“I don’t know I think it’s maybe just the middle of January which feels like the middle of nowhere and I’m in the middle of my life in the middle of the week in the middle of my kids’ childhood and it doesn’t feel like I’m going anywhere.” Can someone please get my best friend a mic? She has an uncanny knack for nailing emotions in a perfect summation that quite literally says it all. Today is MLK day but, according to Newscenter 5, it is also known as “Blue Monday” aka one of the most depressing days of the year. Many of us are trying out “Dry January” and eating healthier while getting crankier, others have come up with lofty resolutions and realizing just how hard it is to change, and some may be forced into changing whether they like it or not. Whatever it is, this time of year tends to be hard for those of us who feel the true sting of winter and pretending that it doesn’t suck in many many ways is untruthful, unrealistic, and unkind to ourselves and one another.
So what do we do when faced with these challenges made infinitely more dreary by ice, wind, and rain? I, for one, have become pretty damn obsessed with The Crown. Its parallels to my own family life have been surprising and maybe a touch refreshing too. Watching a royal family struggle with their dynamics all while adhering to traditions when modernity demands otherwise is fascinating. I know a thing or two about that as do many of you, I assume. The other night, Mom and I watched the episode with the Ghillies Ball which is a night when the royal family and servants switch roles and whoop it up. The Queen goes to bed earlier than the rest of the rabble rousers and Mom said “oh sure, send the old lady to bed while the rest of them carry on.” I detected a note of identifying with poor Lilibet which I thought was ironic because Mom is often the very last person to go to bed and used to call people wimps for throwing in the towel too early. At any rate, she and I religiously watch this show at volume 36 almost every night. “Now who is this guy?” she will ask me again tonight when Dodi Al Fayed appears on screen. Maybe this isn’t a noble way to approach the winter blues but there are worse ways.
Over the last two weeks, Mom has gone back on oxygen 24 hours a day and now carries additional diagnoses of congestive heart failure and pulmonary hypertension along with a leg wound that she sustained in September after bashing into the dishwasher (see issue 200 something). I know all of that sounds very serious and, no doubt, it is. She, however, has been a tank through all of the above as she usually is. I suggested that maybe a walker would be good as she navigates the house now with an O2 cord that follows her everywhere she goes, getting tangled up on her ankles all the time. “Well, we’ll see. No one told me I needed to.” Just now I’m typing and I heard her approach the stove to put something away. The stove is on. She’s wearing oxygen. “Uh, Mom, step AWAY from the stove.” I yelled. Now she’s putzing in her room, stopping to bend over and pick up a whatnot from the floor. She may think she and the Queen have a lot in common but I can tell you that Elizabeth had nothing on this one.
David Muir just came on TV. “Is it 6:30 already?” Mom asked. David’s voice is a sign that the night is getting on and it’s time to get dinner on the table. My goal is always to have it ready before he gets on, my version of beating the GPS estimated time of arrival. But, I’m writing and I haven’t made that pasta yet. Mom is retracing her steps to figure out where her oxygen cord got all tangled up. The pasta is now in the water, bubbling away. David soothingly talks about the cold weather blasting across the U.S. “I could stir the pasta for you.” Mom offered “I could just take my oxygen off.” As a result, I’m currently typing to the right of the stove. Why do I keep doing this? Well, this writing thing helped me break out of a horrible rut nearly 5 years ago to the day. I named it Evergreen & Grey when everything, and I do mean everything, looked bleak as fuck. But, I saw those pines and hemlocks among all the stripped tree trunks and thought….there IS hope….and strength. My life these days is not perfect. In fact, I can tell you about 54 imperfect things right this minute. I am, however, happier than I was then. More importantly, I’m more resilient too. I can get through tough times because, well, my track record for doing just that is excellent. My pitiful advice to you today is to start a new show, read something trashy, start a stupid hobby, have the pasta, and cut yourself some slack. Rules are meant to be broken and resolutions are meant to be a daily battle that you sometimes lose while fighting the good fight. My pasta is ready now, we will dine like college kids tonight in place of a fancy Sunday dinner. Good night to all of you in this war of life. I’ve got this. Guess what? You do too.