The clock

Feeling some regret this evening for taking an old clock radio to the Goodwill. After I finished repainting my room, I pushed my very long dresser back up against the wall and put all of the drawers full of clothes back in. Once that was done I remembered I had neglected to plug Mike's 30+ year old clock radio back in. My arms were too short to reach either down to the outlet or around either side to plug it back in. The dresser was far too heavy to move loaded up. I had moved it by myself emptied out and that was a challenge. No way was I going through that again. So up to the attic went the alarm clock. I had a much newer one on my bed side table so I didn't really need that one anyway. The next day I made a run to the Goodwill with some old clothes of mine I came across during the painting process and decided to take the clock as well. Now, however, I'm wishing I had kept it. That clock was a part of Mike. He had it when I met him, of course, since he'd bought it years before. It always worked just fine so there was no reason for him to replace it. Even when his alarm was not on, at the time it was set for, you would hear a click sound. He had it set for 4 am because when he worked at the Oaks Prison he would awake every morning at 4. He didn't work until 6 but he was an early riser and liked to have time to "get his head together" before work. It wasn't loud enough to wake me, but if I was awake anyway I would hear that click every morning at 4 am. Or really I should say 3:50 because Mike always set that clock and the one in his truck 10 minutes fast. The morning he left on that fateful fishing trip he woke at the usual time and, as was his habit, he reset the alarm for the next day. Of course the following morning when it went off at 3:50 it was somewhat devastating to me. It didn't wake me since I had lied there awake all that night. But ever since, if I was awake at that hour I would hear that familiar click and think of Mike. It always sat there on the edge of the dresser and I really never gave it a thought. That vacant spot on the edge of my dresser looks far too empty now for my liking. I'm going to miss hearing that click at 3:50 am every morning.

American Widow Project

American Widow Project

The Toolman

My husband was like Tim "The Toolman" Taylor from Home Improvement. He had more tools and gadgets and gizmos than anyone could imagine. Today I spent a couple of hours trying to organize all his screws, nails, nuts, washers, etc. into little tiny drawers that are part of an organizer he had bought and never loaded up. I only got a small percentage done. Tools will come next and I haven't got a clue what some of them even are. He didn't like to throw out old parts and pieces of broken appliances and whatnot. I found little motors, hooks, braces, brackets, bolts, clips, latches and other miscellaneous things in his tool box. I believe I will be throwing all of them away. I can't imagine that I will ever use any of it. There is a part of me that feels guilty out there in the garage reorganizing his tool collection. It was like the forbidden Kingdom all these years - mainly to the girls but sometimes also to me. If I was out there looking for a screwdriver or a nail or something he'd get real concerned and then insist on getting it for me. I think he was just afraid I'd disturb the collection and he'd never be able to find anything ever again. I pretty much preferred it this way because the whole area kind of scared me a little. And now here I am throwing away all those little things he was sure he'd one day need again and would come in handy.
While cleaning out a chest he used as a workbench, I found about 20 handwritten notes from inmates at the prison he worked at thanking him for helping them get their life back together. Years ago they had a program there called "RESTART" that was a boot camp of sorts for hardened convicts. He got involved at the onset of it and stayed with it until state budgeting cuts canceled it. Apparently he'd made a huge impact on quite a few young men's lives. I can't help wondering where they are today. I wonder how many are still locked up and how many are out trying to redeem their lives. Although there's no way of knowing, it was heart warming to read these letters and know they were heart felt. I would have to imagine there is some sort of permanent imprint he's left on their lives.

Mike's headstone is finally ready.