The art of "useful things"

I adore my landlady.  Aside from the fact she's very friendly, and has the ability to put up with a heck of a lot of eccentricities on the part of her renters (yes, me too), she's also a constant source of surprise.

Usually the surprise is "what's changed around the house this time?"

There have been a few days when I've come home from work, walked into the kitchen and stopped to take a careful look around because it was obvious that multiple things had shifted, which meant it was probably wise to try and figure out what else had moved.

This is mostly due to past experience (especially in the kitchen) when I would be cooking (usually partway through) and I'd open a cupboard to go for the usual pan, and whups, it's gone.  Same thing with with plastic containers, glass cookware, and veeery occasionally, sauces and spices.

The rest of the house has been slightly less middle-of-task-panic-inducing but still an education in not only how fast things can get shifted, but also in the sheer amount of places you can put little inspirational signs and gadgets to "make life easier".  Or just extra lights.

The reason I'm being spurred to writing about this is she recently got back from work after being gone for about three weeks.  When she's gone the house gets very quiet, and the dog is usually gone, so I can't get my doggo fix, which just makes things extra hard.  

Now, when I say 'recently' I mean she got back yesterday.  And the downstairs has already had a mini transformation.

When she left, most of the Hallowe'en stuff had been put away, but there were still a few things up. (the plastic bat skeleton is my faaaavourite, and I need one!) 

I got home maybe ten minutes after her, and by the time I walked through the door the bat and almost all of the other Halowe'en related paraphernalia had been vanished away somewhere, and there was a Christmas tree made of lights up.

Skip to the next day.  I was out from about 9:30 am to 2ish.  On my initial wander through the house to my room the obvious things were: the fact that the main floor seemed to have had a full cleaning, absolutely all of the Fall related things were down, an industrial light in need need of some work in the living room, and the addition of two fake snowmen to the mantelpiece.  Oh, and the light tree was gone.

And there was more.

By the end of the afternoon, I'd found several more snowmen or Santas scattered around the living room, new fireplace maintenance things, a new motion sensor light in the downstairs toilet, and a chocolate cake up for grabs in the kitchen.  This as all in about five, five and a half hours, and it's not including the stuff I know she was doing outside in the yard or moving the chickens.

I am absolutely positive I missed things, and I haven't even checked the upstairs toilet yet. 

Depression

I hate being depressed.  

I mean, I think it's fair to say that no one likes being depressed, and when I say "I hate it" I'm reiterating something many, many other people feel, but.  I'm saying it anyway.  I don't even know if it's gonna help at all, I just wanted to say it.

I have had it repeating intermittently in my head all day.

I didn't even really figure it out, my mum said I was depressed when I was talking to her on the phone, and it was a bit like a light bulb went off.  She was right, I am.  What I'm bumping into right now is the fact that I've only started getting a frame of reference for the "oh, this means I'm depressed" in the last six moths or so.

I (somehow) managed to go for 30 odd years without getting depressed, or at least depressed in a way I actually figured out what it was.  Then about three months or so ago I was depressed big time, in a way I found veeeery hard to miss.  The dissociative state (that's the only description that sounds vaguely clinical I got, I was going with 'fuzzy' the other day) was most of a day, but I managed to find something to pull up with in the afternoon.  The next day it was hard not to drift again, but I managed.  Again, somehow.  

This time I haven't dissociated.  At least not yet.  It's just...  Sad.  Like, I'm not feeling sad, it's kind of like a state of being.  There's no feeling of "what's the point?" like the first time, just (just, HA.)an all encompassing sense of "not happy" and a constant physical drag.  It's so damn hard to move.  I'm not usually this pessimistic either, so that's fun.  

I've been reading stuff about depression for literal decades, and I know people who have to deal with it regularly, so I'm probably lucky that I've seen so many lists on "things that help".  They are, in fact, surprisingly helpful.  I'm managing to get at least a few things done every day, haven't stopped planning for what next (which right now is super damn important.  Also a contributing factor for the depression)  And the getting outside in the brief (so fecking brief) window of daylight during the day.  I does help.

What's bothering me most right now is this sort of, under the skin itch that won't go away.  A creeping sense of irritability.  Everything is grating on it.  The music in the cafe is distracting instead of a quiet background noise.  the content of the music is turning into something that'll make me sneer instead of just going in one ear and out the other.  Quiet is equally disturbing.  Too quiet, not enough background, making me twitch.  I can't fecking win.  Not dissociative though, given the almost hair trigger weepyness I've been feeling for two days.  I guess that's good.

Oh, right.  And also?  My word skills, writing, everything, is out the damn window.  At this time I'm honestly not sure if this post will scan well, 'cause it's mostly been a stream of consciousness purge of thoughts and feeling.  But all my writing is doing that right now, which means any sort of plot, planning, or wondering is an absolute mess.  And the tension settling in everywhere doesn't help either.

God, I hate being depressed.

Poetical mood

I'm in a poetical mood today.

Maybe it's the weather.  Rain, but in that particular Highland way which looks like mist, drifting in the air, leaving a soft halo of diffuse light around the hills when the last of the sunlight glows briefly from behind the clouds.

I'm in a poetical mood today.

Perhaps it's the woods.  Damp leaves underfoot, half still on the trees and brilliant in shades of orange and yellow, with the distinctive soft smells of earth, rot, and the quiet chill hanging in the air while the crows come in to roost.

I'm in a poetical mood today.

It could be the time of year.  Partway through the seasonal shift from Autumn to Winter.  Cold is creeping in, the frost never entirely melts away, but the land is not -quite- asleep.  Still wakeful, still shifting, getting comfortable.  Blink and you'll miss it.

I'm in a poetical mood today.

Whatever it is, it's nice.  Soft.  Light.  Allows me to appreciate the light on the hills and the smell in the air.  The sounds of crows, and the sharp, muffled snap of half rotted twigs underfoot.  The silent brilliance of leaves on trees.

I don't want it to stop, to go back to worrying about work (or lack of it) and other people (there's always so much). I'd like to be able (to be allowed) to just drift in this.  To appreciate the beauty and revel in it. And then repeat that.

But the world turns, and so do I.  Time flows, and takes me with it.  Life, joy, moments both good and bad, all is fleeting.  

I take the gifts chance brings me and I'll sit and smile and revel while I can.

I'm in a poetical mood today.  It is a gift, and I am happy for it.

Haunting landscapes

Isn't it interesting how some landscapes creep into your senses, and just quietly take over?

It's not the gut punch of a gorgeous vista, that's something else, and can create a haunting all on its own.

It's not the pretty picturesque either.  Picturesque is almost fleeting in its impact despite the lovely pictures you can get.


No, the haunting ones. 

The one you don't notice until you're halfway through the drop and you can't stop the fall anymore. 

The ones you spend half the time dismissing until you look up and just catch that one moment of cloud, light, earth, and you just know if you go for a camera you'll have lost it.

The ones where you see the hills in the mist and you feel something, not sure what, but something creep up your spine to settle in your mind.

Those ones.

The ones that inspire a small book of poetry, that keep artists out at all hours and in all weathers, that seep into an authors brain and inspire chilling stories, epic adventures, and deep dives into the quirks of the human psyche.

Those ones.

The ones that are almost diaphanous in memory, yet have a grip on the mind you know will last.  The ones that are so hard to describe and explain.


A train through the Cairngorms at dusk.  Mist on the hills, creeping over the fields.  The last blush from the sun breaking through a few gaps in the clouds, and creating the strange glow of diffused sunlight that illuminates like nothing else does.

This one.

The Haunting ones.

Finding touchstones

It's kind of funny how you find the things that keep you happy and (relatively) sane.  Also a bit random, but then they tend to be rather random themselves.

Some of them are constants, at least for me, like walking in the woods. Not a 'woody area' as in 'more trees than usual'. Has to be actual woods, convenient gravel pathway or not.  It helps me breath, calms me down, and cheers me up. (one odd thing. Last time I went for a walk I found myself talking to the trees. Still not sure why, but it seems to be settling into a habit.)

Another one (and here's where the random is obvious) is being in the middle of a busy city. Like, the centre. With the sea of humanity flowing and breathing around you. Dam Square in Amsterdam, Trafalgar Square in London, Robson Square in Vancouver.  It's a heartbeat of sorts. Helps me if I've been feeling isolated and just checks you beck in to the thrum of humanity on a wider level. Can also drive you bonkers if it's tourist season, depending on the mood you're in.

Then we come to the very individual ones, and the ones that you have to adjust and figure out if you move.
That specific view you get in that specific spot on the walk to work.  That other one from whichever form of transit you use most. And for me, the one that seems almost most important, the favourite local café.

Back home, it's a tea place. Here it's coffee.  Both of them have a very distinct feel and personality to them, both have the best variation on their chosen hot beverage locally, and both of them always, always make me feel better when I walk in them. I can be having an absolutely shitty day, but while I'm within the walls of these cafès it stops being quite that shitty.

I desperately miss the one from back home sometimes.  I have a feeling I'm going to miss the one from this home too.

Salve for the soul

I went into a church today.

Well, two, technically. The first one was a little Catholic one with a school attached. You could hear the kids running about and yelling, and it made an interesting contrast, the quiet in the sanctuary to the vibrant life on the other side of the wall.

The second was the Episcopal Cathedral in Inverness. St. Andrew's, I believe.  It's got a wonderful front for pictures. Tall, two front facing towers, and trees on either side. Inside is dimmish lightning, which shines off the wood carvings beautifully. That's not entirely why I went in.

I'm Episcopalian, or Anglican, depending on what part of the world you're in. Have been since I was little, and it's a big part of my life. I hadn't been in a church for services for close to three months, and I hadn't realized quite how much I missed it until I got in and had just missed the daily Eucharist.  The good thing about priests? They're very patient and understanding when someone starts tearing up in front of them. It happens a lot.

I got a blessing, which always helps more than a part of me thinks it will, lit a couple candles for some folks who aren't doing so well (this also helps me more than I think it will) and ended up having a ponder about why church is important to me.

The answer in detail would probably be quite long, unless I had more time to think it out, but the shorter off the top of my head version?

If approached properly it can stop me navel gazing.

Also if approached properly, it can keep me thinking, and involved in the world with my mind on instead of passive.

The community I was raised in has encouraged my critical thinking and has become an extended family of sorts, which has done wonders for learning interpersonal patience and problem solving.

It's a global community, of a sort, of a basic kind. Arguments and all.

It's a salve for my soul, for things I didn't know hurt until the pain eases.

This is a really short, simplistic version, but it's what I got right now.  I'm feeling a bit raw.

Give us eyes to see, ears to hear, and the wisdom to understand.

Shade and sweet water to you all.

When home isn't quite home.

I just had what was for me a first and rather odd experience.

I'm currently sitting on a train heading to Inverness from Aberdeen, heading home. To my current home, anyway.
I moved to the UK from Canada just over a month ago, and settled in Drumnadrochit in the Highlands at the beginning of April, so I haven't been here long, and home is still settling.

By contrast, I grew up in Vancouver, Canada and will probably always consider that 'home' on a certain level. It's certainly almost a given I'll be going back once my UK visa expires.

Having said all that I've just had a very interesting set of feelings (or limbo of feelings if I'm being honest).  I was sitting on the train and watching the Highlands go by, listening to music, when Simon and Garfunkel's Homeward Bound came on. 

When I was still in Vancouver I tended to get a sense of settling in and being home. When it started there was a small corner of my brain that was kind of curious as to what it was going to do this time, get homesick or switch the sense of 'home'.  I was absolutely fascinated by what happened instead.

The song lyrics are about feeling homesick/nostalgic whole being on the road, and I was all prepared for that. Instead I felt a little detached and absolutely no fellow feeling.

Me being me, I started mentally poking that and discovered that I wasn't really feeling any particular sense of home for my new place either, which I did in the Netherlands after a few months.  I haven't really been here long enough to get that connection yet so it's to be expected,  and now I'm unpacking what I was feeling, which is (for me) an interesting mix of feeling like you're sitting on the edge of a precipice and really aren't at all worried about the fall, and almost unconcerned about the fact that I don't feel like I have 'home' right now.

I'm not sure where that's coming from, though I have theories.  I know that as long as I have a home base, I'm fairly good with dealing with whatever life decides to pitch at me. And I know I get excited about learning new places, the rhythms and the weather patterns.  I could also be sitting with a quite assumption that the sense of 'home' will settle in a month or so.  I don't know if any of those are right, or if it's something else, but I'll probably keep poking it.  And any way I turn it I still think it's interesting.  I'm just kinda fascinated by the feeling of sitting in the middle, and I don't think I've verbalized it very well, but there we are.

Be well all.