My morning rituals in Columbia my not be set in stone, but they are largely predictable. After I get up and visit the restroom, where I brush my teeth, weigh, etc., I move toward the kitchen where I stroke and feed our fine feline, Caesar, and brew myself a cup of coffee. I fix breakfast—cereal, oatmeal or French toast—and settle in for some devotional time, reading something for the good of my soul. I don’t have to turn off my electric blanket. Her name is Sally and she just rolls over and goes back to sleep. Then, I take my walk, shower and shave. Then, I get on with my day.
If I’m meeting someone for breakfast, or have early errands to run, the routine changes, but life usually returns to normal the next morning.
Last week, in my blog, I whined about feeling disoriented and discombobulated in my first few days in Connecticut. What else would I feel? My wife’s not in the bed next to me. My cat’s not waiting to be petted and fed. The coffee pot here is different than what I have at home. I can’t find what I’m looking for in this kitchen. Half the house was being painted. The other half will be painted this week. The hills surrounding the house where I’m living are not conducive to an early morning walk.
Of course, I’m a bit bewildered by it all.
But, I’ll adjust. I will adjust. I shall adjust.
A Big Hunk of grief is losing the familiar. Things are not what they were. Somebody is not where you are accustomed to them being. They are not there when you expect them to be.
Change is aggravating, annoying, unnerving, inspiring, stimulating, challenging, vexing, frustrating, and surmountable. It is not deadly. I will survive.