Pinpoints of light in the dark

       I've battled/ experienced/ suffered/ overcome...whatever we call it, had depression.  For years. As a friend said, "Depression becomes a dance partner that never wants to stop."  It's exhausting. 

     I take drugs. Antidepressants, to be specific.  It took me a long time to accept that I need drugs. And the decision, forced by doctors wiser than I was, probably saved my life.  

Depression for me was a long, slow slide starting with mild childhood winter moods. Then a postpartum  depression which didn't quite go away before some seasonal blues added to the chemical rut in my brain.  A rut that with each season or trauma, or the next postpartum episode added to the years in a location with overcast winters- each small depression added to that rut, that grove that got deeper and deeper in my brain.  The normal brain chemicals weren't able to fill in that gap and eventually my brain ceased working well enough to keep my emotional equalibrium.  I wasn't admitted to the psych unit because I lied on my initial evaluation. I said I didn't have a suicide plan. I did. 

     I'm so grateful for the intervention and the following years of medication adjustments and counseling. Vitamins and supplements aided in improving my sleep and helped my physical health.  When my husband died, the lessons from depression  gave me tools to grieve in a healthy way. I learned to sit quietly and be content with my God.  Writing opened my heart to my thoughts and emotions and gave me a new community.  

So I thought I had most of the lessons behind me. Until this fall. This month. Suddenly all my self-knowledge and intellectual understanding failed me. Again.  The details of the last few weeks still embarrass me.  I've added a new drug, I cancelled Thanksgiving at my house- who knew that was possible. And I'm going south for some sunshine and fun with my sister and her daughters.  And I wouldn't have done any of that if she hadn't stepped in and insisted I stop the crazies and do what I needed to do. For me. 

     That's tough. For many of us. We are caretakers, pillars of the church,  civic volunteers, mothers and daughters.  We don't bail on major holidays, not cook the turkey. Fortunately no one is flying in or I suspect I would be cooking. But my family has been supportive- perhaps, not totally understanding but I don't understand this ambush from my brain either.  

So the irony of my recent blogs with lofty words of seeing beauty and finding jpy in the small things  has not been lost on me.  Right now I see through a fog of numb and fatigue.  But I stand by my own advice and will continue to look, even when that looking is through duller eyes. 

      And here are a few of my small, beautiful things this week.

The window to my world


Followed by favorite things on the window sill.

 Or on the counter, catching the sun's rays.

I love these winter pillows- I just love textiles in general. Beauty you can touch.  Months ago I wandered into a fiber show- I don't knit or crochet but these soft balls inspire my creativity just by being in my space.

Then a glimpse into a bath.  This warm room gave me a needed jolt of homey beauty this week. "I love that space," I told myself.  Good self talk.

So my blessings on your week of preparation for our national holy day of gratitude. Feel free to buy a cooked turkey at your local grocery.  Run away, if only for a walk in sunshine before the pie.  Be kind to yourself.  Turns out the world doesn't end if you do. 

And watch for the surprises of small beauty. 

First snow, gentle reminder

Last week I woke to sunlight sparkling on hoar frost.  I love hoar frost. When I was a little girl in Alaska we rode the bus to school. There was a magic season- it must have been January or February, when the sun was out and the snow was fresh.  Any earlier in the winer we roadto school in pitch dark, morning and afternoon.  Great beginnings for me,  a woman with seasonal affect disorder.

But on those magical mornings when the sun shone and the moisture content was just right and the planets all lined up, the hoar frost would outline each branch, each fence post, each wire.  Delicate white crystals poised for a moment in perfect rest.  I would press my nose against the cold bus window and inhale the beauty of the wonder before my eyes.  Early morning sunbeams sparkled, soon their heat would melt the fairyland but for now, the bitter cold kept all in pure suspension.

For this small girl who struggled with the weight of winter, hoar frost outside the bus window was a gift— lifting me and bearing me through the long, dark season.

Now I'm a grown-up. Today I hurried to collect books for our prayer time and library videos for return and mail to be deposited and the computer for some time with high speed access.... as I hurried into yet another full day, I stopped for a moment. I paused as water pauses in that brief solid state of frost.

Like the lovely crystals that sparkled across my yard, I won't last forever. I will someday feel the sun's rays one last time and be changed.  Hoar frost melts into the earth- earth to earth, dust to dust.  But there is also the changing from glory to glory, "But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit."

Someday I'll be fully human and fully glorious but for now I am merely in the process. But while I'm here, I want to behold with an open face...the glory of the Lord.  The glory of the hoar frost on the golden grass, the first dusting of snow on a porch rail cap.  An old ore cart, from a mine where men descended into dark to dig gold ore from the heart of the earth, transformed into beauty with the glory of the first snow laid gently on its weather beaten surface.



Some days I feel life-beaten, rushed and too busy even in my quiet retirement life. It's my nature to rush from one good thing to another.  On this golden morning, my spirit paused, poised for those moments of wonder.  I pressed my nose against the window of my memories and once again, reveled in beauty.



Pause with me. Notice the light. Look for the beauty.  Breathe deep.

Neither the hoar frost nor the life on this sphere,
last forever.

Beauty in the small beans of life

I'm writing a book. There I said it.  Not sure why some days but whenever I give my 30 second elevator speech (which changes every time I say it), the woman stops and stares at me, "Write that book. I'll read that."

But it's not a fun book. I should write romance novels or humor- I loved Erma Bombeck. That was a woman who could put a humorous spin on every day life or make you weep with her spot-on wisdom.  I'm not Erma.  I'm writing about childhood trauma and fear. I'm writing poetry that sucks life out of me. I'm digging into my own lifelong fears.  This is fun, folks.

And I'm sharing all this with a wonderful group of supportive writers who meet in Sundance, Wyoming.  We actually figured out this week that none of us actually live IN Sundance but one has a Sundance address since it's the closest town to her ranch.  I drive over an hour if the winter hasn't closed the back gravel road, otherwise it's over two.  I'm the one who brings the gut wrenching stories and shares the panic attacks.  Like I said, fun fluffy stuff.

But it needs to be written, if only for me.  So I write on.  But I also need to balance this dark writing with some lighter pieces.  I want to notice beauty on a regular basis, not just when I run off to a fun city like Seattle.  Today it was beans.

Red kidney, speckled pinto, white navy beans for contrast.  A tumble of earthen goodness.




My clever sister-in-law introduced me to hot bean therapy.  I dumped three bags of different size beans in a big bowl and microwaved the whole thing.
Then I sat on my porch in the sunshine and dug my hands into the hot beans.   

Once again, I'm  making wreaths for a local fundraiser and my hands ache.  I have a helper who clips all the greens, I just design and clamp the sections onto a wire base.  The clamp is foot operated- this is a classy act and the wreaths are beautiful.  But last year I did my own clipping and  made five in one day.... and my thumb joint has never been the same. Physical and occupational therapy has helped, as does a thumb joint brace but so do hot beans.



Plus I have to just sit, in the sunshine. Quiet and still. Messing with beans.  It was lovely. So were the beans.

 They roll and slip in my fingers. Bumpy but smooth at the same time, I dig deep and wiggle my hands under their warmth.  I rub my hands and hot beans slide between my fingers.  I feel their different sizes and shapes- longer and short, thin and plump. I hold my hands still and search with fingertips for the pockets of heat.  I'm a child playing in pebbles by the beach.

I close my eyes and feel the sun on my eyelids, the light bright through the skin. The rumor is for snow tonight but this morning the sun is bright in a brilliant blue sky. I sit in a light sweater, a small breeze plays with my hair. I hear its murmur in the pines. My hands are warmed, the stiff joints soothed.

Beans are today's small beautiful thing.