Personally Speaking

Yesterday afternoon, after three months of maintaining forward momentum and a smile on her face, Fiorella broke down and cried and cried and cried.

She'd spent most of the morning pouring over finances and had finally realized that while Husband's insurance polices and investments will give her a nice cushion, she will also have to depend on a continuing income from TRS, ERS, and Social Security--and she won't have a clear picture of the exact takes till next month. Stymied yet again--every step along her widow's way has been like this--her cool broke, and she cried. None of this wouldn't have happened if Husband were still alive.

Calming down, and with a concerned mastiff trailing behind her, she moved into the front room and hurled herself into mentally devertive activity by straightening up some messy book shelves, then cried again as she came across forgotten records of her favorite opera divas and the nine-book set of Modern Music and Musicians for Vocalists (1918), which Husband's aunt had passed down to her. The tears doubled as she found her old high school Latin books--and her mother's.

Fiorella did manage to get the shelves neatened up, but the tears were falling so fast that there was nothing to do but get in the car and bust down the road to clear out any Easter chocolate left over at Walgreens. Fio ate three small bunnies on the way home and started chomping on a big one as she crossed the threshold.

There's no real ending to this blog, except that Fiorella is getting fatter by the moment. The rest is wait-and-see, which frustrates Fio, makes her angry, and drives her to tears. And Easter bunnies.