His Idea
Asher was insistent. He wanted me to take him outside. I wasn’t interested in venturing out into the cold wind, but Asher persisted long enough to defeat my resistance. When I got out of the recliner to get suited up against the elements, I caught a glimpse of a surprising amount of falling snow.
Really, dog? I’m not sure he even noticed how hard it was snowing. His primary interest continues to be getting to the barn to snatch up pigeons that behave too lackadaisical in his presence for their own good. He has such a one-track mind about catching pigeons lately that he doesn’t seem to notice how many walks we take where I don’t let him go to the barn.
His hope is unfazed. He veers toward the barn at every opportunity until his leash snugs as I continue walking straight ahead.
When we got down by the labyrinth, the falling snow was pretty and it was fun to be out in it.
I took a chance at capturing the fresh snow starting to cling to the tops of the seedheads of the Japanese tall grass, trying to lean with it as the wind swung it to and fro.
A moment later, the precipitation kicked up a notch and I noticed I couldn’t see the barn when we turned the corner on the path around the back pasture fence.
Asher picked up his pace a bit and pulled me along as the thick blowing snow pelted us. Suddenly, I got the impression I was on more than just a figurative expedition. This walk was becoming a literal expedition. I hoped we would make it back to some shelter before either of us perished.
When we reached the mailbox, I grabbed the three envelopes we’d received and didn’t resist when Asher chose to take the driveway instead of continuing along the north loop trail. He picked up his pace again, and I was able to slide my boots a short distance on the icy pavement as he pulled me along.
He let me stop him for a moment as I tried to get a photo of the tall grass by the shop garage, but I don’t think he was happy about it.
“It was your idea to go out in this,” I told him.
“Can we go back in the house now, Dad?”
We made it back to the front door before either of us succumbed to the elements of this blustery snow burst, barely worse for the wear. Thankfully, Asher was much more agreeable about lolling about indoors with me for the rest of the afternoon.
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Feeling Small
Last night, Cyndie and I finished the 5th episode of the streaming Apple TV+ documentary series “The Me You Can’t See,” about mental health, hosted by Oprah Winfrey and Prince Harry. There are so many issues people live with that we cannot know about unless the person chooses to talk about them.
It’s been so many years since I gained control over my depression that I don’t talk about it so much. That documentary makes me think I should discuss my experience more regularly than I do. The folks who participated in the series exposing their struggles to the world showed laudable courage in sharing what is traditionally kept secret.
Three thoughts of my suffering spring to mind instantly when I contemplate the years when I was sliding deeper toward clinical depression.
- Triggered beyond my ability to cope, I stepped outside one of the basement doors of the lake house into a dark winter night wearing no outdoor clothing and laid down, curling into a fetal position in a snow drift, desperately yearning to vanish from existence.
- A Monday morning when I couldn’t muster the resources to get out of bed, finding I wasn’t able to do more than utter a grunt in response to a query from my wife as to whether I was going to get up or not. It was later that morning, alone in the house, that I sat on the end of the bed, called our clinic, and asked to be seen. When the voice on the phone asked for a reason, I choked on the words, and she made the appointment available for as soon as I could get there.
- Some period of time after treatment with Prozac and Psychiatrist visits had occurred, I found myself sitting downstairs by the door to the garage with car keys in my hand. After years of imagining suicide as a way to fantasize my way out of the doom and gloom I was drowning in, this was the first time I took a physical step toward acting on the idea. Luckily, in realizing that, I seemed to scare myself straight.
I was already aware that the onset of treatment didn’t automatically stop depression instantaneously and that sometimes things can continue to get worse before they get better, so I used having car keys in my hand as the turning point from the worst to a blessed incremental improvement toward freedom from the beast.
Early in the talk therapy sessions, I learned that my suicidal fantasies needed to be banned. That was a habit that had been perfected starting when I was very young, and it took a while to break it. Eventually, when visions would pop into my head, they came across as comical to me and carried no weight. It got easier and easier to banish them as quickly as they came. In time, it just stopped happening.
Hoping to free myself from living on Prozac for the rest of my life, I asked my psychiatrist to let me stop taking it. She pushed back and convinced me to stay the course. I agreed to respect her wishes if she agreed to consider it a future possibility. The next time I asked, she agreed to wean me off under close supervision.
Compared to the mental health challenges depicted in the documentary, mine feel small, even though I know it’s illogical to measure one person’s experience against another. We are all seeking a resolution of our burdens in a way that works for us.
One way is to look directly into the eyes of whatever monster is looming and which you’ve been avoiding. It (in my case, depression) doesn’t have the power over you that you think it does. Marshaling the courage to look right at it cuts it down to size and can make it much more manageable to address, especially when you have trained professionals for support along the way.
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Forest Labyrinth
With few hints revealing the intended course of our forest labyrinth at Wildwood, Cyndie and I navigated our way around the circles and found the stones in the center undisturbed.
If we want this to remain usable throughout the winter, we’re going to need to place more rocks to define the route for others to see.
I really like that we were able to lay this out so the path winds around mature trees and travels across flat rocks that fill a shallow ravine. There was just enough snow cover to make it easily walkable, but it was tricky to know when we were on the intended pathway.
I liked the way the snow had shaped up around these stones. When I looked at the image on my computer, it struck me how much that top one looked like a baked potato. Didn’t notice that when looking directly at them.
We drove home in the afternoon and found a similar amount of light snow covering our property as there was up north. The horses all looked well and the barn appeared orderly after several days of a volunteer doing the feedings for us.
I’m happy to report, no evidence of mice was found in drawers or bedding in the house at home.
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Flurries
.
all day long
flurries of flakes floated down
where were they coming from?
there was nothing visible on radar
yet flake after flake kept falling
barely enough to cover some surfaces
but turning the brand-new lake ice
white
if falling as rain
it would have been a mist
maybe a sprinkle
but only barely
just relentless white flakes
floating from the sky
one after another
from sun up
to sundown
picture postcard perfect
for sitting by the fire
gazing at large white swans
busy in the open water
creating idyllic scenes
out the window frame
ushering in December
all day long
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Injustice Exists
At times, the expedition I’m on to avoid news media leaves me oblivious to current events happening in other parts of the world until someone brings them to my attention. In reassessing my goal and the progress thus far, Cyndie and I chatted about how news avoidance was going for each of us.
She mentioned that injustices of the past have been survived by many people for ages and that injustices will continue to exist in the future. Coexisting with the atrocities perpetrated is an unpleasant reality. My immediate survival mode involves “turtling” to preserve my sanity and hopefully build some reserves of fortitude to face inequities that close in on my range of influence.
As a beacon of hope, love, and beauty, I present some views of our surrounding natural glory at the lake up near Hayward. Pictures we took on a walk yesterday in the cold on the last day of November.
This morning, there are four white swans swimming around between our shore and the island nearby, frequently plunging their heads deep to feed, with their tail feathers pointing straight to the sky. They have no concerns about what the citizens of the world will face in the coming months and years as they consume some food and give their wings a break from their migration to winter quarters.
I can relate to them entirely. Maybe I am “swanning,” not turtling.
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Thistle Seeds
We are at the lake! After an uneventful drive (other than the fabulous cheeseburger and fries on the road from the Lake Magnor Restaurant in Clayton) we arrived just before sunset and (oh, we also stopped in Hayward to pick up a pizza from Coop’s and some essentials from the grocery store [did someone say “ice cream?”]) we set about the routines of arrival.
“Do you have the key?” Check.
“Turn on the water.” Done.
“Can you start a fire in the fireplace?” Of course!
“I’m going to turn on the end of the football game.” Sure!
“Do you want to sleep in the loft or in Mom’s room?” Either’s fine with me.
“What the heck is in this drawer!?” Uh oh.
There was too much for it to be mouse turds. Was there a bag of wild rice up in the loft? No, that’s birdseed. Thistle, to be precise. We checked the pantry where birdseed would likely have been stored. Sure enough.
How could such a little hole lead to such a big spill?
This had to be a couple of lifetimes’ supply for the mice. I wonder how many trips up to the loft it took for the amount of seeds Cyndie found stashed up there. Being a wily sleuth, Cyndie checked a kitchen drawer that has had mouse droppings in the past.
Oh, yeah. About four-fifths thistle to one-fifth turds.
I found some old-style mouse traps in the basement mud room, and we baited them with thistle stuck on peanut butter after some intense sweeping, vacuuming, and scrubbing.
After pizza and some ice cream (not necessarily in that order) and the movie, “Conclave,” we were ready to turn in for the night. I climbed in the crisp, cool sheets and Cyndie went to get another blanket. She came back with the quilt sewed by Hays seamstresses many years ago up here when we brought my family for a Wildwood getaway.
Then she spotted mouse turds. Uh oh, again. Did they come from the quilt? She gently carried it out to inspect over a tile floor. I climbed out of the sheets and found more turds. Moving the pillows, it was obvious they hadn’t come from the quilt.
“How many mice have been sleeping in this bed?!”
Sheets were stripped and the bed was remade. I presented the option of sleeping in the loft, but we’d already settled in, and the bed would need to be remade anyway, so we soldiered on.
Cyndie eventually checked every other bed in the house, and the one we picked was the only one that had been messed up.
I checked traps this morning, and they hadn’t been touched. Birdseed is all moved to the garage and stowed in metal canisters. A load of garbage has already been dumped. Here’s hoping that’s the last of the stashes of thistle seeds.
The temperature outside right now is 2°F, and the wind chill is below zero. Only the edge of the lake has started to freeze, and the open water is steaming up thick clouds over the surface.
We are definitely up at the lake.
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Turkey Feast
In classic Cyndie fashion, we did not have one turkey for our Thanksgiving feast; we had two. She soaked one in brine and purchased a smoked bird from a local barbeque joint.
A Thanksgiving feast deserves to be served on a royally set table so Cyndie pulled out family heirloom china and silverware and augmented them with her hand-crafted dried leaf place markers.
Speaking of leaves, we put all five extending leaves in the old Hays family table to provide generous elbow room for our modest-sized gathering.
While dinner was cooking, I guided a group down to the barn to offer the horses a few Thanksgiving carrot bites to brighten their day. I was greatly impressed with Light’s quick acceptance of my message that I had no more treats for her. She is prone to prolonged, insistent begging for more when we start offering treats. In this case, she reacted as if she totally understood what I was communicating and turned around to walk away and stand beside Swings, who had already given up on a chance for any more bites of carrot.
When we returned to the house, there was time for a little word-guessing game in front of the fireplace before Chef Cyndie made the call for “hands.”
Much feasting ensued.
All visitors were sent home with generous servings of leftovers, but due to some strategic pleading by me earlier, they made sure to leave a little for me, as well.
Today, Cyndie and I are heading north to spend the weekend at the lake, because we can. Our leftovers will be going on a road trip along with us.
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Thin Ice
The first extended freeze of the season has finally arrived. Could it be an indication we might get a return to a more wintery weather pattern than we had last year? Seems like it barely got around to freezing last winter, and when it did, it was quickly followed by a thaw.
I checked out the ice on Paddock Lake yesterday morning and found it wasn’t thick enough to support my weight yet.
No skating allowed.
By the time I went out for the afternoon feeding, the edges of that puddle were beginning to disintegrate by sublimation. If we continue to experience a prolonged dry spell, it may just disappear without ever melting.
I don’t think the horses will mind that one bit. In reality, they are intelligent enough to be very wary when it comes to ice. They probably don’t even like me joking about them doing figure skating jumps and spins.
Cyndie is in the midst of double-duty activities to rain Christmas decorations down on our living quarters while also preparing to host Thanksgiving day for our kids and a few smiley folks from her clan. I alternate between following requests to help and staying out of her way as best as possible.
Just to add a little excitement, our clothes-washing machine produced an error code in the middle of a load, related to it not draining. Several go-rounds of bailing water out and re-trying proved fruitless, and we opted to call an appliance repair service.
When I saw on a YouTube video that accessing the drain pump meant tipping the washer and working through the bottom, I bailed out (pun intended) on trying to do the repair myself.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving will be spent waiting for a repair person to disrupt life in our utility room downstairs.
My sanity is on thin ice while turkeys are thawing, green beans are flying around in the kitchen, pots and pans are getting used faster than they can be washed, both ovens are doing double duty, pie fillings are dripping, smoke alarms keep pre-beeping close encounters with full panic mode, and all the while Cyndie simply floats around like a principal ballerina as cool as a cucumber, glowing like an angel while doing the work of 10 Chefs plus two.
Basically, it’s just a normal November Wednesday.
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Top Drawer
The top drawer of my dresser does not store any clothing items. If residential kitchens are known for having a household “junk” drawer, the first drawer in my dresser is my personal junk drawer. All too often, when I cover the flat top surface with too many things, and Cyndie wants the room cleaned like a hotel getting ready for new guests, it all gets shoved into that top drawer.
Yesterday, with the weather being rather unfriendly for outdoor activity, I took the bold step of pulling that drawer out of the dresser and unloading the entire contents onto our bed to be dealt with in one way or another. One of the reasons this task has been neglected for years is my knowledge that it wouldn’t be easy to know what to do with everything.
I also knew it would take more hours to complete than I wanted to dedicate to the project but I decided the best way to deal with that was to force the issue by dumping it all out and using our bed so I would be forced to finish what I started.
Did you know a lot of retail receipts have disappearing ink? I found several of the funky paper strip receipts that seemed worth keeping at the time weren’t even legible to know what was purchased. I found a very readable receipt for the chainsaw purchased in 2013. I actually do have a file in the den for what I call “long-term save receipts” where that should be filed.
It felt good to fill a bag of trash and one for recycling with stuff that was beyond their useful dates. When one enters ‘decluttering’ mode, one can easily part with things that were once deemed worth saving, and the momentum becomes a positive feedback loop.
For a person who never needed glasses until about my mid-forties, I found a surprising amount of eyewear had accumulated. I also uncovered no less than four digital pocket cameras, revealing the evolution of my camera hardware over the years.
I have charged all the batteries and verified basic function enough to allow me to look into ways to release these back out into the world for the purpose for which they were designed.
Is there a subset of the population that doesn’t have cell phone cameras? It’s probably small, which is why the cameras all ended up being stored in the drawer in the first place.
Around lunchtime, I wished to be done with the project but pushed on after a break and brought it to a close before the dinner hour arrived.
Topping off my satisfaction is the fact I moved no more than two small things from my top drawer to the kitchen junk drawer. I’ve got a bag of stuff to put back into circulation, a filled small bag of trash, a fair amount of recyclables, many odds and ends knick-knacks relocated to logical places, and the rest returned to the drawer with room to spare.
Special shout-out to Cyndie for her moral support and willingness to find new uses or storage locations for items that would have stumped me.
Here’s hoping I don’t allow the drawer to become overstuffed again anytime soon.
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Relative Something 