The Widower’s Rant: Sharing is Caring

I’m so used to having two oarsmen in this little boat; perhaps that’s why I continue to go in circles. 

Happy Joyful. Sad. Exhilarated Excited. Empty. Grateful Thankful. Lost. Then, as the label says, rinse and repeat. Mostly happy and content. But the quick tumble in the surf reminds me that this journey is anything but linear and predictable. 

This week, I was twice on the first chair to the top of our hill. Partially, this is my type-A competitive nature bleeding through. Mostly, it’s because the snow has been only decent for the first 45-90 minutes of the morning. Dry January has been a real thing in the Tahoe basin in 2025.

After returning from Oz, I planned to have my own “damp January,” but that’s been hit or miss. Tonight, the second glass woke up the muse. The dinner (Tarragon Lemon Salmon, Asparagus, and Tri-Color Quinoa) deserved the wine. So did I.

In Oz, a few times, I made dinner for people I love. It meant more to me than I realized at the moment. I’m not a great cook; better than average, though. I make up for what I lack in knowledge and skill by pouring love into a dish. The process of prep, cooking, and serving speaks to me deeply. Plus, it’s reasonably focusing, so I suppose it keeps my mind from wandering into empty corners and dark hallways. 

I cook for myself almost every night. It makes me happy and proud to plate a delicious meal in front of me. But it sometimes falls short in ways I didn’t appreciate. 

The time spent eating, as mindfully as I can enjoying the flavors and textures, is a minor fraction of the time spent shopping, preparing, cooking, and cleaning. I’m beginning to understand why my father mostly ate ready-prepared food from the Japanese market on paper plates for the last years of his solitary life. Fortunately, there’s no decent ready-fresh food nearby, so that’s a road I won’t be driving.

For some unknown reason, the motion-sensing lights in two closets have been turning on randomly at night. I assume it’s at night because it’s hard to notice during the day, and I’m not in those rooms. In the TV room/3rd bedroom, when I’m watching YouTube videos or the odd movie (most recent hits: Wicked Little Letters, Operation Mincemeat, and American Symphony. Also, Vengeance Most Fowl), I see the light turning on in the closet. There are no spiderwebs or other mortal sources that I can locate. Oddly, at the same time, the downstairs closet is also turning on. Considering there’s nobody in the room, this borders on the disconcerting. After much internet sleuthing and a helpful tech support person (unbelievable, I know), the consensus was to replace both motion switches. So, that was on my to-do list today. One was relatively easy. The other is in an awkwardly tall closet that requires me to bring up the very tall ladder to the 2nd floor and then wedge myself backward into the closet and support my body with my head and neck against the wall as I work on the sensor. In the dark. I wear a headlamp like an unskilled miner pawing at the ceiling to stop unwanted illumination. 

I felt great getting that done. I checked it off my list. Now, who do I tell? Until 9 months and 3 weeks ago (still counting), I'd run into the room, excited like a four-year-old, to tell Beth. Even though I knew she didn’t know how hard/easy/silly any of these tasks I did was, she listened intently and looked at me with appreciation and wonder that these things could be done at all without a trip to the Yellow Pages. I grew up in a handy household. My Dad could fix anything. She grew up in a playing household. Her Dad could break anything. He has two tools: WD-40 and duct tape. If it doesn't move and it should, use WD-40; if it moves and shouldn't, use duct tape.   

Nobody knows I did the thing today. 

Back to cooking. Earlier this week, I met Curtis for a few runs in the late afternoon. What a gift. I’m so fortunate. Instead of our usual Victory Beer at the lodge or dinner at the Pub, he came over, and I made dinner. Nothing special. But it was prepared and served with bottomless love. In the quiet time later that evening, I confronted a big hole in my new routine. Sharing my cooking with someone I care for. [When I visit, I'm not asking to take over your kitchen; I very much appreciate being taken care of, too ;o).] It’s just that the care that goes into making dishes from scratch falls on an absent stomach too often.  

As mentioned before, I was Beth’s Magic Carpet for travel. Figuring out travel is a three-dimensional puzzle (time, locations, and money) that I enjoy solving. I’ve been plotting a trip to Slovenia later this year. The Slovenia part is reasonably easy, as I’ve connected with a guide to set up a balance of adventures and indulgences. I’m in France for a wedding reception first, and I keep hitting obstacles in getting from Lyon to Ljubljana, when and how I want to do it (the time and money dimensions). It’s not unlike other travel challenges I’ve faced before, and I’m confident I’ll solve this one. But I think what’s keeping me from pulling triggers and declaring victory is what feels like a certain futility. Who do I tell? Honestly, it’s mundane. It’s irrelevant how many hours I spent on rome2rio or flightsfrom, among other travel sites, trying to align the puzzle pieces efficiently. Because in the end, nobody other than me benefits from the glucose-hungry neurons that will put me on the train/plane/car to the destination. I’m not saying I’m not worth it (I am) or that I won’t have a fantastic time (I will). It just feels like, “What’s the point?” So I lose interest, and another day passes without finalizing plans. 

This is truly a rant. I’m whining about the time it’s taking me to plan a holiday to Slovenia after staying in a Chateau in the Rhone. Boo hoo. 

Another unexpected kick in the shins early this year is related to healthcare. My health (knockwood) is excellent. Beth had top-shelf employer-provided healthcare for which we were deeply grateful. It was well-exercised (The immunotherapeutics cost $100K a week), and my lifetime bet to have coverage that would enable easy access to the best specialists on the planet paid off. Well, mostly. Because I’m of a certain age, I can retain access to the same healthcare plan until just before Medicare kicks in. But the premiums went up, and including the very high out-of-pocket maximum is a breathtaking expense. Nice car kinds of cabbage. I am fortunate that I can pay for this, but it hurts. That's money that could be used to have fun. Maybe a cooking school. There’s a long conversation about our dysfunctional, profit-driven healthcare system, but that’s a rant for another channel. Especially coming back from Australia and attempting to explain our unfathomable system to people who have the security and confidence that access to healthcare will not bankrupt them. No wonder they are so easygoing. It is a G’Day, Mate, in Oz.

The point is that I’m evaluating a half-dozen combinations and permutations of trying to reduce this expense to something more palatable. Unsurprisingly, I made a spreadsheet. The pros, cons, and tradeoffs are bouncing around inside my skull like a bad game of Atari Pong. It would be easier if I had my partner here to evaluate the options out loud. I’m more than capable of figuring out the travel, the healthcare, and myriad other large and small things that come up in the course of the week. I have spreadsheets, after all. However, not having my partner to share in the decision-making reinforces just how very much life has changed. As if I needed a reminder.

In the big picture, my life is deluxe and I’m grateful every day. I enjoy marching to the beat of my drummer and then changing the rhythm at will without worry. My average week is a series of delights that, if externally examined, is a little embarrassing. I feel guilty about it. But it's not keeping me from having fun. I genuinely take pride in the things I do, and I happily share some of the highlights with our kids and others. 

It’s more than sharing the victories and highlights. It’s sharing the challenges along with the mundane. This color pants or those? This hole is turned into a chasm by so abruptly not having someone in the room to care for after four decades of constancy. Over time, I’ll probably get used to it. When that happens, I imagine I’ll become even more insufferable. Apologies in advance.

I’ve been home for a couple of weeks and I'm very much enjoying the rhythms of mountain life. Then, unexpectedly, during quiet times, such as after I clean up making something delicious, I hear myself thinking, “Is this it?”

It’s the philosophical thought experiment: If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If I change the motion sensors and no one is around to notice, do the lights stay off? 

The pain, the empty. The healing, the growth. Those are uniquely mine, and mine alone. The journey continues forward.

I miss you Beth. I love you forever.

Donald