I guess that's it until September 5

Just another thing to like about September, I suppose, as it's also a three-paycheck (2, 16, and 30) month.  Not that three-paycheck months have always been kind to me, but that's a story I'll save until later.  For now, it's back to the daily grind- and I'm not talking about coffee.  Then again, it is what it is and all there is to it is to make the best of it.  Beyond work, my step-grandson and I plan to go through the house and figure out what we want to donate of my deceased wife's stuff, mostly from the kitchen and bath as most of her items from the bedroom I've already sorted and boxed (as in put in boxes, not engaged in pugilistic encounters) and she didn't really have all that much in the living room. 

Getting so much (or at least somewhat) better all (or at least some of) the time

Then again, I suppose it depends on what's getting better.  Physically, I feel good... like I knew that I would now.  Ok, maybe "know" is a bit strong considering how I have been feeling the past few days due to the heat.  However, at the moment, whether it's because it's early morning and it hasn't heated up yet, the temperature has cooled a little, or maybe my figuring out that the fan has a high¹ setting for a reason, I seem to have a bit more energy.  Oh, great.  Just as I finish writing that, my eyes don't want to stay open.  After these messages, I'll be right back.
So... did you miss me?  Of course you did.  But let's return to our feature discussion and turn to how I have been dealing with my wife's death.  That remains virtually unchanged: long periods of coping followed by gut-wrenching moments of one thing or another reminding me of her.  Even events as innocuous as buying a rotisserie chicken (the focal point of many of meal since moving to Los Angeles) become an opportunity for such an attack, as if going to or arriving at one of the bus stops near our home or shopping at the pharmacy that filled her prescriptions or the other stores and restaurants in the same plaza didn't provide enough.  Yet from the very fields of familiarity where grow such weeds of sorrow also sprout forth the soothing herbs of tender memories.  Perhaps time can teach me how to better tend the latter while eliminating the other.

I just learned how to change the cover photo on my Google+ profile

Words cannot describe how beautiful she is to me.  And the emotions every time I see it: love, pain, joy, sorrow, blessedness, betrayal (how dare she leave me alone?), and too many more to sort them all out.  Then there are the questions to which I do not know the answer.  I have to restrain myself from punching the monitor so that I no longer can see it while at the same time wanting to linger on it, caressing the image of her face (why can't it be the real thing?).
I hope that no one reading this is bothered by my remembering this Memorial Day someone who fell in the battle against cancer.  I didn't plan it this way, it just happened.

Just another difference between pre-widower life and post-widower life

While I was out shopping today (according to the scheduled posting date, which would be about a week ago by the time I actually got around to posting this), I saw a multiple picture with "Together is my favorite place to be" written across the bottom.  Before, I would have viewed it as merely a charming sentiment and some small part of me can still recognize it as such.  Now it mostly delivers a gut punch with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, a painful reminder that my wife's death bars "together" as a "place" I can visit with her in the present.  I'm not quite sure why I share this other than to point out 1) how differently I perceive an innocuous message before and after my wife's death and, 2) how randomly a "bad moment" can appear.