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The Wandering Widow

Observations, Tips and Reckless Truth Telling on the Road Through Grief

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Widowhood

When Grief Makes You Unrecognizable

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My Dear W’s,

If you’ve been following along, you know about how ugly and beautiful this grief journey has been. My sister and I were talking, shortly after I shared my plans to retire and live out of a suitcase, about how it feels to emerge from the darkness into the light. Eyes blinking a bit, unaccustomed to what hope and happiness feel like, but slowly remembering what the warmth feels like on your face.  That’s where I’ve been these last few months…just reveling in the heat of the sun.

I joked about how people kept telling me that I looked younger these days and how I must have aged a lot since Dan was first diagnosed. She looked at me and described the joy in her heart to see ME again. She explained that it wasn’t a matter of looking older. It was that, for a long time, I was totally unrecognizable. That grief had stolen the light from my heart, the light that normally shines through my face. That I was not just twisted by pain, I was hollow.  A shell of the person I once was. Damn! Little sister can be super poetic when she wants to be.

She said the reason none of my family and friends have pushed back on my recent life choices is that they can see that I am not just happy again but that I am alive again. Living again.  That while they are terrified in the same way you are when a toddler takes off running that they may fall, you are also so excited to see them growing you don’t stop them.

Wow.

When you no longer know who you are anymore, not recognizing your face in the mirror can only make it worse. For those of you who still find this new you unrecognizable, don’t give up. It may be a slow process like it was for me, or it may happen quickly.  But when you’re ready, the sunlight will be waiting for you.

XOXO,

The Wandering Widow

Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

What I’ve Learned-Adventure Month 1

A Grief Recovery Project Post

Wow. It’s hard to believe I’ve been away for over a month on this grand adventure and, as I write this, getting settled into another new country. It seems like forever since I waved goodbye to my baby sister as she dropped me off at the airport. I was a little nervous, but filled with excitement. And it has been an adventure full of excitement and bliss and peace. As I continue to learn about the places I visit and the people I meet, I’ve learned a lot about myself as well.

1. I can do it! And I can do it by myself. Even though I hate managing the details, I’ve not been homeless once, and have lucked out with fantastic places to stay. I’ve learned not to wait too long, as tourist season runs a lot longer than it used to, but have ended up with some happy accidents because of that.

2. No matter how much thought I put into my packing list, I still brought too much stuff. It seems I end up visiting the local charity shop in every town I visit, shedding increasing bits of my old life (ten pounds o’ stuff to date). It has become surprisingly easy to learn how little I need and how little attachment I have to what remains. Even then, taxi drivers almost always complain about how heavy my bag is.  Ahem, move aside gents and let a woman show you how to manhandle this beast up the stairs. <<Insert Who Runs the World? Girls! fist pump here>>.


3. I’ve learned that alone doesn’t mean lonely. I’ve met amazing people and had amazing experiences BECAUSE I was willing to go out and do things on my own.  While I still have the occasional Table For One annoyance, for the most part, things have been great. I’ve been able to get seats on sold-out tours, free tickets to events when someone didn’t show up, and private history lessons in a lot of places I’ve visited. My favorites to date have been my spontaneous attempts that landed me a ticket to my first ever football game that happened to be a sold out FIFA World Cup Qualifier between Northern Ireland and Germany, and the opportunity to rappel (or abseil as they say here) down the side of the Europa Hotel.

4. I remembered I like meeting people. For a long time after losing Dan, I didn’t want to meet anyone new. I didn’t want to tell my story and had no room in my broken heart to learn theirs. That’s changed. Every morning I wake up and wonder who I will meet that day. I’m hungry to learn their stories and have no trepidation in sharing mine. Making real life connections with other human beings is glorious. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.

5. I can be pretty chill. I know some of you who have known me a long time are questioning the validity of that statement (or flat out laughing), but it’s true. In addition to the #LiveNow lessons I continue to learn along the way, I’ve gotten pretty good at going with the flow. I’m learning to sit back and enjoy the last minute changes that happen in this thing we call life. Somehow the universe always replaces it with something better, or at least something I need more.

If I can learn all this after just a month on the road, I can’t wait to see what else is in store for me on this journey.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Two Years

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Random thoughts on a Thursday. I’m okay, just thinking out loud about how far I’ve come and the lessons I’ve learned on this journey.

Two years ago today I was on the receiving end of the private conversation that told me I was going to be a widow and that we needed to stay positive for Dan. This conversation was so private I didn’t tell anyone else about it. It hurt too much to acknowledge. I was auto-enrolled in “how to be a widow” training, which was the name I gave my Widow 101 counseling sessions provided by the cancer clinic. I was in shock and denial. There was no way this f’n diagnosis was correct. They don’t call it practicing medicine for nothing, and I told the doctor as much. I put my big girl panties and my war gear on and attacked cancer the same way I took on any challenge or project. I was Lisa By God Bain and still operating under the belief that I had control and could bend this diagnosis to my will. I put on the “we got this face” for Dan and our family and friends but cried in private every single day. Every. Single. Day.

A year ago today I was at rock bottom, fighting the effects of the PTSD and anxiety that no one warned me could come with grief. Instead of fighting to keep Dan alive, I was waging an internal battle every day to keep myself alive. Or at least breathing, since being alive and living are two very different things. Despite being surrounded and supported and loved by the amazing people in my life, I’d never felt so alone and isolated. I’d lost my will to live.

Today. Today I’m both alive and living. I’m happy and at peace, two feelings I wasn’t sure I’d ever know again. I’ve rediscovered my laugh, my sass, and my hope for the future.  I love my life, and I’m grateful for each and every minute of it.

Like I said, just random thoughts about this journey. I’m okay. I’m better than okay. I’m Living Now. For my fellow travelers on our collective grief journeys, please don’t give up hope. Our paths are all different but it does get better. You will heal, even though you may not believe that now.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce

10 Things I Love About Scotland

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It may sound silly to say a country could sweep you off your feet, but that’s exactly what happened to me. When I first visited in the spring, it was enough to make me swoon and put Scotland at the top of my list for this adventure. I wasn’t sure if I’d fallen in love with Scotland itself or if it were because it was the first place I’d felt joy in a long time, but I knew I’d figure it out. I’m thrilled to report that it’s all Scotland, and I love it even more than before.

Here are the top 10 reasons I love this country. Believe me; it was a struggle to narrow it down to 10.

1. The Highlands. I’m afraid photos just don’t do it justice. The majesty and power and magic of the mountains and hills, the glens, and the rivers are enough to make me wish I was a poet or painter or that I had the resources just to get out and walk every last inch of it.

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2. The skyscape. If I take any more photos of clouds, my camera may quit on me. But it’s hard to stop myself from doing it. The clouds are ever changing, which alters the light and the colors of everything you see. Time-lapse photography was made just for this.

Outer Hebrides Clouds (3 of 1)

 

3. The beaches. Okay, so the beaches here are a little different than the ones I enjoyed growing up in the tropics, but that makes them no less beautiful. The white sand beaches up in the Orkney Isles are crystal blue. And despite the cold wind, I’m already dreaming about going back.

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4. The ocean. I’ve spent more time on boats and ferries in the last five weeks than I have in the last five years. Rough or smooth, always cold and windy, I couldn’t get enough of it. One of my favorite memories of this trip will be holding on for dear life (it was a titch rough that day) on the top deck of the ferry as I headed to the Orkney Isles, laughing like a maniac and keeping an eye out for the infamous whirlpools I’m told can appear.

It was hilarious. Maybe you had to have been there.

5. The history. Scotland’s history is deeply rooted in the culture and people. It oozes out of the very earth under your feet and the abundant water that runs through it. Researching my Scottish ancestry made it that much more powerful and personal. Recognizing clan names from both our family trees was like winning the long-lost relatives jackpot, even when I was advised not to tell anyone mine and to use Dan’s instead. (this is hilarious for a number of reasons). And no, it’s not Campbell.
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6. The casual vibe. I like getting dressed up as much as the next girl, but when you’re living out of a backpack, it’s convenient to be able to go pretty much anywhere you want in jeans and hiking boots. (The LBD remains packed in the bottom of the suitcase, just in case). No one ever seems to be in a hurry. Scotland may be the most chill place I’ve ever visited. And did I mention super dog-friendly? Dogs are welcome in most bars and cafes, so Fido doesn’t have to be left at home or in the car. Izzy-booboo would be in dog heaven here.

7. The people. And not just the rugged, handsome, kilt-wearing dudes. (Seriously ladies, you can stop messaging me pictures of rugged, handsome, kilt-wearing dudes). Every single person I met was kind, friendly and welcoming. In Hawaii, we call that the Aloha Spirit and the Scots are pros.  Maybe that’s why I felt so immediately at home here.  The only rude people I encountered were middle-aged American women, but that’s a post for another day. 

8. The ease of transportation. For those days foot power just isn’t enough, you can get almost anywhere by bus or train. For everything else, you can hop on a tour or find a hired driver or a new friend who wants to take you there. It made it really easy to travel solo, especially since I didn’t want to rent a car and drive.

9. The single malts. You had to have known whisky would make this list. I accepted the single malt challenge while I was there. It will probably take me two years but, by the time it’s over, I will have sampled at least one offering from each of the 130 distilleries on my list.

10. The Idaho-ness. I haven’t felt homesick at all for Boise, but since Scotland reminds me so much of Idaho, it’s like I never left. Just like Idaho, Scotland is full of mountains, rivers, and people with a great love of the outdoors, family and friends. So yeah, Scotland reminds me a lot of Idaho, only with better weather.

If you’ve been thinking about visiting Scotland, do it. Don’t wait. And take me with you.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Bonus Reason:
11. Scotland’s national animal is a unicorn, officially making it the coolest country in the world.

When the Bad News Keeps On Coming

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Yesterday was the day o’ $hitty news. From the minute I woke up, to right before I went back to bed, the bad news just kept rolling in. It’s happened to me before. Remember that time I screeched at that young man that my life was a bad country music song? ‘member? Yeah, I can’t seem to make myself forget that embarrassing incident either. It went something along the lines of, Daddy died. Husband died. Suicidal. House flooded. Dog died. Legal battles. Someone drank the last of my favorite whiskey. Oh wait, that was me.

That song sucked! And just to remind everyone, I did go back and apologize to that young man who was very gracious about the crazy woman scream-crying at him. Or was it cry-screaming? Whichever.

Well, yesterday’s stream of bad news felt familiar. I woke up to learn the Parkinson’s community back home had lost a wonderful human being and advocate. I’ve been blessed to be a part of this advocacy community since my Dad’s diagnosis. We’re a family. I know they’ve been by my side and had my back from day one, just like I’ve had theirs. We were all in it together, and James Trussell was a pillar many leaned on.

Then, as I started my first cup of coffee, news reports started rolling in about the devasting and horrific loss of life in Las Vegas. I was still reeling from learning about James, and now this? I couldn’t believe the headlines I was seeing. I breathed a sigh of relief with every “safe check-in” that popped up on Facebook, but my chest hurt and it was getting hard to breathe.

My evening wrapped up with the news that Tom Petty had died. A man I’ve never met, but his music has been a big part of my life, so it felt like I knew him. Or that he, at least, knew me. I’ve learned not to ask, “what else can go wrong?”, but c’mon!

I read an article recently that talked about how the grieving have a much harder time dealing with the stress of disasters and other crises. And it’s true. It doesn’t take much to tear open the soft pink scar tissue that’s slowly stitched the pieces of our hearts back together. It comes with the grief territory, and sometimes we have to close up shop and protect ourselves from any more bad news. For some, that means turning off the TV and logging off social media for awhile. A great strategy for everyone, if you ask me. For others, burying yourself in busy stuff can work great. Some of us use inappropriate humor, my personal favorite, as a coping mechanism. Sometimes you just need to be with other people. Whatever works for you, do it.

For the first time since I started this grief journey, I had to deal with this kind of bad news day alone. While I’d typically impose a digital detox, my phone was my only way to connect with my support network, so I kept it on. As I wandered about town, the Vegas tragedy was the topic of conversation in many places. I’m currently in a country with strict gun control, but when people realized I was American, they offered their condolences and their empathy, not their judgment. Maybe I wasn’t as alone as I’d thought. Maybe none of us are.

I don’t really know what I’m trying to say here, except you don’t have to carry the grief alone. And you don’t have to shoulder the outside grief that sometimes comes our way on days like yesterday. And it’s okay to shut down and hide out and protect yourself. And I love you.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live now. Dream big. Love fierce.

 

 

 

 

Adventure Part 5: Oban and the Inner Hebrides

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Over the last few months, I’ve written a lot about going with the flow and trusting my intuition as I navigate this new post-Dan reality. Unfortunately, there isn’t a process map for picking up the pieces and starting over, and I have had to learn to trust my heart to guide me. It’s something I encourage my fellow W’s to do as well. No one knows you, or what you need, as well as your heart does. As much as I try to live that way, every now and again I still need a reminder, and Oban was most certainly a beautiful one.

Oban is best known for its single malt distillery, but this Western port has got a lot more than that to offer. The seafood is legendary, and it’s the jumping off point to explore the Hebridean Islands. I did a lot of research for this trip, so before I left home, I’d put it on my list of possible home bases.

But when I passed through Oban a few weeks ago on my way to the Isle of Skye,  I found it underwhelming so took it off my list of places to stay. That was shortsighted and dumb. Due to some scheduling limitations, and the encouragement of my friend (and Scotland expert) Gavin, I decided to go back. Yay me! (Or, yay my intuition and Gavin). Out of all the places in Scotland I’ve fallen in love with (which is most of the country), Oban is the one I feel I could put down roots and stay long term. I can’t believe I almost missed out on that.

So my dear W’s, trust your heart. Trust your instincts. Only you can decide where this journey will take you. And wherever that may be, it will be the right place for you.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

THE DETAILS:

Getting There:
Since I chose not to drive in Scotland, I relied on public transportation. Oban is a four-hour train ride from Edinburgh. The train ride was incredibly beautiful, and you’ll be able to relax and enjoy your trip through the Trossachs.  TIP: The earlier you buy your tickets, the less expensive they will be.

B&B:
I knew I wanted to stay on the Corcoran Esplanade, a short strip of super cute B&Bs right on the water and a five-minute ocean front walk to the center of town. I’d been referred to Kilchrenan House by my B&B Hosts at the Pipers Lodge when I was in Skye. Availability was an issue since I’d waited so long to decide where I wanted to go. So instead of a full week, I was only able to get four days. Four beautiful days! Book early, especially if you want to stay for awhile. I don’t think four days was enough and would have liked at least a week if not two. Frances and Colin are super friendly and welcoming hosts, and you can’t beat the amazing view of the ocean at breakfast, or the sunsets in the evening from the front porch.

Oban:

If you tried to force me to choose between the ocean and the wooded hills and mountains, I couldn’t do it. Thankfully, in Oban I don’t have to.

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Fingal’s Dogstone

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No matter how much it feels like we died with them, somewhere deep inside our hearts life still stubbornly persists.

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For Jacob, who loves fall foliage.
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Fattest sea chicken ever!

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I’ll never see blue and orange together without giving a silent cheer to the Boise State Broncos. Sometimes not so silent.
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Dunollie Castle, all snuggled in for fall.

The Inner Hebrides:

I decided to do a day tour of Iona, Mull, and Staffa, which are part of the Inner Hebrides. My scheduled tour got canceled due to weather the first day, but I was able to get on one the next day. Good thing, since it was sunny and the ocean was pretty calm.

It was freaking fantastic, although Mull was just a pass-through so shouldn’t be advertised as part of the tour. Staffa is the famous basalt column island that is home to Fingal’s Cave. I wish I’d had several hours here, but did get down to the cave and also had a chance to scramble around up top and enjoy the views.

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An early morning departure from Oban.
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Sunrise over Oban.

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First view of Staffa. I may have been jumping up and down on the boat.
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Fingal’s Cave.

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My inner geology geek was in full squee mode.
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Can’t get enough of this.
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Again, again, again! Can’t wait to go back.
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So much life in such a harsh environment. And so pretty.

Iona was stunning. Crystal blue waters, white sand beaches, and the greenest fields I’ve seen outside of Ireland. If you like to hike, you’ll want to spend a whole day here. I’ve already decided on my next visit that I’ll need to overnight on Iona to fully explore the trails.

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I still can’t get over the color of the water here.
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TARDIS!
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View from the nunnery.
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Heilan coos. Can’t get enough of those bangs and big dopey eyes.

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If you like to hike, you’ll need at least a full day here.

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Beyond my skill set, but total props to the dude that was getting ready to go out that day.

The Food:

I’d been advised by fellow travelers to make reservations at EE-USK as soon as I got to Oban, which I did. Wow! The seafood and service were superior. And despite being a Table for One, I was seated at a window table so I could enjoy the best view they had to offer. Top notch, so be prepared to pay for it.

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The Whisky:

First of all, whisky in Scotland isn’t called Scotch and isn’t spelled with an “e” so please stop messaging me about typos. This whisky woman knows what she is doing.

Now on to the business of single malts. Oban grew up around the distillery. That means it’s an entire town centered on the production of an amazing single malt. It also means that the distillery can’t expand. Their Instagram boasts “great from small, ” and they rock it. Their copper stills are works of art, and I would encourage you to do a tour (even the short one) to check it out. Here science and art come together to make beautiful single malt babies. If you’re a whisky fan, I also recommend doing the four taster, since we can only get one or two of those easily in the US.

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Beyond the tour, go across the street to the Oban Whisky and Fine Wine Shop and talk to James. He was able to turn his single malt hobby into a business, which is both cool and makes me a little envious. And he knows his stuff. In addition to the tasters and education, he gave me suggestions on which newer distilleries would be coming online soon, and which whisky bars in Glasgow would likely have the lost and silent stuff on my single malt challenge checklist. And, now that I know the Old and Rare whisky festival is a thing, it’s going on the bucket list.

James

 

Adventure Part 4: Slowing It Down in Edinburgh

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Okay, so I know adventure and slowing it down don’t usually go together. But that’s what this week was all about. I still have 11 months left to go on this adventure, and I’m notoriously bad at pacing myself. Hey, this is all new to me. I’ve never had a vacation where I could take so much downtime and not feel guilty about it. Sleeping in, coffee in bed, and writing for hours isn’t something I’ve ever gifted myself with on an itinerary.

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I chose to stay in Edinburgh and rented a cute flat in walking distance to both Portobello Beach and Arthur’s Seat. Each evening as I sat enjoying the view with a glass of wine, Arthur’s Seat (on my list to hike since my last trip here) would silently mock me through the living room windows. Whatever Dude, I’ll get to you when I feel like it. (Which I eventually did).

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Can you see the Palace of Holyroodhouse and the Abbey?
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Check Arthur’s Seat off the list.
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Make a wish.
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I took time to smell the flowers, walk on the beach, people (and dog) watch, and eat ice cream on the promenade. There is something about the ocean that is soothing to the soul, even one as unremarkable as Portobello Beach. But this island girl will take any beach she can get and be happy about it.

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These pillars (from the 1800s) in the Community Garden were rescued from Argyle House.
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Have a seat and enjoy the view.
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This week was also a good reminder that we need to make time to rest on our grief journeys (and life in general). Sometimes we are so eager to get away from the horrible emotions and feelings that we choose “busy” as a shield as we run pell-mell towards grief recovery. The truth is, those feelings aren’t going anywhere, but if you’re too tired to face them you won’t get anywhere fast, and it’s easy to start drowning again. So be kind and every now and again give yourself permission to take a timeout.

Breathe.

Replenish.

Walk on a beach.

And eat ice cream.

XOXO,

The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

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Ice cream, the beach, and one of my favorite poets. Can’t get much better than that.

My favorites:

The super cute flat I rented was in Portobello. My Airbnb hosts (the same cool people who left me a bottle of wine when I checked in) were awesome! I’d mentioned how much I loved the beach, so they called one day to invite me to join their family beach walk out at Yellowcraig, a beach I wouldn’t have found on my own since it was about a twenty-minute drive away.

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From the car park at Yellowcraig, take the path through the woods.
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Once you’re through the woods you’ll cross the grass covered dunes.
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Fidra Island is said to have been the inspiration for Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. If you look closely you can see the hole in the middle.

Their advice helped make this week so much better and relaxed, and they recommended all three of the pubs below.

The Scottie:
Since it was practically across the street, I went for dinner almost every night I was there. The food was excellent, and the service even better. Light and bright, the vibe changed every night depending on whether there was live music or football on TV. It must have a loyal crowd because everyone knew everyone.

The Barrelhouse Bar and Grill:
After climbing Arthur’s Seat, I rewarded myself with lunch at the Barrel House. I was surprised with how many American items were on the menu, but the neon, “I am the God of Hellfire” sign above the bar was what drew me in since I knew there had to be a story there.

I am the Goddess of Hellfire. Wait, that’s not how the song goes?

The Espy:
Right on the promenade, The Espy is home to the best cullen skink (seafood chowder) I’ve had in Scotland, a robust single malt menu and ocean views. A perfect spot for lunch during my beach strolls.

Peace out Edinburgh. I’ll miss you. ❤️

 

Just Dance

A Wondering Widow Post

When was the last time you opened your box of treasures? When was the last time you took them out, held them in your hands, and went back in time? Sometimes on our grief journeys, no matter how well we’re doing, it’s important to take a timeout and honor the things you miss about your dearly departed.

That’s what I did this week. I hadn’t planned on it, but some of my new friends found that box of memories and dragged it out in the middle of the room for me, where I couldn’t ignore it.

Steve, Andrea and I were hanging out at the pub one evening. The singer that night invited people to come and dance on the mini dance floor she’d made by moving chairs out of the way. Steve dragged Andrea out on the dance floor and proceeded to shake his goofy groove thang. Andrea was a little self-conscious since they were the only two on the dance floor in this tiny pub.

I was laughing my a$$ off but told her how much I loved their love and that I thought it was fantastic. Dan danced like a dork (and there is a wedding DVD somewhere in storage that can prove it). He may not have invented the T-Rex dance moves, but he sure owned them. And lemme tell you, I would give just about anything to be able to dance with that goofball again, even if we were the only two on the dance floor and everyone was staring at us.

Somehow that memory opened the floodgates to all the little happy memories about things I miss. It was as if the contents of my treasure box got dumped on the floor so I could find and savor all the little ones that get buried at the very bottom like tiny legos or Barbie shoes.

Things like how he’d run around the house singing falsetto and opera just to be funny. Or how we shared the same adolescent sense of humor and could drag any event into the gutter with just a look.

I miss coming out wearing his favorite Boise State hoodie, only to see him roll his eyes and complain that he was just going to wear that. All the while knowing he secretly loved seeing me in it. Something he proved when it mysteriously showed up in my side of the closet one laundry day.

And I miss all the little thoughtful things he would do, despite being a knuckle-dragging cretin (his words, not mine). Like how my coffee was always waiting for me on the bathroom counter when I got out of the shower, or how he’d fuel up my car while I was still asleep. Or my favorite, how he’d throw my bathrobe in the dryer to warm it up for me on cold winter mornings to coax me out from under the warm blankets so I wouldn’t be late for work.

It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about these little things. I’m grateful Steve and Andrea helped me rediscover them. I’m grateful they danced and laughed that night. And I hope those of you still lucky enough to have your hubs with you remember that it’s the dancing that counts, not what you look like or who may be looking. Someday all you’ll remember is the joy of the moment. So don’t be self-conscious, just get out there and dance.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

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King and Queen of the dorky dancers. This photo still cracks me up.
 

Why I Love You (Krissie’s Legacy)

A Wondering Widow Post

Someone recently asked me about the gang sign I use in my travel photos. Once I stopped laughing, I was able to explain that it’s not a gang sign, it’s the American Sign Language shortcut for “I love you.” I almost asked if they wanted the long or short answer, but decided they’d get the long story answer whether they wanted it or not.

My unicorn gang sign. Throwing down with love and sparkles.

A few years ago my best friend lost her daughter in a tragic car accident. Krissie died well before the word cancer ever showed up in our lives. Back then I was the one who didn’t know what to say or do, but my heart hurt for her grieving family. As long as we’d been friends, it wasn’t until her funeral that I learned their family custom was to say “I love you” before you parted. No matter what. Even if you were angry or didn’t feel you meant it, you said it. The preferred response was, “I love you more.”

So on that horrible summer day, the last words they heard each other say were I love you. Take a minute to think about that. Sometimes we don’t get the chance to say our final goodbyes. Sometimes even when you do plan for them, the universe cruelly changes the plan on you. Sometimes the last time we see someone is the last time we’ll see them forever. Sometimes the last thing you say to someone will be the words that echo in their heart for years to come.

So as we sat there at the funeral letting that sink in, Dan squeezed my hand, and we looked at each other. We didn’t have to say a word. We knew, starting at that moment, we’d adopt that habit too. We even called a family meeting to share with mom and the kids how important this was to us. We understood you don’t always get the happily ever after, we just didn’t know it was OUR ever after that was going to be cut short.


Krissie’s legacy was to help spread that message of love. A legacy that continues as I share this story with you. The last words my family and friends will ever hear me say to them, are I love you, or I love you more. There will never be any question about how we feel about each other. And since I can’t talk to them often from the road, my photos have to say it for me.

As we got close to the end the brain tumors stole Dan’s ability to process word meaning association and, eventually, his ability to speak. But the last words we spoke aloud to each other were, “I love you” and “I love you more.” Thank you, Krissie, for giving me that beautiful gift. I will treasure it always.

XOXO,

The Wandering Widow

Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Special thanks to Krissie’s family for giving me their blessing to share this story and Krissie’s photo. Love you more! ❤️

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