"My mind is going, I can feel it." Remember Hal, the sinister computer that ran the entire space ship in "2001, Space Odyssey"? I love that line from that movie, uttered by a fading Hal as his hard drive is shutting down.
Hal came to mind one morning last week while I was sitting on my deck, coffee in hand, in my usual just-got-up daze. That's when my eyes locked onto something and would not, could not, look away.
Mesmerized by the rays of early sunlight reflecting off a lazily turning wind chime, I became completely lost in its gentle motion for a while. It took me somewhere else, over the border for a bit.
The revolving rainbow of intensely pure colors shining from beveled-glass trinkets as they turned slowly in the cool morning breeze seemed like the most awesome display of natural beauty I'd ever seen.
Accompanied by the soothing "tinkle, tink, tinkle, tink" of the delicately ringing chimes, this Kodachrome-perfect colorful kalidiscope shifted my brain from a sleepy first gear right back into neutral, where it idled pleasantly until the spell was broken by a dog's flapping tail.
Frankly, I think this impressed me so much because it's been a long time since anything seemed so cool to me while I was in a state of total sobriety. Seriously.
Anyway, when I snapped out of it, came back down to Earth, took a sip of coffee and tried to get my brain back in gear, the zen moment dissolved. My ever-joking inner voice chose to make this comment in my head: "My mind is going, I can feel it."
It was the voice of "2001, Space Oddesy's" Hal, and I suddenly knew exactly how he felt when his processor crashed. I was mind blown; gears in my head were spinning.
Have I told you that my mom died on the same day as my husband's fatal motorcycle crash this spring? No, I am not kidding. That is what you call "mind boggling." Henceforth, the hill of my hold on sanity has been a little bit of a slipperly slope sometimes in recent months.
Not that I am usually exactly what you'd call totally nuts, in spite of what some of my friends might say. No, I am not actually insane, just very creative; it's just that I have a very good imagination.
So, in the wake of such big grief, you may wonder: How am I doing? Compared to what, or to whom? What's the norm for someone going through something so abnormal?
Most of the time, I wonder if I might be "borderline" something. Psychologists love to describe patients as having "borderline personality disorder," or some similar vague diagnosis that sounds like a mental hangnail; not quite serious enough for hospitilazation, but troublesome enough to require medication.
Being "borderline" anything seems to imply that you're on the verge of a disasterous disorder, just two clicks away from a dreaded diagnosis, teetering on the rim of a perilous pit of lunacy.
It's far better to be borderline something than all-the-way anything, I'd say.
Who isn't borderline something at least once in a while? It is possible to step back from a borderline; you are not automatically compelled to cross over it into a totally dire, undesirable disorder.
If that happens however, it is also perfectly possible after going over a border into an undesirable state of mind, to then do a reverse and cross back over into your previous and presumably better state of mind. Don't you agree? Are we still on the same page here? Hang in there with me here a little bit longer.
Okay, so what, you may ask, is the point of this entirely ludicrous and too-lengthy electronic epistle? Well, it's to see if I can still write. In my day, I used to be a pretty good writer, or at least borderline good. Now, as I coast along in my senior-citizen state of mind, I wonder if I have become even more creatively entertaining, or am I now just plain nuts?
The pressing question, then, is this: If I do begin to write a regular column again, would anyone want to read it? And that, questionable sanity and all other issues aside, is it in a nutshell, so's to speak. Nutshell, get it? Oh stop it.
Bottom line: Writers need readers, or why bother? I have readers, tons of them, I'll bet.
Well, okay, I actually only know of one or two people who for sure would like to read what I write. Yes, I do. I have at least two bonafide, regular readers, in fact they're more like fans. Yes, my fans, that's what they are.
They're big fans of my work, loyal readers, and immediate family and mental-health counselors do too, count.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Rollercoaster Riding
About a month ago my son and I took my five-year-old granddaughter to a nearby amusement park. In a moment of sheer lunacy, the two of us adults decided to ride not one, but two of the most terrifying roller coasters in the whole place, back-to-back. It now seems like a fit of masochism. If you're already unhappy, does it make sense to make yourself more miserable?
He immediately threw up after the second ride. I didn't fully realize the rides' physical effect on me until the next day when I woke up and could barely move. I'm way too old and my spine is far too beat up already to be jostled around and strained so hard. I thought I was going to have to get a cane just to walk around, or crawl on my hands and knees. Why did I go on those rides? What was I thinking?
It has now been two months since my husband passed away. The problem of "thinking straight" is a daily one I face. "Don't get too depressed," friends advise. Right. "Think positive." You betcha.
My problem when it comes to "thinking positive" these days is exacerbated by the fact that this is the 40th anniversary of the time when my husband and I were dating and falling in love. (Cue music: "The Way We Were.")
This summer also marks my 40th high school reunion, the 40th anniversary of Armstrong walking on the moon, the Manson murders and yes, even Woodstock. Of course I remember all of these events well, and I remember experiencing them, from a distance, in Idaho, with my late husband, all the while in a pastel haze of happy young love. (Cue music: "So Happy Together," by the Turtles.)
I would rather not dwell so much of that time right now, but it pops up in the media all the time. Dandy.
It seems like my life now it is down to only the simple things that can cheer me
up. Last night, for instance, was the first time in a week that I finally got
a good night's sleep. Lack of sleep, needless to say, does not contribute to a sense of well being and thus, "thinking straight."
I mentioned in my last post the comfort I find in sleeping with my dogs since my husband passed. Well, last week that all went to hell because it is skunk season here. Every August my big, male German Shepherd, Ben, kills a skunk, or at least, tries to. His personal, annual skunk war is now five years running.
So due to the annual skunk attack, I couldn't sleep with my dogs for about a week, therefore, I didn't sleep well at all, and neither did they. If you have ever had a dog get "skunked," then you know what I'm talking about. Everyone has been grouchy around here.
Last night the skunk smell was finally sufficiently subdued to where we could all peacefully cuddle again. I feel fairly good this morning. I slept well. Pure relief. Thank God.
Up and down, up and down; that's the pattern of my life these days. Mostly misery and sometimes, relief. Joy is a thing of the past.
As we have always known, it is the simple things, the little things, like food and shelter, that can ultimately bring us the greatest pleasure in life, and likewise, the lack of such, that can make us suffer most. Ever watched "Survivor?"
And I'll tell you what else I know: The worst roller coaster I've ever ridden in my life is the one I'm on right now.
He immediately threw up after the second ride. I didn't fully realize the rides' physical effect on me until the next day when I woke up and could barely move. I'm way too old and my spine is far too beat up already to be jostled around and strained so hard. I thought I was going to have to get a cane just to walk around, or crawl on my hands and knees. Why did I go on those rides? What was I thinking?
It has now been two months since my husband passed away. The problem of "thinking straight" is a daily one I face. "Don't get too depressed," friends advise. Right. "Think positive." You betcha.
My problem when it comes to "thinking positive" these days is exacerbated by the fact that this is the 40th anniversary of the time when my husband and I were dating and falling in love. (Cue music: "The Way We Were.")
This summer also marks my 40th high school reunion, the 40th anniversary of Armstrong walking on the moon, the Manson murders and yes, even Woodstock. Of course I remember all of these events well, and I remember experiencing them, from a distance, in Idaho, with my late husband, all the while in a pastel haze of happy young love. (Cue music: "So Happy Together," by the Turtles.)
I would rather not dwell so much of that time right now, but it pops up in the media all the time. Dandy.
It seems like my life now it is down to only the simple things that can cheer me
up. Last night, for instance, was the first time in a week that I finally got
a good night's sleep. Lack of sleep, needless to say, does not contribute to a sense of well being and thus, "thinking straight."
I mentioned in my last post the comfort I find in sleeping with my dogs since my husband passed. Well, last week that all went to hell because it is skunk season here. Every August my big, male German Shepherd, Ben, kills a skunk, or at least, tries to. His personal, annual skunk war is now five years running.
So due to the annual skunk attack, I couldn't sleep with my dogs for about a week, therefore, I didn't sleep well at all, and neither did they. If you have ever had a dog get "skunked," then you know what I'm talking about. Everyone has been grouchy around here.
Last night the skunk smell was finally sufficiently subdued to where we could all peacefully cuddle again. I feel fairly good this morning. I slept well. Pure relief. Thank God.
Up and down, up and down; that's the pattern of my life these days. Mostly misery and sometimes, relief. Joy is a thing of the past.
As we have always known, it is the simple things, the little things, like food and shelter, that can ultimately bring us the greatest pleasure in life, and likewise, the lack of such, that can make us suffer most. Ever watched "Survivor?"
And I'll tell you what else I know: The worst roller coaster I've ever ridden in my life is the one I'm on right now.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Between the Lines
I know a lot about dogs; I know nothing about being a widow. Dogs cannot, of course, entirely fill a huge space emptied by the sudden loss of a partner of 40 years. They can, however, definitely help, especially at night when they cozy up in bed, back-to-back with you, to warm the heartbreakingly vacant other side of your bed, which has never been quite so cold and unfathomably lonely as now, in your certain knowledge that its owner will never return.
One of my older dogs even snores quite loudly, a former annoyance I now find quite comforting; almost as soothing as three shots of Jack Daniels and a nice back rub: I am not alone. Yes, dear God, bless all my good dogs, and thank you, Lord, for their sweet and unquestioning love.
One of my older dogs even snores quite loudly, a former annoyance I now find quite comforting; almost as soothing as three shots of Jack Daniels and a nice back rub: I am not alone. Yes, dear God, bless all my good dogs, and thank you, Lord, for their sweet and unquestioning love.
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