Cindy's Famous Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies

Cindy only ever baked once a year and when she did it was to make pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. During the Halloween/Thanksgiving season, Cindy would stay up until 3am (on a work night) in order to make these cookies. The reason for the all-nighter was not because she was baking hundreds of cookies at a time. It was because Cindy wouldn't start making the cookies until 11:30 at night. Then, at 11:45pm, she'd realize that she needed baking soda or more chips and I'd be forced to throw on a coat over my pajamas and drive to the store. So, the actual baking didn't begin until midnight at the earliest.

The first batch was often burned when she missed the timer going off. Normally, after she placed the cookies in the oven, she distracted herself by playing poker on the computer, talking to her LA friend Jamie on the phone, or browsing eBay. After seeing that the bottoms of the cookies were burnt, she designated those as our cookies and would then begin a new batch for her co-workers and friends. The last couple of years, I actually wound up making the cookies for her. When it came to baking, Cindy felt like everything had to be measured and executed with the utmost perfection. So, what should have only taken a couple of hours always took her four.

In honor of Cindy, I am making those cookies tonight. Here is the recipe in its entirety with some color commentary.

Ingredients:
-->1 16 oz can Pumpkin Mix
[Note from JM: Serious bakers will know that standard cans of pumpkin come in 15 oz. This missing one ounce drove an anal cook like Cindy bonkers. So, to ensure a perfect execution of the recipe, Cindy bought 2 cans (only taking a couple of tablespoons from the second can). Then, she'd Saran Wrap the top of the can and it'd sit in our fridge for 12 months until the next season whereupon we'd toss the bad pumpkin mix in the trash.]
-->2 eggs
-->2 cup sugar
-->1 cup oil
[Note from JM: Another point of annoyance for Cindy was that this recipe did not specify the type of oil. I remember I lied to her and told her that when a recipe does not specify the type of oil, you can assume it means canola oil by default.]
-->4t baking powder
-->4 cup flour
[Note from JM: Each year Cindy would pause for twenty minutes at this point in the recipe and try to deduce whether the flour should be loose in the measuring cup or packed.]
-->2t cinnamon
-->1t salt
-->1t vanilla
-->2t baking soda added to 2t milk
[Note from JM: One year Cindy mixed up baking soda with baking powder resulting in disastrous consequences. It took months for Cindy to forgive herself.]
-->1 bag chocolate chips
[Note from JM: Cindy preferred the Ghiradelli milk chocolate chips as opposed to the semi-sweet.]

Instructions:
Preheat oven at 325 degrees. Combine wet ingredients together in one bowl and all dry ingredients in another. Mix dry into wet a little at a time until well mixed. Add 1 bag chocolate chips. Drop on lightly greased cookie sheet & bake 10-12 minutes.

Enjoy!

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P.S. I actually need to reference Cindy's friend Barry B. here because I believe that this is his recipe. I don't think Barry ever knew how much Cindy thought of him when she made these cookies each year. I don't keep in touch with Barry, but if anyone who reads blog this does, let him know that his recipe was put to good use.

365 Days to Zion

A year ago today I knew that I would be traveling to Zion.

Even though I always talked about wanting to visit Zion National Park in Utah, it was a place that Cindy had no intention of ever stepping into. But, at that moment, after the doctor turned off the respirator of my partner of almost eight years, the vast solitude and quiet that Zion offered seemed the perfect choice for me.


But, I was not ready to go there in the weeks right after Cindy died. Instead, I chose Joshua Tree National Park where I would be welcomed by thousands of outstretched arms ready to take me in and show me how to survive. As far as role models go, the Joshua Trees were quite successful. After all, they endure not just one year, but year after year of the most challenging and cruel conditions. Not only that, those trees have to remain standing amongst those that have fallen. What struck me most was how even the departed could help facilitate life among those still living. The lessons I learned in Joshua Tree carried me into the year, and eventually into Zion.


I often walked alone in Zion and I knew that’s just how it would be. Cars are not allowed deep into the park, the tourist season drops off, and the only sound you hear is that of your own breathing getting heavier as you hike into the higher altitude. When you walk around Zion, and especially when you hike into its neighbor park, Bryce Canyon, you feel like a dwarf amongst giants. Those rock formations, evolving for the past 150 million years, tower over you, close in on you, and render you speechless.


We often wonder what it takes to move mountains. In Zion, one of the biggest forces of nature is water. The power of that fluid in association with gravity, centrifugal acceleration, and electromagnetism create some of the most colorful, soaring, and imposing rock formations found in the United States. I wondered about the amazing geologic magic tricks these rocks must have seen over the years and how lucky I was to be able to witness the effects of this geology with my own eyes.


Being a mere 35-year old walking in and out of formations that are still kicking millions of years later make you feel significantly insignificant. After all, my time in Zion was so minuscule compared to how long many of the rocks, plants, and spirits have been there. I am not even a blip on the Zion radar. However, no matter what, I did step into Zion. My footprint is there. It’s like my buddy Ron Franz told me, “I came to Zion to be a part of eternity.”


Throughout this year, I’ve tried to share so many memories of Cindy. Those who know me well know that I have the worst memory. Because of this, I’ve been so fearful of forgetting things about Cindy. This blog has been my outlet for committing those memories to some semi-permanent space. When I cleared my things out of our house, the first items I grabbed were my journals, my photographs, and my videotapes of Cindy. But, the fear of forgetting, not just by me, but also by others terrified me. I remember recently I asked someone if they still thought about Cindy everyday and that when that person said no I felt a stabbing pain in my stomach.

I know I am not alone in this. Our friends who have children, particularly babies, often shared with me the sadness they felt thinking about their kids growing up and not recalling this affectionate, sweet, playful Filipina that their children called “Tita” and who showered them with baby clothes, toys, and kisses. Cindy loved these children unconditionally, so I can’t help but feel disappointed that they may eventually forget her. Something about that just doesn’t seem right.

Since Cindy died, I’ve had this urgent desire to memorialize her. I had a running shirt made with her picture on it. I created bumper magnets with her face on it for my scooter. I developed this blog. I posted pictures of her on my Facebook. I tried to not go a day without mentioning her name in conversation. Similar to my Ron Franz who created a Web site to post his wife’s music, I have done all of this in an effort to give Cindy an immortality.

For the past 365 days, I have been racing against the clock of forgetting and believing that immortality is the answer. But, what I learned in Zion is that all of that is inconsequential. Things in life change, they evolve, they come, and they even go. The absence in our individual lives is inevitable. At some point, something will change, someone may change, you may change and that is the nature of things.

For example, the formations in Zion used to be under water. But, slowly over time they lifted up to 10,000 feet higher. Another example, in Bryce Canyon, the “hoodoos” are actually believed to have once been joined together in arched formations before the effects of erosion rendered them separate.

It’s no wonder that when hiking in Bryce, I felt a discord. While the silence and isolation of Bryce inflicted me with intense feelings of loneliness, I felt a kinship with my fellow widowed hoodoos in the canyon. I took comfort in knowing that we have all experienced the inevitability of separation. And we are still standing.


Cindy is no longer here. But, I am here. You are here. Your children are here. Does that make up for her absence? Hell, no. Will she be forgotten? Not today. Not even tomorrow. We’ll still talk about her as long as our memories are here. But, 100 years from now, will people still talk about Cindy? Maybe? I don’t know. But, should that matter to me? No, because I won’t be here in a 100 years. I am here now. Today, I will find peace in remembering Cindy and celebrating Cindy. For the forseeable future, I will laugh at the stories of Cindy and her schemes. I will smile at the images of her holding her friend’s children. And it will feel bittersweet, witnessing for Cindy, the triumphs of her best friends.

We should keep Cindy with us as long as we need her. I will need her for a long time. You may need her for a long time too. And some may only need to call up her memory when the moment is right. But, do we need immortality? Probably not. On the road to Zion, I took in every sight, sound, and smell that I needed at that moment. And I will draw upon those memories when I need Zion to help me through the day.

Cindy led me to Zion. Cindy led me out of Zion. And she will continue to lead me as long as I need her.

My Ron Franz

Ron Franz and I had been hiking up the trail for about 1.5 hours when we hit a crossroads. The last half-mile of the trail requires you to navigate a thin slice of ridge (only 2 feet wide) with drop-offs of 1500 and 800 feet on each side. Then, there's a 100-foot climb over a steep rock face to complete before you reach the summit of Angel's Landing in Zion National Park. Since 1989, five people have plummeted to their death on this portion of the trail. When we reached this section, Ron Franz looked back at me, "Jennifer, it looks like you have two choices. Are you going to choose courage or sensibility?"

Ron Franz was not really his name of course. If you have read the Jon Krakauer book or have seen the movie, "Into the Wild," then you will remember that Ron Franz is the name of the 80-year old man that befriends 24-year old wanderer Christopher McCandless. Hal Holbrook played Ron in the movie. Anyone who has seen the film knows that one of the sweetest scenes is when Ron offers to adopt Christopher before his tragic trip to Alaska. Hal Holbrook may not have had much screen time in the film, but his tender performance sticks with you long after the movie is over. So, when this older man asked me if I wanted to join him on this long hike, I instinctively said yes knowing that he would be my Ron Franz.

Ron had recently lost fifty pounds. About five years ago, his doctor warned him that if he didn't take better care of his health, his life would be in serious jeopardy. Without thinking twice, he made some immediate lifestyle changes starting with exercising and eating better. When I asked Ron if he would be able to handle the steep inclines, he pointed to his knees, "They're made of steel now! Got 'em both replaced. Good as new!" A year or so ago, Ron had both knees replaced and focused every ounce of energy on physical therapy. During his rehabilitation, he promised himself that if he got strong enough he would return to Zion to hike Angel's Landing.

He lives in Idaho, but he happened to be in Utah this week for the World Senior Games. He figured since he had a day to kill before his racquetball event, he would hike more than a thousand feet up one of Zion's toughest trails. On our way up, he made one request, "Just make sure I don't have a heart attack." I said that sounded fine as long as he made sure that I didn't fall off the ledge.

Along the way, we talked, we rested, we talked some more, and we took lots of pictures. An amateur photographer, Ron advised me that when taking a photo with people in it, never place them in the center of the picture: "The people are oftentimes the least interesting thing in the picture."

When Ron asked me if I was married, I changed the topic: "So, what do you do for a living?" Ron is a music engraver. When he asked me if I had children, I replied, "How many kids do you have?" He has two kids and five grandchildren. There was a moment where I thought that he might be a widow too since he had not mentioned a wife. I was actually about to open up about Cindy, when I learned that his wife was, in fact, alive. However, she was in poor health condition.

Unlike Ron, she responded to her doctor's health warnings by abandoning all hope of getting better. She continues to eat food not recommended for diabetics and refuses to exercise. "I just don't know how to convince her not to give up," Ron stated as we walked up the steep switchbacks. "We used to do stuff together. Now, it's just TV and potato chips. It's like she's just biding time until the end."

I asked Ron, of all the places he could try his new knees out on, why he chose Zion. He pointed to the rock formations, "I don't think we can ever fathom the amount of time it took to build these canyons. I just wanted to be part of eternity." In my mind, I contemplated the forces that brought me to Zion of all places.

During our lunch break on Scout Lookout, we talked about faith. A former devout Mormon, Ron explained to me the spiritual crisis he went through after 9-11 and the ostracism he encountered from within his own community when he started openly questioning things. "Between me and you Jennifer, now that I am retired, I regret the amount of money I gave to the church. And for what?"

Although I did not share this with Ron, I have been questioning many things myself since Cindy was taken away from us all. She was one of the good ones. I still can't accept it. There was so much more she wanted to do. She wanted to be a nurse. She wanted to write a Hollywood script with her friend Jamie. She wanted to open up a high-tea place with Liz. She wanted to know what the Barrett kids would grow up to be. She wanted to open up a Smoothie King with Rocky. She wanted to see Hamp finally marry Chris. She wanted to be there when Beth Boobs gave birth. And, I wanted all those things for her too. But, then she was taken away from us. Cindy. The sweetest, kindest, most loving person each of us ever knew. I'll never be able to make sense of it.

After I returned from the Summit an hour later, Ron put his arm around my shoulder: "Well, it looks like you chose courage Jennifer." I smiled. "I don't know about that Ron. I just wanted to keep going."

During the journey back, Ron expressed relief that I did not fall off the landing. I replied by thanking him for not having a heart attack. I also thanked him for waiting for me on the Lookout while I left him to complete the scary part of the trail. Ron smiled, "Of course. We were a team and you helped me get as far as I did. I completed my goal and now I can brag about it to my physical therapist." When Ron asked if I wanted to come see him play at the Senior Games. I could tell it broke his heart a little when I turned him down.

Nearing the end of our hike, I did reveal one fact about myself to Ron. When he asked what I do for a living, I mentioned that I help people build Web sites, to which he enthusiastically responded, "I built one too! I placed my wife's music on it [she plays piano]. I just wanted to give her an immortality, you know?" I told Ron I knew exactly what he meant.

Cindy's 10 Steps for Maximizing Your Vegas Buffet Experience

Whatever I learned about successfully working my way through a buffet I owe to Cindy. And believe me, it is work.

1. Do not go to a buffet hungry. If you go to a buffet starving, then you'll inevitably pile up your plate too quickly and run out of steam before you know it. If you go to a lunch buffet, make sure you've had a light breakfast several hours before. If you go to a brunch buffet, make sure to eat some crackers on the way there.

2. Survey the landscape of the buffet before you begin. Figure out where the crab legs are. How far is the carving station from your table? What's to look forward to at the dessert section? Are there shrimps at the salad bar? Cindy said this way you could strategically craft your game plan before blindly piling things onto your plate.

3. Start with the more expensive items. Cindy trained me to focus on the high-ticket fare such as crab legs, shrimp, lox, and prime rib. What I always found odd about Cindy was that despite telling me this she still piled low-cost items onto her plate (e.g., tortilla chips, bread, bacon).

4. Do not drink soda during your buffet experience. I didn't realize this, but soda fills you up faster. Cindy suggested that you start with water so that you can wash down your buckets of food easier.

5. Do not take more than you can eat. If there are spare ribs at the buffet, only place one or two onto your plate. Try a spoonful of the bananas foster before dishing out a huge bowl. Smaller portions of each dish will give your stomach the flexibility it needs to sample more food.

Note on #5: This rule does not apply to bacon. According to Cindy, bacon could be pilled onto your plate in handfuls. Actually, Cindy always gave bacon its own plate. Disgraced, former vegetarians Nikki and Tanya may remember this spectacle.

6. Take breaks between plates. Sometimes I would catch Cindy just chilling at the table while the rest of us had gone back to the buffet line two or three times already. When I asked her about this, she said "I'm pacing myself. I figure with these prices I am paying by the minute here to enjoy this food."

7. When in doubt, use the toilet. Cindy always said there was no shame in using the restroom to "clean out" before proceeding. She was not talking about throwing up mind you. Throwing up one's food on purpose went against everything Cindy believed in. That's because in her mind you're basically tossing out money.

8. Whenever possible, try to get to the buffet at the tail end of a brunch or lunch. Her thinking was that if you stalled long enough at the buffet, you'd be there for a food changeover. This happened to us once at the Mandalay Bay where we paid for the Sunday brunch, but squatted there long enough to flow into their dinner selections. You will never know what feats of strength and stamina we called upon to make that happen.

9. Always bring a purse or bag to the buffet. Why? To stash post-buffet cookies, bread, apples, and bagels in of course.

10. Never write down all the items you eat in a buffet. Cindy warned that if you do this, you will surely want to vomit it up later. And, as I mentioned in lesson #7, tossing your cookies does NOT make for a good return on buffet investment.

Vegas, Baby!

In honor of Cindy, I am going to promote reckless gambling and game play. If there was one thing that I learned from Cindy, it was to take chances.

During one of our many trips to Vegas, Cindy and I were strolling around the casino floor in the wee hours of the morning. It had to be at least 3am, but if you've ever been to Vegas, you know that sleep is not a worthy distraction from gambling or drinking. We were in the Paris Casino and came across an Asian man betting huge stacks of chips on a single number in roulette.

Now, roulette is one the harder games to employ a strategy against. It's not like black jack where you can count cards or poker where you can bet the odds or bluff. In fact, Albert Einstein is rumored to have once said "You cannot beat a roulette table unless you steal money from it." Roulette is a crapshoot. You just throw your money down on a square or series of squares and hope for the best.

This particular gambler caught our attention because he was dropping a stack of thirty $10 chips on a single number on each spin of the wheel. Normally, people try to increase their chances by spreading their money across a range of numbers. But, not this guy. We thought after the first time his number did not hit that he would stop. But, he bet again. And again. And again. On the 5th time, Cindy pinched my arm:

Cindy: Do you have any cash?

JM: Are you crazy?

Cindy: Do you have $50?

JM: This guy's losing money left and right. I'm not going to be that stupid.

Cindy: We have to bet with this guy. He knows something that we don't.

JM: I don't know. $50 is a lot of money to lose.

Cindy: We have to bet with him. He's Asian! Asians know table games better than anyone.

JM: If that's the case, put your own money in.

But, before we could toss our money onto the table, the croupier waved his hand across the table and announced "No more bets." I tried to pull Cindy away from the table because I didn't want to be there if the crazy man's number actually hit. But, then a second later, the croupier shouted "14!" and placed the glass marker on top of the man's bet indicating that his number had hit. Straight-up bets (which is what this kind of bet on a single number is called) pay 35 to 1. This man had won about $10,000. And although Cindy and I did not technically lose any money, it felt like we had lost our entire house in a bad poker hand.

Cindy and I walked back to the room with our heads held down. I didn't know what to say to her to make her feel better. Finally, she broke the silence and proclaimed "If you don't play, you can't win."

Since I couldn't turn back the clock and have us throw our money onto the table, I did the next best thing:

JM: Want to do the buffet at the Mandalay Bay tomorrow morning?

[Cindy lifts up her head]

Cindy: Can we go right at the tail end of breakfast?

JM: Why the tail end?

Cindy: That way we can have the breakfast and then be there when they set up the lunch food. Two for then price of one, lady!

JM: I like the way you think.

Blood, Sweat, and a Year

For the past year, my mind has been like a jukebox. I never know what song is going to be played and I am powerless to what is chosen for me. One moment the song may be uptempo and carefree, then hours later someone decides to dedicate the rest of their quarters to the entire Disintegration album by The Cure. Each song that is played transports me to a different time in my life, plops me in the middle of another moment with Cindy, and abandons me there until a new song is played. I secretly struggle with the desire for someone to trip over the power cord.

The year started with my fist slamming down against the windowsill, the skin ripped open, and blood on my jacket. Actually, let me back up a bit.

On August 21, 2005, Cindy and I watched the series finale of Six Feet Under. I remember gathering at Hamp and Chris's house to tune in for the final episode. Most of the episode was spent concluding the season's story lines. But, it was the last minutes of the show that stuck in my mind. The finale concluded with a video montage showing the deaths of all the main characters taking you from 2025 with the death of the mother to the daughter's death in 2085. While the song "Breathe Me" by Sia Furler played in the background, we sat motionless on the couch and witnessed each person's demise. I challenge anyone who watched the episode to tell me that they didn't reflect on their own mortality after that sequence. In fact, I remember vividly the conversation I had with Cindy later that night. It had to be at least 2am, we were already in bed, and out of the blue I remember intertwining my arms with Cindy's and squeezing tightly.

Cindy: Why are you still up?

JM: I can't sleep. I'm still thinking about that episode. Why are you still up?

Cindy: I'm doing my Sodoku.

JM: I don't know what I'd do without you. I'd never be able to go on with my life if you died before me.

Cindy: Jeez lady, you are so morbid.

JM: Can you promise me that you won't die before me? Can you promise me that we'll die together in our sleep?

Cindy: No.

JM: You're cold, you know that?

Cindy: I'm Asian.

JM: Seriously, I'd throw in the towel if I had to live my life without you.

Cindy: No you wouldn't.

JM: Yes, I would.

Cindy: Well, you shouldn't. You need to live your life.

JM: I'd die without you.

Cindy: You'd better not.

JM: I'll never be like Paul McCartney and forget all about Linda.

Cindy: You better move on.

JM: Why? I'd want you to haunt me forever.

Cindy: Golly lady, you are morbid. If I die, you better go on living. I want you to be happy. Now go to sleep crazy lady.

JM: I love you so much.

[2-second pause]

JM: Why do you roll your eyes?

Cindy: I'm just playing with you. I love you too. Now, go to bed and dream about the nursing home we'll be in together in the future.

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At 11:58pm on Tuesday, September 30th, Cindy experienced her first seizure related to the aneurysm. I knew. I just knew our lives would never be the same after that rupture. What else could I have done in that moment? The sounds. I hate the sounds. The site of the seizure immobilizing her body. When those images fly into my mind they burn. Twenty-four hours after Cindy went into the hospital, I grabbed a notebook and jotted down everything I could remember of the those two seizures (she had one in the emergency room too). I have not looked in that notebook since. I don't need to. When you turn to your husband, your wife, your partner, your lover and you say I want you to go first, this is why you say that.

I want to tell you that it gets easier. I want to comfort you by saying that you can do it. But, it's a bit like running a marathon. You'll constantly be battling your mind, your body, and the desire to collapse on the ground. Each day requires intense physical and mental exertion to make it to the end. Sometimes I wonder if my mind knew that my body would need to be in superior shape to handle this astounding amount of stress. Two weeks after Cindy's funeral, I somehow dropped about thirty pounds. And in the year since Cindy had the aneurysm, I have run a total of 402 miles. I'd wager that I've listened to Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" on about 50% of those runs.

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The above photograph was the first picture ever taken of Cindy and me together. Taken with an old-fashioned film camera, we stood freezing in front of Teaism in Dupont Circle. We had just seen "The Royal Tennenbaums" at the tiny theatre near the Metro. We both knew we were going to love this movie based on the soundtrack alone, which featured The Ramones, The Clash, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, and a score by a former member of Devo. It's hard for me to look at this photo because I had no idea, at the time, how this was going to end.

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I can't sleep. Even though I started this entry at 11:55pm, it is now 2:56am. I don't want to sleep. Once I sleep, it means that a year has passed. A year away from Cindy? No one could stand being away from Cindy that long. Even though she sometimes annoyed the piss out of some her friends with her inability to sit still, to commit to play dates, to pay for anything at full price, to wear anything other than her tattered hoodie, people still kept coming back for more. A year. When she was alive, I couldn't imagine 24 hours without Cindy. And now, I've had to endure a year.

I know I am not alone. In my cell phone contact list, I have the numbers of three other widows. I correspond with five other widows on e-mail. And I also connect with those that have lost their parents, siblings, friends, and even their own children. Our specific experiences may be different, but we all have a connection. I do not know how I would have survived this year without those people in my life. And, of course, I've had an awesome family, a wonderful set of friends, and a loyal dog to lean on throughout all this.

It's 3:25am. The battery life on my iPod is at 20%. Eva Cassidy's song has just ended and that song by The Sundays has come on, which is my cue.

The year started out with my fist slamming against the windowsill. Then, I ran as far as my body would take me. And now, after a year, I've finally accepted the fact that I will never be able to catch up with Cindy.

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Note: Some may wonder why I don't count the day she officially died (10/14) as the one-year mark. It's because as soon as she had the second seizure, she never regained full consciousness. Unlike the miracles you see in melodramas, she never squeezed my hand, communicated to me through blinking, or mouthed "I love you" after the first seizure.

Ten Things You Always Wanted to Know About Widows, But Were Too Afraid to Ask

Early on in my cultural and feminist studies, I learned the importance of not making sweeping generalizations about entire classes of people. For the purposes of this blog entry, I am planning to make massive assumptions about all widows. I should really be saying “I,” but will instead be typing “we.” Tonight, I am going to speak for every single widow in the country.

1. During holiday time, we do not want those damn cards with the pictures of your kids on them. In fact, I can’t think of any single gal that likes getting those cards, but I’m only focusing on widows here. First, nothing is worse than holiday time after losing the one person you actually enjoyed spending the holidays with. Then, you have to endure day after day getting those constant reminders that scream, “Hey, look at my annoyingly happy family that you don’t have anymore.” Of course, I know that is not the intention of them. What can I say? I’m planning to be in a bad mood for a very long time.

2. We will say whatever the f*ck we want. Liz tells me that I only have two more months before the filter in my brain needs to return. However, for the past 10 ½ months, I have truly enjoyed blurting aloud every thought that comes into my mind. I always imagined that I would have to wait until my fifties to be so forthright. There have been some gems too. Like the time I asked my friend Katie if I could sample her breast milk. Or, the time I told my friend Nancy that I secretly referred to her as “my MILF” behind her back. Or, when I told a close male friend to not be so “tightfisted” with his money. Or, when I told a certain female friend that she needs to not wear those white pants anymore.

3. We always want to talk about our departed loved ones. If Cindy knew I was keeping this blog, she would kill me. First of all, she’d be pissed that I was referring to her by her real name. And she’d go crazy if she saw all the pictures that I’ve been posting of her. I can’t help it—I need this blog. If the front desk guy at my apartment building wanted to have a 30-minute conversation about Cindy, I’d gladly be late to work to talk about her. The only time I don’t like talking about Cindy is when the person I am talking to wants to compare their break-up with my loss. It’s not the same; it will never be the same. This happened at work the other week and I almost lost it on the poor boy.

4. We sit in our cars a lot. There used to be this obese woman who would come back from work everyday at 6pm and she’d sit in her car for at least 10 minutes before entering her house. When I used to walk Vegas in our old neighborhood, I would notice her sitting in her parked car just staring at the windshield. By the time I made the loop around the block, she would finally emerge from the car. I remember telling Cindy about her and Cindy was like, “Maybe she’s sad she lives alone, you know? Just trying to mentally prepare for the evening.” I didn’t really understand this because the woman had about five cats roaming around her porch and sometimes her son would come by to mow the overgrown grass. But now, I spend a lot of time in my car. No music. The engine turned off. Staring at the windshield. We can really do our best crying sitting in the closest thing we have to a soundproofed room.

5. We completely identify with the Sally Field character from “Steel Magnolias.” I remember the first time that I saw the movie, I thought Sally Field overacted during the Julia Roberts funeral scene. I loved the movie, but still felt it was a bit melodramatic. A couple of weeks ago, I re-watched the movie for the first time in ages. And when Sally Field screams during the funeral scene, I was like “I hear ya, sister. Let it out!” It’s what all us widows are thinking everyday of our lives: “I am so mad. I don’t know what to do. I wanna know why Shelby’s life is over . . . I just wanna hit somebody till they feel as bad as I do. I just wanna hit something! I wanna hit it hard!”

6. We recognize the importance of life insurance. Funerals are f*cking expensive.

7. We have zero tolerance for bullsh*t. Maybe it’s because we know how short life can be, how precious the seconds are that we will get up from a boring conversation mid-sentence. One time at a party, there was this guy talking to me about how he’d never be strong enough to handle the death of his wife and that I must be amazing to be dealing with this. Why would I want to hear this? I don’t want to hear this. Before Cindy died, I used to watch a LOT of television. Our DVR was easily maxed out every week. And now? I don’t watch anything (well, except “Golden Girls”). I definitely can’t watch anything that takes itself too seriously. I tried to watch “Lost” (a show that I used to love) after Cindy’s death and I threw my shoe at the TV. I was like this is complete nonsense and where are the women getting this never-ending supply of tampons from?

8. We think we know more about life than the rest of you.

9. We will look for signs of our reincarnated loved ones everywhere. I remember one desperate time when I was trying to clean out the bedroom after Cindy died and I was sprawled on the floor crying. And I looked over to my cat that had just been walking on my back, locked eyes with him, and asked “Cindy?”

10. It takes us a long time to realize that we no longer have to relegate ourselves to one side of the bed. It only took 319 days for me to start sleeping in the middle of my bed.