Searching for handholds

I used to listen to the radio getting ready for work. My cadre of NPR friends included Renee Montagne and Steve Inskeep as hosts of Morning Edition and reporters Nina Totenberg on the Supreme Court, Ari Shapiro with the White House beat, Corey Flintoff on international affairs, and Ina Jaffee on the national desk.
I wouldn’t know them if I saw them, but if they spoke I’d be flipping through a mental Rolodex trying to place them. The news team briefed me on what to look for in longer form once I got to work.
Ever since the first of the year, I stopped the radio habit. I found the news was more noise while I was dealing with my dad’s illness.
Now that he’s gone, it seems I still need some space, some quiet, some time to try to process his death. His absence still catches me off guard.
My other morning ritual is to read the morning’s New York Times online.
I still go through the routine, but more and more I find myself in a fog and browsing through non-newsy things, such as the real estate section. “House Hunting in Ireland,” was this week’s mansion du jour. There’s also the page “What you get for $4 million,” or some such price. I don’t think they’ve ever gone below $700,000, but the sky’s the limit for the upper prices.
Location determines the price. A one-bedroom cottage in Seattle is listed for just shy of $1 million. No kidding. The asking price for an 11-room penthouse in New York City is $17 million.
I’m not sure what I get from looking at all this high-end real estate except maybe some decorating terms: double-height ceiling, casement windows, butler’s pantry, trompe l’oeil walls, en suite bathroom. I’ve also learned from viewing hundreds of homes that stoves are a status symbol. The Italian brand Smeg sells for $3,000. But a German Miele or a U.S. Viking model can top that by another grand, easy.
Same goes for bathroom fixtures and furniture. I’m glad the reporters frequently include the prices for such things. Makes me appreciate our local appliance and furniture offerings.
I’m afraid if I really paid $20,000 for a bathtub I wouldn’t have the good taste to remove the price tag.

THE CLINICAL diagnosis for what I’m going through is grief, an all-encompassing term that gives all kinds of allowances. Thank goodness.
I don’t really know of any other way to “move on,” than to cut myself some slack. I need time to find new handholds.