Please, May I?

I'd like to start by saying that no, I didn't fall off the face of the earth, at least not unless the flat-earthers were right all along. It just seems like I fell off the planet. Life has a way of happening that sometimes leaves us unable to do the things that we really love. In the terribly long time since I last wrote for you, and for me too, let's be honest, a lot of water has flowed under the proverbial bridge. 

I can't begin to tell you how many times I've thought, "Hey, this would make a good post for The Lunatic," but never managed to sit down and write. I don't want to bore the pants off of you, especially because now that The Plague (okay, COVID) is calming down, many of us need to start wearing pants again. I also don't want to complain. Maybe just sort of, kind of, explain.

The last few years have been more challenging than usual for me. I have dealt with symptoms that ended up being related to tachycardia, which is fancy talk for my heart just beating way too fast for no discernible reason at all. With Trent experiencing a bad bout of arthritis while my physical situation was worsening, let's just say that I was a worn-out mess. With medication, I've made a lot of improvement, but I still have frequent bouts of what I refer to as running out of gas. This means getting weak, breaking out in a sweat, and hoping like heck I can find a place to sit down so that I don't fall down or barf or both.

Trent and I took the huge step of moving from Colorado to Florida last August. I know, Florida...but we could no longer afford to live in Colorado unless we learned some magical way to live without doing stuff like eating. Call me selfish, but over the years I have grown quite fond of food, so there you go.

In the middle of January of this year, Trent's health declined. I really don't feel able to talk about it very much right now, but in early February I had to say goodbye to my best friend and companion of more than twenty-one years. Some days are easier than others, and then there are the moments when I'm typing these words and can't read the computer screen through the blurring tears. For years, I've wondered why people will say, when they lose someone close to them, that they loved them. I am going to make a conscious effort to use the words I love him, present tense, because Trent died, but my love for him did not.

So now that I've given you this very pared-down version of life at Chateau Lunatic, I come to ask you a favor. May I have the honor of sharing my musings and ravings with all of you again? I'm not making any firm promises, but I hope to write once or twice a week if you find that agreeable. Please, may I?





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