SORRY I'M DEPRESSED

 

          I had absolutely no idea what I was instigating when I posted the “I am Depressed” post on my blog with a link from Facebook. In some ways, it was very reassuring because so many people reached out and that included to my son who showed up at 6:30 pm on the day I posted because people had contacted him, worried about my mental health. That was not my intention when I made that blog post. I was merely, and thought I was merely, stating how I was feeling. I guess mental health has become of the utmost importance.

          First, let me say that while I’m depressed and feeling very sorry for myself, I would in no way do anything to harm myself unless: If you could guarantee me that I could sit in the corner and watch and listen to all my family and friends be so SORRY that I’d done myself in; then, of course, I’d take the gas pipe, swallow the pills or do whatever it would take to end my life. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on my current state of mind, there is no guarantee. For that reason, and the fact that ending my life would be exceedingly selfish when it comes to family and friends, I would never ever stop living on purpose.

          So, a very serious thank you to those of you who reached out telling me to seek professional help, encouraging me about the fact things will get better, etc. I do so appreciate your doing so, and it did, indeed, help me feel better. Still, I am at a place where I do feel depressed, am feeling sorry for myself, and am CHOOSING to wallow in those feelings for the time being. I’m sure it’s not the  permanent solution I will CHOOSE to have in the remainder of my life. Meanwhile, until I find a way that leads me forward to whatever my life may provide in the future, I’m going to be selfish and CHOOSE to simply feel bad, sorrowful and wallow.

I AM DEPRESSED

 

          I am depressed. It’s something I’ve fought against my entire life and even taken medication for at times. I don’t know if scientists have discovered a gene(s) responsible for depression, but I’m sure it’s genetic. My mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, all of whom were alive during my life, suffered from depression.

          I fight against being depressed, but today I am ready to put down any effort toward being not depressed. I’m extremely tired of putting on a “show” for family and friends. And, I feel I have to put on a “show” for them because they do not want to hear or see the negativity I’m feeling most days.

          Yes, I’ve been writing and posting about other things in my life, but beneath all those upbeat posts, the biggest part of me is actually thinking about how I really don’t give a flying fuck about the garden, fall, fingernails, writing, or really, anything at all. They’re all just efforts that I feel I have to make to remain on the periphery of my family’s and friend’s lives.

          Something else I’ve been doing, hate and want to just stop is exercise. Seriously, what’s the point of walking, raising my cardio level, or being physically active in anything? Significant portions of my body hurt whether or not I exercise; and it’s likely they’ll continue to cause me discomfort until I can no longer feel.

          Then, there’s eating, the only real physical pleasure left to me. Even that is accompanied by thoughts of how I should not be having that particular food. It’s full of fat or sugar or carbs. I shouldn’t have that drink every day at gin time because it’s not good for me either. Eating and drinking, my last pleasures, are always spoiled by those negative thoughts.

          As a young woman, I remember envisioning a future where I’d travel the world, see unbelievable things, do unbelievable things all while surrounded by or accompanied by family and friends. Still, even then, while it wasn’t at the forefront of my thoughts and plans, I think I knew none of that would ever really come to pass. I knew I’d end up like my female antecedents, living alone, doing most everything alone and being depressed. I now wish I’d been more loving and supportive of my mother and grandmother. Guess it’s like they say or threaten, “What goes around comes around.”

          As a widow, I’m totally unimportant to absolutely anyone. My sons check in once a week to make sure I’m still alive and, perhaps to see if I need anything. There are a few folks I see regularly, one for exercise class, another for walks and the third for coffee, sometimes lunch. Other family and friends check in every now and then, but I’m definitely not at the top of their contact list and why should I be. I often wonder how long I’ll be dead before anyone realizes I’m gone.

          Yes, besides being depressed, I’m feeling sorry for myself…but if I don’t, who will? There’s absolutely nothing in my future that stands out as a huge event to which I can look forward. There’s no chance of meeting anyone, falling in love, becoming a new mother, finding a new and interesting job, or taking a trip to the moon. I’ve done all those things and am too old to do again; and as for trips, there are many reasons why I won’t be going to the moon or anyplace else.

          So, today as I sit here typing this, feeling depressed and sorry for myself, the only big event I foresee in my future is death. It’s not as though I’m going to seek it out, it’s just the only experience left. Today, right now, I think I’m going to simply withdraw from life, hunker down in my house like a snail and wait for the man (or woman) with the scythe to arrive.

FALL

 

          Today is the solstice or the beginning of Fall. I, however, jumped the gun and began my fall last Saturday. When it was time for a shower, the thermostat read 63 degrees and I was cold. So, I turned the heat back on. I usually try to wait until September 30^th, but I’m older now and apparently get cold sooner rather than later.

          Later that same day, I disconnected the air conditioner and rolled it into the back bedroom where it will reside until next spring, probably June, when the outside temperatures may require its use.

          To say these changes sadden me would be an understatement. I’m not ready for colder temps, rain and way shorter days. I realized last week that rather than the sun disappearing later in the evening, it’s now going down before 7:30 pm. And, when I get up at my normal potty time of 4:00 am, it’s dark, dark, dark. I’m just not ready and dread the days when the sun is with us barely eight hours a day.

          On the other hand, as the days pass, beauty will enrich my life as the trees turn colors and drop their leaves. I especially love the popular trees that carpet their surroundings with a beautiful golden yellow. True, my flowers will stop flowering and go dormant, but with a promise to return in the spring.

          Meanwhile, as the days go along, I’m working as hard as possible in my garden. As I think I’ve said before, I’m a fair-weather gardener, so I’m hoping to get a lot of fall preparation done before mid-October. I have to admit I’m happy with the progress I’ve made so far and hope it continues.

          In all the years I’ve lived in this house and gardened, I think that perhaps only once did I finish putting everything to bed in the fall and then worked to resurrect it in the spring so it looked gorgeous until it was time to put it to bed again. Most folks who visit think my garden is beautiful, but I live with it day-to-day, so am completely aware of what needs to be done and what hasn’t been done. Rather than haul them around and point out all the things I see wrong, I merely say, “Thank you.”

          So, here’s to fall, pumpkin spice (which I really don’t care for), colorful leaves, shorter days and longer nights, more sunny days before the rain sets in, and joy in being alive to experience all this brisk, vibrant season has to offer.

FAMILY TOGETHER AGAIN

 

          It’s very hard for me to believe, but my oldest son turned 52 last Friday. I know time passes and passes very quickly, but in my own youth, I never envisioned myself as the mother of a middle-aged man…assuming 52 is considered middle-aged these days. I know I have a wealth of memories from all those years, but somehow, it still seems as though he should be young and small enough to climb up into my lap for snuggles. At least I have those remembrances even though they make me wish for just one more snuggle…and I could probably get one, but I’d have to climb up into his lap.

          We celebrated his birthday on Saturday, and for the first time since the pandemic began, I made dinner for the whole family. Initially, AJ told me he was just going to throw a couple of chickens on the grill and I should go to his house. Then, Angie heard I’d offered to make Swedish Meatballs (which I did for his birthday for I don’t know how many years), and her response was, “Hell yeah.”

          Finally, I had a great reason to actually clean my house. Now, don’t get too excited about that because cleaning house at my current age is nothing like cleaning house was decades ago. For instance, I did not wash my windows in- and outside and I didn’t scrub any of my floors on my hands and knees. Back in the day, getting ready for an event took major preparation and lots of time. I mean, seriously, what would guests think if the windows didn’t sparkle and eating off the floor wasn’t a possibility?

          Still, I vacuumed extremely well all of the rugs throughout the house. I also used the Swiffer on the hardwoods and got up all the dust that had accumulated as well as any left-over dog hair I hadn’t sucked up in previous vacuuming. Then, I dusted every single thing in the living, dining, bathroom and bedroom. Some had been dusted in the not-too-distant past, but I think there were things in the living and dining rooms that hadn’t been dusted since May, maybe.

          Now, I have to admit I didn’t make Swedish Meatballs from scratch, although I have done it that way a couple of times. Instead, I went to Ikea and purchased bags of frozen meatballs. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any gravy packets, so I used brown gravy packets and added sour cream.

          Now, as an aside, I rarely go to Ikea, maybe once a year. This time, I walked through their entire showroom and found myself wishing and or even thinking I should sell my house and find something that was about 1,000 square feet and furnish it entirely from Ikea. I loved the way some of their displays looked and the idea of having everything absolutely new was very appealing and entirely possible if I sold my house.

          That experience was prior to my cleaning house. Now that everything is clean and sparkling, I’m more than happy to stay here surrounded by stuff that I’ve collected during my lifetime. The amazing thing about all my belongings is that for the most part, you can point to an item and I can tell you where it came from and/or who gave it to me. Sadly, once I’ve gone to the great beyond, I think the majority of my junk will end up in a garage sale or donated. Ah well, I’ve enjoyed having it.

          Only Arayli was missing from the dinner table and I wished she had been there to make the family complete. Angie brought a big yummy salad and there were enough meatballs, gravy, potatoes and biscuits for AJ to take home two containers for his lunch this coming week, plus I kept one for my Sunday dinner. I believe everyone had more than enough to eat.

Once we were done with dinner, no one seemed in a hurry to get up and clear the table. Instead, everyone talked, laughed, joked, remembered past events; and I loved sitting in my usual place (AJ as the birthday boy sat in what had been his father’s) and watching and listening to the most important people in my life.

When cupcake time came, Haley helped clear the table and I stacked dishes in the sink for later. She put I don’t know how many candles on one cupcake (more candles than cupcake) and lit them. I pulled out the little musical “Happy Birthday” box and Xander, as the youngest, wound the handle and led us in singing the birthday song. Then it was cupcake and ice cream time. Very yummy.

This was followed by presents. Most were cards with money inside. At the ripe old age of 52, what kind of a list can you actually compile. AJ can carry his special day forward as he considers what to buy with his birthday loot.

Sunday morning, I sent all six family members a text telling them how wonderful it was to have them all around the table once again and that my heart grew three sizes as a result. I am so blessed to have my family close once again and so very thankful. I’m looking forward to more family times like this in the coming months.

FINGERNAILS

 

          In my last post, I indicated I would consider getting my nails done my reward for finishing the deck. This led me to think about my fingernails and their history. You’re dying to hear the story aren’t you.

          When I was about 12 years old, I had a babysitter named Lynn. She had beautiful long red fingernails which I envied. She told me if I stopped biting my fingernails, she’d teach me how to do my nails so they could look as beautiful as hers.

          That was enough incentive for me to stop chewing on the ends of my fingers. I know there are other incentives out there, but I didn’t need to have my fingers covered with hot oil or any other nasty stuff. All I had to do was think about Lynn’s fingernails and the finger heading toward my mouth would stop and pull back.

          So began my long-term care for my fingernails. And, it wasn’t easy because to keep them looking nice, I had to go through the ritual every single Sunday night which took about two hours.

          First, off came the old nail polish. Then I pushed back the cuticles and filed the nails back. When that was complete and my hands were washed and dry, I applied a base coat of polish, followed by two coats of polish and lastly a top coat. I did this religiously and was proud of how my nails looked.

          In high school, I signed up for the secretarial course which included three semesters of typing instruction. Back then, there were no computers and you had to press the typewriter keys very hard to make them rise up and make an impression on the paper. At the end of the line, you had to raise your left hand and push the carriage back to the right in order to turn the paper and begin a new line.

          The first two semesters, I had a male instructor. He didn’t even look at my hands or nails and I did just fine in the classes. For my final semester, the instructor was an old woman with white hair. After a couple of weeks of class, she came by my desk on a Friday and told me, “If I can see your nails over the end of your fingers on Monday, you will automatically fail this class.”

          Oh. My. God. I was so pissed. I went home and wailed to my parents who supported the teacher. They’d never finished high school, so their opinions of teachers were very high. There was no way they were going to go see that teacher and tell her I didn’t have to cut my nails. So, I went to school on Monday without any fingernails.

          Amazingly, I failed every single typing test after that. I couldn’t type without my nails. To give that horrible woman credit, she did let me retake the typing tests, which I passed with flying colors, once my nails grew back.

          All through my life, marriage, children, gardening, cleaning, everything I had to do with my hands, I kept my Sunday night ritual of doing my nails. I always wore gloves no matter what the job was I was doing. The only time I didn’t don those attractive mitts, was to wash myself or my children.

          As my grew older, my body changed and I was probably in my mid-50s when my nails began to split and peel. I could do them Sunday night and by Tuesday have at least one, usually more, that needed care. I was just about ready to give up.

          That’s when my future daughter-in-law introduced me to acrylic nails. The first time I had a “full set” applied, my fingernails hurt so badly that night I figured if it was going to be that way every time, I wouldn’t do it. But, fortunately for me and my nail person, the pain happened only that first time.

          I really liked the acrylic nails. I only had to have them done every two weeks and they looked almost as good at the next appointment as they had at the previous one. I started out with a Vietnamese woman up on Aurora. She moved from there to another location and then to her final location. I followed her.

          Then, I went in for my scheduled appointment to find that she had sold or given her business to her nephew. I never did get that quite straight, but I liked the man who did my nails, his wife and their daughter who was always happy to talk to and entertain me while my nails dried.

          When I retired, I decided I would give up my fingernails, so I had them removed. It took a while for them to grow out and when they did, it was back to the splitting and peeling mode. In addition, I couldn’t do anything without my fingernails. Sewing, writing, anything that involved my hands was more difficult without fingernails. So, I returned to my nail guy and had acrylics replaced.

          I remained their client for thirteen years until they decided to close/sell the business. It was very sad because they had become like family. They talked of their lives and I talked of mine. I took Haley there for manicures and pedicures with me before we went to the Nutcracker.

I didn’t care for the folks who took over the business because I thought they didn’t do a very good job. So, I tried another place which is where I think I got a toenail fungus. Let me tell you, that stuff is horrible. I think it took three years before my big toes returned to normal. I stopped going there and found someone new, quite by chance.

The woman who does my nails now does the best job I’ve ever had. My nails are thin and do not look as though they are false. She went to visit relatives in Vietnam a few years ago and I had to try someone else. On a scale of one to ten, with my person being a ten, that person was maybe a three or four. I know she’ll visit again and I’m not looking forward to her being gone.

Now, I have my nails done every three weeks on the same day at the same time unless something happens and she or I need to reschedule for some reason. I imagine I’ll continue to have my nails done until I can no longer get to the nail salon. It’s an indulgence, but one I believe I more than deserve. I like looking at my hands and seeing the jewel colors on the ends of my fingers.

DECK

 

Whoa, my lower back is killing me. I so wish my masseuse hadn’t moved to Spokane because I’d do my darndest to get an appointment with her ASAP. I just wish I could find someone as good as she was. Anyway, I’m here letting my fingers dance over the keyboard while sitting up as straight as I possibly can to make my back feel better.

Why is her back so painful, I just know you’re wondering, so I’ll tell you, and you can help me celebrate because my lower back problem was rightfully and gainfully obtained. 

THE DECK IS FINISHED!!!!!!  Yes, finally, after months of work, the deck is completely renewed. In case you’ve forgotten, I had a new UV roof put on a portion of the deck in early spring. That, as so many projects do, led to additional projects, i.e., cleaning everything off the deck and pressure washing, followed by covering one section with two coats of sealant, then the second section; and finally, today, I applied one coat of clear waterproofing sealer to the wood beneath the roof.

I wish I could think of something nice I could do for myself…a massage would be divine…but at the moment, I cannot think of a food or drink that appeals as a reward. I am getting my nails done later this afternoon so I guess I’ll consider that my reward.

There was one other project I had to complete which was pressure wash and paint three boards on the north side of the house where I had a lean-to removed. That, too, is done. Now, if my garden were in its best shape, but it’s not, so onward tomorrow. At least gardening shouldn’t make my back too unhappy.

FOOD

 

          Don’t you just love to eat? Isn’t there a huge list of foods that you are always delighted to have on your plate? Don’t you sometimes wish you could have a magic plate that just refilled itself with something new and delicious every single meal? Maybe you don’t, but I sure do.

          Since I don’t have a magic plate, if I want something on it that means I have to prepare whatever I’m going to eat. That’s not a problem because I’m a fairly decent cook, but find that all too often whatever I’ve decided to make, the results could feed not only me, but a couple of the neighbors. It’s very difficult to cook for just one person.

          If I’m not cooking, then I’m either eating out or bringing a meal home. Again, depending on what it is I’m having, there are times when it would be good to share all that food with someone. There isn’t anyone, however, so there are times when I eat the leftovers for lunch and/or dinner the next day. There’s nothing wrong with that unless I make the mistake of eating more of it the same day.

          Briley’s makes the best ribs, mac n’ cheese and collard greens. Typing that out didn’t make my mouth water because the last time I brought this home, I ate it for a very late lunch and then finished off the remainder for a late dinner. My tummy wasn’t happy that night and it’s going to be a while before I order again.

          I think I ‘ve mentioned I read a lot and there are times when I read about a dish or food that sounds pretty good. Recently I’ve been reading books set in the south. Today for lunch I had a tomato sandwich, something that is apparently a southern thing. That’s two pieces of soft white bread spread with mayo, topped with sliced tomatoes sprinkled with salt and pepper. It was so yummy. I had it with a helping of coleslaw.

I’ve never made coleslaw in my life until this week. I found a recipe online that was supposedly the same coleslaw that you’d get at Kentucky Fried Chicken. I haven’t been to KFC in forever, so I crossed my fingers it would be good. It is so yummy, and I had it for dinner last night too. Initially, I thought I might have to share with a neighbor, but I think I just may finish it off at dinner today with the spicy grilled chicken breast I’m preparing.

          That’s something else I don’t do very often, grill. It seems a waste to turn the grill on for just a single burger or hotdog. About the only time I do use it is when I make teriyaki flank steak and teriyaki chicken breast. It will get used today because the spicy chicken breast kabobs wouldn’t be as good made in the oven.

          This morning I also made myself pancakes. I had buttermilk left over from the coleslaw and decided I’d use it to make thin pancakes. I used the cast iron skillet instead of the electric grill. They were okay, but I think if I’d used the grill, they would have been much better. A little butter and huckleberry jam…they were absolutely delicious.

          All too often, though, I find myself not wanting to bother with cooking or going out. I want something that’s easy and quick. That’s when grilled cheese sandwiches on brown bread come into play. Those with tomato soup for dipping makes a meal. I try to eat salad at least several times a week and wish there were a way to make more than one salad at a time. I suppose I could try making a big salad with all the veggies I include, i.e., radishes, green onions, celery, cucumber, carrots, avocado, feta cheese all mixed with a blend of greens. Sometimes, I’ll cook a small piece of sirloin or chicken breast, chop it up and add it to the salad…a full meal in a bowl. Yesterday, I took my own advice and made a big salad. I ate half with some salmon and will have the other half tonight with steak. I guess I can make more than one helping at a time. Wonder why it took me so long to think of that.

          There are also lots of choices in the frozen section at the grocery store. I like Marie Callander’s chicken pot pies and Stouffer’s lasagna, but haven’t tried many of the other meal choices. I also buy plain cheese pizzas to which I add my own veggies and extra cheese. One of those is good for dinner with leftovers for lunch or dinner the next day.

          Lately I’ve had a hankering for spaghetti and have been thinking how I can go about making that dish without having to put several meals into the freezer. I suppose I could ask Angie and AJ if they’d like to share. There have been times when I’ve made too much and take the surplus to Angie’s work. That way she pretty much has dinner ready when she gets home.

          Over my lifetime, I’ve pulled recipes out of magazines, printed them from online or copied one made by a friend or family member. Every time I get my folder out of the cupboard and begin looking for a particular recipe I’ve made before, I eliminate a few more recipes. There are ones in there that I’ll never ever make, so why am I hanging on to them? It’s not like some event is going to come up where I’ll go, “Oh, yes. I can make that recipe I’ve had for decades that serves 12.”

          Finally, I guess the reason I’m blogging about food is because it’s really the only physical gratification left to me at this stage of life. The tastes, textures, even sound can make me sigh with pleasure and contemplate second or even third helpings. It makes me wish I had my own personal chef to grocery shop and prepare me the best food ever. Were I to win the lottery (not much chance since I don’t buy tickets), the first thing I would do is hire a chef. Then, I’d sit on a fine cushion and gain enough weight to be the fat lady in the circus.

Anyway, I don’t know how many of you that read my blog have to cook for just one person. If you are one of those folks, I’d love to hear about your efforts and successes.