Cleaved cleft chins, white teeth, braces, pink watermelon lipgloss, and beards all seem ridiculous these days. Behind a mask there’s no way to shine a smile of gratitude to a shop clerk or for someone’s kindness in holding open a door. We look plastic in polarized soundless shock. The cranes fly overhead in t-formations migrating from and to places I never studied and to think about it those birds I knew, birds where I’ve been basking in year and outside tome. We live in the same warmth that those millions of million year old northerners calved their ill suited families to drag suitcases behind them. Straining and scraping down all the front porch stairs while waiving goodbye wearing dry dirt colored corduroys and flag striped mock tops. Masking the sounds of the dead floorboards as winter draws nearer, I cracked my knuckles on hands divided by savage time.
Neither extrovert nor introvert, but ambivert, staying home rather than going out’s never been an issue. Yet I love learning from all kinds of interesting and vastly different people than myself. And socializing face to face is something I enjoy. My friends range from a 67 year old ex Hell’s Angel who’s one of my BFFs, to a 20 year old Hodgkin lymphoma survivor married to a sweetheart of a woman who is currently serving in Afghanistan. Clearly I don’t discriminate when it comes to friends. Variety in life seeds knowledge and patience. Learning to ask questions and listen – not quite my strongest personality trait prior to cancer is something I’m still working on – but I was admittedly insecure for a variety of reasons.
Where do you want to go today?
How does a social animal such as myself make it easy to say “Home!”
Be us ever so humble, there really is no place like our wonderful home. The grass is much greener from fewer chemicals, the skies bluer from low air pollution, the people friendlier from less personal stressors.
But then there’s the house – you’re a citizen of your community but you’re the president of your home. The keys get you in but it’s up to you to make it a home not just a house.
Our timing, as always, couldn’t have been more serendipitous and with decisions easier for two who complement one another but fail to see the same decor as fabulous. Then add a sprinkling of dysthymic depression and case of metastatic cancer, add a pinch of a viral pandemic and you might hear the click of a shotgun at four a.m. coming from our bedroom. Or two clicks should we get that sick of one another. (I’m joking of course.)
Since February of 2020, and roughly the same date I began my current course of metastatic breast cancer treatment protocol, my resistance is low. And not just to wild color choices.
Why does anything that seemingly brings joy or comfort feel like a luxury since my metastatic cancer diagnosis? I’m truly not one to just let opportunities for fun and friendship go by and there’s no depression happening either chemically in my brain or circumstantially. No one could blame me for feeling depressed either. But it doesn’t describe how I’m truly feeling nor how all this is affecting my emotional well-being.
My physicians have all at some point handed me access to prescriptions for antidepressants, which I warn them, simply put me to sleep. I humor them and take one pill of a 30 day supply and 29 or 28 pills remain in six prescription bottles.
The blues are only of the azure clear skies in the countryside blockaded from pollution by the Sierra foothills and Lake Tahoe to our East and the American River and several dams of water control to our west. Immanently upon popping a little pill I’m sleeping as quickly as counting backward from 100 when the anesthesiologist begins prepping someone for an operation. In goes the SSRI and there better be some things off there to catch my fall when I fall asleep.
So I’m not depressed. Not exactly. I do believe that this whole COVID routine is getting old and boring. I’m definitely not and individual who likes to be individual I like to be around other people. So there is that part. There’s also the fact that I don’t get to go to estate sales, garage see, and antique shops. That’s where I make many make new friends and get to do the things that I like to do on a pretty regular basis. That’s if my shop brings in enough to budget those activities so it’s not often but I do miss that part of my life. Parlaying it to others has been a joy and is helping someone else for which I spend hours researching and learning. So those things of been gone from my life since February.
Other people who I really enjoy being around like old things as much as I do. I’ve spent a lot of my housebound time organizing my old things and selling them on my Etsy shop. (Should you want to check it out http://www.etsy.com/shop/YeuxDeux/). I started the profit sharing business with some friends were out of work because of the COVID19 situation.
But things actually got easier. Life at home became a luxury for us and thus the ease of deciding to stay home versus go out became a non-starter. We moved into the house, whose name La Villa Strangiatto (the Home of Odd People) also the name of Craig’s favorite Rush album and a song he can play beautifully on the guitar, reflect in things like our color choices. We dealt the bulk of the decorating decisions to me, due to my husband’s infamous analysis/ paralysis syndrome, with the exception of his office and outdoor lighting. Yet my sanity was called into question with regards to the color palette – a magenta burgundy and gold for our downstairs Moroccan-themed den and offices, light dove gray for the majority of the living spaces, and an auspicious robins egg blue for my kitchen. This may sound like a mad house or a set of brave choices depending on where you fall in terms of house colors. Then add an aubergine front door and you may immediately question what you’re about to walk into. But fun can be had when you’re truly engaged with any project -in the grand scheme of life no matter the size of the tasks involved, when you engage your mind, body, and spirit, wondrous, interesting, and even life-changing results can emerge.
So if we look at the situation as being “stuck,” that’s exactly how the days feel. One rolls into the next and Monday feels like Saturday. At the end of any day you become what your mindset dictates. If we enjoy the opportunities, whether conjured by imagination or something like gardening for rolling colors of white, purple, pink and red as the summer progresses then it tells of growth. Internal and natural.
Somehow for me there’s the company of friends I miss most. Generally people are taken over by all the sparking rhinestones, strands of semiprecious stones on the wall by my desk, the views from our back deck. All promote interesting conversation. Craig’s natural ability to make a very difficult mathematical or technological concept easy to understand align well with his wicked sense of humor. I cook and he entertains with stories, music, his talents are relatively endless compared to most mortal humans.
But we’ve been together going on 14 years. I’ve heard it all. Yet what’s to come – all the plans we made this year wrecked by my lack of an immune system. When I return to normal society is unpredictable.
I don’t know about you, but I go to the store to grab things that don’t occur to him to pick up like toiletries. Once a month I allow myself 45 minutes at the close of Target to gather the missing razor blade refills, shampoo, etc. and I’ll be damned if they didn’t pick now to re-shuffle the merchandise. But instead of frustrating myself, I take a breath and am just grateful I can pay for my cartload. My heart tugs hard knowing others cannot afford a thing beyond basic necessities. So it’s not guilt that I feed my soul on.
I put my heart and m my mind to a find a solution. While three good friends are the beneficiaries – that’s 300% more than zero. And it benefits me and helps offload some of my medical Financial burden and gave me back some of the social FaceTimed I so crave.
Every problem has a solution.
Instead of having a whole bunch of stuff that I can’t possibly ever get in my online shop in this lifetime, I’m doling out categories of merchandise to a couple of friends who lost their jobs or lost the bulk of their revenue due to cancelled outdoor events they’ve don’t mess each year. They benefit and I have gotten my house near clutter free. How much I’ve wanted to do this but had no time nor any real place to give these curated beautiful items a worthwhile home without losing all the time and the money investment. So it’s not completely unselfish of me but certainly it makes me feel good to be able to do something beneficial for someone else. I think helping other people in times of need, times like these, is the kind of thing where we all can benefit – and we benefit by giving of ourselves in a sincere way. The end result of giving is so much nicer than the feeling of getting.
First I determined that I could easily share in my vintage and antique business. There are certain sub genres of antiques I don’t have the time to learn enough about and I have inventory to spare. It was things that I had planned to sell overtime but I know in my heart that I don’t have the lifetime in which to undertake these offerings. Honestly, not knowing how much longer I’ll live is a large part of it and that’s just reality.
So I’ve given one set of friends some of those categories to start a second shop online. Then my other friends currently and successfully sell my antique and vintage hats along with their other handmade leather goods that are absolutely outstanding and artistically creative and well made.
My friend models the hats; her husband takes the pictures. She is so beautiful Both inside and out that her soul really shines through in these photos. It was once said that a photograph stole your soul. I don’t think that’s true at all. And in this case the pictures didn’t steal her soul, but share it.
To give truly is divine.
And I was never very good at receiving gifts. I hate surprises. I always like to know what’s coming. And that’s really unfair to the gift giver but that’s my personality I can’t stand surprises. It’s a confessional that’s embarrassing but what can I say.
In essence over the past four months there’s been a rearrangement in my personality. It’s happened before. A huge amount of physical and mental adjustment to a life with cancer is ongoing and into five long years. If I’m lucky enough to get in another five years, my adjustments will focus on how to rearrange myself to accept my lack of energy, my fatigue, and the pain that I feel when I try and do life without doing more medication.
The third friend overlapped with my resistance to binge watching an entire series of television. That silly fear of indulgence had to fade to the background to return the gift of laughter. He’s allowed over to the house since he too is suffering from a life of pain and I watched him start to teeter into a full blown depression, and I had to grab hold of his hand before he fell over a cliff into a dark ravine. I watch mostly British comedy when I do watch anything besides documentaries. By the way, should you want to laugh really hard Netflix has the British comedy, Man Down, written by and starring Greg Davies. This was the second helping of the show for me, which I consumed along side my friend. I had no idea what damage a stroke can do to someone’s memory. And since he suffered through several strokes six years ago he finds it difficult to remember when and how to laugh. How sad would life be without the gift of laughter. There’s a yoga in fact that is a laughter yoga. So that tells you something doesn’t it?
And I suppose it’s a kind of indulgence, and one that has gotten me through some really shitty chapters in my life. Each night after dinner over the course of about a month, we laughed to the point of tears.
Giving someone I truly care about the remembrance of how to laugh what was one of the best things I could ever give anyone. It’s certainly worth more than money and the most gratifying activity in which I’ve actively participated. There’s a few more personal stories I can share but I think you get the point.
We can choose loneliness, anger, resentment and pain. Or we can turn ourselves inside out and find our hearts exactly where they’ve always been. Right in the middle of our chest still beating while we are still here. So taking loneliness and isolation and upturning that negativity by actively reaching out to those who needed me most when they are in a time of the most need. This is a time when we can all turn inside ourselves or we can turn ourselves outwards and be of love, spirit, and of heart. That is what I am most grateful for for this entire COVID19 situation.
Cancer is difficult mind you and it certainly has its downsides during this whole thing because we can’t go out very much especially if I immune system‘s are compromised by chemotherapy. However We can still give of our personal gifts. And that is the best gift we can give to ourselves.
Maybe it’s the pressure of all the rain washing the clay away from the roots of the fir trees along the border of our land. Behind it, a horse trail runs parallel to the front of the house. Four weeks have passed since any horse and rider trotted by, leaving our cat with his head crooked to the right or the left, wondering just what the hell that big dog is doing carrying a person down the street. How undignified. He’s not seen a horse before. He’ll see one again.
It’s all about perspective. This entire global debacle, even from the cat’s point of view, indelibly changed the daily regimes of everyone, everywhere, with everything we do. Normally my writing calms me down. And it is. As I write these words my cracks that just began showing this week slowly begin to close, like a scar forming on an open wound. It’s not that I go out a lot during flu season anyway but the point is now that I can’t. Not that in any event I had to I still can’t.
My husband’s psychiatrists office was out and he was without medication adding to the super amounts of stress-ure (stress and pressure) on us. It’s been resolved and he’s better and stabilized. But it’s fallout that none of us suspected being told late in the second half of the game that we should get extra prescription medications. Our Walgreens was robbed twice by violent offenders who threatened the lives of two pharmacists in broad daylight to turn over the pain killers and opioids. I’m short 60 tablets as a result of not enough to fill up my entire prescription.
The cracks are showing. I suspect the months that will have ensued by the time COVID19 finishes raping, pillaging, and marauding our world, our scars individually and throughout entire counties and continents won’t soon fade. Like after a radical mastectomy.
Post traumatic stress disorder won’t spare a soul even in some small way.
Anyone who took advantage of others financially or emotionally or otherwise shall find a fresh form of hell that awaits them. Probably in this life, too, if you believe in that kind of thing. My take on karma is people who do terrible things walk this world looking back over their shoulders worried about what’s coming after them, rather than looking forward so as not to trip over something – missing fresh opportunities or stumbling over things in their paths and falling flat on their faces. Anything from small instigative acts like hoarding eggs up to exceedingly serious and life threatening acts of deception. Lies involving propaganda, and in this case concealment of the whole truth so everyone can prepare accordingly. I do not believe it’s as all bad as it was projected to be, albeit too late in the game to save New York. Sadly this virus carried by many who remain home without symptoms will be measured in numbers of the sick and the dead. This is the kind of thing I like to call “social treason.”
“Social” etymologically defined best on Wikipedia. Which makes sense because of the social input to the definitions themselves:
“Social organisms, including humans, live collectively in interacting populations. This interaction is considered social whether they are aware of it or not, and whether the interaction is voluntary or involuntary.” And treason, but in this case a phenomenon known by those fans of the inscrutable, infinitely quotable, late Douglas Adams as Somebody Else’s Problem, or SEP:
SEP is something we can’t see, or don’t see, or our brain doesn’t let us see, because we think that it’s somebody else’s problem. That’s what SEP means. Somebody Else’s Problem. The brain just edits it out, it’s like a blind spot.Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams,
The books narrator explains:
The Somebody Else’s Problem field… relies on people’s natural predisposition not to see anything they don’t want to, weren’t expecting, or can’t explain. If [he] had painted the mountain pink and erected a cheap and simple Somebody Else’s Problem field on it, then people would have walked past the mountain, round it, even over it, and simply never have noticed that the thing was there.Ibid.
Sometimes we don’t want to see what may hurt us, and I think in the beginning of this coronavirus crisis in the United States we suffered from SEP. Now, realizing it’s our problem too, we are becoming depressed as a social organism called a “community.” People kidding themselves into thinking by hoarding toilet paper or hand sanitizer the resulting soft walls will provide m protection against what’s lurking on that head of lettuce they brought in their reusable bag from the green grocer.
We are alas, a global community. It’s a small blue planet. Some of the inhabitants may feel lonely and scared right now. Uncertainty is like SEP at times. But far more frightening than not seeing is overthinking what’s not known or not seen.
But I’ve seen so many good things happen too. Offers to go to the grocery for neighbors who are home bound. Seeing face masks for the medical workers abc grocery store workers and those deemed necessary for basic survival. And I read about people talking to one another, eating meals together, having walks with their spouses. Betcha there are a lot of babies born nine months from now.
I hope I’ll be around to see the upside of all this. I know it’s been difficult on us but also made my husband understand he can do way more than he thinks without me. Is it a good thing? I suppose a dry run for when I’m no longer here couldn’t have hurt, or maybe it hurt more than either of us want to acknowledge.
SEP saves the day.