DEPRESSION SUCKS

         Originally, when thinking about today’s post, I thought it would be a happy and uplifting one, but the way I’m feeling as I type this is very depressed. I knew I had written something about depression years ago, so I went looking for it. With some minor changes, I’m publishing it today in the hope this reminder will make me CHOOSE to not be depressed.

More than a century ago when my great grandmother was alive and raising kids, I’m sure she suffered from depression based on stories handed down. Who wouldn’t have suffered back then in the coves of Tennessee? It was hard-scrabble farming, no electricity, running water, grocery stores, or any of the “conveniences” we now take for granted. At the same time, my great-grandmother most likely wasn’t aware of the “haves” since pretty much everyone she knew were have-nots as well. No major publications or television to show her the “perfect” world she didn’t have.

My grandmother didn’t appear to suffer from depression even though she didn’t have it any better than her mother. Married to a man 40+ years older than her, she raised his 11 kids from two previous deceased wives plus the five he gave her and took care of him when he became bedridden. This, all while working a hard-scrabble farm with no amenities. I was even born in her cabin in front of the fireplace which was the warmest place available, and my uncle served as my incubator until my mother was ready to have me with her.

Grandma, too, had a hard life and was part of my life from the very beginning. I don’t remember her ever dwelling on the hardships she endured or thinking or believing she had a hard life. In fact, she was upbeat, amusing and looked for and found silver linings in whatever clouds passed her way. She even had fond memories and often told stories about her good old days. I need to be more like my Grandma.

My mother was the antithesis of my grandma once we moved to the city. Before that, as a stay-at-home mom, she baked and sang and kept the house immaculate. I remember these as very happy times. Once we left Idaho for the city, things changed. Dad was injured, then couldn’t find a job and so she had to go to work to keep the family going. That, and easy access to print, radio and television advertising (or so I think) did affect her view toward life, and it wasn’t ever positive again as long as she lived.

I had a wonderful childhood and life was very good until I grew up and became an adult. Actually, life was good until my daddy died and I was 32 then. Marital problems also added to the depression. I was in my 40s when my doctor told me I suffered from depression and prescribed antidepressants. I would take them for a time, then stop, become depressed and the cycle would repeat. Finally, my doctor told me I was to be commended for not becoming an alcoholic or drug user, but I simply had to accept the fact my chemical composition was such that without my medication I would be depressed. So, basically, knock it off and take your pill every day. I did so until a few years ago when I gave them up for good. For the most part, I haven’t been inordinately depressed for any long periods of time, so the decision was a good one.

Still, when life seems to be more than I can handle, depression rises from the depths of my being. So, I find myself wanting to withdraw from friends and family, stop doing much of anything and have a private pity party for however long it takes to stifle the depression. Of course, I know getting out and about, accomplishing a chore; basically doing anything that brings positivity to my life will help alleviate the depression.

I also know there are other things that are contributing to the way I’m feeling as I type this. Coronavirus, shelter in place, fear of going out and about all contribute to the way I’m feeling. I’m 74 and have three auto-immune diseases, so that puts me in the risk category. Most of the time I try not to think about it and I don’t watch the news aside from 20 minutes of Good Morning America. Maybe I should give up that 20 minutes. Maybe I just needed to succumb to depression for a day or so.

So, why do I CHOOSE to be depressed. I mean, really, logically, what do I have to be depressed about?  I’m healthy, am pretty much financially secure, have family and friends who care about me, have things to do that I enjoy and basically don’t have much to complain about at all. Yes, there are things about my life I would like to change or have changed, but they are also things over which I have no control. I should just let them go, and for the most part do so, but sometimes, they rise up and smack me in the face.

There’s also the fact Easter is tomorrow and as I posted in my previous blog, like many others, I’m going to spend it alone. I know that has added to my depressed feeling. Yes, I’ll have ham and good buns. I’ll have my gin. I’ll stuff my face and enjoy doing it, but the enjoyment would be increased by having someone/anyone share it with me.

In any case, it didn’t help that I CHOSE to take a beautiful sunny day off and achieve absolutely nothing. When I got up the next morning, even though I’d slept well, I felt crummy and really just wanted to go back to bed. I didn’t. I got myself together and went for my hour walk. It wasn’t fun. For some reason, the calves of my legs always hurt a lot, and lately they’ve gotten worse. It doesn’t matter if I stretch, eat a banana, take my vitamins first, my calves hurt for part or much of the walk. It makes me want to stop walking…but I won’t.

Now that I’ve typed this, I’m going to CHOOSE to go outside and continue working in my garden. It always makes me feel good to see what I’ve accomplished at the end of the day. It’s supposed to be beautiful and warm for the next week or more, and I need to keep the fact that my life is a 1,000 (or more) times better than that of my great-grandmother at the forefront of my thoughts. I know I can CHOOSE not to be depressed by getting busy, calling friends, working out, accomplishing a major project, doing things that make me feel good. Most of the time, this is the choice I make. So, why are other days so difficult, and why on those days, do I CHOOSE to be depressed? I don’t really have an answer to this question, I just know now and then, no matter what, life and depression sucks. 

EASTER

This coming Sunday is Easter and I will be spending it alone as will so many others. Unlike Thanksgiving when I “…vanted to be alone,” I’d rather have family with whom I could celebrate the holiday. Instead, I’ll be here with memories of past Easters. 

When I was a kid, I always got a new dress, shoes, gloves and sometimes even a hat. We went to church to celebrate Jesus’ rising from the dead to save us all. We sang hymns and I loved that. There’s just something so joyous about singing hymns with the rest of the congregation. 

          After church, there were Easter baskets filled with candy, colored hard-boiled eggs hidden throughout the yard if the sun shined or in the house if it was raining. Easter dinner was always a big deal. Usually other family members either joined my family or we went to their homes. Baked ham covered in pineapple slices and maraschino cherries…I never was able to make one of those that looked as good as the ones my grandmother and aunts made. Mashed potatoes and gravy, some kind of vegetable and the famous Jell-O salad of some sort. Between the candy, eggs and dinner I was always stuffed at the end of the day.

          Over the years, I continued to celebrate Easter with egg hunts, candy and dinner or brunch with family and friends. Church going wasn’t ever part of the plan. I must admit that I’m sorry now I didn’t include church and Sunday school attendance in the lives of my children. They grew up without any religious history. When I was growing up, you received religious information not only at church, but in regular school as well. My children didn’t receive any religious education in school, not even learning to sing Christmas songs. I do know that if my children now felt the need for religion in their lives, they could seek it out. Still, if I had it to do over, I’d at least make sure they went to church until they were old enough to decide whether to attend or not.

          For AJ’s first Easter, my sister Mary gave him two baby chicks…one dyed pink and the other blue. She brought them in a huge Easter basket which he still uses at Easter. AJ was fascinated by these little colored fluff balls that cheeped and hopped about. Of course, if he got his hands on one, it was headed directly for his mouth. I ended up giving them to the family next door. The mother raised them and then served them for Sunday dinner…she had been a farm girl. I never did get even with my sister for that gift.

          Then there was the year I did such a good job of hiding the colored eggs in the house, the boys were unable to fine one of them. They searched all over and I searched as well, but we didn’t find that egg until the following year. I’d hidden it in one of the hanging plants and the foliage hit it so well we couldn’t see it. John very carefully took control of that egg, wrapped it up in a plastic bag and put it in the garbage. “Can you imagine how a year-old hard-boiled egg would smell if it was cracked?” was his comment.

          I always made sure everyone of us had an Easter basket full of our favorite candies, Easter egg hunts and a yummy ham dinner. Sometimes, especially after my parents both died, we’d have a brunch with several other families. Each family would bring a special dish and we’d share. There was certainly some very tasty food at those brunches as well as a great feeling of fellowship…I’ll miss that this year.

           My mother almost always bought those hams that are round and oblong. I much prefer the hams with the bone. The ham itself just tastes so much better and then you get to use the bone for some kind of soup. The day after Easter there’s nothing like a really good roll with a piece of ham tucked inside…okay, several rolls with ham.

          When I do my grocery shopping today, I’m going to see if I can find the smallest bone-in ham they have in the case. It will probably way bigger than I need, but I can freeze some of it as well as the bone to have later on. I probably won’t make gravy or potatoes. Instead, I’ll make myself a big salad and make sure I have my favorite rolls on hand so I can put the ham inside that very day rather than waiting until Monday.

          It will be my first Easter without John; and, really, without family since we cannot all get together. I’m sure it will be lonely, but there’s the phone and face time, not that those conveniences will do John any good. I’ve also put Easter cards in the mail to my grandkids and their parents. I like to think of it as sending a virtual hug and being able to say, “Happy Easter, Nana/Mom loves you.”

BEST-LAID PLANS CANCELLED

        

When I got up Monday morning, my temporary crown came off. I called my dentist and left a message, but didn’t call the emergency number. It didn’t hurt. When I returned from my walk, I called again and Dr. Nina herself answered. I told her about my crown and laughingly said I had some gorilla glue. I expected she would see me right away, but because of the restrictions from the Department of Health, it will probably be mid-May before she can reopen her office and see me or any other patient.     

      

         Dr. Nina told me gorilla glue wouldn’t do the trick, but I should go to the drug store and buy a product that would allow me to glue my temporary crown back on. So, mask in place, I went to the local drug store, and sure enough, they had a product called Recap-it. I bought it, came home, read the instructions and replaced my temporary crown. The only problem is that the tooth is now a bit sensitive. I’m hoping that sensitivity goes away. Meanwhile, I won’t be chewing on that side for however long I have to wait to get the real thing installed.

          I wrote the above this morning before I made my beef stroganoff and went out into the garden. My tooth seems to be okay, but I’m certainly more aware of it than I was yesterday. Am definitely not chewing on the right side. So, hoping for the best. 

          To change topics, Robert Burns is the individual who said, “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” Well, I didn’t exactly have the “best-laid plans,” but I did make some plans and I do believe they are all going to go “awry.” 

          If you remember, I planned to have a huge garage sale the end of July, beginning of August as well as look into selling my house and moving. Well, I don’t think either of those plans are going to see fruition. With everyone’s finances in jeopardy, it’s not likely anyone is going to be going to garage sales to buy more stuff. And, who knows at this point what will happen with the house market. It’s also not like I can get out there and see what’s available.

          As for E-Bay, I did put three items up for sale. There hasn’t been a single nibble. I looked for other items similar to the ones I put up and made my price less. I wonder if there’s some way to find out if E-bay sales are way down during the pandemic? Anyway, I’m not going to relist anything at this point in time. It’s really kind of disappointing because I was feeling very gung-ho about my plans.

           I’m not alone though because everyone who had any sort of plans, whether it was to get a permanent crown, visit Europe, have a potluck, has had to cancel those plans. I’m lucky to have a home in which to shelter, a television and computer to keep me updated, amused or entertained, a smart phone if I become desperate for the sound of someone else’s voice. If I absolutely have to have something, I can order online and have it delivered.

          So, plans awry or not, I’m very fortunate and am counting my blessings…just hope one of those blessings is a very quiet tooth for another month or so.

PLEASURE FROM GIVING

         Yesterday I did something that was really fun. It also made me feel very good. I wish I had done it nine years ago when I first retired. I actually had the idea some time ago, and did it first with my granddaughter. She took some of the items offered, but not many. Perhaps in time her tastes will change and she’ll inherit what was once Nana’s from her mom.

          In my 74+ years of life…well, okay, more like 60 since I quit making purchases of this sort some time ago…I’ve acquired quite a bit of jewelry. Some of it is very nice, but in any case, I liked everything I had. I wore jewelry every single day when I was working. now retired, the options for jewelry wearing just don’t arise that often.

          At Christmas time, I gave Angie a necklace and earrings my boss had brought me from Africa. I also gave daughter-in-law Amber her first pieces of amber…necklace and earrings. It made me feel very good to see Angie wearing her gift on Christmas day. I asked my first daughter-in-law, Angie, if she’d like to go through my jewelry and take whatever she liked. At some point, the second daughter-in-law will be invited to do the same.

So, AJ, Angie and Haley all came over (We’re safe because we’ve been sheltering at home and taking extreme care to stay healthy.) late Tuesday afternoon. AJ and Haley came to set up the have-a-hart trap again. I’m sad to say not only has another rat come to visit, but he’s apparently brought his wife and child. There’s the big guy and two smaller ones. So, we’ll see if any of them visit the inside of the trap tonight. I’m sure we won’t be lucky enough to get all three in there at one time.

          Anyway, while AJ and Haley stayed outside to rat watch and set up the trap, Angie and I went through my jewelry boxes. She was amazed at my memory of almost every piece of jewelry. I so enjoyed going through it and telling her who gave it to me, or where I bought it and how much I liked the various pieces. It probably took more than an hour.

          For some of the pieces, I offered the box in which it had been kept. With the exception of two boxes, she declined the remainder. It got to be kinda funny when I’d open the box, show the jewelry which she’d take and then go, “How about the box?”  I even offered to give her my largest jewelry box for all her new treasures. She declined that, but said she’d let me know if she changed her mind.

          I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to seeing Angie wearing jewelry that gave me so much pleasure over the years. I’m also looking forward to remembering from whom or where the particular pieces came when I see it again. It was so fun and enjoyable to walk down that memory lane with Angie.

          There were some pieces I didn’t offer because they still give me pleasure and I do wear them on occasion. I also didn’t offer the various gifts that John made to me over the years. I do still wear those gifts because they mean so much to me and hold such memories. Those rings, earrings, and pearl necklace were appraised when we had our Estate Plan done (I have to laugh every time I see the Estate Planning Portfolio. That sounds like something folks like the Gates and the Bezos would have, not a simple middle-class couple.) and will be inherited by our granddaughter and grandson when I join John and all our pets under the apple tree.

          It is true…there is great pleasure to be had in giving.  

SURVIVALIST TIME???

         On Friday, I went to the grocery store. Actually, I went to three of them because I wanted to purchase some yeast to make bread. The first store, I did my actual shopping. The other two, I walked in, perused the aisle that held baking materials, found empty shelves. There was no yeast, flour, sugar or whatever else usually went on those shelves. 

          Now, I knew people were buying huge amounts of stuff, but I thought it was pretty much limited to toilet paper, cleaning products and hand sanitizer. I guess I just hadn’t been aware of the baking items because I hadn’t needed anything in that aisle in the past. I did notice on past visits that some of the other aisles with things like dried beans, rice, pasta, all that sort of stuff was pretty much gone. But, there again, I didn’t really need any of those products.

          On Saturday I talked to a friend and was complaining about being unable to find yeast. She said her daughter had a lot of yeast and was searching for flour. Later on, she texted to tell me her daughter’s husband had scored huge bags, like 100 pounds each, of rice, beans, flour and sugar. She also texted that he was going to build two large greenhouses. I told her she wasn’t going to have to worry about food with them living in the same city.

          All this served to remind me of a good friend we had long ago. He became sort of a survivalist. He bought some land, built a house and a barn and planted a variety of trees and crops. He also had well water. His explanation was that when there was no more oil, trucks wouldn’t be able to supply the grocery stores. Plus, we wouldn’t be able to get to the grocery store to purchase food. When that happened, he’d be able to take care of his family. He also had a rather large arsenal, so he’d be able to keep those of us who hadn’t planned ahead from trying to take advantage of his efforts. This friend is no longer with us, but I wonder what he’d have to say about the way things have developed in the first three-plus months of 2020?

          Meanwhile, I’m left wondering what the heck is going on. Has everyone decided to become a survivalist? Is everyone suddenly baking bread and cookies and a variety of other things that utilize those products? Is everyone suddenly cooking meals from scratch and looking up recipes on the internet? I’ll admit that I’m cooking more than I did before and putting the extra in the freezer to utilize later.

          Today, I’m making stroganoff and will have it for dinner today and tomorrow, then the rest into the freezer. Later in the week I want to make 15-bean soup as well as bake some onion-dill bread. My walking partner is being kind enough to give me enough yeast to make the bread. In return, I’ll give her one of the two loaves of bread. After that, I think I’ll eat out of the freezer for a few days since I seem to be running out of storage bowls.

          My walking partner also made me a mask which I wore yesterday when I went out and about. We also wore our masks this morning when we walked. I was amazed to see so many people out and about both yesterday afternoon and this morning. Everyone must be getting cabin fever. And the reactions of the various people are different from person to person. Some say hello and smile, some just smile and nod and others walk with a scowly face and don’t acknowledge that you are even there. I’m sure the virus cannot be spread with a smile and head nod. How hard is it to be kind?

          I don’t know about the majority of you who read my blog, but each morning when I watch my 20 minutes of Good Morning America, my terror/anxiety level rises. So far, it hasn’t risen far enough to keep me from going to the grocery store, but that’s as far as I do go. I’m beginning to wonder if I should start ordering what I need on line. How about all of you? Are you wearing a mask, using hand sanitizer every other minute, ordering in instead of going out? Are you, like me, getting more and more concerned about when this will end? Will it end? It seems like its been going on forever. I’m ready for this virus to disappear. I’m sure you are too.  

FALLING TO MY KNEES

         Sunday morning I fell out of bed…literally!!! On Saturday, I cleaned my bedroom from top to bottom, removed, washed and replaced all the bedding. The one thing I didn’t replace was the rug that rests alongside my bed. The floor was clean, my feet were clean and apparently when I put the two together, one or both was slick, so I fell…to my knees.

          I may not have been quite awake before my knees hit the floor, but let me tell you that pain has a way of really opening your eyes. I moved so I could sit on my butt and put my shoes on. It was certainly harder getting up than it was going down. The good news is I didn’t break anything. The bad news is that some skin was removed from each knee, due to sliding on the slick floor I guess, and I’ll most likely develop a bruise or have sore knees for a while.

          In all seriousness, I wonder if my body isn’t trying to tell me something, i.e., DO NOT WASH FLOORS ON YOUR KNEES!!!!!!!!!!!! That’s how I cleaned the bathroom and my bedroom floors. I guess my body, especially my knees, was not happy with that decision. For the remainder of the floors in the house, I guess I’ll have to go back to using the steam machine which I hate.

          On Saturday, I also noticed I have a huge purple bruise on the inside of my thigh. I have no memory of pinching myself there or running into something with that portion of my anatomy. In fact, I’m not sure you could run into something with the inside of your thigh. Since the bruise is about the size of a small lemon, I think the injury would have had to hurt. But, I have no memory of any pain or discomfort associated with this bruise. 

          Now I have to wonder if my brain or memory is having difficulty as well. Will I wake up tomorrow and wonder why I have bruises on my knees or why my knees are painful? I know I’ll continue to wonder how that thigh bruise originated. They (whoever they are) always say you forget the pain of childbirth. Well, I’m here to tell you that isn’t actually true. I do remember the pain, but I also remember it didn’t last all that long and the result was worth it. I’m sure there are women out there who will disagree with those statements, but it’s my reality I’m writing about.

          Fortunately, neither my thigh nor my knees resulted in my being unable to get up and move about. I do know as I sat on the floor putting my shoes on, I did think about how long I would have had to stay there were I seriously injured until someone came along and found me. I did laugh at the image of myself saying, “Help, I’ve fallen and can’t get up.” I also had my cell phone nearby, so I could have called for help if needed. Still, living alone is certainly one adventure after another.

          I also had a kind of waking weird dream before I fell out of bed. I could hear my kitty, Zooey, meowing very loudly. She’s able to get into the attic and would sometimes sit on the door to the attic and meow for John. The weird part is that I heard John’s door open and footsteps down the hall. I remember snuggling back into my pillow thinking, he’ll take care of her. Then, poof, my eyes flew open and it took me a minute or so to remember that he was no longer here. I have to admit that during the time I thought he had opened his door and was walking down the hall, I felt very secure and comforted. I find myself wishing that warm snuggly feeling could have lasted longer. It would have been even better had he been able to come to my aid as my knees began to throb. It would have been really nice if he’d been here to help me get to my feet.

          Still, I did manage on my own. That’s more than enough to be thankful for this Sunday morning.

WALKER WARS OR HEY MARK BURNETT/JEFF PROBST CHECK THIS OUT

         The following is something I wrote about six years ago. It’s not exactly as I wrote it then. I’ve updated it to be more current, although it’s highly unlikely any of us could resort to something like this during the pandemic.  

No matter what happens, I generally try to find humor in most situations. Over the last six years, I’ve had two total hip replacements and a shoulder repair. John was my caretaker for the hip replacements, but not so much for the shoulder repair which took far longer to heal. It was fortunate my surgeon didn’t see or meet John or I might have been sent to a rehab facility. It’s not likely the surgeon would have wanted me to have a caretaker that had been using a walker in the house for more than a year. That’s not to say John couldn’t get around because he could…slowly but his walker makes him appear less capable.
         

 I didn’t have a choice about using a walker after the hip replacements, and brought my own home from the hospital. Our house is conducive to walker use except for a couple of places. One day, as I rounded the door jamb into the kitchen, John was poised to enter the kitchen from the other end. I exclaimed,

          “Oh no, we’re going to crash.” And laughed. John wasn’t amused.

A day or so later, I came out of the bedroom into the hallway just as John prepared to come down the hallway. I squared my walker off, twisted my hands on the handles and made motorcycle sounds. I coined the term Walker War, and again, John was not amused.

During a phone conversation with our son, I told him about our Walker War and elaborated on how there should be a reality show called Walker Wars. My son was also not amused…where were their senses of humor. 

Following that conversation which had me laughing until my eyes teared, I gave the Walker Wars idea even more thought and think it could be a reality show gem. I mean really. Back then (and maybe now) people actually watched the Kardashians, some other show about extreme cheapskates, Tiger King, and a wide variety of others where the commercials for them make me wonder, “Who the hell watches that stuff?” How could my Walker Wars program possibly fail?

Here’s my concept for when our lives return to normal. Nursing homes/skilled facilities/retirement homes around the country could vie for a spot on the show. The contests could be held either in the homes or at some nearby facility that would be conducive to this program. Winners of regional contests would move to state and the winner there to nationals. The national winners would receive a million dollar renovation for their home or some kind of reward that would benefit the residents.

Can’t you picture a wide hall in one of those homes, both sides crowded with wheelchair bound residents and the spry contestants at one end with their walkers all gussied up. In fact, that could be a separate contest which could include walker users that don’t wish to compete in the war. There are people who really like to fancy up their walkers, so there could be prizes for the most beautiful, disguised or decorative walker…how fun would that be?

Back to Walker Wars. The MC, (ala Jeff Probst) would be stationed on a small slightly raised platform in the middle of the hallway, maybe in a doorway. He begins by raising the crowd’s excitement level, identifying the contestants and providing some background for each. Then, it’s time. The MC says,

            “Walkers ready?” and following a brief pause, shouts “GO!!!!!”

Immediately, the walkers at the end of the hall begin to move forward. The MC encourages and provides commentary:

          “Look at #5, already ahead of the pack. Oh, #11, you’re going to have to pick it up if you want to stay in the game.  Oh no, looks like Walker #8 has fallen and can’t get up…staff are rushing to the rescue. It’s #5 and #14 at the midway point. Who’s going to make it to the end first? You better increase your steps #14 or #5 is going to get there first.”

The commentary can continue in this vein until one of the walkers reaches the other end of the hall. Imagine the excitement which could include heart attacks, strokes and who knows what other problems all these thrills might bring to the residents and participants. Most likely the greatest exhilaration anyone living there has had in a very long time. I’d be willing to bet the majority of the residents would absolutely love to participate in such an experience.  I know I would if I were there.

So, that’s my idea for a reality show that anyone of a certain age could really get behind. For that matter, it could appeal to the younger generations as well, sort of an encouragement program to show them how to age well. I’m sure the majority of us would much rather watch something like this than something called Tiger King or Growing up Hip-Hop or the Kardashians. 

Wonder if Mark or Jeff will catch this and make it a reality. I know I’d tune in every single week to watch my contemporaries duke it out with their walkers…hell, I’d even join them with the most customized walker ever when the time came. How about you???