Sour and Cream Meet for Tea

A Different Way to See Things

I did not want to write yesterday. In order to avoid it, I finally completed my Temple’s survey about what I’m looking for in a new rabbi—a kind heart and a soulful voice, preferably, but not necessarily in tune. I cooked a pot of corn and did the dishes too, in order not to cry. 

Fires in Hawaii have me petrified. That a large majority of this country is currently an oven, overwhelms me. How could it be that schools are no longer a serious place for study? Assault rifles and water pistols are just as easy to come by. Government offers themselves as the seat of every major corporation, selling out to the highest bidder. Yes, on both sides.

We are adrift and at sea. We used to at least throw out a lifesaver every once in a while. Or maybe that’s what it feels like at this point, and we’ve been these assholes all along.

Ah depression, there you are. I know your name. Sit down. Instead of running away we’ll write it out because I have what to say, it’s just that the whole thing is too damned sad.

I can’t find timely healthcare in this place that’s a paradise in every other way. Six months for everything—from an MRI to a dentist to an eye doctor. Otherwise it’s a biker, hiker, dog and misfit’s paradise—my Eden. 

The husband traded in his 4 hour, pre pandemic round trip on the Long Island Railroad for work-from-home in our new place in Massachusetts. It’s a 3.5 hour car ride to New York City. On a good day. Which I’ve already explained are few and far between.

Come in, his bosses say suddenly. Two days. We’re not unreasonable. Oh, you’ve adjusted to that? Might even enjoy seeing people in a concrete box where you wind up Zooming them from home? Great, now it’s a required three. I’ve dragged that man into a solid 10 hour round trip on Amtrak. 

He loves that job he’s been at almost 20 years and I love him. Though he denies it, two nights a week in a Long Island City hotel is a lot to ask.

The kids have gone off again, leaving me ecstatic but melancholy. I was fine until the little one turned off the driveway. I miss them. They are two of the best people I know.

My friend got really sick with the chronic illness she always battles. Only an episode, they say, hopefully. I’ve gained back 30 of the 90 pounds I’ve lost. This sadness sits heavy on my chest. Shit, I’m in the weeds now. Darkness, can I offer you sugar with that tea?

I have been in mind training. Reality breathing push ups. In other words, meditation. It encourages me to experience thoughts as waves cresting, breaking, and going back to sea instead of a tsunami to stand beneath and drown. Some days are better than others. From this practice, I’ve understood that any state of mind might feel urgent, but is only temporary—if I let it be. Which I now can. Sometimes.

I’ve gotten okay at acknowledging this dirty despair monster rising up through the dust bunnies, uninvited. It puts blues and soul on the bluetooth. It runs through every depressing podcast I can find while I’m not looking, so that by the third one about the economic downturn, I’m clearing off shelves for water bottles and antibiotics. It whispers that the magic I crave would have happened, if only I wasn’t so flawed. Then it tells me to get a snack. It’s too late anyway.

My meditation practice offers me different things to focus on without really trying. This morning, I caught a glimpse of a single goldfinch flying desperately into a pin oak screaming about something. A second later a cacophony of finches scattered while I was watching. A hawk came in hot. That little guy saved the flock and gave me a grateful, awe filled moment of wonder to boot. Because I was mindful.

My rescue dog, abused and scared of people, laid her head in my hand just as I was about to cry, her liquid brown eyes wide with understanding. Or hunger. It doesn’t matter.

And when I found the cultured sour cream that only comes out of this local farm once a month, and would be the perfect treat for a guy on a train for five hours, I was so happy I let out a yip.

I’m learning, or choosing to believe, that these things happen simultaneously and I can appreciate it all. 

I still have time to put on a pot of chili. Borscht maybe? Sour cream by itself on a heaping teaspoon feels too radical. 

On second thought…