like pebbles on the beach

Fantastic article in NY Times about speaking out about living with mental illness. The parts that leapt out at me:

It took years of study in psychology — she earned a Ph.D. at Loyola in 1971 — before she found an answer. On the surface, it seemed obvious: She had accepted herself as she was. She had tried to kill herself so many times because the gulf between the person she wanted to be and the person she was left her desperate, hopeless, deeply homesick for a life she would never know. That gulf was real, and unbridgeable.

That basic idea — radical acceptance, she now calls it — became increasingly important as she began working with patients,

Dr. Linehan was closing in on two seemingly opposed principles that could form the basis of a treatment: acceptance of life as it is, not as it is supposed to be; and the need to change, despite that reality and because of it.

This resonates so much with me... the balance and interconnectedness between acceptance mental illness (depression, in my case) and working at it. Acceptance has never meant giving up for me; it's always been a shift towards healthier patterns.

And speaking of healthier... I went out yesterday; spent $180 filling my antidepressant prescription and $40 at the garden centre. Plants are beginning to be really on sale, so I've planted up 3 new containers and filled in some spots on the new garden beds I put in this year. I'll probably go back this morning to pick up a couple more things. Another fancy lavender, for sure. My big perennial lavender is just blooming this week. 

My book allowance had money left over this year (ending in June) - so I treated myself to a blackberry playbook. I'm absolutely loving it, but after a week, my RSI is acting up in my right wrist, so I'm clearly going to need to be careful about using it. 

I hope you all are well. I am slowly beginning to unwind with my time off... noticing there's quite a bit of stress stored up in my body, that's starting to come out with daily yoga practice. I'm trying to let those feelings come and go without freaking out; some days are better than others. 

Went to see Thor last night - loved it. We had a great set of previews (I love previews) - mostly Marvel, and I'm excited by the rounding out of the rest of the Avengers team. Interested by the very different trailer for the Green Hornet - all SRS BZNSS, instead of the cheesy laugh it up trailer I'd previously seen.

My favorite thing about Thor was Branagh's direction; the times when his Shakespearean theatre staging came into play, and I suddenly felt like I was in the theatre; the ways in which he used the language rhythms I'm accustomed to in Shakespeare to bring out the emotional affect of the over the top Thor/Asgardian language. I loved the family conflicts; the balance of grabbing hold of the genre and running with it and laughing at the silliness of the whole enterprise. 

So yes. Thor. And I get to round out my week with some actual Shakespearean theatre - I have tickets to see the Merry Wives of Windsor. 


And for something completely different: A selection of some of the videos from my youtube favorites list that make me happy, picked for a friend who needed a spot of cheering up.



( make a joyful noise )

 

I don't even know what to say. The prospect of a majority Harper government is deeply frightening. I remember the deeply reactionary roots of these neo-cons, and I don't trust them at all.

But.

Oh, my heart.

I have waited, and voted for more than 20 years, hoping for this kind of result for the NDP. It's an incredible showing, and even the majority gov't can't dampen my joy at an NDP official opposition.  

Hosting a meeting at my house always sounds like a sane idea at the time I suggest it; and then the day of, I wonder "What the hell was I thinking?!"

So. Yeah.

To Do:

• clean the bathroom
• tidy downstairs tables/bench
• change fish tank water
• make challah bread
• sweep
• walk the whiny dog and/or murder her for the constant whining
• afternoon pastoral visit
• tidy kitchen counters

Maybe it's a Use The Timer Day.  

 

It might be that you find yourself in the desert
earlier than you thought;
Don't panic.
Don't be blinded by the sandstorms.
Start digging until you find some water.

It might be that you ought to wait by the well
longer than you wanted
and that you ought to find it.
Don't lose courage, don't be deceived
by a mirage,
Continue to search for the well;
continue to dig deeper.

The desert also has a well.
The desert also has water.
The desert also has life.
And when you have found the first drop of water,
you will find soon a small creek
then a river,
and the desert will be forgotten.
But do not forget to give thanks
to the one who showed you the track
who helped you find water,
who gave you living water
so that you could drink
so that you could live
and not thirst anymore.

It could be that the path leading to the well
must go through the desert.
It could be that the desert often makes you sad.
Don't forget, it hides the well.
It leads to the promised land.
Only the desert enables you to reach happiness.
The paths of the desert are also the companions of God.

Water here, Water there - Ecumenical Community Working on Church and the Environment 

There were all sorts of things I thought I would do while in NYC. See people, go to a couple of museums or galleries, maybe a bit of shopping. But as it turned out, The Girl was quite keen on having her mother attached until my last day there, when she wanted a bit of space. So in between all the subwaying and walking and gigantic escalators, there was lots of sitting and waiting. I'd brought knitting with me, but we also tracked down the Habu store in the fashion district, close to one of her end of the day castings, and I got to spend a thoroughly enjoyable hour preusing yarn. I bought some silk, thin purple that I'm knitting into a narrow scarf, and some blue to go with the stainless/silk thread I have in the stash. The next day of castings ended in Tribeca? I think? And we went to the Betsey Johnson store, and I got to sit in a comfy chair while my girl tried on all kinds of things. The shop girls had a lot of fun waiting on her. I tried on one dress, but in typical daughter fashion, it was vetoed because "I can see your breasts, Mom, yuck!"

I snuck away one day to have a truly wonderful lunch withcordelia_v , who is even more interesting in person than online, hard as that is to believe. I didn't get to meet with imaginarycircus or my childhood friend who  lives in the city, which I regret, but only so many hours in the day. The girl and I ate lots of wonderful food together. And I had the undiluted pleasure of being treated by my kid to a few meals. Sushi is a mainstay of a model's diet, so we ate lots of that, and we stopped for brunch one morning at this fancy place across from Grand Central Station, where I had the best bowl of oatmeal ever, and also the most expensive - I still can't believe we paid $17 for a bowl of oatmeal. The girl had poached eggs and quinoa there. I advised her to ask for her bernaise on the side, because she was under a lot of pressure about her weight(!) and her hip measurement (!!) from her agency. And then I smiled as she ate everything on her plate, including the toast (dipped in bernaise).

It's... oh you guys. Parenting a kid who is modeling means worrying about what they eat, worrying about the pressure from the frankly insane industry. She's naturally rail thin, and often a really light eater, but I worried when I got to NY and she said she was hungry all the time, and so tired of it. In her first show (a presentation, where they stand for an hour) 3 other models fainted, and had to be carried out. At her last presentation two girls stepped out. Another mom told me one model had been yanked from a show the night before because her agency had put her into rehab. 

And yet for all the craziness, there's beauty. The beauty of the girls (and boys) - the chatter of the stylists backstage as they tease and pull and shape, the back and forth of the makeup artists as they painstakingly draw elaborate black cat's eyes or the sweeping lines and colours and textures of the clothing. Backstage at the shows is a madhouse - designers and makeup and hair and models and so many photographers, and a couple of moms, and the Lincoln Centre crew trying to maintain some boundaries and sanity. "My daughter's in the show" is generally a magic password to get me in, and then I just tried to stay out of the way. I admit, the one time I got put in a corner at the end of the changing corridor, I did peek at the one model boy in his underwear. But only for a moment, I swear. It would have tempted a saint. 

We dashed around in cabs, and occasionally got lost and listened to the musicians underground. We ate sweet potato fries and constantly stopped in Starbucks for a coffee and access to their wifi. We hugged goodbye each night. 

Leave a ONE WORD comment that you think best describes me. It can only be one word. No more than one word. Then copy & paste this post to your own journal so I can leave a word about you. 

I wrote today's 14 Valentine's essay. 

Ok, no. I felt like crying for no reason this morning, and that was before the car wouldn't start.

*grumble, grumble, walks downtown in the freezing cold, grumble, walks back, grumble, pours methyl hydratte in the tank, grumble, waiting*