Hitting the Canvas

Today I went into an art supply store to pick up a gift for a young artist. I haven't been in an art store for years. They smell neat and have so many fun things to look at and imagine. I pulled out some pre-stretched canvases and looked at the paints and brushes. I felt completely lost.
Years and years ago I used to paint. I liked acrylics because one could have any consistency from palette knife oils to watercolors. They mixed well, dried quickly and cleaned up easily.
Now I stand in the aisles overwhelmed by the tubes and the tools and the idea of creating.

Church of the Bean

Most every Sunday morning my friend and I meet for coffee at a local Barnes & Noble. We call it "secular church" or, alternately, "Church of the Bean." It does more good for my soul than most church services I have attended. The baristas know us so well that sometimes our order is already filled by the time we reach the counter. We are what you might call regulars. We aren't the only ones.
We see the same faces week after week. There is "hat man" and "Asian Lady that I know from someplace but can't remember" with her husband and mother, "Aging boomer couple," "suit man," etc. We all recognize each other on sight and sometimes exchange a nod or pleasantry, much as one would at a regular church. I ponder writing a book about all of us one day and creating intricate background stories for them. Nobody steal that idea!
My friend and I go all the way back to early childhood together. We have always been friends. No gaps. We know just about everything there is to know about each other. We share so much common history that we are big on reminiscing these days but will also talk about most anything under the sun. It's about the most positive time of my week and I sure look forward to it.
Church of the Bean grounds me (pun intended) for the rest of the week. It's my touchstone in time and space. It's a spiritual renewal and my cup runneth over.

Buy Nothing Day

When I was in Junior High through College age I used to go shopping with my friends the day after Thanksgiving. It wasn't called "Black Friday" back then. No "Blow Out" sales or "Door Buster" specials. The stores opened at 9-10AM like they would on any other weekday.
It was the roll out of the Christmas shopping season. The day Santa would start seeing kids, the decorations would be put up and lit. My friends and I would take the bus downtown in the morning. We'd usually have lunch at the cafeteria over the Woolworth's. Take the bus back home before it got dark or when our feet gave out. It was a fun day. A nice break from busy school schedules. One of the few opportunities to get shopping done before school and church obligations took over our time.
Then a few years down the road the "Cabbage Patch Kids" phenomenon happened. Followed by "Power Rangers" and "Tickle me Elmo" and a hundred other "MUST HAVE" toys and gadgets. Of course, kids have always wanted things for Christmas and their birthdays. Somehow, somewhere the want changed to need and the adults lost common sense. The day after Thanksgiving is no longer a fun day. It's a marathon that starts in the middle of the night and doesn't end until the day after New Year's.
I don't run that race.
Yes, I do still buy gifts for Christmas and birthdays. I am a consumer. I've been known to impulse buy and go overboard at times. Every year, though, I resist a bit more and with a bit more success. A gift should be symbolic of regard or emotion felt towards the recipient. I don't want my feelings to be symbolized by a chunk of plastic molded into whatever is the fad of the day. I don't need to go into credit card debt to measure anyone's worth or to project mine.
Today is official "Buy Nothing Day" in North America. You can read about it here: https://www.adbusters.org/campaigns/bnd
Some sponsors of this day suggest extremes such as not using utilities or even not buying anything, ever! The main aim of Buy Nothing Day, however, is to take one day to make a conscious decision to not buy for one day. Become mindful of all the purchasing you do in the course of a day or week. Question your needs and your motivations behind consuming. Separate from the herd and do nothing consumerist today. I'm doing it...or NOT doing it. It goes against the grain of modern America but the splinters eventually wear down. Just takes a bit of grit.

Meds are our friends

I've relearned a lesson this week: Don't go off your meds! In this case I did to my cat what I've done repeatedly to myself over the years. She's feeling good, she hasn't had barfies for weeks. She doesn't need that medicine anymore!
Three weeks go by. No barfies. Yesterday, barfies! Just like before she was on her medicine. Back on the maple smelling Flagyl for you, kitty!
[Now the folks at the vet office swear that it is not maple. My nose just interprets it that way. If I really pay attention I do detect the aroma of a bouillon cube. Bleh.]
I should have known better than to wean her off. I've played that game on myself so many times. "I'm feeling pretty good. I have a bright outlook now! Who needs these silly pills?" Then about three weeks later I'm feeling horrible and I can't figure out why. Durr, durr, durr.
Antidepressants are not "mood elevators." They are mood normalizers. Through rebalancing synaptic brain responses and chemistry they provide the miracle of having a regular day. No more feeling like one has been crushed by a granite slab only to have a giant boulder fall on top of it. No more seeing the landscape through a sepia toned lens, washing all the color out of the world. No more being in a state of constant dread, fatigue and morose inertia.
I think part of any illness is a certain level of denial. With chronic illness that denial is compounded by fear and exhaustion. Who has the strength to deal every day, year in and year out? Oh to be carefree, running along the beach with the wind in one's hair. Tra-la-la!
Strength, health, independence all self-obtained and self-sustained. Being a winner, an All-American myth come to life.
But it's not about being a winner or a loser. It's about serotonin and nor epinephrine and ions and cells. For some reason Depression occurs when things get out of balance. The cells are receptive or there isn't enough chemical to go around. The analogy often used is of diabetes and insulin. It's a good analogy but I've got other denial issues about that so let's move on.
So, I narcissisticly put my poor, old kitty through the same misguided folly. I think she will be ok again. Sorry little fur-baby.
I give myself points for seeing the corellation and learning the lesson in kitty-form.

First Post...Scary!

I guess it doesn't have to be profound or earthshaking. Maybe I should just say why I decided to start writing a blog. I'm an introvert. Seriously introverted. If you have ever seen Myers-Briggs graph my "I" placement is off the chart and in the next room to the left.
Being this introverted and combining that with a fair amount of social anxiety (and what introvert is NOT anxious plunged daily into a world of extroverts?) means I don't usually say a lot out loud in public. I like to consider what I want to say and how to say it. By that time the rest of the world has moved on as quickly as the streaming headlines graphic on cable news.
A blog gives me time to think and construct and say what I want to say without the pressure.
That's why I've described myself as "more than I appear to be."
I walk about the grocery store or the bookstore or out on the street without much notice. Another of the millions of "Boomers" tilting towards a grayer future. Another matronly Minnesotan in comfortable shoes.
A hint for any lesbians moving to Minnesota: Almost ALL the middle-aged women here look like stereotypical lesbians. Shorter, fuss-less hair, good solid shoes, not much if any make-up, utilitarian attire. We do dress it up more for occasions and work but not much. How often have my hopes been peaked and then dashed? But I'm pretty much too introverted for intimacy anyway. I think I'm saying to much.
The point is, that I am more than surface. We all are. We all have our own stories and opinions. So I get to tell some of mine here. Where it's kinda safe. I can operate behind the curtain and pretend to be the Great and Glorious Oz when I'm really more like the Cowardly Lion.
Please excuse the not real expert grammar and punctuation. It has never been my strongest suit. I live a lot in the right side of my brain.