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GISHWHES 2014 Wrap Up

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For those who don’t know, GISHWHES is the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen with money going to the non-profit, Random Acts. My next project with them is Endure4Kindness, which I will post about separately.

In my opinion Gishwhes 2014 was a huge success. I had a great time! I had a great team. We got a lot done. I am definitely happy with my individual items. The ones I picked but then didn’t do were picked up and done so much better than I would have done them it makes me glad I gave up on those rather than doing something sucky.

When all was said and done, I completed ten items for a total of 396 points and a cost of $14.11, which is 61 points more and $14 less than last year’s hunt. Definitely a good thing.

I did video, which I hate, but I did it anyway. I did another Twitter. It seems as though I am the twitter expert despite not using it very much anymore. And now I have an alarm clock and I am Orlando Jones.

My teammates hailed from California, New Jersey, Georgia, New York, Utah, New Zealand, Israel, and Ireland. Of the six people I already knew, the newest friend I had known for five years and the oldest friend on the team I’ve known for thirty-three years give or take a couple (honestly, can’t remember if it was middle school or high school but either way a shit ton of years).

I made business sized cards for this year to explain Gishwhes but let’s be frank; there really is no explaining it. Maybe next year, I’ll have a better 30 second commercial and do a double sided card. Shrug. I have about a year to think about it.

The items I completed were

  • to request a FOIA about my parents
  • take video of myself in front of a local landmark (I used the state capitol)
  • a photo montage of when I grow up, guest starring my daughter
  • my photo with a black and white sign for the team
  • an homage and tribute to the rubber glove inventor
  • share a true act of kindness story done for me for the Random Acts website
  • the species hybridization of Jared Mooselecki (of course! Who else?!)
  • Jam Stand with the kids
  • Cajole a published sci-fi author to write a 140 word story
  • and the Orlando Jones Twitter.

I would really love it if the Jam Stand gets into the Coffee Table Book. I went to great lengths to kiss up to Misha in it, including making our Jam Stand a West Collins franchise complete with West’s picture and offering free popcorn with every plate of pasta and jam sauce. Of course the popcorn was the West Collins special variety made by Jet Puff! My kids, without any prompting from me, donned mustaches. They are definitely good sports. Last year, they worked for the post office. This year pasta and jam sauce. Who knows what Misha will ask of them next year?!

I’m still kind of in that Gishwhes frame of mind despite it ending more than a month ago. In fact, I’m about to make a sock monkey hat for almost no reason at all.

I’ve been reviewing items for the Coffee Table Book. So far, I’ve completed four, which is three more than I did last year. It’s so awesome to see how other people interpreted the prompts/items.

I’ve reviewed: Elopus vs. Wooster, Popcorn Monster, Five Headed Monster doing yard work, and Museum Quality Display of Dishware, which I have to say that some of them were truly museum quality.

However, Misha, I am not a Gisher and I am not sorry. I am a Gishwhesian and if that makes me an outlaw, I’m sure there’s a country song written about it. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I came into this hunt a Gishwhesian and I will leave it the same way, wearing a magnificent costume in front of a landmark with a rainbow farting unicorn and my hand up an elopus puppet’s something or other.

Gishwhesian.

Gisher is just a fad anyway. It’ll be gone in less than a year. You mark my words.

It is impossible to calculate the amount of absonome that goes on during Gishwhes week. It’s like a giant family reunion when your family is half committed to an insane asylum and the other half should be. I signed up for a group doing a two week version of Gishwhes-lite, but I’m not motivated. It’s a great idea, but there’s something special about THE WEEK. The stress. The insomnia. The insanity. The together that we are all at the same time doing variations on the same things. It is unique and glorious and brilliant.

Not to mention that when Grandma is mud wrestling and Dad is wearing a French maid’s outfit, it is time to rethink your life choices.

For many of us, it is a time to step out of our comfort zones, think outside of the box we put ourselves into the rest of the year, even outside of the atmosphere of our planet Earth; one day perhaps outside of the solar system, but for now, if each year brings us a little further out, the better it is for the world and the people of that world.

Most importantly, there can never be too much kindness and compassion and Gishwhes and its parents, Misha and Random Acts remind us how little it takes out of our day to make someone else’s better.

With that in mind, it makes me a little sad but I would like to touch on my disappointment with some people; not anyone on my team or anyone I know directly. I’ve been in a couple of different groups where they talk about Gishwhes and help each other as much as is allowed. They’re good networking groups.

I did feel, however, that a lot of people have lost the true meaning of Gishwhes and it’s certainly not to meet Misha Collins (although that would be a bonus). I saw a lot of complaining, a lot of whining about not understanding an item when that item was mostly about interpretation. It’s less about the skill and more about artistic vision. I saw some shortcuts. For example, people used their bone marrow cards from prior to Gishwhes and other items that were already made when the purpose of that particular item is to get more people on the list. (ETA: After posting this, I received a message from someone whose team used existing bone marrow donor cards. Scroll down to the end to read their perspective. It was something that I hadn’t considered.)

Also, the point, as I understand it is to create new art, do good things. In fact, at the end of the hunt, the Gish FB posted, “We create, therefore, we live.”

Everyone should be enjoying themselves above everything else that they are doing and every team won’t get every item, and that’s okay. F-U-N.

I was also disappointed with how much ShatnerHate there was and that bothered me a lot. People found William Shatner to be annoying, brash, braggadocios and having the ego the size of Texas (or the Northwest Territories if you want to go with his Canadian roots).

And water is wet.

He’s fucking William Shatner!

You don’t have to like him. Don’t pay any attention to him if that’s the case. He’s 80 years old; he’s been a celebrity since the 1960s, before many of those naysayers were born. He’s not going to change now. Love him or hate him, but stop hating on him publicly in the name of Gishwhes. That is the complete opposite of what Gishwhes is all about.

Misha is the messenger; not the message. Take the week of Gishwhes and continue all year. Donate blood. Visit the elderly. Mud wrestle Grandma. Pack boxes of food at food pantries and churches. Shovel your neighbor’s snow. Pull weeds. You can even wear a sock monkey on your head. Or a real monkey (**remember, do no harm, including to primates**). Zookeepers are welcome to make the world a better place, too.

Until next year, restock the kale; gather the plaid and figure out what rhymes with squirrel.

P.S. I just ran this through spell check and apparently Wooster is in my dictionary. What the hell, Misha?!

(ETA: As a member a team that submitted existing donor cards, I wanted to let you know there was a very good reason at least in our case Our team is mostly older folks that have various health problems/disabilities that keep us from donating marrow & the ONLY people on our team that could already had cards, so rather than waste the registry’s time with applications that weren’t going anywhere we submitted the existing cards to show that we support the cause but couldn’t actively apply.)

Suicide Prevention Awareness

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Thursday will be one month since Robin Williams killed himself. Some of his battles over the years happened in the public eye, but the shock and surprise at his suicide shows the true iceberg effect of depression, bi-polar, and other related mental illnesses that it is speculated that he had. No one can know what that last straw was for him.

This is a struggle that countless people combat in their daily lives and for many it is hard to know from day to day what will work and what will not, including things that have worked in the past as a positive coping tool. Another issue that becomes problematic is that far too often we ignore mental illness in favor of physical illness because mental struggles are less obvious and we’re expected to hide them as if it’s a character flaw rather than a genuine illness. It’s no wonder that it is often called the invisible illness. For those of us spending part of our days faking it, it can often take all we have to get through one hour of one day.

One of the ways we can show support for those in the throes of mental health issues is to be vocal in our support; let the people around us know that we are here no matter what. A general statement and/or attitude can take the pressure off of those who can’t get through, who feel alone, who aren’t ready to come out as suicidal or in need of help.

If they know instinctively that we are here for them, they may feel comfortable enough to ask for that help. Or maybe just to talk.

You will never know what you had done that will change someone’s mind about suicide, but I guarantee that they will remember it and they will appreciate it and if you unwittingly give someone an extra day to find their way, this is a good thing.

This week is Suicide Prevention Awareness Week. Awareness for those who are not suicidal to know the signs and the resources available; to know what to say and how to show support to someone who needs it, but may not realize how close they are to the precipice until it’s too late.

Awareness is also for the suicidal, those at the very edge to learn that they are not alone, never alone and where they can go for help when they’re ready; even a simple phone conversation to alleviate the pressure.

I’d like to take a moment to mention LGBT youth. These kids are at higher risk for abuse and suicide as well as homelessness and assault. This is especially true of trans youth. Being young, it is often not realized that their problems seem gigantic in comparison and they do not feel that this will go away or that these feelings are only temporary. We need to be there to encourage them and stand by them in whatever capacity that they want us to.

The Trevor Project specializes in helping LGBT youth and is an amazing resource for others who want to support those kids and teenagers.

They can be reached toll-free at 1-866-488-7386 or online at thetrevorproject.org

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-TALK or suicidepreventionlifeline.org

For people feeling that suicide is their only way out, here are a couple of other resources to assist you:

IMAlive.org – an online crisis network with trained volunteers available to chat 24/7

SAFE (Self-Abuse Finally Ends): 800-DONT-CUT (366-8288) – informational hotline, educational resources, and advice about intervention.

 

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August Month in Review

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Well, overall it looks like August sucked. Nothing like proof that your brain is in a fog. Some good things – we did our summer taste tasting (hate anchovies), went to Chuck E. Cheese to round out the summer vacation, took the family to the movies (Labor Day weekend).

Midway through the month I was able to attend a spiritual retreat with about fifteen other folks, directed by Brother Mickey McGrath. I will write more about this later on, so for now I will just say that I don’t draw, and I did draw, and I continue to draw. I don’t kid myself: I’m not an artist, but it’s not terrible, and I don’t mind sharing it. It’s an outlet for quiet contemplation that I had never considered before. I really only went for the retreat part and because I’d heard so many things about Bro. Mickey. I found so much more and am planning on attending his next retreat in February (money and scholarship pending).

My daughter and I had a Fangirls Night Out sponsored by our comic book store. There were raffles (we won Willow from Buffy!), cupcakes, a raffle and of course other like-minded fangirls. NO BOYS ALLOWED! Even the store’s owner was kicked out! It was great fun and she and I had a great time together!

My husband and I also celebrated our twentieth anniversary. With money being a problem we really couldn’t celebrate in a big way, but we decided (I thought of it – I can’t believe it, I never come up with anything good!) to go to dinner (sans kids) and a movie, like our first date. We saw Guardians of the Galaxy. I highly recommend it! Fantastic movie! And dinner was amazing. A local, rustic place with a pretty fireplace. The site has had a tavern on it since the 1700s. A nice night.

Thinking back, it’s kind of ironic that we went to Williamsburg, VA on our honeymoon when many of my fandom friends live down there now including my bf, who I obviously didn’t know back then. I think that half of them may have still been in diapers when I was there (and they were actually elsewhere). I’ve written before about Williamsburg being one of my special places from childhood. I’ve always been a history buff, and much of that came from my parents and the vacations they took us on as children, only one of them being Virginia.

I distinctly remember Williamsburg (among others) and having as much fun as we were quietly learning. Everywhere my parents took us, and later on vacations with my husband, I was always looking for and visiting the one room schoolhouses. Something about that entranced me; probably it’s Little House on the Prairie feeling.

It was neat that my husband and I chose to go there for our honeymoon: Colonial Williamsburg, Busch Gardens, shopping (one of my favorite things to do back then; now too, but we had more money back then). We rented a car, a Cougar that went 90 miles an hour if you breathed on the accelerator. We traveled the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel, something that still makes me queasy and that I’ve sworn never to do ever, ever again. (Much like driving in Wales.) I still shudder to think at the memory of being in the tunnel for so long, under the water. Recently, I’ve been lucky (with the generosity of Andy, Jenn and my husband) to have been able to get back there to see my friends for fandom fun. I’ve talked about how I used to hate being alone, but I really enjoyed those two trips that had me traveling alone-ish, and this trip down memory lane is reminding me that I wanted to write about those travels. I’ll put it on the list.

So while the written word eluded me, I’ve been drawing and this was probably the best family summer we’ve had in a long time. I welcomed back to school, but I wasn’t counting the days (hours) like I was last year.

Don’t forget that October 18 is E4K and I will be taking pledges.

I also have a couple of things that should be completed today and tomorrow, so wish me luck for more words in September.

Word Count: 6771 (wow, that sucks)

365s: 7/31 (wow, that sucks)

Movies: Defiance seasons 1 and 2
The Birdcage
Robin Williams: Weapons of Self-Destruction
The Italian Job
Babylon 5 – season 5
Amazing Spiderman 2 – reboot
Crusade – partial season
Guardians of the Galaxy

Books: A King’s Ransom – Sharon Kay Penman
Paper Towns – John Green

Posted/Published Topics: depression, suicide, Gishwhes, medical, health, cancer, religion, spirituality, social issues, summer

WIPs topics: Retreat wrap up, Gishwhes wrap up, fan vs. fandom, memoir homework, vignettes for stuff

 

This Day

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I am still in the middle of two more posts, but they won’t happen until the weekend at the earliest. They’re works in progress, and the gist is mostly written, but I don’t have the energy to edit after the last post. Not to mention, I’ve got three people clamoring for my computer.

 I’ve also been wanting to write more about Michael Brown and Ferguson, MO; more than my two line blurbs here or there, but I can’t wrap my head around it so I keep reblogging those who can say things coherently. It just makes me so sad, and I can’t focus on writing anything. I grew up in the 70s, in NYC during bussing, and I can’t imagine that we’ve gone backwards rather than forwards. It’s appalling and frightening, even for me.

The last few weeks – probably about four – have been a patchy, unpredictable roller coaster of being down and trying to force myself out of sinking into a depression. It might sound silly, but Robin Williams’ death really threw me for a loop. Besides it happening at all, for me it came in the middle of a downward swing, and made coming back up a little harder. At least I’ve been aware of it happening and can try to remedy it as best I can.

I’ve been drawing, which is weirdly calming considering I have no talent, but surprisingly, I’ve been doing pretty well. I’ll publish some pictures and I’ll write more about this when I post my wrap up for my recent retreat.

(Some of this sounds as though I’ve posted it already in other forms, so I’m sorry if I have and forgot – brain fog and all.)

I’ve been praying the rosary and reading my Grace book. These are unexpectedly soothing. They comfort me with a silent, invisible presence, there only to reassure my soul that things will be alright. And even stranger: I believe it.

I will be catching up with phone calls soon. As in, if you’ve called me and I haven’t called you back, I will. And if I’ve called you and haven’t gotten you, I will try again. Plus those three emails because I do not want to drop the ball on important things.

I can feel the darkness, but the light is around the edges and I’m hyperaware; not letting it swallow me up this time.

I returned to church yesterday and then again today. Skipping it Sunday made it easier to sleep in on Monday and choose to not go.

But there is something remarkable about receiving communion that fills me with joy and sacred presence, and then the people holding my hand for the Our Father. I like shaking hands right after that, feeling the warmth of others. Today my priest took my hand on the way out, and instead of letting me go, held it for a moment and squeezed it. It’s weird, but it’s almost as though he knows when I’m in that place and need a little extra kindheartedness; it is such a genuine gesture of caring, seemingly right when I need it.

Tomorrow is my 20th wedding anniversary.

This is the first time we’re leaving the kids home and going out on our own to celebrate. Dinner and a movie, just like our first date, and then home so my newly independent son can go out with his friends. My daughter is planning some elaborate something or other that requires secrecy, streamers, and a drum set stool. I don’t even want to ask.

It is nice, though.

My Recent Medical Scare (but it’s all good now)

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Recently, I had a cancer scare. I’ll preface by saying that I’m fine and in the end, they didn’t find anything, but on the way there, things were a little tense. When these big things happen, I tend to get quiet, listen, no thinking and okay a lot. I did it when I had my first child:

There seems to be a problem.

Okay.

We’re going to –

Okay.

That didn’t work. Emergency c-section.

Okay.

This is when my don’t question authority, your elders know better than you mindset kicks in. I think some of that is generational, but more than that it is growing up in polite-don’t-rock-the-boat society.

And so when a routine ob-gyn visit turned less than routine, I faced it with my usual aplomb. I told no one at first, not until the biopsy was scheduled and then I told my husband and my closest friend.

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Beliefs: Faith and Social

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I’ve been thinking on this part of this ask for weeks now and the way my mind works this may or may not flow well. One thought led to another one and things expanded from there. This is the portion I’ve concentrated on:

“To be a member of the Roman Catholic church means that you accept that the Pope is infallible when he speaks on matter of faith, and is communicating the the true will of God. That also means that you accept that acting on homosexuality is sinful and disordered, separates one from Christ, and that gay people are called to celibacy, as the Pope has stated.”

 

I know a lot of religious people have opinions on social issues and politics based on their concept of their religious teachings, their interpretation of the Bible and their surroundings (the people they know, their experiences.) I’ve also never heard of homosexuality being ‘disordered’. I’ve also said before that priests were previously allowed to marry, and if not marry, there was an open secret that they had women and children who were acknowledged by the church officials.

I don’t know where along the way there was this mix-up between social, moral, civil lives and faith. I’ve always thought of religion separate from religion. That may be having grown up in the US with the Bill of Rights as my benchmark.

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Summer’s Tail End

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This has been a very busy month.

My middle son missed out on the sign ups for a camp program, so since I didn’t want him spending another week glued to his tablet, we held Camp Mommy while his sister went to her week. We went to Chuck E. Cheese, the park, the comic store, out to a sushi place for lunch, McDonald’s for one of our breakfasts and he came with me to church for three days, which was nice especially since he’s not a big fan.

My oldest son got his driver’s license last week, and has volunteered to get the groceries and drive his brother to his friend’s house. He even got to work on time, which was a tremendous accomplishment!

My daughter went clothes shopping – if anyone lives near a Justice, they’re clearance is 60% and then they take off an additional 40% off! We buy everything too big so that it will still fit next summer! We couldn’t afford to shop their otherwise – they’re prices are way too high.

GISHWHES, information at this link, is over, and went very well. I’ll have a separate wrap up post on that later on.  Preview: Endure4Kindness is coming in mid October. This year, I’m going to be taking pledges. All of the money goes to Random Acts.

I’ve just returned from a spiritual retreat, and it really has energized me to get through the rest of the summer and has given me inspiration for the upcoming fall season. It was called Drawing Closer to G-d, and we learned how to make mandalas, and I was quite surprised at how nice my pictures came out. I have no artistic ability, but this was just the right balance of creativity and spirituality. I will have a separate wrap up on this also later on. Right now, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, but in a good way.

This piece was my proudest one during the retreat:

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This next one I just did this afternoon. It has great meaning to me, but again, that might require its own reflective post:

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I’m still in a deeply saddened place remembering Robin Williams. I’m trying to come to grips with the whole thing, and wondering how someone like him can’t hold on, and how someone like me managed to break through to the other side when I was in such a similar despairing place. I only hope that I can continue to do so, and continue to talk about my depression and depression in general, and be aware and there for people who need a shoulder to lean on.

Two requests:

The first is continue to pray and talk about Ferguson, MO and Michael Brown. This cannot continue.

The second is please send me your good thoughts and prayers. I am having some medical stuff going on beginning tomorrow. I’m trying not to think about the money it’s going to cost me, but for now, I have to focus on my health and deal with the monetary fallout when it eventually happens.

Thank you.

Kb

Depression =/= Unhappy

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(Note: I write about depression on a fairly regular basis. I don’t know how long I’ll continue to talk about Robin Williams. I am profoundly saddened by his death, and I may find that I’m repeating myself. I was shocked, and I am still in shock. It is a very sad day for many people, but my thoughts and prayers are with his family. I can remember the shock of my mother’s death, and while it wasn’t a suicide, it was sudden and unexpected. I hope that they can heal and move forward.)

 

I recently posted about the passing of James Garner. He truly was one of my longtime heroes from my childhood. Of course, he was in his 80s and I’d been expecting to hear about his passing, and was pre-sad in the waiting.

My sister does this thing on Facebook. She posts when celebrities die. It’s kind of an informational thing, but she is always the first, and it’s always a huge shock to family and friends when she misses one. Yesterday, I got a text message from her telling me that Robin Williams had died.

I gasped and stared at the phone. I had been midsentence talking to my husband and he asked what and I couldn’t speak. My eyes welled up and I put up my hand to kind of say wait a minute, I can’t say the words. I couldn’t say the words. They got caught in my throat and part of me thought that if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t be true.

Robin Williams died.

His eyes reflected my own shock. We put the television on and saw the headlines, possibly suicide. This was beyond belief. I knew that Robin had more than his share of problems over the years: drug addiction, his struggle with sobriety, heart surgery, even depression, and he’d come through it all.

His kind of genius was either snuffed out at twenty-something or he was safe from the demons.

Whenever his name was mentioned on television or in the news, it would never cross my mind that he might have died.

Robin Williams was supposed to live forever. Forever.

How is it possible that his energy, his vibrancy, his manic hilarity is silenced? How does the world keep turning when Robin Williams isn’t in it any longer?

In the past eleven hours or so, I’ve read of many fans’ shock and disbelief, some knowing that in the heart of many a comedian lives the darkness of depression, but many others asking how someone so funny could be depressed enough to kill himself. He had a great life: marriage, three great kids, a career, a ridiculously funny sense of humor, a humanitarian, money and he was well loved, not only by his fans, but by his fellow actors and his family. How can someone so happy be so sad on the inside?

I posted a statement in response to this and said, “It is so important to keep repeating: DEPRESSION HAS NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING TO DO WITH HAPPINESS.”

I was asked about this earlier this morning, and I do understand that people who are not exposed to depression might not understand the severity and the forms it comes in. I didn’t understand how depression worked just a couple of years ago, and unless people know someone with depression, most people misunderstand how serious it is.

 

I describe it as an iceberg. The part that you can see from the outside is so much smaller than the actual problem. So much of what is there is lurking below the surface, waiting to pull you under when you least expect it.

There are three types of depression (that I’m aware of). The mood descriptor is the most confusing because it uses the word ‘depression’ and we talk about being so depressed, and so when we are talking about the clinical, chemical imbalance, physical manifestations of the mental illness, it is often confounded with the much less serious depression or down mood.

When you are down and your mood is depressed, this is a normal emotion and feeling and we all get that every now and then. Sometimes there are reasons for the down mood, and sometimes it’s a lightweight apathy or boredom in a moment, and it always passes. One of the reasons that the miscues come from is that we should really use a different word when describing the depressed mood rather than depression the mental illness.

This comes and goes and everyone gets in this kind of mood now and again. It comes, it goes away, and that’s all normal.

The second form is situational depression. This might need medication temporarily or it might need close observance. It definitely should be seen by a doctor to make sure that it is situational. This type crops up when something big hits you unexpectantly: someone dies, you can’t afford to fix your car and can’t figure out how to get to work, you get seriously ill, a friendship ends – the kinds of things that pop up and are more than just a minor sadness that will pass. It is serious, but it’s not clinical. There is a reason for it and everyone’s reaction to the same stimulus will be different. This strikes me as an emotional response but more than a simple moodiness.

Clinical depression (and I don’t know that this is what Robin Williams had, but clearly he had something), (and this is what I’ve been diagnosed with) is that feeling of nothing. Mood swings, bursts of inappropriate emotion in both happy and sad directions, lethargic, nothing feels right, everything feels empty. For me, I just stopped. Everything. I couldn’t get out of bed, I couldn’t cook, I didn’t want to do anything, and it was well beyond just being lazy, and ever worse was that I didn’t care that I felt this way. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered and I was okay with that.

My husband would ask if I wanted to use the computer and I’d shrug. I’d sit in the dark, not doing or looking at anything; not sleeping. I thought about the logistics of driving my car over a bridge, and how reasonable it sounded. My best friend would get on the phone with me and ask if I was drunk – I was so out of it – brain fog: I couldn’t remember things; I didn’t know if I’d eaten or when I’d showered last. I forgot appointments and my children’s assignments. It’s serious, and in retrospect, I’ve always had some form of depression with varying degrees of severity. I didn’t realize it until I was suicidal, and it has nothing to do with cheering up or having a good job or being happy.

It’s also scary because you’re alone and at the point you don’t care about being alone, it’s already almost too late.

I also liken my recovery to being an alcoholic. There is always the chance that it will come back or rather it is never gone. I need to be vigilant and aware of how I’m feeling and if I’m in a normal mood or if I’m coming on a more depressive one (like I’ve been feeling recently).

I’m on medication, I’m in therapy, I have coping mechanisms and friends who understand and support me when I’m having a bad time of it, but I can also feel it most of the time and I’m in a constant state of checks and balances to make sure that my meds are working. When it’s really bad, I go back to my lists, listing every infinitesimal detail of my day, including eat breakfast and take a shower.

I hope this isn’t too much of an info dump. These are questions a lot of people have about depression and its misrepresentation in layperson circles, including my family that just don’t get it (and that’s not their fault), so I go to people who do understand; people who can support what I need when I need it.

Writing this makes me feel a bit better. It’s good to be able to change the idea that someone who commits suicide is weak when really it’s that they can’t control the avalanche when it’s coming down on them and burying them alive.

 

In the Middle

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With all the time I supposedly have, I’ve had a hard time writing. I have ideas, holy mackerel I have a ton of ideas – memoir, fic, meta, even pangs of Bittersweet, but the last two weeks, maybe a bit more, I’ve been scattered and short tempered. Some of that is my doing – stress scatters me – and the insane idea that words have meaning even if you don’t agree with them. The computer thing was beyond stupid. How in the world is my lived experience not valid as one example in a billion seas of examples? And when did knowing someone invalidate your opinions? It’s a strange new world. I’m not sure I like this aspect of it, so I will have to put it on my to-do list to change it, right?

A brief note: if you understood the vague blogging and think this is passive aggressive, you’d be wrong. There is nothing passive about it.

I’m going to write about things that made me jump for joy, things that tear me an emotional new one and things that bother the shit out of me, and everything in between and all around. (I really do need next week’s retreat, don’t I? 😉 Cross your fingers that they let me come sans money. I have high hopes, otherwise known as faith.)

I’m spending the week with my middle son. He was supposed to go to a VBS (vacation Bible school) with a neighbor, but we never asked and I’m kind of tired of him spending his days with this British guy’s Minecraft videos. I’ve dragged him to church, but he really seems to be enjoying it. Yesterday we had a burrito breakfast and went to the library. Today is Chuck E. Cheese and tomorrow is more library fun plus a therapy dog program. Thursday (or Friday – this is still up for debate) is the comic store and the sushi place he’s been asking to try. I think the other day of those two will be a movie day. I’ll see what he wants to do and when because I have therapy on Thursday. Kind of ironic – I’ll probably need it more after Gishwhes.

Middle Guy rarely gets this one on one time, so I’m glad it’s worked out for us, both with timing and mood (especially my moods, which were ridiculously unpredictable last year, but much better this). The middle child has a syndrome for a reason. And then when Dad offers to pick up the other two kids to give middle guy a little extra time with Chuck E, we take it.

He has managed to get a little present for his sister during everything we’ve done. He’s a good big brother, although he wouldn’t want her along on his surprise week.

We’re also excited to be using his older brother’s “new” car. We like it.

See what I mean, though? This missive was supposed to be about writing and here I am giving a glorified to-do list of this week’s summertime fun.

On the depression front (except for the last couple of weeks) this summer hasn’t been too bad. I haven’t dreaded having the kids home like I did last year. I don’t even know how many days there are until school goes back. House is still a mess, but it feels different; better.

I won’t name you, but I must apologize to the three people I had emailed with. I really dropped the ball on this. I think of you nearly every day, and I will send emails or message you to at least make sure things are okay. This is a reminder that you are on my mind and you are not alone in anything, I promise.

Writing. I’m still not sure what I want my writing to be, but I’m more encouraged to try out new things even if most of my writing seems to be journaling.

I blame my memoir workshops for that.

Maybe I’ll do a random prompt every couple of days. Perhaps, a Gishwhesian Haiku for Saturday.

My faith journey continues and is intertwined with my writing as much as both are interwoven with my life – the true Celtic knot of my soul. Triquetra might be more appropriate.

[Source for picture: http://www.lalegendedesfees.com/triquetra/441-pendentif-triquetra-bronze-antique.html]

When I misplaced my faith, my writing kept me together most of the time. With both holding me steady and pushing me forward, there is a calmness that is not only becoming to me, it is letting me become me.

I know there’s a lot of inner turmoil and self-reflection and growing and I expect that to continue until my last breath exhaled and my last word written. Everyone has a legacy and I’m still trying to write mine. I do have to live it first, though.

My past is so eclectic, esoteric (a favorite word of mine from my 100 Club days – inside joke) that in the new world I should be able to squeeze myself in and fit and if I don’t fit maybe it’s time for the world around me to adapt, just a little, considering all of the adapting I’ve done over the years.

Edinburgh

Standard

There are things that stand out in my mind, a quick memory that jumps to another, a smell, the feeling of a particular fabric on your skin.

My first trip overseas was to the United Kingdom. It was 1986/1987 and my college roommate was student teaching in England. She asked me to meet her there and then we would travel together for winter break and afterwards return to school together.

It came at a perfect time, that if any one thing had been different, I would have turned her down. Luckily for me the stars were aligned in my favor, and the trip literally changed much of my life.

She asked me what I wanted on the itinerary, and I believe my response was: Stonehenge and a Castle. Everything else was her choice. I didn’t care as long as I got to see Stonehenge and a Castle.

There is much to tell that happened during these almost-three weeks, but when I put my request for a prompt and I limited it to seven choices, and People: Edinburgh was chosen.

We barely spent any time in Edinburgh, but it truly was the people who stand out in my memory.

For one thing, I’m weak-kneed for a Scottish accent. And bagpipes…… Completely unrelated, but I visited a Gettysburg battlefield at the same time as Bike Week and one of the riders got off his Harley and started playing the bagpipes. It was one of the most moving feelings I have ever experienced. The memory still manages to choke me up. Sorry for the digression.

I’ve always been a tremendous fan of Scotland and the Celtic people.

In the summer before the trip, we both (my roommate and I) worked at a camp that had an entire group of British exchange students, and one of them was Clive A. Clive was the canoe specialist and he and I embarrassingly started a food fight in the dining hall. It was disgusting and we both got in serious trouble and I couldn’t drink orange juice for almost a year afterwards, but it was one of our bonding moments. And I was one of three people who could understand him through his thick Scottish accent.

Our trip from Pitlochry to Edinburgh was somewhat eventful, although not as eventful as Edinburgh to London, but still. The snow had begun falling before we got on the train, and once we’d arrived in York, the snow turned to mush in a country that didn’t know what to do with mush. Trains were delayed, but eventually we made it into the city to meet up with Clive.

On our way, we ran into an Aussie fellow we met on the train in Wales.

This was January and so the hostellers were a small group. We didn’t run into the same people, but we did meet a couple, stay a bit, change hostels with them, meet a couple more and then trade. It was neat. We met Peter in Bangor, went our separate ways. Actually we were ion the same train. At Perth, we went on to Pitlochry and he changed for Aberdeen. I was indeed surprised to find him later on that evening in Pitlochry, and the next morning he came with us to Edinburgh.

The Scottish hostels were a bit different than the English and the Welsh ones we’d been used to up until now. For one thing, the Scottish curfew was 2am rather than eleven or midnight. Scottish hostels also did not provide silverware; you were supposed to carry your own, and we did not know that. They were kind enough to let us borrow. Also in Scotland, we, as women, were not automatically served a half-pint like we were in England and Wales. In Scotland, we got a full pint, and for me who didn’t drink that much, but soon discovered the wonder that is hard cider didn’t really pay attention to the size of the glass other than to be marveled that I was given a pint in Scotland. It was very exciting.

Not to mention that by this time the drinking age in NY was 21 (raised on my birthday, the bastards!), so my first legal drink was received in the UK.

Clive took us to three places, but the only one I remember the name of was Preservation Hall. He’d said it was named for the one in New Orleans. *shrug* I didn’t know. He and my roommate seemed to be in charge and that was fine for Peter and me. We tagged along like wayward puppies, following as Clive searched streets for a working ATM. They weren’t on every street corner in 1987, and it took a little time for him to get some cash.

We laughed and talked and drank and three and a half pints later we stumbled out.

The next thing I knew Peter and I were put on the taxi queue, given an address to get us back to the hostel before the curfew and my roommate and friend left me there.

We stood for a moment or two and decided we could find our way back before curfew, and we didn’t need to pay for a taxi. Thinking back, that was probably one of the stupidest things I’ve done. I met this guy three or so days earlier and so we wandered down the streets.

By now it was snowing, and Peter, being from Australia had never seen snow, but this wasn’t just any kind of snow I told him; this was fairy snow. The kind that lightly dusted your hair, and sparkled in the lamplight. We sat on a snow covered bench beneath the Edinburgh Castle that was lit up for the evening and watched the magical snow glitter and glimmer, twinkling in competition with the stars against the blackness of the Scottish sky, the only light one or two lamps and the castle far above us.

It was sweet and cozy as we walked hand in hand, stumbling down one street and then another, not even knowing what we were missing by not having a cell phone or a nav system, but we made it.

Right before curfew. We came in as the warden was about to lock up, although he was kind enough to ask about my other friend, and I said she wouldn’t be back.

We found a warm spot next to a crackling fireplace and left drips where the snow melted off our woolens, our hair spraying water on each other like a dog might when he comes in from the rain.

Peter and I stayed up most of the night in case my roommate needed us to open the door for her, but he was right about that being futile and I didn’t see her until the morning when she woke me for the train back to London.

Peter and I said goodbye until our pen pal letters started up once he was home and that lasted several years.

A two hour delay, sitting on a moving train car that was only moving for me and my hangover, a crick in my neck from how I fell asleep on my rucksack, wondering why we weren’t in London, an amusing conductor who was much funnier than he should have been sober and snow, snow, snow, and wondering if we’d even get back to the United States because flights were being cancelled left and right.

Finally, we were heading to London, but we weren’t able to sit together. I ended up with a man named Kevin. Scottish, but he needed to show up at the military something in London to check in and then turn around and go home. Didn’t make much sense to me, but we had a nice chat the entire way to London. He was short and had very small hands, and I’m not sure why that stands out in my mind. We also talked about the Scottish money – the pound note, well all of them that doesn’t have a picture of the Queen on them. There was a shortened history lesson of Scotland, and my roommate and I were back in Bishop’s Stortford hoping to get on the plane the next morning, and Kevin and Peter were just happy memories.