Tag Archives: sadness

In Limbo

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The days between Christmas and the new year are suspended in amber; a week of feeling in limbo — at least for me.

The frenzy leading up to Christmas that started at Halloween and progressed to Thanksgiving and finally to December 25 is a mess of cooking and baking and cleaning — and now it’s over, along with the twenty-four hour Christmas music on the radio.

It’s so so quiet outside, like a day during the pandemic.

It’s a great time to shop the after holiday sales, but I have enough wrapping paper and Christmas cards and decorations to last until the next century, so I’m not all that excited about the 75% off prices…although I DO love a bargain.

But — we’re not quite done because the end of the year is only a few days away and that occasion is supposed to be memorialized by some sort of celebration, whether you choose to go to a ball or a party or stay home by the fire with a glass of champagne and try to stay awake until midnight.

And then it’s over — but not until the idiots shoot guns in the air and set off more fireworks that scare all the animals.

I’m not sure I’d call this feeling a full fledged depression, but there’s a term that describes it pretty well… Post Holiday Blues. It sounds like it should be the title of a song, right? PHB refers to the letdown we might feel after all the excitement and anticipation leading up to the holidays.

I hope Santa brought you everything you asked for and enjoy this week in limbo, waiting for 2025.

darkness

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“If everything around seems dark,
look again, you may be the light.”
Rumi

Credit Enchanted Seashells

Sometimes all we need is the perfectly petite flower of a fragrant geranium to change darkness to light; sadness to joy — and sometimes WE are the light.

seriously

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The world is going through some serious things, all very painful, all tragic.

One of my favorite aunts died yesterday, in her sleep. She was ninety-one years old and had a hard time coping with the death of her loving husband and a subsequent stroke. She was simply tired of being alive, even less after her youngest son recently died of cancer. Last week, her entire family (on the east coast) gathered by her side for her birthday but they said it was as if she was already transitioning, already thinning the veil between here and there or nowhere.

This Mary Oliver quote from her poem, “Invitation”, really says it all:
It is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.

Melancholy September

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The mournful song of my little dove reminded me of a poem by Becky Hemsley.

She walked along the pathway
And she hadn’t walked for long
When she met a little bird
Who sang a melancholy song
She listened for a moment
To his sad, enchanting sound
And she asked him why he sang his song
When no-one was around
“I sing to tell the forest
That the day has just begun
And I join the morning chorus
As we’re welcoming the sun
I sing so all the other birds
Will know they’re not alone
And I hum to all the trees
To help their leaves and branches grow
I sing for all the creatures
As they go about their day
And I whistle warnings to the sky
That clouds are on their way”
But why,” she asked him gently
“Is your song so bittersweet?
Why does it sound like longing
And like yearning when you tweet?”
“I sing to feel less lonely,”
Said the tiny, little bird
“And I tweet into the quiet
Just so I can feel heard
For when the sun is busy,
When the other birds have flown,
When the trees are climbing skyward
Then I’m left here on my own
And I sing to ask the questions
That are tearing through my mind
But I don’t know what I fear the most
Silence… or the reply”

Becky Hemsley

Remembering Bandit

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I love these photos of Bandit because as sweet as she looks, this girl took absolutely no shit from anyone.

One minute she would allow herself to be stroked and loved and her long silky fur brushed, and seemingly for no reason at all, except maybe to herself in her weird kitty brain, she’d lash out and inflict serious damage with her teeth or claws.

Late in life, Bandit was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and chronic renal failure. With the help of a great vet, we did all we could to extend her quality of life as long as possible, but on July 26, 2010, at the age of thirteen, there was no denying that her journey as my spiritual kitty daughter had come to an end. The doc came over and assisted her transition over the Rainbow Bridge.

Bandit is the one I still dream about; freaky lucid dreams as if she’s still here with me.

Rest in peace, my furry little soulmate.

Melancholy

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There will always be a hole in my heart for all my loved and departed souls.

I had a dream about my Border Collie and I thought of “melon collie”, our joke because Victor loved to eat almost anything including cantaloupe and watermelon, and then I saw this.

Sometimes this is exactly how I feel; a void left by grief, sitting on a bench, adrift in sadness.

I’m updating this post to include some research into this sculpture because I feel it’s relevant.

Albert Gyorgy felt intense sadness and isolation with the loss of his wife and went on to create this beautiful piece of artwork as a way to cope.

This hole represents the massive void that we all feel when we lose someone dear to us, and many people have expressed their appreciation for this sculpture for it portraying the exact emotions they feel, but perhaps haven’t been able to quite put into words.

Curated from: https://www.penwellgabeltopeka.com/Blog/6245/Melancoliesculpture

Word of the Day: Toska | Russian Despair

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Russia is front and center in the news these days; I wish men all around the world would stop using violence and bullying to solve their personal issues.

Toska is a Russian word roughly translated as sadness, despair, melancholia, lugubriousness (lugubrious is one of my favorite words); also a dull ache of the the soul, a soul pining, spiritual anguish.

One of my grandfathers was born in Russia and maybe that’s why that emotion resonated with me.

According to Vladimir Nabokov ,“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause.”

I wonder if it’s similar to anhedonia, the inability to feel pleasure, a common symptom of depression.

I found a spa, restaurant, and other businesses named Toska and wonder if the owners realize that they branded their business with a word that translates to despair…not sure if that’s the message they wish to convey.

Photo by Lucas Pezeta on Pexels.com

Where I Am: At a Loss for Words

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When I can’t seem to locate my own words to express how I feel, I turn to Mary Oliver.
She speaks for me, to me, through me.

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.–Mary Oliver

Photo by Mohan Reddy Atalu on Pexels.com

What does Louis Vuitton, Christian Dior, and depression have in common?

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I was going to dip my toe into the world of writing from my gut, shining a light into my tortured personal journey as I stumble through the dark–I was GOING TO DO THAT.

But instead of spiraling down into that sad place, I grabbed my keys and drove into the village, deciding what I really needed was some therapy; retail therapy. Always the joker, the self deprecator; that’s me!

After a very rainy day yesterday, today was warm and fresh and shiny.

As soon as I walked into one of my favorite consignment shops, I spied a box of scarves and hats thrown haphazardly on each other like a pile of puppies. My eyes were drawn to a familiar brown and tan monogram on a scarf. I thought to myself, “it can’t possibly be authentic, but let’s take a closer look.” I picked it up. Hmmm, it sort of felt like silk. I checked the price tag. $12.00. TWELVE DOLLARS? It can’t be a real Louis Vuitton. Or could it?

I asked the salesperson, “Has this been authenticated?” She told me the owner didn’t think it was real so it wasn’t priced as a genuine designer. YES I WILL HAVE THIS, I told myself. Just then, my bad mood cleared up. I was firing on all cylinders.

One of my hidden talents is the ability to sniff out authenticity. Too bad that talent doesn’t extend to people, but that’s another story.

When I got home, I examined it more closely. The monogram was accurate, it was beautifully sewn, and I found a hidden tag that confirmed my suspicions- 100% soie Made in France. Yup, deffo genuine LV. SCORE!!!!!!

I also tried on an amazing St. John’s knit dress that I really really wanted, but even at resale prices, it was a bit too expensive, so I reluctantly put it back.

As I was meandering through the aisles, I spied a wall display. Draped over the shoulder of a red sweater was an oversized black and white houndstooth scarf. My eagle eye spied the logo in the corner: DIOR. Hold on, girl. Acting like it’s not a big deal so that no one else would want it…I grabbed it off the hanger–the original sales tag was still attached. It was 100% cashmere Christian Dior!!! And it was $20.00. TWENTY DOLLARS! How could I say no? This beautiful shawl-like wrap needed to be rescued. By me.

Instead of continuing to dwell on the things that weigh down my heart, these little treasures helped to cheer me up–perhaps merely a superficial bandage, but sometimes that’s all it takes to shake me out of a despondent mood. At least for a little while. Until next time.

(Another) conversation with a human: “Who Misses You?”

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Chatting at the table after a yummy and healthy dinner of salad from the garden, veggie kale tofu pie, and blueberry cobbler… my little guy said, “I missed you, Grandma.”

“I missed you too, Theo-saurus”

“That’s not my name. I’m a dimedatron.”

“Ok. I missed you too, Mr. Dimedatron.

“I missed you so much, Grandma. All the time.”

After another bite of blueberry cobbler,

“Why do you go away? I want you here forever and ever!”

“But I go home because that’s where my house is. I come to visit you and Mommy and Daddy and then I go home. But I’m here now, right?”

{Thinking for a minute. Pondering…}

“Grandma?”

“Yes, Mr. Dimedatron?”

“When you’re here at Theo’s house, who misses you from your house?”

Awkward silence around the dinner table. We all looked at each other.

What do I say? The sad truth is that no one misses me. No one at all.

So I replied…

“The coyote and the bunnies and the birds and the lizards miss me very much.”

And that satisfied him. For now. He has more compassion and empathy in his little three-year-old body than most adults.

No one misses me when I go away.

Harsh tragic truth.

A totally full moon post.

Glass half full.