Let the Sunshine In

My sun went out the day the Quad Queen died. Five months later, it went out for real.

It's been quite a stretch of time since I last wrote a post, and I finally have a few things to say. Thank you all for your interest, caring, and support in the interim. I've heard from a lot of you in one way or another and appreciate it.

Since Karen passed away, life is a thumbnail sketch of what it used to be. The familiar shapes and motions are still there, but much of the time they seem transparent, and in black and white.

Sometimes I manage to get involved enough in something to feel joy for a while. Sometimes I feel motivated. Other times I am completely discombobulated.

Playing music with my friends was one of the best therapies. For a few hours at a time, my mind was completely on the music. Playing guitar, thinking of the next solo or chord change, singing, blending in. It was like a holiday from mental anguish.

Playing a gig with the Tragically Hips. Yes, we headlined at The Carport.

On the whole, throughout the winter, things slowly improved. Since returning home to Flusherville, I feel submerged again, coming back to the home Karen and the dogs and I shared for some 28 of our 36 year marriage.

Grieving is tough.

Since I've been out of touch, I might as well deal with things chronomalogically. Let's see now...

The last 2 nights of my Christmas Vegas trip, I felt horrid. I had a couple of Maker's the last evening, Dec. 30th, and they just didn't sit well. It turned out I was coming down with something and started 2024 a pretty sick guy.

My niece LaMondo had done Dry January the year before, so I thought, well, maybe it's time I gave my liver a break. So I stopped drinking.

Alcohol is a depressant and the last thing I needed was one more thing piling on to the mental burden I was carrying.

I figured I'd do Dry January, and follow up with Flat-faced February. But no, January ended and I just kept going.

For the first three months of 2024, I did these things:

• didn't drink
• practiced guitar at home, had two band practices a week, and played five small shows
• painted half the inside of the house
• did estate tasks and financial planning
• had visitors

It was simple and it kept me afloat. Niece Lamondo visited first, then Dwiggie, then LaMondo's brother B.R. and his wife. It was nice having someone to talk to that wasn't imaginary.

Every night at bedtime I talked to Karen and still do. I told her what I'd done, and if I had a good day, and how much I miss her. Every night I dreamed of Karen, and I still do. I wake up and realize that the world I'm actually in is the one where she's gone. I hate that moment and it happens every morning.

Painting was good therapy. I applied 7 gallons of paint. I reckon I did 60 days of 4 hour sessions of work between Nov. 19th, when I started, and mid-March. I had February off. Two thirds of the painting time is preparation and clean-up, but it still takes effort. Taping and taping and taping. Moving things. On and on.

The walls - every single wall in the entire house - was painted in "Camel". Not very goddamned Florida, if you ask me.

The results are great and Karen would have been thrilled. (I'd promised a few things to her on her deathbed, and one of them was to paint the house, something we'd wanted since we'd had our first winter there, just two short years ago. Another was to try to be happy, something I'm still working on.)

I also got a job and then lost a job. A government contract at Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer. I'd had a zoom interview and done well, and even produced a few grommets at a local facility to show my prowess at the menial but important process. I was good to go for about a day when the government re-orged. Dozens of contractors working with the same procurement firm that I was using lost their contracts, and mine evaporated into the ether. It was meant to be and then it wasn't.

I don't really want to work per se, but I want to ensure my future can be the way the Quad Queen and I planned it out. I really don't want to give up my winters at the Greacey Palms Senior Putt Putt Trailer Park. That would mean losing all of our retirement dreams to ALS, and I refuse to give in to that son of a bitch.

For years, Karen had talked about the eclipse that would happen in 2024, and we planned our return date to Canada around it. Flusherville is in the path of totality, and she talked about the coming celestial display for literally years. Every April 8th she'd mentioned it. "Only 7 years to go!".

She had a little notebook on her desk that we used to count down the weeks until retirement. She'd written the dream to get laid off in 2021 (she managed it in 2020). And the weeks until my retirement are marked off. I finished in May 2021.

But look in the upper left-hand corner. April 8, 2024@3:24 pm. The eclipse.

In a discussion just after she died, I remarked that she'd miss the eclipse and that was sad. We talked about other things like what to do about a memorial and Lamondo blurted out, "The eclipse! That's the perfect day!" There was no doubt, it could only be that day.

The season in Florida started to wind down for me. I completed the painting goals I'd set out to accomplish with about 10 days to go, and then it was into my 98 item shut-down checklist. I won't bore you with details. I'll bore you with other things instead.

Mid-march packed up my stuff, and Karen's remains, and I left our retirement dream home behind. I headed for the AutoTrain station in Sanford, FL.

I'd booked a roomette for myself and I'd try to get some sleep on the overnight journey. I watched some episodes of Married at First Sight Australia as we rolled out of Florida and had a couple of cocktails with the last of the bourbon I'd had at home. The no-drinking streak had lasted about 3 months. It was good to have a nip, and a fitting time to do so.

The night was bad, as I had a terrible toothache, and the wall wart for my CPAP kept falling out of the loose outlet (the only outlet in the roomette) and landing on my head. This happened four times.

During breakfast I was seated across from an elderly couple. A new couple. He was 88 and she was 80. They told me their story and how they'd found (and continue to find) they have so much in common.

They'd met through a newspaper ad 8 months age. Each had had a spouse that was ill for 15 years. Each had cared for them. They both had had Jack Russell terriers, both named Cooper!

They lived half a mile from one another in Vermont, on the water. Their families and backgrounds were similar, and they seemed easy and happy together. They seemed 'right. They seemed happy.

"My deceased wife was named Maria," the fellow told me. "Guess what her name is?" He nodded like a wise old professor.

"Cooper?" I asked.

(It was Marie.)

They wished me well and said I could be happy again one day too. I practically ran back to my roomette, on the verge of tears. It was a very intense, meaningful, and interesting experience. But I have no interest in a Jack Russell at this point in time.

The rest of the trip was bad too. I was tired, my tooth was killing me, the weather was getting colder and gloomier and I found myself for the second time in my life filling up with gas at Frackville, outside in 40 degree weather and blowing winds, still wearing my Florida shorts. Apparently the car uses exactly a tank to get to the AutoTrain in Sanford and then from the AutoTrain in Lorton, VA to Frackville.

I stayed in the same hotel we'd stayed in on the way down. Maybe it was a mistake, but it's a good one and familiar. A bit sad, but I managed.

Crossing the border into Canada was easy but the agent asked some pointed questions. "Are you traveling alone then?..." They know everything. There was a discussion over the phone with a supervisor as to whether they'd have to inspect my stuff, but in the end, I just got sent on my way.

Being home without Karen was weird. Her presence lingered everywhere. Marks, papers, and supplies, and equipment from her fight with ALS were everywhere. As I had in Florida, I set out to eradicate it all - or as much of it as possible. At this point, there are a few things left to do, particularly repair or replace marks in the woodwork from wheelchair hubs and commode armrests.

They are scars that I hate. They stand out like devils, watching and taunting me, reminding me of the loss that that fucking disease handed us, and the struggle and pain that ensued.

Having learned something about life, I had arrived home with plenty of time to prepare for the memorial and deal with the house.

I set about putting things right. The previous summer all of my energy had been focused on Karen and everything else got dropped, right where it was. I could barely wade into the dining room for all the stuff in there.

I happened to heard a piece of music that I've always loved - a song in two parts. The first third is mysterious, ethereal, soaring with complex vocal harmonies punctuated with white light horn stabs, speaking of the universe, its power and majesty in bringing about a new era of harmony, cooperation, love and acceptance.

The second part shifts gears completely, dropping into overdrive in a lower key, blasting into a gospel funk R&B groove with a bass line that grinds, pops, flits and soars. If the sun itself had hips, it would be grinding them. Over top of this, a singer belts out a bluesy, desperate plea for peace, togetherness, understanding, love, and rebirth.

Totality for the eclipse at Flusherville would be two minutes and 23 seconds. The length of the first part of the song? Two minutes and 20 seconds.

On Monday April 8th, family and friends gathered to celebrate Karen's life. It was a wonderful afternoon of remembrance, togetherness, grieving and celebration.

As the eclipse began, we noticed changes in the light. Small at first, then more and more dramatic. We had the approved eclipse glasses to watch and we could see the moon biting away at that which brings all life like a once-in-700 years PacMan.

We hit totality and I hit the music. The sun was completely blotted out. I'd been thinking all winter about the symbolism of this and when I found the music to go with the event, I realized that in a sense, we'd all be saying goodbye to Karen at the darkest moment of any day for centuries. We raised a toast to her together during this darkness, this special, unique time, an accolade to a special and unique person.

Like life, the sun would return. I would be reborn starting with the tiniest sliver of celestial sunshine, a baptism of nuclear fire. I would move forward because, like the sun, you can't stop time, and someday perhaps, I would be able to let all of the sun shine in.

In the days after the memorial, I've found myself deep in depression. Estate tasks like removing Karen's name from the house deed and car ownership, final tax returns, and the bad weather we've had since, have chipped away at me. I've been dealing with Karen's things, getting rid of clothing and the like. I'm quite isolated and I've been struggling.

But I have made progress at putting this house in order, and there's still along way to go.

The prospect of putting together a trip report from the past interests me. I promised it last year and now it's time to get writing.

In the basement, I dug into the boxes and boxes of photos and slides. Stupidly, I brought three cubic feet of photos upstairs.

I did find what I was looking for - the original prints and the negatives of the vintage, never before published on the blog Vegas trip report.

Of course I had to buy a film scanner.

But the dining room I'd so thoroughly mucked out was torn asunder (sort of like my life). I had to suck it up and bear down. I did an initial pass, opening each of about 50 envelopes of prints, and marked what they were, when they were, and whether the negatives were inside. That done, I'm going to pack them into smaller boxes and put them all away again. I'll deal with them... sometime.

Meanwhile, I bought a slide and film scanner and I'm going to see what I can do to bring this trip report to life.

As far as trips to Vegas go, I have no current plans. 

But I also found some other surprises in the photo deluge that I put aside... for a later date.

Now, I've got a new old blog to put out. From 1997.

When is the Age of Aquarius? For what it's worth, "in 2024, the location of the Sun on the March equinox is in the constellation of Pisces but also on the border of Aquarius. So, we are slowly moving into a new age, from Pisces to Aquarius."

When the moon is in the Seventh House

And Jupiter aligns with Mars

Then peace will guide the planets

And love will steer the stars

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, Age of Aquarius, Aquarius, Aquarius

Harmony and understanding

Sympathy and trust abounding

No more falsehoods or derisions

Golden living dreams of visions

Mystic crystal revelation

And the mind's true liberation, Aquarius, Aquarius

...

Let the sunshine, let the sun shine in

The sun shine in

Let the sunshine, let the sun shine in

The sun shine in

Oh, let it shine

Come on - now everybody just sing along

Open up your heart - and let it shine on you

And when you lonely - hey, let it shine

You gotta open up your heart - and let it shine on in

And when you feel like you been mistreated

And your friends turn their backs upon ya

Just open up your heart - let it shine on in

You got to feel it - you got to feel it

Oh, open up your heart - and let it shine on in

Now, let me tell you one thing - I want you to sing along with the 5th dimension

Hey, and open up your heart - oh c'mon - and let it shine

Glory day - hey, you got to feel it - you got to feel it

When you open up your heart - you got to let the sun come on in

Now I say, in the morning - late in the evening

Open up your heart

Hey, when you're feeling low - let the sunshine in

Don't Dream It's Over

Realizing tonight is New Year's Eve, and I that get some sort of a fresh start with 2024 tomorrow, I thought it would be good to bang out this final post for this trip, and leave this year behind me.

The trip was not just a vacation, not just a Vegas trip, but a whole lot more. It was a coping mechanism, a pilgrimage, a ritual, a way of saying goodbye to places that meant so much to the Quad Queen and I, and by extension, a way of saying goodbye to her, of acknowledging that those days are done.

It was absolutely the right thing to go to Vegas for Christmas.

I got to see some old friends that knew Karen well, and some staff that knew Karen well. Breaking the news to them was extremely difficult, but I'm learning that facing and going through each of these difficult things is required in order to move along in the healing process.

It was also a good idea to blog the trip. People seem to enjoy reading my dreck, and it is really good mental exercise and relaxation for me. It's also work. It keeps me out of the casino each morning. It keeps my mind off what happened to Karen. (Well, except when I'm writing about that very thing.)

Did I have fun in Vegas? I sure did! I had some glorious success on stupid video keno! After 7 days I was even and then I started to get sick. (The sore lungs were the start of some sort of virus.) I think that threw me off my game, somewhat, but even so, losing $600 over 9 days is quite respectable.

One day I asked Karen, how many times can we go to Vegas? She said, "As many times as you want". We agreed 100 trips would be enough for a lifetime. Well, she made it to 60 some trips.

And I don't regret any of them, given where I am in life now.

Sometimes I would wonder when would the last trip be, would I know? I used to think about this upon departure.

That last trip with Karen, I pretty much knew it would be her last. And I was right, sad to be right, but it finally happened.

In Vegas, I did a lot of grieving. In my room, at random times, I would just talk out loud, asking nobody, "How can this be? Are you really gone? How is this fucking possible??? How can you not be here?"

And of course, there was never any (audible) answer. Sometimes I'd cry, sometimes just a little, sometimes a lot, and the tiniest portion of my being would move from the 'this can't have happened' side to the 'this did happen, she's really gone' side.

I remember after one win on Keno ($500 I think), I just stayed calm. I played to an even amount, cashed out, and headed up to the room.

And I walked in, closed the door, swung my fist and jumped up and let out a huge YAHOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! I mention this so you know, yes, it wasn't all waaa waaa waaa poor me, part of it was celebratory and invigorating, and yes, those emotions in me are not completely snuffed out. I'm still able to have fun. All it takes is a boatload of hundies.

I got back two nights ago, loaded up with over the counter meds, and slept well. The next day, I knew I truly was ill. I just hung around and watched TV and did the minimum.

Today I felt a lot better. And I felt something else. A kind of peace. And a state of relaxation. I haven't felt this in a long, long time.

There are a lot of emotional hurdles you have to overcome when you lose someone you love. The first this. The first visit to some place. The first encounters with your close people. They all trigger that horrible, horrible emotional pain that I am so tired of.

But I've been back to Flusherville, I've been back to our house there, seen my family, seen my friends from the plant there, dealt with the paperwork. And now I've been to Vegas, to all the places where we had so, so much - well, not just fun, but LIFE. So much life!

With those hurdles crossed, maybe I am a few steps closer to some kind of peaceful existence. I'm no fool, I know this is really going to be heavy for a number of years, and will continue for the rest of my days in one way or another. Muted, but there. But the memories will become happy ones, not triggering ones. I'll see a photo and I'll think, oh man, was that a great day.

I just have to get there somehow. I've been through so much this year that I know I can do just about anything this hard.

I also recognize that I'm not alone. So many of you have reached out and shared your own losses, grief, sadness. And I ache for you. This is part of life. It's all around us. I'm not special. I'm just hurting and doing what needs to be done, just like all of you out there.

The main difference is that I'm able to make typey-typey about it.

Now about the details of the trip and the wrap-up.

I had a lower budget this trip, and I took a lower daily budget, sometimes $200, sometimes $300 if playing where there were good machines.

Video poker sucked for me. I would usually start with VP and when over half my money was gone, I'd switch to video keno and win it back. This happened over and over (Thank you to whoever was helping me with that).

Sure I had a few quads, and about 3 straights flush, but no real VP success. Well, I had a few $100 hands, but I think that was the most I won.

But look at these keno hits!

That's for taking away my Super Times Pay, Fremont!

And now, the nitty gritty.

Out of pocket costs were about $1,700. Comps received were $2,135.

I also received lots and lots of ko-fis and donations to support the blog. Thank you one and all! 'Preciate you 'Preciate you 'Preciate you!

I've certainly had worse trips than that. Not too shabby.

Well, I guess that about wraps this one up.

In a few months I'll post that reallllllllly old trip report from like ancient times.

After that... I just don't know what happens. I suppose I'll check in from time to time here so you can hear how it's going.

Until then, stay savvy, and get Royals - apparently I can't anymore!

Here's to a better year next year. From Flusher to you, from one Vegas pilgrim to another, have a Happy New Year.

Yrs,

Flushiepants

In 1814 We Took A Little Trip

Day 9 Part 2 Thursday Dec 28, 2023 and I arrived at Orleans, got my room forthwith, and decided on Chinese for lunch.

Oddly, coincidentally, astonishingly, and I can't stress this enough, I got the room 1814. And now all I can think of is "The Battle of New Orleans" by Johnny Horton.

The Orleans is a lot bigger than it looks, some 1,800 plus rooms. I assume they all looked as 'gumbo jumbalaya shabby chic' as Battle Central 1814. It looks like they barely spent a french quarter on the decor.

For some reason, known only to the El Cortez and the Orleans, the showers have windows in them.

Good and different views from up here.

I headed down to Ondori, the Chinese / Sushi place. For some reason the service was extremely slow. Like 45 minutes slow. And my food, although tasty, was mostly room temperature.

Can nobody in Vegas produce a fucking hot meal out of a wok???

Kung Pau chicken, spring roll, and fried rice, lunch special, around $15. It tasted good enough. But I'm sick of the half-assed restaurant experiences.

Oh, hey, let me rephrase that. I've faced headwinds on my Vegas tribute trip dining journey. 

It was around 2:18 pm approximately and my Keno game was done. I spent roughly 2 hours getting to the D and back to pick up my winnings of $17 and change.

An absolute blowout. I put the money into admin to offset the illicit twenty from Wynn in the morning.

So now, back at Orleans, I got parked, got my suitcase up to the room, and figured out what to do.

My throat is still super irritated and I have this horrid dry cough. I wore a mask to the casino, and sat in the two rows of non-smoking machines (completely useless), and played.

It was awful. I did try to go big on some of the play, and this was the extent of any success I had.

It all just felt wrong. It wasn't fun. It was angering me. I wish I had left Vegas 2 days ago - I actually wanted to.

The last $60 went into Stupid Buffalo Degeneration and I got no bonus. I never get a bonus. The people getting these bonuses all the time must be pouring in hundreds to get them.

Half an hour, down $200, and that's it, the gambling done for this trip.

Karen really loved the burgers at TGI Fridays (and we had some good ones) so I had a tribute burger and it was shitty. I ordered it medium well and it came grey and dry. At least it was hot.

The server is never there to ask how the food is when it could make a difference. I'd already waited half an hour for a table, and I have to get up early tomorrow (like 5:30 am) and I don't have time to fuck around on my tribute burger journey.

I pointed it out, and the server was really sweet about it, but I said I don't really want anything else, I've already eaten half. I just thought you should know.

It sure looked good on the plate.

So I'm finishing down $600 on the trip. It's pretty good for 9 days in Vegas, and I got tons of comps to offset it.

I'll do a post after I get back to the Greacey Palms to do the comp math spin that will show I actually came out ahead, somehow.

I don't like it when trips end with terrible play, anger, losses, and frustration, but that's the truth of it. I've had to face a lot of hard truths in the last two years, and I'm getting good at it.

In days gone by, I would have been taking a stake of $500 or $600 on the last day (and sometimes on all days), trying to catch a hail Mary.

My savvy nature prevailed this trip, and my daily budget was often $200 - which makes it hard to get through the low spots, but overall it worked out. And I stuck to that $200 today, so yay savvy me for not making the trip a horrible loser by going nuts on the last day.

The battle of Orleans is over, and I lost.

In my next post, I'll wrap up and jot down what this experience meant, how it went, how I felt about things, and that sort of crap - and yes, the accounting spin, don't forget that.

More to come!

To 1814 we took a little trip

With a wallet full of Jackson's down the mighty Mississip'

We took a little bacon and we took a little beans

And we caught the bloody tap out in Casino Orleans