Why, oh why didn't I write about "Stranger in a Strange Land" when I had actually just finished reading it? It's been at least a year (two?), and although I know it moved me and changed me and set me on a new path, I feel as if I can only talk about its points in relation to what other people are saying about it. Because I didn't capture those personal responses to the work immediately. I'm going to regret that forever, I know, because you can never re-read a book for the first time.

I know that it changed me in two ways: it returned some of my hope about life and humanity, and it put me on a new path that has reinforced that hope time and again. This book set me on the path to devour all things Heinlein. And with very few exceptions, each of his works has brought me to that place of "Oh my god, yes!" again and again. I don't think I'll ever be able to adequately describe the effect that Robert A. Heinlein has had on my life, or my great sorrow that I've only discovered him so long after his death.

This book moved me because it expressed so well my core beliefs about myself and humanity, beliefs that I have never been able to properly name, beliefs so slippery and elusive that I forget about them and have to be reminded. What does it say about me that I have to be reminded of a personal belief in hope?

Something that has bubbling to the surface over the years, the same something that caused me to start a new blog, was momentarily brought to the surface and shown in a shining light. A connection with and hope for humanity. The realization that yes, it may be paradoxical, but it's time to face the truth that although I am an atheist-leaning agnostic, I seek out and yearn for and suspect there is meaning to life. There is enlightenment to be had, if only we can let ourselves open up to it. Life can be chaotic and random, but somehow serendipity and fate can still occur. Without some overlord or god or grand designer. I can't explain it any better than that, maybe because I haven't been enlightened. I suspect it is merely the journey to enlightenment that *is* enlightenment.

But I was going to talk about this book, about Valentine Michael Smith, the human raised by Martians who became a sort of messiah. As I said, because it's been so long, I can't remember the details well enough and have to describe my reactions to the book as a response to what others have said.

I'm going to attempt to respond to the GoodReads review written by "Christy".

1. She has a strong response to the ugliness of the word "grok". I can sympathize with this, truly. I definitely feel like there are words that sound or feel "ugly", and "grok" is definitely one of them. But at some point I got over that, possibly at the point that I actually figured out the true meaning of the word. Something I suspsect that Christy has defined in a slightly different way than I have, which could explain a few things.

2. She sees a bit of hypocrisy in Heinlein's critique of religion and his use of religion to get his point across, saying that using religion as manipulation is too cynical for her taste and goes against the "Thou art God" philosophy. This is where I begin to suspect she has a different definition of the word "grok", as well as the concept of "thou art god", but I want to get to that later, as it's the meat of everything.

3. "The sexism of the text, which is inseparable from its heteronormativity and even homophobia." Yep, she's got me there. I still can't get over that line, "Nine times out of ten, if a girl gets raped, it's partly her fault". shudders But it's easier for me to give him a pass on the sexism than it is for homophobia. I just don't understand where the homophobia comes from. It is so very much against everything that I've come to love about Heinlein as I've read more and more of his work. Which makes me wonder about it. A comment on Christy's review by "Stew" suggests much of the book's offenses are contrived to be offensive, as their own commentary on things wrong with society. Speaking of the sexism, I don't think so. But the homophobia? Maybe. I can't recall much, if any, homophobia in any of the other works that I've read by him. I just don't know what to do with these sentiments. They will probably always be the most disturbing thing to me about Heinlein.

Why is it less disturbing when confronted with the sexism? Mostly because it's pretty much in all of his books. It's difficult to stomach, but you eventually have to roll your eyes and move on. Because at some point you have to remember that no one is perfect, and it's ok to recognize someone's contributions without letting their faults overshadow their good works. Do you point it out? Hell. Yes. Do you ruminate and question and let it frustrate you? Yes. Then you set it aside and move on. One does not judge the Constitution by the way it sets up how to count slaves. Critique it, yes, but don't throw it out. It being a living document, in fact you work to change it, while keeping the historical records as a remembrance of how times have changed.

One does not ban Huckleberry Finn for its use of the "N-word", but instead focuses on its message that black people are human. One does not judge the sermons of Martin Luther King Jr. for its heteronormatism or religious content, but for the message of overall equality. One does not throw out the contributions of Margaret Sanger for access to birth control because she support eugenics. To be clear, I'm not suggesting that Christy has done this. No, this is me explaining part of my reasoning for giving Heinlein a slap on the wrist rather than a beating for his sexism.

All of that aside, I have a more slippery reason. I think it's part of Heinlein's sexuality. Yes, I will go so far as to say that I think Heinlein himself was sexist. Time and again, Heinlein's male characters physically dominate the strong women they are drawn to. The scenes are like an eroticized breaking of a horse: the two fight for dominance, the man uses physical force to still the woman into true submission until she stops fighting and listens, he tells the woman how maddeningly feisty she is and how she is never to do "x" again and by the way she is the most amazing woman ever and so beautiful and intelligent and awesome and lets have babies now, she melts into his arms and their relationship is instantly transformed into one of loving hen-pecking and hot sex and adoration and baby making. The man and woman instantly understand everything about each other and all the conflicts from before this moment become silly endearments. The woman can be as "uppity" as she likes until the man raises an eyebrow, then she instantly knows she has crossed a line and with contrition she acknowledges that of course it is her duty to defer to his judgement in the matter.

Bleck. But... I can't ignore how very much this sounds like the relationship between a true Submissive and his/her Dominant partner. Yes, I'm talking about "BDSM" culture. I'm talking about a very real, valid, and contemporary (as in it's not just 1950s prudish patriarchy) form of sexuality.

Feminism is still divided strongly between sex-positive and sex-negative views. I am strongly a pro-sex feminist. Some of the anti-pornography and anti-dominance arguments I can understand, even occasionally agree with. But overall, I see sex as a positive human endeavor, pornography as a way to enjoy it, and submission/dominance relations as valid forms of sexuality. In light of that, I strongly suspect these scenes are exactly in-line with Heinlein's personal views. His work is filled with social commentary, much of it along liberal lines, but by no means is he a "flower-child". The man is pro-military and anti-democracy for crying out loud. These are just facets of his world view that we must accept as part of Heinlein, and move on from there.

Also, I am very frustrated with the entire second paragraph in the 3rd point of Christy's review. I don't see the problem with Jill's leap to the conclusion that appreciating poronography makes sense. It about sums up how I feel on the matter: it's ok to want to be looked at and it's ok to look. Pornography as an industry may have issues of power, and I have a big problem with the everyday objectifying of women as sexual objects in order to sell products, but I don't think pornography itself is wrong or anti-feminist, nor do I feel that seeing a person as a sexual object is wrong. The quote about Jill's relief at not having lesbian tendencies is troublesome. Part of me ridiculously holds out hope that we can take the comment at face value - that Jill wasn't ready for that much change, but that it isn't necessarily commentary on homosexuality. But of course, there's all the rest of the anti-homosexual sentiment to quash this. *sigh* But where does Christy get the impressions that Jill thinks "women are the spectacle, never the spectator" and "women's role in sexual behavior is essentially passive"? I find this whole paragraph to be too close to the sex-negative view point for my comfort.

4. Christy's response to the "emphasis on self" is where she completely loses me. She says "but if feeling good and being happy are the primary goals of life, then that opens the door for abuses of others in the name of love or happiness and seems a rather meaningless goal in and of itself. Hedonism alone is not enough for me."

Well damn. Crap on toast, woman, hedonism is basically the core of my entire life view. But for the love of all that is unHoly, how does any of this "open the door" to abuse and make life meaningless? Christy ends her review contrasting Heinlein's view that God is in all of us with Vonnegut's view that there is no god anywhere, saying that she finds Vonnegut more appealing. I've yet to read any Vonnegut, but I can see how someone can believe that view is more realistic or true. But more appealing? She faults Heinlein's finding meaning in the physical as too meaningless, but favors Vonnegut's view that life is meaningless? How can you prefer meaningless but fault someone for being too meaningless? It makes no sense to me. It makes me scratch my head so much, I wonder if I've misunderstood it somehow. (She thinks Mike duping people into knowledge via false religion is "too cynical", but Vonnegut's no god scenario is "appealing"? Huh???)

But this is a good transition back to my feeling that Christy does not define "grok" the way that I do, and that the definition goes to the core of my beliefs.

Christy bemoans "philosophy that believes that YOU are the center of the universe, that everything will work out for the best." She mentions The Secret, something that I haven't read (because I suspect I won't like it and there will be much eye-rolling), so I don't understand her "name-it-and-claim-it" comment. Working out for the best... huh?

As stated, Mike's lesson for humanity isn't religion. Christy doesn't see that although the word "God" is in there, "Thou art God and I am God and all that groks is God" has nothing to do with any "God".

I'm not Heinlein, and I'm not the character Michael or any other Martian, but I have always understood that to "grok" is to understand the existence of something completely and implicitly. And essential to this understanding is that there is no one thing to understand, there is no God or creator or meaning, there is no me and there is no you. Everything just is. Everything is Everything. There is no chair or you or Martians or books or God or... I suspect no love or hate or fear or action or movement or... anything. Because all there is is everything. There is no ONE thing. There is just EVERYthing, which is one thing. To grok is to understand this. To use Michael's mind powers, one simply taps into Everything, to be One with the All. It's that simple. This isn't religion. It is fact. The meaning of life is that life and unlife and existence is... existence.

Everything is Everything.

It's not cynical to dupe people with religion. It's using religion to bring them closer so you can whisper to them that there is no religion, there just is. The lesson is not religion. The lesson is that we are all part of a single existence. It's easy to say "single entity" here, but I don't think that's right either.

I was in tears when Michael told the ant "Thou art God", not because the ant is part of God and so is Michael and therefore everything will be ok in the end. No, "God" is merely a human name for something unnameable. "God" is the name for the realization that everyone and everything that ever was and is and will be is All. He was saying hello and goodbye to himself. He was acknowledging there is no death. I believe the only reason he uses the word "God" at all is because it is the closest word in the English language that comes anywhere close to covering it.

And this is as close to something that I can believe in as I've felt since I realized I didn't believe in God when I was 18. It's how I can be an atheist and say there is meaning to life. Do I believe that if I can truly transcend, to somehow actually BE the concept of everything is ONE, that I could then manipulate the things around me? Make my own reality? No. Maybe. It would explain some of the unexplainable phenomenon. It would explain afterlife and quantum physics and ghosts and non-linear time. Because there is no time either. There just IS. Psychic phenomenon*, all of it. Because everything just IS.

Maybe when I die, all of me will just BE everything else, and everything will sigh in relief that everything is finally one Evertyhing again, and I will know that it's all ok. I'll know how it all ends, I'll know the meaning of life and the universe and god, because I always will be and always have been Everything. Or maybe not. Probably not. But I like this idea better than anything I have ever heard. And it sounds much more probable than anything else too.

*Heinlein's book "Beyond This Horizon" and Arthur C. Clarke's "Childhood's End" both imply the psychic phenomenon can be explained by the fact that time is non-linear. If there is no time, or if everything that happened/is happening/will happen all happens at the same time, then having fore-knowledge of something is just that person having tapped into non-linear time.

scene from the film Away We Go:

Burt Farlander: Do you promise to let our daughter be fat or skinny or any weight at all? Because we want her to be happy, no matter what. Being obsessed with weight is just too cliché for our daughter.
Verona De Tessant: Yes, I do. Do you promise, when she talks, you'll listen? Like, really listen, especially when she's scared? And that her fights will be your fights?
Burt Farlander: I do. And do you promise that if I die some embarrassing and boring death that you're gonna tell our daughter that her father was killed by Russian soldiers in this intense hand-to-hand combat in an attempt to save the lives of 850 Chechnyan orphans?
Verona De Tessant: I do. Chechnyan orphans. I do. I do.

After watching this scene, and then allowing for the screen couple to snuggle for a minute, I was informed that I am not allowed to watch any more movies today. It has just been that surreal of a day.

A long, long time ago, Eric and I came close to breaking up. We decided not to. Instead, we got in the car to take a long drive. About a minute into our drive, our song began to play on the radio. We had never before, and never since, heard our song on the radio - as far as we know, it was never released for radio play.

For years, I struggled with the decision of whether or not to have a child. So many reasons to fear it would be a mistake. Some very important ones to feel it may be imperative. So much waffling. I rented the movie Waitress, not really knowing what it was about. She spends the entire movie resenting her unborn baby for keeping her stuck with her husband, only to have her entire world flip over when the baby is born. Her husband is making a scene in the delivery room, but everything is muted as she holds and gazes upon her baby for the first time. That scene was hugely influential on me.

Alas, having my own biological child was not to be. There go half the reasons I was afraid to have a baby - the genetic inheritance of all my family's ills. I am still sad about this, but using a donor will allow us to have a child who will be loved, but who won't have all of my health problems.

Another movie I knew nothing about... I believe it was around the time we decided to go with Egg Donation, because I remember going to the movie store and needing something completely mindless to watch to get my mind off of my worries. Couples Therapy sounded like complete fluff. Until 10 minutes into the movie you discover that one of the couples wants them all to go on this retreat because infertility problems is making them consider divorce.

About 3 months ago I had a personal crisis. My illnesses conspired to make me miss multiple doctor appointments in one week. Appointments I was desperate to have. Because seeing doctors was the only way I was going to get well. I felt trapped and alone. Then something occurred to me: shouldn't there be other people out there who are so sick that they have problems just getting to see their doctors? Online searching led me to whole communities for people with chronic illnesses. People who were spending their lives like me: more sick than well, too familiar with the medical system and disgruntled with it, afraid and tired and lonely.

I discovered The Spoon Theory, an easy way to explain to my family and friends how little energy I had when I woke up each day was so easily taken up by the mundane chores of everyday life, leaving me with no energy for work or socializing or just having a normal life.

I discovered a therapy group in Edmonds. I had wonderful sessions with people going through things so similar to my own experience. I spent hours talking with one person in particular, with whom I shared so many similarities it was spooky. Through her, she gave me the words to express something I had been feeling inside about my life.

A change had been coming over me. I realized I didn't like myself, the person that I had allowed myself to become. I was taking stock of my life, trying to find ways to feel and do good. Nature helped me feel my humanity again. Being made small when taking in the massive scale of mountains and forests in real life, Alaskan valleys on television, made me feel part of something larger. This woman introduced me to the Unitarian Universalist concept of valuing all beings and things equally. In my heart, I had finally defined the core of my belief system: to cherish all life, in all forms everywhere.

Changing your life when you're set in your ways can be difficult. When your own body seems to be in revolt against you, the task appears Herculean. Daunting doesn't begin to describe it.

Focusing on Wellness and increasing my health and fitness has become the focus of my life as I prepare to become a mother very, very soon(!). A handful of appointments were scheduled for this week, and so far I managed to get to all of them. This is a very good thing, but it has done a number on me.

The X-rays from my chiropractor really threw me. I knew it was bad. Just not how bad. Disks degenerating in various places, some small bits of arthritis here and there, my neck curvature is reversed and responsible for may growing hump, my neck is also almost completely right-of-center to varying degrees, one hip is lower than the other, and I have adult onset scoliosis: with not 1 but 2 curves to my spine. The image of my spine looks like someone shoved it all the way to the left as it passes through my hips, then it corrects itself and keeps going in the opposite direction for a spell before correcting again to come towards the center. Before hitting my neck where it slides to the right like the leaning tower of Pisa. Should I be scared because there's so much wrong? Or should I be relieved that finally, there may be a single diagnosis for all of the neurological problems I've been accumulating in the past 2 years?

I have been officially diagnosed with "mild to moderate hearing loss" in both ears. A new sound overlay to my tinnitus may or may not be permanent. The hearing loss, associated with my inner ear, is permanent. But the Ear Nose Throat (ENT) doctor I saw today happened to notice the fertility meds listed in my chart. She told me that she had been an Egg Donor Coordinator for Virginia Mason 10 years ago. We chatted about where I was in the process, the clinic I was using. She confirmed that success rates with donated eggs are higher than that of artificial insemination of your own eggs simply because of the youth of the women donating. She told me about how she runs into people all over the place that she helped 10 years ago, how they point out their kid running on the soccer field with her kids, and she can see the amazing results of her work. She is so thrilled and excited and happy for me. She told me to be positive, that positive results were likely. She was practically giddy.

I decided to do something Christmas shopping after my appointment, but the anxiety and physical discomfort brought on by the chiropractor visit the day before had me exhausted. I decided to see what movies were playing. The new Jake Gyllenhall movie in 5 minutes.

How can a movie called Love and Other Drugs have commercials completely devoid of the information that he is a drug company rep who falls for a woman with Parkinson's disease? The scene where she goes to the Unconvention and listens to her fellow Parkinson's compatriots tell their sickness and their doctors and their shoelaces to fuck off... I was bawling almost uncontrollably for the rest of the movie. When she's saying to her boyfriend, "There are other people with Parkinson's disease! Can you imagine?!" I thought I was going to just lose it. She sounded exactly the way I felt when I discovered the support communities for people with chronic illness and pain.

After the movie, I hid in a bathroom stall and called Eric, sobbing anew. I told him the movie was about me. He told me to come home. I went to clean my face. I had been crying so hard that I my face was covered in red blotches - I looked hideous. A woman walked in behind me, and asked if I was ok. I told her yes, I would be, and turned towards her to assure her with a small smile that I was telling the truth. She said "No, you're not. Let me give you a hug." And she did. I clung to her and sobbed against her leather jacket for about 5 minutes. She did most of the talking. She asked me simple questions, and as I talked and broke down again after each answer, she would just hold me tighter and tell me reassuring things.

We exchanged names and full spellings, each of us having unusual names. She told me my name was as beautiful as I was. She must have told me I was beautiful over a dozen times. She told me that she had been recovering from cancer for 2 years, and I lost it all over again. She told me how she and her husband went broke and lost everything and she didn't think she could bear it any longer, so she got down on her knees and prayed. And God took her troubles and got her through it. She told me that there are the people we love and need in our lives, and then there are the interim people, who are there to hug you in the movie theater bathroom. And when my troubles were too much, I should kneel down in front of Him and give them to Him. She had a little gold cross around her neck. She had pretty blonde hair and beautiful eyes. I never figured out what color her eyes were, because whenever I looked at her, she smiled with her whole face, her eyes crinkling up in the most amazing way so I was always looking at those crinkles and her smile. She prayed for me, out loud, while she hugged me. I told her she had no idea how important this moment was to me.

For the entire encounter, I kept telling myself she was an angel. That this was a miracle. That this was Something with a capital "S". That she was sent or meant to be there. I was half convinced that when we were through, she would pop out of existence. Instead, she told me she really was there to use the toilet and proved herself human. I decided not to mar this perfect moment, and silently walked out, since we had already said our goodbyes.

I went home and cried against Eric's not-so-fancy black shirt, telling him the whole thing. How strange it was. How unsettling it was, to feel like time and again, something or someone was looking out for me. He assured me he didn't think I was crazy.

The right people at the right times. New concepts and personal revelations as I'm finally ready to hear them. Songs, movies.

My contact at the fertility clinic called to update me on our chosen donor, who had just had her first baseline exam and passed with normal hormone levels and lots of healthy follicles in both ovaries. As compared with two months ago when we chose a donor, got health information that made us doubt our choice, and then discovered she was pregnant with her own child within hours of sending the email that we were going to have to choose a different donor. Because she was not the right choice.

I sat down to have some lunch and watch some television, to calm my nerves. This movie I wasn't so sure I wanted to watch was just starting, Away We Go. A couple six months pregnant go on a long trip from city to city to decide where they want to live when they have their baby. And near the end, after all the emotional ups and downs, they say these sweet vows to each other that I quoted above. Instead of vows of marriage, they are vows of parenting.

I grabbed Eric, and rewound the scene so he could watch it. After it was over, I hit stop and looked at him with tears in my eyes. He smiled at me and told me I couldn't watch any more movies today. He held me for awhile.

I first experienced crying out of happiness in 1999, when anti-depressants completely changed my life. Over the years, I've had occasion to repeat the experience. Nothing like today.

I had been crying out of complete disbelief that these things, this movie and this woman in a bathroom, were proving to me that I was going to get through this and I was going to live my life and I was going to be great. I was crying out of joy.

People are to be celebrated. People, every person, Is Divine. And so there would be celebrating.
- Momastery

I'm very disappointed that I missed GLAAD Spirit Day yesterday. How difficult is it to wear purple and maybe post something on Facebook or Twitter? Well, yesterday was "Do Chores That Get You All Grimey Day" at my place, so I never got dressed to face the day. Plus, I was so wrapped up in chores, I just didn't use the internet very much. I did sit down last night with the intention of writing something, but I was so exhausted that it never happened. But it was on my mind, definitely. So here's what I should have posted yesterday.

The "Rainbow Flag" is pretty much universally recognized as a symbol of LGBT Pride. The fact that each color in that rainbow has a specific meaning to the community is less widely known. In its present incarnation, there are six colors: red for Life, orange for Healing, yellow for Sunlight, green for Nature, indigo for Serenity, and purple for Spirit. In light of a cluster of teen suicides, deaths, and violent attacks against people labeled as "gay" (and the anti-gay, ignorant hate speech still being spewed by public figures despite those deaths), a day to wear purple for "Spirit Day" was organized by GLAAD. The public support has been overwhelmingly positive, and a little surprising for me due to a few unexpected participants.

I spent much of my day physically occupied with housework and mentally occupied with reflections on spirit and pride. A link to a never-before read blog was particularly inspiring, with a post consisting of a mother's letter to her small child should he grow up to be gay. Don't be put off by the spirituality of the writer, as it really adds to the impact of what is said. Here is my favorite part, again, but in full context:

And I don’t mean, Chase, that we would be tolerant of you and your sexuality. If our goal is to be tolerant of people who are different than we are, Chase, than we really are aiming quite low. Traffic jams are to be tolerated. People are to be celebrated. People, every person, Is Divine. And so there would be celebrating. Celebrating that you would be one step closer to matching your outsides with your insides, to being who you are. And there would be a teeny part of my heart that would leap at the realization that I would forever be the most important woman in your life. And then we would tell everyone. We would not concern ourselves too much with their reactions. There will always be party poopers, baby.

This section especially touched me because I've been thinking a lot lately about the intrinsic value of people and life, so it stuck with me all day, giving me a lot to chew on. Leading me to some thoughts about Gay Pride.

Why is the idea of Gay Pride so hard to understand for some people? Too many people have said things like "I don't have a problem with gays, I just don't want them parading around" or "who cares who you sleep with, just keep it in the bedroom." While I would quickly respond to the second phrase by pointing out that LGBT relationships are about love and not just sex (and also all of the public smooching and hand holding and groping and flirting and wedding ceremonies by heterosexuals who can't keep their love life purely in the bedroom), what to say to the pride-haters has been more difficult. An emotional response is easy to come up with, but a rational argument that they might be led to understand... not so much. Until yesterday, when a simple phrase came to mind:

The opposite of Shame is Pride.

Too many people are concerned about gay people always yapping about their sexuality, griping that "they should just be normal". They seem to believe that now that homosexuality is "tolerated", homosexuals should act and behave just like them: "normal." Sit down, shut up, work for a living, pay your taxes, worship a god, defend your country, and bring cookies to the Christmas party.

Normal. Quiet. Don't make waves. Live your life and leave me out of it. And for the sake of all that is good and holy, stop running around half-naked having simulated(?) sex on the top of parade floats!

To that I say, normal is not what you get when you stop shaming someone. We've been shamed and hidden and abused for long enough. It's time for some Pride.

The opposite of shame is not normalcy, it's pride.

The opposite of abuse is not normalcy, it is healing.

The opposite of hidden in the closet is not normalcy, it is shouting your existence to the world.

The opposite of hate is not tolerance, it is love.

The opposite of whispers of ignorance, random violence, occasional (but not common place, not anymore!) discrimination, and crackpot sermons/speeches is NOT silence, it is shouting in defiance and joy.

The LGBT community has been shamed, abused, hidden, and hated for too long to expect us to sit down quietly once these shackles are removed. And they have not been removed. It is slowly becoming socially unacceptable to hate gay people. So very slowly. So maybe we'll shut up and sit down when the people who still want us dead or in hell or in the closet change their tune and lead by example.

Until then, defiance. Until then, shouts of joy, revelry in sunlight, public celebration and living. Until then, Pride.

I've always been aware of my negativity. I've known I'm a pessimist since I learned what the word meant. I like to say that I'm a realist, "prepare for the worst and hope for the best", as they say. Except there usually isn't a bunch of hope inside, usually just extra doses of expectations of the worst. Sometimes (usually) with a healthy dash of fear, anxiety, and paranoia. My life has created this in me, all of the negative events slowly but surely pounding in the lesson that bad stuff happens. And pushing out the hope.

Over the years, I've learned to manage this tendency, to an extent. I've developed the ability to arrest negative thoughts while they're happening, often before anything too damaging happens to my psyche, like... calling hospitals when my husband is late. This has been very handy when dealing with depression. Unfortunately, it's very easy to "forget" this skill. To get swamped in emotions and fears and anxiety, forgetting everything else. This can very easily escalate my depression.  The whole thing is connected, but it's something at the core of me, so what do I do about it? Just keep at it, and hope for the best.

A few months ago, I realized that pretty much every time I blog or post to Facebook, it was negative. Honestly, it's about all that's been going on with me. But seeing it out there like that bothered me. I want people to know who I am and what I'm going through, but I don't want to be constantly whining and moaning and bitching at them about it. Plus, good things do happen. And everyday, run-of-the-mill, middle ground stuff too. So why not talk about that? Well, no one wants to hear about middle ground - I don't care enough to post it, and nobody would want to read it. And good stuff? It's so rare, and unfortunately quick to pass, that I get too occupied in reveling in the moment to say anything. Until I'm back in negativity land.

So what do I do? How do I balance this out? Well, mostly, stop worrying about your fucking blog and work on keeping the bad shit at bay. Har, har, har.

So imagine my surprise, when things start to click. And suddenly, I have no idea what to say about it.

Earlier this year, I felt like my world was turned upside down when I was diagnosed with infertility.  In the past few weeks, it's been righting itself, and it has nothing to do with fertility. So what does it have to do with? Well, honestly I don't know. Or I haven't known. It's just been happening, and I've just been... standing around wondering what's going on.  And every few days, I actually feel better. I keep having epiphanies. And I just haven't known what the hell to say about it.

I'm working on trying to fix that. But for now, I'll leave you with this: I'm still a pessimist. This is life, and the hits just keep on a' comin'. But... it's easier to laugh at my self than ever before. The difference is, it's real laughter. I give a little shake of my head, a roll of my eyes, and I walk around or over my obstacle, keeping the sun in my face.

It's quite possible that I'm delirious. Or delusional. This might all evaporate tomorrow. That's what usually happens - my upswings are rare and brief. But I really, really don't think that's what's happening right now. Something has gone "click" up there in my head, and I don't think it can be undone.

I have hope.

Yesterday was an amazing day.  I woke up with energy, which was boosted by the news that I had sold a necklace. I spent a good chunk of time that morning on shortening the necklace and then packaging it up for shipping. Then I took a shower, brushed my teeth, actually worried about what to wear, and put on some jewelry. I left the house on time and arrived at my appointment with plenty of time to get settled in before the session started. I love it when I'm the first person to arrive. Wherever I go, I'm usually the last or the first to arrive, but hardly ever just right on time!

I found this support group for people dealing with chronic illnesses, where I signed up for a class to learn some constructive means of coping and staying on top of managing your own health care. This was the 2nd session. It's unfortunate that there are only 2 of us right now - there have been many possible additions, but they've all been stymied by the middle-of-the-day session schedule. If you know someone who lives with chronic illnesses, let me know!

There were so many thrilling moments of personal revelations, I don't know how to possibly convey it all here. The wonders of new medications and finding new people who understand what I'm going through!

I have no idea why there is a general reluctance in society to seek counseling. There is so much power in having a conversation with someone who listens without judgement. The act of speaking out loud seems to get your brain to re-examine  your words. If something is troubling you, your mind worries at it, tries to examine it and come up with solutions, and then continues to rethink over and over the same line of attack on this problem you don't know how to solve. But spitting it out, seems to bump your brain out of its rut, so you can see different lines of thinking about your problem, which allows for solutions to come to you "out of nowhere". Having someone there to listen, you weigh your words purposefully, and that can be a really big jolt out of your rut. Hearing someone rephrase your problem in their own words, that can be a huge help as well.

Therapy, or at least what I have experienced, isn't about spilling your guts and then someone telling you what to do next. It's about saying things out loud so you can listen to yourself, take the time without other distractions or societal pressures or judgements to have a real conversation with yourself. There just happens to be an impartial referee in attendance. I've heard too many times the excuse that "saying it out loud doesn't help." Well I call shenanigans. When was the last time you actually spent an hour doing nothing but talking about yourself and whatever happens to be on your mind without worrying about what the listener will think or say? Try it out twice. Once, to get your words out and get comfortable with the process and your listener. Then a few days to digest what you said. And then another session to come back and talk about how time has affected your view of the situation. Because something will have changed. Probably something tiny, so maybe you don't notice. But the listener will notice and point it out. All it takes is one experience of realizing how helpful changing the way your brain tries to solve a dilemma, and the lesson will sink in. You'll start analyzing your own thought processes. You'll start wondering if you've really thought about every possible scenario/factor/possibility. Not 24/7. But sometimes. In small ways.

It's not about finding hallelujah, I'm a genius, huge revelation moments. It's about nudging your brain in a small way so you are more likely to see those revelations coming.

And now I have completely hijacked my own train of thought, without getting to the really wonderful bits! So I'll be brief (I swear!)

I made a real connection with my companion attendee, so we went to a café for some good conversation.

I stumbled over a concrete definition of my own personal brand of spirituality. And admitted to myself that yes, it is spirituality and yes that's weird for me, but that's ok.

I had a pretty yummie caramel Frozen Treat.

I mailed my package with a half hour to spare before the post office closed!

I had a long, leisurely walk on the beach in Edmonds, reveling in feeling good about myself, and my choices, for a change.

I came home and made dinner for my husband and it only took a half hour.

We played the new Borderlands expansion - wo0t!

When the ending of "Sons of Anarchy" pissed me off, I realized how it was affecting my mood, told myself it was fiction, and put it behind me.

I went to bed and slept well, waking up with energy again today. The End.

I had the most remarkable day yesterday. Nothing exciting or flashy, just a flash of future possibilities. Something bordering on epiphany.

This has been a very hard week.  For some reason my uterus decided to wait 49 days before hitting reset, which means this cycle has been even more of a bitch from hell. I took so much medication to keep the pain at bay that I slept all day Monday, and a majority of Tuesday and Wednesday. I slept right through 2 different appointments: therapy and a chickenpox vaccine*. Combine this with the 2 appointments that I slept through last week just because of normal fatigue (to see my Sleep Apnea doctor no less!), and I am batting 1:5 for appointments. I did manage to get to the fertility clinic for some blood tests early last week...

*weird side note: about 10 years ago I asked for the vaccine because I never had it as a kid. They tested me and told me I had immunity. My mother doesn't remember me having it either. Last week, my fertility clinic told me I have no immunity and I have to get the vaccine soon (if I so choose) because you're not supposed to get pregnant until 3 months after getting vaccinated. I'm going to get the shot, but this is quite the head scratcher...

Realizing I had missed therapy was kind of the last straw. The more sick I am, the more dark my mood gets. Missing appointments makes me feel guilty and worthless and callous. And so the downward spiral began early Friday morning.

It has been on my mind all summer that managing my health has become just as overwhelming to me as the behemoth known as "The Great Upstairs Pack-Up Before Installing New Flooring." Now I am having anxiety problems on a regular basis for two looming beasts that I don't know how to tame. I decided a few months ago that what I need is to hire a private nurse to be my health advocate: someone to look at all of my history and diagnoses and help me navigate the system from specialist to specialist, to come to difficult appointments to explain the big words and ask the right questions. Because my Primary Care Provider, all half dozen or so in the past decade, have not been able to come close to helping me get a handle on what's going on in terms of undiagnosed symptoms and how each illness is affecting the others. I finally demanded an extra-long appointment with my PCP last year to go over The List: four pages (long hand, thankfully) of every last thing that's wrong with me. Previously, I had been told that the maximum was 3 issues per appointment. With a $20 co-pay for each appointment, I would have spent enough on office visits with one doctor that could have instead bought a ticket to Hawaii.

The doctor really did listen to me, soothed some of my fears, and referred me to a couple of specialists and sent me on my way. It felt so great to be listened to and have some action to follow-up on that it didn't immediately occur to me that all she had done was look at pieces of the puzzle she could hand off to other people to try to fit together, and ignored trying to put it all together for a bigger picture. After that, I tried to stay on top of things, but my follow-through sucks when I don't see the point. Then add in the new infertility diagnosis, and things began to spiral out of control.

So, on Friday I felt a bit like a deer in headlights - I was literally staring into space in the kitchen trying to figure out what I was going to do about this. It seemed hopeless. Eric came and went without noticing anything was wrong, and like magic that was the last straw. How dare he not be psychic! I spent the next hour or so crying and croaking out just how freaked out I was. The problem that bothered me the most: how am I supposed to make it to appointments that have to be made weeks in advance, when my level of health and energy changes so dramatically from day to day, to the point that I'm sleeping through appointments that are supposed to help keep me from sleeping during the day! I am stuck in a horrible cycle: my health greatly affects my mood, and my mood affects my health. If I get a cold on a day I'm doing OK, within 24 hours my mind is very much not ok. The longer the sickness, the more not-ok my mind gets. This leads to weird eating and sleeping habits (which makes me more susceptible to getting more sick/depressed), avoiding activities and obligations and people (about the only things that can help me fight off depression).

I mope, I get sick. I mope because I'm sick. I get worse because I'm moping. Where does it end?

This is where yesterday's revelation comes in. I did a Google search for something I had never even imagined could exist until that day: some sort of support for people who are sick with too many health problems to deal with.  Guess what? The support exists.

I found a support group Board for invisible illnesses through a conversation about dealing with multiple illnesses.

This caused many silent OMGs in my head. And lead me to The Spoon Theory, a way to explain to other people how quickly and easily your energy is lost in a day over the smallest things. This sheer genius of explaining the unexplainable was created by Christine Miserandino, who runs an invisible illness support site: ButYouDon'tLookSick.com

Having new terms to search for led me to InvisibleIllness.com, a site with interesting outreach strategies. The simplest being a sticky-note campaign, as well as a blogging event for Invisible Illness Week.

Both of these groups are on Facebook, which I immediately joined. But then I kept on looking, to see if there was anything out there more specifically for people with multiple illnesses. I couldn't find a support site, but I found hope in the form of medical articles confirming that at least somewhere in the health community people are taking note of this phenomenon:

• Advocacy for Patients with Chronic Illness Inc. Caring for Multiple Chronic IllnessesA not-for-profit offering support services and advocacy for people with Chronic illnesses
  
• Reuters The Difficulty of Treating Patients With Many Illnesses
  a more in-depth and personalized article on the subject, although it focuses heavily on prevalence in elderly patients
• ADDer World (ADD/ADHD support) Co-Morbid = Multiple Illnesses or Disorders
  informative piece about something that mental health patients have known for a long time: if you have mental health issues, you're more likely to have other chronic illnesses
• Wikipedia Comorbidity
  morbidity is about disease prevalence, not to be confused with "mortality" or "mortality rate"
• The Center for Managing Chronic Disease Managing Multiple Chronic Conditions
  A group for doctors.

There is just no way to express how relieved and comforted I am knowing that I'm not alone. Not to mention the hope and conviction to change I feel might burst from my chest. When I think about it, I can't help but think about the Grinch's heart swelling 3 sizes that day...

If you watch any TV at all, you've probably seen one of the ads in Bayer's "Simple Win" campaign for their blood glucose meters: mostly young people, famous or not, who have diabetes and are just thrilled that their life has one positive aspect due to an awesome meter.

Then there's another drug ad commercial campaign for a drug (Celebrex?) that relieves pain of some disease (rheumatoid arthritis?): older people happy to be able to play catch with their grandkids again, walk their dog, or just putter around the garden - thanks to this awesome drug (assumably) prescribed by their doctor.

Despite having different target markets and thus a different "feel", they're both about every day people who are now very happy in their daily lives because of pharmaceutical companies. It is presumed that these people were once unhappy. The anti-depressant commercials seem to be the only ones who try for any realism at all, with simplistic but accurate glimpses of a depressed person's life, followed by that person looking more relaxed, if not happy, as they interact with someone that was being ignored in the background of the earlier scenes. Still all very saccharin.

Thanks Don Draper.

But despite my disillusionment with drug companies, the under current of these campaigns hit home: medical conditions that affect you every hour of every day suck ass, and finding some relief that allows you to be normal again can be an amazing experience.

My health is a bit more complicated than such commercials can express - I have various ailments that feed on each other. Most notably, I have multiple conditions that cause pain and fatigue that, if not managed perfectly, add fuel to the fire that is my depression. Basically, I hurt and feel exhausted so I sit around with no energy for anything, making me listless and frustrated with my life until my depression flares up - sinking me into a hole of despair that makes me tired and listless. It is a difficult cycle to break, and even when managed properly, so easy to fall off the path and get sucked back into the mire again.

There is nothing simple about the process that I use to balance my life. Physically, it involves pain killers and daily naps, visits with multiple doctors who run lots of tests, and a detachment from people to keep to a minimum the likelihood of canceled plans and hurt feelings. Mentally, I take medication and see a therapist, I determine "triggers" that I avoid at all costs, I only keep sympathetic people in my life, I pray for days where I have the energy to get out of bed and the willpower to actually do it.

My daily life, hour by hour, minute to minute, is a constant balancing act as my various symptoms fight each other for control. Most days, I'm happy if I take a shower. Getting out of the house for any reason is energizing - if I can find the energy to leave. Going out with my husband or friends is bliss.

For quite some time now, willpower has been the weakest link in this chain. When the pain and fatigue and memories beat you down so that all you want to do is lie in bed, how do you find the willpower to get up, let alone go out or get anything accomplished that day.

A few days ago, I found a "Simple Win" that had nothing to do with willpower: I replaced our toilet seat. Seriously. When I couldn't bring myself to sit on my own toilet seat because of its sorry state, I went out to purchase a new one. I wrestled with removing the old one, taking multiple trips up and down the stairs for the right tools. I cleaned out the bolt holes of rust, then found myself so caught up in it that I had cleaned the entire toilet. I installed the new seat and tested the easy-removal-for-cleaning plastic clamps and saw that it was good. I endured an ouchie moment of knee pain to get up off the floor. I discovered that despite my fears, I didn't hurt anywhere or feel overly tired. There was a sense of accomplishment, multiplied by the fact that I had been avoiding this task for so long and now it was done with.

Would I be a happier person today if I had become a plumber? Um... no. But going out that night with my husband to see a movie felt extra indulgent. Simple Win, simple reward. I never thought I would ever describe my life as simple. But if simple makes me happy, I'll take it. Maybe I'll get a few more toilets in the house just so I can replace their seats on a regular basis. I've been looking for a way to teach myself to meditate, and it was in my bathroom the entire time!

Sitting in my car, eating Ciao Bella Mango Sorbet, I glance around the near-deserted Whole Foods parking garage. The taste of sumptuous mango coats my tongue, infiltrates my brain's pleasure center, and triggers childhood memories of other mango consumptions.

I remember my cousins' enormous mango tree, all of us downing the fruit with rocks - you could pick the already fallen from the ground, but they were always overripe and at least partially rotted. The tree makes me think of my grandmother's lychee tree, my adult quest to find fresh lychee, and my confusion when I realize I don't enjoy them now as much as I did as a child. Another bite brings my brain back to the memory of mangos past, how difficult it was to get to the meat of the fruit without making a mess. Cutting mango covers your hands in juices, gnawing it from the seed core covers your face in sticky goo. I remember my mother showing me how much sweeter the fruit could be if sprinkled with a tiny bit of salt, just like cantaloupe. I don't yet realize it, but tonight I will remember this and sprinkle salt on the tiny mango slices included in my just-purchased batch of Whole Foods' packaged strawberries.

My chores for the day are finished. I feel accomplished for having changed our car insurance to AllState for less money and higher coverage. I have no pain or nausea for the first time in days, in fact I feel healthy and energized. I am heading home to a yummie lunch, an evening of creativity and Project Runway. Home is where my cats are, where I share time with my husband, where I need to load the dishwasher. Tomorrow.

Today, I'm just reveling in mango.

Can you hear my satisfied sigh from here? What an amazing day! We ferried out to San Juan Island last night, where we are staying at this charming B&B called States Inn & Ranch. It's a working ranch, but I haven't been out to commune with the sheepies & alpacas yet - probably going to do that tomorrow morning.

Today we went out to South Beach at American Camp, and wondered what happened to all the rabbits. Not a single one in sight. :( The foxes made their appearances, getting astonishingly close - one came within about 2 feet of me when I was standing outside of the car to take pictures. The friendliness of the foxes, as compared to their indifference last time we were here, confirms my suspicions that the rabbit population has been severely cut. I queried a park ranger who said they were still there, and maybe they were just hiding in the long grass. Well, last time we were here there was NO grass because the rabbits had eaten it all - there was just a barren field with almost as many rabbit holes as there were rabbits. Small estimate would be there were 200+ rabbits at the time. Maybe that was the problem - too many rabbits, they ate all the food and starved too death. Helped along by feasting foxes, eagles, & hawks, and ta-da! Rabbit no-man's land. :(

So then we actually went down to the beach. We trekked out to the rock out cropping we'd gone to last time, in my mind hoping we'd glimpse the same giant river otter float by and then come on land nearby. No river otter, but there were constantly seals. I told Eric that I couldn't figure out if it was the same group of seals hanging around, or if we were witnessing the great seal highway were they all traffic from South to North. No Orcas today, no good eagle sightings. :(

We spent 2 hours at the beach, with our fold-out chairs on the rock outcrop. It was perfect. Exactly what I had been hoping for.

Last time we came here, I kept hoping as we went from quiet nook to solitary beach that I would find some comfort, some happiness, some inspiration. I was in this depressive state where nothing was really bad, but nothing was happy no matter what I did. I left the islands with lots of images in my head, but no happiness in my heart. Well, the past few years, it is always those quiet moments from that trip that I think on wistfully when thinking of the islands. There is this wonderful calm & contented feeling in my heart when I think of those times.

I think there is something different in me now. I think it's the part of me that has decided to put down the camera, and enjoy the scenery for awhile. If what you're watching sticks around long enough, take a few shots after you've enjoyed it for a bit, instead of living the moment through your camera lens trying to get the perfect shot. I just sat and watched the ocean, taking note of the occasional seal head bobbing by, and listening to the waves. I closed my eyes and tried my best to clear my mind and just experience the sensations. It was perfect. The peace and tranquility and comfort that I had been seeking all those years ago seeped into me as easily as the sun roasted my face. It was bliss. Definitely.

After almost 2 hours, I finally got up and started examining tide pools and taking pictures. I took out the earrings I had made the other day to do a mini photoshoot. There was lots of sun by that point, and lots of interesting places to get photos. I hope they turned out well. Unfortunately I've discovered that although my pictures can look awesome in my new large-screen camera, that is no way to judge if they are blurry or not. Here's to hoping I've finally figured out how to use the Macro setting properly!!! I only wish I'd brought more jewelry to photograph.

We had a wonderful lunch and then later at great dinner at this little Italian restaurant called Pazzo Vivo. At least I think that's what the name was. I bought a needle felting kit from the wool & yarn shop. We checked out the awesome local-artist gallery where we bought some awesome pieces last time, and although the same artists had their stuff there, nothing new by them jumped out at us, so it was kind of disappointing. I asked about having my jewelry there, but that store specializes in art that's only made in the islands. Oh well. The woman behind the counter recommended this other shop that I had just been browsing. Unfortunately, I was browsing to check out their prices - they're the shop that I found last time that was charging about 5 times as much for what I would sell the same pieces for. Pieces that I could make easily or better. And that was still their trend, although there were more reasonably priced items there this time. Still, I remain disgruntled and offended by their damn boutique prices.

OK, time for bed. TTFN!

Seriously, how did this become a post about moments in my car???

Yesterday as I was heading out for errands, I found 3 kids running a baked-goods stand in front of their house. I pulled over to see what they had and how much, and told them I'd try to find some cash while I was out. Traffic was horrible on the way home - I-5 was messed up, so everyone was using the backstreets around our neighborhood. Needless to say, by the time I reached my street, I didn't really want to deal with the kids, their wares, or finding the money to buy anything. But I stopped anyway to make sure they still had some left. Then I went home, dropped off dinner with Eric, grabbed 2 dollars from our change jar, and drove back for some sugar cookies. (Yes, I felt guilty driving, but I was *hungry* and I'm a slow walker - and I didn't want my dinner to be cold when I came back!).

Their mom had shown up since I first saw them, helping them count money - they were almost sold out! Their dad was messing around with his truck and he came over to wave at me with this goofy grin on his face. When my cookies were delivered to my car door window, I admonished her for not asking me if I wanted fries with that. She actually giggled.

On the way home I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face. I've never really cared for sugar cookies, but these were delicious - Eric let me have both of them for myself.

*

At some point when I was out this weekend (lots of errands!), I think it was the Lowe's parking lot, I hopped in my car, started up my iPod, and U2's "All I Want Is You" started to play. I sat there, remembering my wedding day. Someone once told me it was the most choreographed wedding they'd ever seen. I honestly only spent 10 minutes a few days before the wedding deciding how I was going to walk. It starts very softly with just Bono's voice and a quiet guitar. I stood around a corner where no one could see me but one co-worker. He grinned and made "come on out" motions with his hands. I just smiled and shook my head, closed my eyes:

You say
you want
diamonds on a ring of gold,
your story to remain untold,
But all the promises we make,
from the cradle to the grave,
When all I want is you

Cue some louder guitar, all alone without a voice now, and I step up to the threshold to look out at everyone and they can see me. I start walking forward when Bono starts to sing again, louder this time:

You say
you'll give me
a highway with no one on it,
a treasure just to look upon it.
All the riches in the land.

You say
you'll give me
eyes in a moon of blindness,
a river in a time of dryness,
a harbor in the tempest.
but all the promises we make
from the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you.

I meet Eric just as the lyrics end and the guitar swells. It's not an entirely sweet song, but mostly it is. And I cry every time I hear it. Because everything that song means to me, the way it describes my feelings for my husband, has become a million times more strong, more resonant, more true.

I cried in my car. Put my head on my steering wheel and wept. With a smile on my face.

*

My iPod is psychic. Kind of. It's more like the great DJ in the sky shows himself at odd moments:

I looked everywhere for my Portishead CD to listen to Roads while I drove in the rain. No luck, but when I plugged in my iPod and his play, Roads started to play.

I'm addicted to Muse. Especially their song Time is Running Out. I got into my car intending to find that song on my iPod, but when I turned it on, it automatically went to my shuffle-all playlist before I could do anything - and that was the first song there.

About 36 hours recovered from depression, I hopped into my car and the song that I walked down the aisle at my wedding to began to play.

On the day of our most serious relationship crisis, we hopped into the car to go on a road trip alone for some healing. A few minutes later - we hadn't even gone a mile - the song that was the first dance at our wedding began to play. I can count the number of times I've heard Depeche Mode's Somebody playing on a radio with two fingers.

*

I decided last summer that yes, the most important thing in the world to me right now is Eric and starting a family with him and making sure we are both happy. The most important way to do this is also the easiest: stop moping around, and take responsibility for the house like I promised so many years before. Make sure Eric doesn't have more to stress out about than work, because work stress has become almost impossible for him to bare anymore.

Heather also reminded me to do nice things for him. Somewhere in my head I knew that was part of it, but it didn't really click until she said it. So I wake up in the morning happy, do the dishes, then have some breakfast. If I watch TV, I finish before 2pm because that's when he takes his lunch break and watches ESPN. I clean up after myself, and when he's forgetful, I tidy up after his lunch. When he says or does something small and annoying, or something that makes me a little angry, I pause and take a deep breath. I try to remember that it's not important to point out that he's left the lights and TV on again. When my brain auto-translates his man-speak into something mean and/or selfish, I try to remember how to re-translate back into its original language so I can more accurately gauge what he's really saying.

I also have tried to take over driving duties when we go out together. Sometime in the 90s I got fed up with being so stressed when I drive. I was screaming all the time, arriving at my destination furious and tense. I started only listening to classical music in the car, making an effort not to take everything personally, remember that just because 10 people cut you off on your way to work it was not one person jeopardizing your safety over and over - it was 10 different people in 10 different moments of not quite paying enough attention. I thought of the silly mistakes I make when I drive - I do something dumb, I feel bad for a moment, but then I forget it because I need to focus on driving. I tried to imagine all those mistakes happening with the same person following in the car behind me. He would be really ticked off, but they're still 10 different incidents with no correlation to each other.

I took to heart a quote I found from Oscar Wilde (that turns out to really be from someone called M.L. Plano - weird): "Never attribute to malice what can be explained by stupidity. Don't assign to stupidity what might be due to ignorance." I taped it to my monitor at work and everything. I just discovered there is a 3rd line to that quote, which is quite snarky and thus hard for me to imagine it was not written by Wilde: And try not to assume your opponent is the ignorant one -- until you can show it isn't you.

To make a long story longer (!), it did change my attitude about driving. I still have my moments when I talk to myself about stupid drivers, give people dirty looks, and/or yell at people that can't hear me. But they don't happen every time I'm in the car, let alone multiple times per trip (unless there are lots of really, really stupid people out there at one time...!).

As Eric's stress level has increased, his yelling in the car has grown as well. For a few years I let it bother me, complaining internally. Then one day I realized that instead of telling him for the 20th time how easy it is to remain calm while driving if you don't take everything personally, I could just remove the stress itself. That's when I started driving for us. Sometime I relapse and get lazy, letting (read: insist on) him do the driving. And every time I do, I am rewarded with lots of reminders of why that's such a bad idea... For once something that's self-reinforcing is helpful!

*

Today as I was out on another errand, I was looking to see if those kids were selling cookies again. They weren't. Instead I saw a family walking towards me on the grass that should have a sidewalk paved on it but doesn't. They were really walking to a girl of about 10 years old who had gone ahead. She was standing under my favorite cherry blossom tree in the neighborhood - I've decided it's the perfect shade of light pink for my yard ambitions. And exactly as I was parallel to her, at the last moment before I had to look ahead at the road again, she reached up on her tippy toes, looking up into the branches, and trying to catch a few flowers.

It was one of those perfect moments that you wish you had a camera on you. But you don't, so you just have to savor it in your mind. Sometimes I'm guilty of the reverse - having a camera and spending too much time snapping photos and not enough time enjoying what's in front of me. Today, after that moment of original chagrin, I'm very happy that I didn't have my camera with me.

*

How can it be possible for one person to so quickly change from moping listlessness to someone so happy and open to the small joys in life? There are many moments in my life, small moments, that have brought me happiness in the midst of depression. Sometimes they are even enough to kick me out of it. Usually not. These moments are so much more powerful when you're on an even keel yet still so sensitive to recent depression. The depression leaves behind a kind of psychic bruise, making you flinch when something doesn't go your way, and then you're surprised that it didn't hurt or mess you up the way it would have just days before. Then there are the moments of happiness, that to most people are just happy moments, that become treasures because they are so acutely opposite what was so recently killing you inside.

Happy tears can be embarrassing, but you never, ever forget how you felt in that moment.

In gratitude: the downtown Seattle tree-lighting ceremony, that tiki restaurant in Wallingford, a squirrel on the UW campus, Collective Soul, a lazy river, sugar cookies, U2, Depeche Mode, little girls and cherry blossoms.