I was going to write an upbeat blog about watching Tudor Monastery Farm on PBS but I fell into a hole. It’s the deep dark ugly hole of loss. I don’t want to go there but I couldn’t help myself. Most days I feel OK. I think I am over this loss thing and then it sneaks up on me unexpectedly and gives me a sucker punch. I knew there was something wrong yesterday when I stopped eating vegetables. It was a defiant action. My mind was saying I’m going to do what I want, not what I should. Hot dogs sounded good. I had an overwhelming urge to cook up a box of macaroni and cheese. Broccoli and salad just seemed like a road too far. I do recognize that this is very infantile behavior and that I was eating over feelings but I didn’t recognize what the feelings were. This morning it hit me that it was loss, that empty feeling that no food can fix. I so wanted to share my discovery of the PBS Farm series with my sister. I have watched all the versions I can find, Tudor Monastery Farm, Victorian Farm, Edwardian Farm, Wartime Farm. It’s realty TV featuring the adventures of three archeologists/historical researchers who recreate farm life from the past. It’s British. It involves people dressing up in costumes and living like they were time machined into the past. My sister would have loved it. We could have compared notes on which version we liked the most and how we admired the people who were willing to give up modern conveniences to actually experience history in real time. We could have talked about how Dad’s experiences during the depression, when his family moved out into the boonies and lived off the land with no running water or electricity, were similar. We could have planned our next trip to some place that has historical reenactors. I don’t know if I ever even want to take a trip again if it means not being able to share it with her. ![]() The idea that I would deny myself something that I love because of this feeling of loss scares me. And the reality is I will continue to watch historical TV shows and take trips even if I can’t share them with my sister. I know I need to have joy in my life, but I hate, hate, hate the idea that I will never be able to share these things with her again. I guess this is the designated anger part of grief. This is a part of me that usually stays comfortably tucked into my subconscious not laid bare for anyone else to see. So is that angry, whiny, infantile side of me a “good” thing? Is it better for those feelings to be out in the open? I am certainly tired of walking around in a semi-daze, experiencing life through a fog of sadness. Not that I wasn’t capable of doing that even before my sister died. It is just a much bigger part of my psyche right now. I can’t be in a constant state of euphoria either. I did some research on Ruth Goodman, one of the historians in the Farm Series. She is one of the originators of the shows and spent time as a Tudor reenactor long before reality TV was a reality. She has written many books and done interviews sharing her passion for exploring history in this way, by actually living it. She is so perky and inspiring. You can tell she actually enjoys dyeing fabric with plants mixed with urine and cooking meals on an open hearth! She is doing something she loves. I really need to keep doing the things I love. I know that is the way to get out of this hole and feel whole.
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Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
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