Aging Gracelessly - A Mezzanine

When I started writing my "Aging Gracelessly" series on the eve of my fortieth birthday, it had been my intent to put out four amusing (or at the very least interesting) stories highlighting each decade of my life. Of course... I am now actively working on my fiftieth year of life, so the four-part series has become a five-part series due to my slight tardiness on publication by nine and a half years. Whoopsie! But now I find it critically important to add a sixth "mezzanine" floor to my leaning tower of Me. Because I inadvertently upset one of the two people most responsible for my existence on this earth... my Mother. It's quite possible that I've also upset my Father, so I am dedicating this blog post to both of them, just in case.

PARENTS: I love you guys... and you raised me right. I had a lovely childhood full of great things, and I'm deeply sorry if it came off any other way in my previous posting.

When I refer to stressful memories and then describe them in detail... I want to be clear to everyone about why I did that. It's only because in a newly formed brain of a zero-to-three year old, there isn't much to report on. My birthdays melt together, my trips to the park become one, my time playing with doggies are mixed up, my vacations are a blur. A few points here and there reach clarity, and not much else does. Unfortunately for me, brains are designed to remember the bad - it's an instinctive survival thing, right? BUT it's not that I forgot the good! It's that those memories are blurred. I can't tell a 2 year old memory from a 4 year old memory... and I was trying to go in chronological order... and that's it. That is as nefarious as it gets. I promise... I had a great childhood. My parents busted their chops to give me a good home and raise me right and keep me safe. And I am deeply grateful for all they did and all their love.

I wouldn't want to change a single thing about my childhood - it is the reason I am who I am and I happen to like who I am! Thanks mom and dad - you da best!

OK... we will now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

The Language of Trees

It has been postulated by scientists on and off for most of my life that trees and plants feel pain and have something equivalent to emotions. Some of this (primarily research done in the 60s and 70s, I believe) has been largely debunked as wishful thinking and biased testing, but by the same token there has been mounting evidence that trees and other plant life do communicate with each other, even help each other in forests by sharing nutrients with their neighbors, or if distressed enough that they will certainly die... donating their last reserves to those same neighbors. They don't even have to be the same type of tree for this to happen.

In this way... I find it exciting to think that big forests operate much like a brain, with each individual tree functioning as a neuron. But what if it went a step further, and the forests were more like a community? Each leaning on the other for support, and giving sacrifices for the greater good during tough times? All I know is, every time I go for a hike in a dense forest... I feel a deep sense of peace and relief. Their gentle swish of branch and leaf, their cooling shade, and for lack of a better word... their vibe... it brings me joy.

We could learn much from the language of trees... 

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A Birthday to Forget - Part 3

I awoke alone for the fifth and final day in a row in what was left of my home. There was no direct damage from the fire, mind you, but without a doting cat and a loving wife to keep me company during my birthday week... it just didn't feel much like a home at all. I had moved back in after the evacuation order was lifted, so I could begin the arduous task of cleaning up after our hasty retreat from the premises, while also trying to remove the smell of smoke from... everything... before going down to SoCal the following weekend to collect my most precious of cargo... mi familia. I rented a rug cleaner and deep cleaned the rugs, and I washed sheets and towels and clothes and walls and curtains and oh my god is that a potato? I threw away some nasty things that week. Some reeeally nasty things. And on that final day before my trip south, I made sure that the car was packed and ready to go and the house was as clean as I was ever going to get it, and I went to bed early to get some critically important rest.

News that this would be one of the hottest weekends of the year was not at all welcome. But hey what else should I expect from 2020? It's not a bug... it's a feature - 2020 is definitely trying to kill us all. A pair of friends of mine had graciously stepped up to help me with the logistics of this trip, and they met me Saturday morning not far from the van rental place. They hopped into the van and I hopped into the car... and off we went. I will take a momentary pause, here, to thank them again for reducing my work and stress loads by about 50% just by caravanning with me, and helping me get the van loaded and unloaded at both ends. I have no proper words of gratitude that do it justice... thank you thank you thank you.

The drive down was fairly uneventful, although my air conditioner gave up the fight against the heat on several occasions. In retrospect, it might've been wiser to pay more heed to that issue than I did at the time. When we got to my in-laws' house, the afternoon heat was really doing its absolute best to try and kill everything alive. Weather in Los Angeles seemed to be ranging from 113 to 121 that day, with promises of being just as hot if not hotter the following day. My friends and I both agreed that an early start made some very sensible sense. We committed to try and leave town as early as we could. That night, though, I just couldn't sleep. It was due entirely to the heat... even at 10pm at night, it was unbearable for my Santa Cruzian senses. I do not care for summer heat, no sir.

I was up a little before sunrise - one might argue that I never really went properly "down". I probably got about 60-90 minutes of sleep all night. As I began to try and build a makeshift bed in the back of my car out of old mattress toppers, the sun made it's way over the horizon in the same sort of threatening way that a train approaches the struggling damsel tied to the train tracks. Where is Dudley Do-Right when you need him?? I was already beginning to sweat and it wasn't even 9am yet.

We were finally all packed up and on the road by about 10:30... it already felt far too late, but things take as long as they take, eh? It was hot and ugly outside, and we were fairly worried about hitting L.A. traffic fleeing the rising temps. Luckily we didn't see much of that traffic on our way north, and we were soon escaping the gravitational pull of the Greater Los Angeles Area, and crossing the desolate inland valleys in what can only be described as the worst possible day imaginable to be doing that. Staci was laid out in the back 2/3 of the car experiencing varying levels of comfort and frustration as she tried to stay stable on my improvised topper bed, while the cat was locked in her carrier and seat-belted into the passenger seat. As set-ups go... it wasn't the worst. With the back window blocked out by cardboard, Staci was less likely to bake into a staci casserole, and I had access to put my fingers into the kitty carrier while I drove, to help keep our travel-averse cat from freaking out too badly. I had really tried to prepare for every detail. What we were not prepared for... was the absolute misery of the heat, because...

...My air conditioner gave up... a lot... and frankly I didn't have a good plan for that. It's not that it broke at any point, but more that it was never designed to keep the cabin cool in 120 degree weather while the car was fully loaded and on an extended high-speed journey. If ever you wanted to make an argument to me in favor of buying a vehicle with more cylinders and a bigger engine... that day would have been the best day to make your case. The worst part of the heat getting to us, turned out to be the cat. She was miserable, panicked, dehydrated, fourteen years old... and wearing a non-removeable fur coat. At one point while she was panting and whimpering alarmingly, we tried to take her out of the carrier because we were genuinely worried about heat stroke. This proved to be both the worst and best decision of the day. After she tried almost immediately to escape our grasp down into the undercarriage machinery of our folding back seat (a seriously panicky moment for us), we had to put her back into the carrier - but that briefest of moments being held and comforted seemed to reset her brain and calm her just enough to stop the panic. And then... quite quite luckily... my A/C got the upper hand and started spewing cool air once more, and I successfully aimed it into the carrier. After that fifteen minute boondoggle was done, the cat settled down and napped uneasily, and was quiet. I spent the remainder of the journey making sure that no direct sunlight got into the carrier by shading the whole thing with a seat cushion. Yes... we pamper her. She's our bebe and well she can't pamper herself, you know!

We ended up getting back to Santa Cruz by about 4pm, where it was also quite horribly hot, but it was more of a pleasant sort of horrible in comparison to those inland valleys. We unloaded the vehicles, and got everyone inside... and in one final moment of drama for the day, my friend did battle with one of my outdoor planters and nearly lost. But in the end he turned the tide and soundly defeated the planter - killed it good. I was more worried about his ankle than he was in that moment, I think. I didn't care about the planter even half as much as I cared about the plant. And to define how much I cared about the plant... well... I keep buying that plant... about every year... due to my inability to keep it alive.

And so it was done. Over. Kaput. Except that it wasn't of course. The fire was still burning, the skies were still dark and/or martian on most days, my car covered in ash and soot every morning, and I have since become much more familiar with the "Air Quality Index" than I ever was previously. In fact they only just fully contained the fire this last week. But now, at least, life can get back to normal as I don a facemask to pick up groceries, bask in dark orange sunlight, cancel 95 percent of my travel plans, and wonder if we will still be "one nation, indivisible" after November 3rd.

 

Yep, perfectly back to normal!

A Five Minute Ghost Story

The weather was a grim and brutal sort of rainstorm. The kind that blows sideways and gets under your coat, works it's way into your undergarments, and begins to chafe. The cold penetrated to the bones as the rain made eager promises to become sleet and snow at any moment. Jamie was late for the surprise party, and he had forgotten his umbrella as he desperately tried to keep his gift dry under his shirt - he could feel his failure in that regard, rubbing against his stomach as he ran the quarter mile from the bus stop - why was this place so remote?? Jamie checked his cell phone desperately - still no bars... he couldn't call ahead... he couldn't text... he couldn't even check google maps to see if he was heading the right way. "Tower must be down or something" he grumbled as he ran.

The ancient house loomed before him, the Victorian spires looking foreboding against the lightning streaked sky. He groaned at the darkness all around. "Power out? Dammit!" He tried to make out the address in the darkness. This seemed to be the place... but he couldn't be sure... he bolted for the porch all the same, desperate to get out of the driving rain. Panting in the doorway, he looked around for the first time. It sure was empty around here... no cars parked, no people milling around... he gulped and figured knocking couldn't hurt.

bong...

What the heck was

BONG...

that noise? There it was again! Coming from right behind him!

BONG!

He whipped his body around to see behind him,... and that... is when... IT HAPPENED!!

"Times up. Been 5 minutes."

AGH!

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Tales From Behind the Wall

I first wrote this back in August of 2017... shortly after my first session with a therapist in over ten years. I share it here, now... because it was and is a part of who I am. Back then I had intended to make a habit of continually writing and updating this post as a private diary of sorts... but like so many of my projects, the depression took that from me as well... at least until now. Now... now I take it back up. Chronic depression only wins when I give up, and I refuse to give up for long. If you want to understand depression... truly understand it... then I want to tell you about it. It is not an easy topic... but if I don't talk about it then the stigma is never lifted... the neglect is never ameliorated, and the scorn is never dissipated. Due to the chemical imbalance in my brain, my depression began pretty much when my memories began, but this effort to write about it begins roughly three years ago...

 

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I don't want to kill myself. I've never really wanted to do that... even though I thought I did as an angsty teen. Back then I just wanted attention... but I certainly understand the desire that some people have to just end things. Or more commonly... to just want them to end. There is a small but important distinction between someone who wants to kill themselves, and someone who wants to die...

But I'm in no position to pontificate on the subtleties of wishing "it" would stop. I want it to stop... but my "it" is depression. Other people's "it" is... everything. Well it's just degrees of the same thing, I guess.

I've gone back into therapy. It has been years - over a decade in fact - since I sought external treatment for my internal darkness. It's not that my depression ever got better, you must understand, but instead that I realized the therapy wasn't helping and it was costing me a lot of money. 

I tried anti-depressants... zoloft, wellbutrin, effexor, prozac, celexa... and several others. For two years I tried these drugs while in therapy with a certified MFT and a psychiatrist... and for two years I put up with side effects: feeling robotic, lethargic, sexually impotent, nauseous, incontinent, and let us not forget painfully poor.

 

 

As for the counseling... well it wasn't a total loss. I learned how to keep control of my anger better, I learned how to speak and think in non-hurtful ways to myself and others, and I learned that every MFT wants to pry open your relationship to find all your problems magically there... and heal them. Well when both I and my wife have chemical imbalances in our brains... no duh there are relationship issues. But... we are actually pretty good at dealing with those by ourselves... so I endlessly found myself with the "My eyes are up here" syndrome... the therapist just couldn't figure out how to treat JUST me... or leave my wife out of it.

At the end of it all... I gave up on drugs and therapists, and just decided I would live my life, never knowing what emotions other than anger and sadness really felt like. Six months later I found on a doctor friend's recommendation, that mega doses of Omega-3 fatty acids helped me to balance out... not to cure my depression but... it gave me a sense of control I'd never had before... a sense of agency... and my life changed dramatically.

Now here I am 10 years later... feeling like that sense of control is lost... feeling like I'm spiraling the drain... and feeling like restarting a regimen of Omega-3 won't be enough this time. I'm scared at my own inaction... afraid that I will destroy my life and the lives of those around me... all because my brain is broken... and I thought... I need to find that control again. I need... coping tools. I need HELP. That word... I had to practically rip it forcibly from my flesh. Depression doesn't like it when you seek help. It wants you to sit in the corner and stay there like a good sack of meat... while it feasts upon your soul. Well... I managed that small amount of control, even though it took months from my decision to seek therapy... to the day I actually made the call to book an appointment.

 

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As an afterword to this post, I'd just like to say that I will be continuing to post about my ongoing fight with depression, but I am as yet unsure of the format it will take - or if it will take a format at all. It just feels important to talk about it... to open that conversation. And so I welcome that conversation, whatever form it takes.

The Borders of Reality

Standing in line to see a border isn't normally my idea of a good time. I've never been much for seeing a sight for the sake of saying I had seen the sight. Oh look, I'm standing in two time zones! Oh gee, I'm standing in four states! Blah and yawn!

But when NASA had announced that they had discovered the ACTUAL edge of reality, and that it was nestled quietly in between Florida and Alabama, not far from the state line... I was both amazed and filled with wonder... and also a bit nonplussed... I mean if it was going to be somewhere... right? It was gonna be there.

But here at last was a border worth seeing! A place to visit and take stock of... and no small numbers of pictures and videos. So as I stood patiently in line for hours, occasionally buying drinks and snacks and souvenirs from roving entrepreneurial vendors, I tried to maintain my sense of amazement and wonder... getting closer and closer... ever nearer to that entry gate... and the incomprehensible shocks and mind wrenching mysteries that lay beyond.

Yeah ok... it was ok. Pretty cool. The line was awfully long though. Maybe wait until the hubbub settles down? 

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A Birthday to Forget - Part 2

I have the most fortunate disasters. As catastrophes go... mine are simply the best. Let me explain...

 

My life is complicated... and this isn't unusual. Most everyone I know is dealing with trauma and drama on a semi-regular basis, and if you think yours is the worst... well as my old friend, Qui-Gon Jinn was fond of saying, "There is always a bigger fish." So with this in mind, whenever I am outlining my own myriad of issues to myself or others, I try my very best to highlight the positives. It gives me a much needed sense of perspective.

And when I am given mandatory evacuation orders due to an unprecedented fire threatening the very continued existence of my beloved community, I try to refocus that perspective, and count my blessings and my good fortunes... and I find that actually I've had quite a few...

I'm a lucky ducky #1
My wife's medications are filled at the pharmacy in the small mountain community of Boulder Creek. Why do I drive a half hour into the woods to pick up her medications on an almost weekly basis? One could argue that it is because I get to drive for an hour round trip through the woods on an almost weekly basis. One could also argue that my wife and I are incredibly lazy and we often neglect small life details like "there is a pharmacy within walking distance of my work". So... when I drove up to Boulder Creek on August 18th to pick up the bulk of her meds for the month, it was my first indication of the seriousness of this new fire that was scorching the nearby forest. The smoke in the air made breathing outside almost impossible. Without my N95 mask, my asthma might have floored me on the spot. I lived several years in Boulder Creek, and I'd never seen the smoke so thick even at the peak of fire season. I grabbed her prescriptions and I fled the town, back down to the lowlands of Santa Cruz...

The very next day on August 19th... Boulder Creek was closed for business, except for the fire station. Mandatory Evacuation. If I had waited even one more day to get her prescriptions... it would have been... for lack of a better word... an absolute clusterfuck. We wondered if the pharmacy would still be there when the fires subsided.

I'm a lucky ducky #2
The day before our own evacuation order... an old friend from elementary school (!!) offered to take me and Staci and my cat, Cricket, into his home, should we need to evacuate. "Preposterous!" I thought at the time, "We won't be evacuated! The fire is nowhere near us!" I had only reconnected with this friend perhaps six or eight months prior, after decades of near silence, but we quickly realized that we were being foolish when we lived so close. During the early days of the pandemic, we had interacted just enough to know that we both shared similar paranoia and took extreme precautions with the virus... resulting in mutual comfort levels about us merging our respective safety bubbles. So when the evacuation order came on the 20th, we already had somewhere to go... somewhere safe not only for my disabled wife, but for our pampered kitty cat... neither of which would have fared well in the crowded shelters as 64 thousand evacuees hit the streets at the same time.

I'm a lucky ducky #3
As CalFire's twice daily news briefings hit the twitterverse, and we watched the streams in growing horror, it quickly became clear that we weren't going back to our home in any speedy fashion. Our welcome at my friend's house was clearly not a long-term arrangement, and so we needed to find a stable place for Staci and Cricket to exist... her parent's house in Southern California seemed the best possible landing pad. All I had to do, was figure out how to transport my disabled and mostly bed-bound wife five hours south without killing her... and also the
same for a cat that hates to travel and gets badly car sick. Elevating himself from "old friend" to "frikkin SAINT"... my buddy offered to take us down south in his "Space Van™", and then drive me back... all in the same day. On August 22, we pulled out his seats, and tossed in an inflatable camping mattress for Staci to lie on for the journey, and Cricket's carrier fit perfectly into a cubby so that Staci could keep the kitty calm the whole way down. The trip was still hard... but I can't even begin to imagine how much harder it COULD have been.

I'm a lucky ducky #4
As we plotted course in the Space Van™ and engaged the warp drive, I was already tackling my next logistical boondoggle... the bed. Our bed was of a rare breed... after years, nay decades of searching for a bed that could accommodate Staci's back... we had finally achieved success. This sleep number bed was therapeutic, adjustable, long-lasting and it actually made her pain more manageable. But since it is the only thing my wife can sleep on without getting incrementally worse each day, it meant that if she was going to be in Southern California for more than a few days, then the bed had to come too. The Space Van™ was capable of great feats involving time and space, but a queen size bed set was just slightly out of reach. So I had to rent a cargo van and make the same drive again the very next day. A cargo van rental in Santa Cruz... during an evacuation of over 75,000 residents... on a Sunday... with no reservation. After frantically hunting around online for ANY cargo van rental place open on a Sunday, I finally found one... with the cheapest rates in town... open on a Sunday... with one van available for renting that day... just for that day. And it was one block from my workplace. I felt like I won the lottery in hell... but hey I'm still a winner, baby!

 

I'm a lucky ducky #5

I returned to Santa Cruz after a weekend of driving. Thirteen hours round trip on Saturday and sixteen hours round trip on Sunday. I crawled into my temporary living quarters (also known as my office) and collapsed. My plan was to drive back down the following weekend for a proper visit with the in-laws and to be with my own displaced family for a couple days that didn't involve panicked madness. So when my  car's starter failed to do its job on Wednesday... well I had some choice words at the time which now mysteriously escape me. The good news, though, was that this didn't happen on my weekend trip. My car gave me a scary two minutes of simpering whines... but still actually started, which then gave me the ability to complete a couple critical errands (without turning the engine off, of course) and then drop the thing off at an auto repair place. They had me up and running again by Friday. Just in time for my trip. Whew.

So to wrap up the details of my fortunate disaster... I spent a total of two weeks living out of my office. Thanks to COVID-19, brand new filters on the HVAC system kept most of the smoke outside... the couch in the office foyer folded down into a bed, which paired nicely with my sleeping bag... and the office has a kitchen and a full bathroom (including shower)... so my workplace was basically as good as any apartment or hotel room. And while my bad news just kept rolling in, one punch after another, all I could say was... "damn it could've been worse. So much worse." Even though every day was miserable, stressful, panic inducing, terrorizing, and varying degrees of asthmatic... I found myself feeling quite positive about our luck and good fortunes, and our friends and support network... and how it all worked in tandem to save our bacon.

Also it was my birthday in there somewhere. Phew... who cares!

To be concluded....