurse it along.

Milton, that fucker, broke it off. Not even that little thing was spared this year. It's as if the magic that Karen brought into my life has all blown away, wet leaves, dust, pieces of a house, oak trees.

Wednesday morning, I start my journey to Florida for the winter, and I will see for myself.

So, so many have lost so, so much because of Milton, people I know in the park, people for miles and miles and miles around. I got off lucky.

And yet. A house is just a thing, as I found. It's the people that are in it that matter.

And maybe life will be okay, maybe it will not be so hollow. Because there's a couple of things.

That apple tree out back gave three apples. It takes but one seed to make a tree, just as that tree was made.

And when I told my cousin from Titusville about the loss of Karen's Jacaranda, you know what she told me?

"I have a Jacaranda in my back yard. I'll save you some seeds."

What life seeds do I have left at age 64 to shelter and nurture and experience? I don't know. I just hope there are some. Even if it's just three apple's worth.







Poor Jacaranda.

Karen, with 'fresh out of the pool Einstein hair', watering the tree.


Flowered beautifully, taken tragically.






    6 comments:

    1. May God bless your trip down south! I hope your home is ok!

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    2. We receive the terrible costs of destructive weather patterns, and we receive the heart-stopping beauty of the night sky or the peace of a new morning, and we pray that somehow it balances out.

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    3. Safe travels to Florida. Plant another tree for Karen.

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    4. The devastation in FL and NC is heartbreaking. In due time, I pray that everyone gets the help needed to recover.

      On Karen’s tree, Janice is right. Plant another tree for Karen and spend your time nurturing and watching it grow. While it will never replace the original tree, hopefully it will fill your heart with some new joy and Karen will be grateful you are starting again.

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    5. Hope you find everything's ok. To encourage you - Ever the optimist, we just planted an apple tree and we're 82.

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    6. I second the comments above about planting another tree for Karen. I can't imagine what you're feeling, but it feels like the right thing to do. Hopefully your trip down south goes well and when you see the house first hand that it isn't bad. I'm in the Tennessee/Georgia area.. here and there and parts of North Carolina are very bad as well. Such a cruel storm that has brought a lot of suffering to a lot of people. Peace and Love, Flusher.

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