All posts by Sue St. Blaine

Dreams, Humor, Mental Illness, Photos

Flip the Telescope and Have Fun!

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“I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life’s realities.”
– Dr. Seuss

Like most kids, I grew up with these books, the numbers and colors of various fish, the color of food one will or will not eat, and of course, the Grinch. To this day, it is not Christmas without Boris Karloff’s endearing lisp teaching me about the preferred size of a heart.

Dr. Seuss is so deeply entrenched in our hearts, my husband and I wrote our vows in the appropriate rhyme scheme,

Will you take her as your wife?
Will you love her all your life?

Will you take him as your spouse,
never treat him like a louse?

It begins

There are a few things I can point to from my very early life that helped to craft my sense of humor (Warner Bros cartoons) my love of 19th Century romanticism (Beatrix Potter) and my deep and abiding love of silliness and poetry, that would be the gentleman quoted above.

Notice anything there?  Cartoon, cartoon, cartoon.

I have never been a big fan of normal. Why look at things from the right end of the telescope? Why look at a rock and see a rock? It’s a tiny mountain, and even tinier creatures live around it, carrying on with their tiny lives and tiny little tandem bikes.

I took this picture a few months ago. It’s a plushy goat’s head with a Hello Kitty bandage on the horn.

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While I was giggling and snapping the picture with my phone, someone asked me what the deal was, why was I taking a picture of it. I ran those words over and over in my head to make sure I heard what I thought I did, and then I said with a shrug and furrowed brow, “Because it’s funny.”

I really don’t understand the reason for the question. The plushy goat head is funny, it made me laugh, I squealed and jumped up and down when I saw Hello Kitty, so I had to have a picture. It’s the telescope the wrong way round, why would I look at the world any other way?

I’m used to those questions though, and the looks as well; people looking at me like I am a Martian here to steal our Danish apple reserves. They are mad for apple Danish on Mars, most people don’t know that. And it’s quips like that that cause people to stare at me all mouth-agape.

I don’t care. I love my world.

Play pretend is important

I don’t believe in unicorns. I don’t believe in any supernatural things. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have fun looking for cloven hoof prints when I go hiking. I suspend my disbelief, that’s all. Try it, you won’t look silly, no one even has to know unless you tell them. Look for the unicorns and smile. I bet you that someone else wants to play too, but don’t think they can because they’re a grown-up.

You know how some games have an age range, “For ages 4 – 8” that sort of thing? You know what doesn’t have an age limit? FUN! PLAY PRETEND!

Yes, play pretend. People may think, adults don’t do that. Wanna bet?

Recently a friend’s kids asked if I would play with them. We set out to catch a dragon. Should you need this information, dragons eat rocks. baby dragons eat rocks, shells, and crispy Cheetos, and lizards eat rocks and shells. We found so many dragons! I got to hear what colors they were, how big, if they breathe fire or not.

I learned this because I asked them, and they told me. And then they asked me what I saw, and I told them.

There is no age limit on fun. You can play pretend with anything.

Fun with photography

I took my own photos for my book because I can’t afford a professional.

I set up my photo equipment in my dining room. I had the background stand, a tripod, and three of those lights with umbrellas.

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Nothing is more fun than the lights with umbrellas.

I staged the props, took a picture, moved a light, took another, lowered an umbrella, moved stuff around. I did this for a couple of months, probably took about 3,000 pictures, and I got about 10 I actually think are good.

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Yes, it’s a shameless plug, but I never claimed to possess an ounce of shame.

I could call that learning a new craft, or practical use of resources, or taking care of business. All of those are completely correct.

But what I was doing, for all the fancy adult words, was playing pretend.

I am not a photographer, I had zero idea what I was doing, I was learning things as I went and had the time of my life.

You want to play pretend, but think you’re too old?  Dude, I’m 51. Nobody is gonna tell me I’m too old, they’re not the boss o’me.

(For those who are not from Northern California, “Dude” is unisex, not species specific, and not specific to biological life.)

And they’re not the boss o’you either.

We have to be adults sometimes, of course. We have to work, pay bills, raise families, whatever your life looks like. But nobody gets to take your imagination, nobody. Your thoughts and dreams are your own.

It’s ok to play, in fact, it’s essential to life and mental health. It’s not a cure-all for those of us suffering, but it can ease the pain, or even help keep it on a leash. Look through the telescope wrong way round. Have fun.

Oh, one thing, a comically undersized umbrella will not protect you from falling anvils. That’s a safety tip for you.

acme catalog
Why does he keep buying ACME?
Brother, Death, Family, Humor, Mental Illness, Photos, Regret, writing

Past, Present, and a Future without You

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So I think we can all agree that I am the worst blogger of all time.  If there were a trophy for this, like a guy throwing a bowling ball or doing that one arm forward, one back holding a football about to toss it to the outfield (I don’t know sports) my trophy would be an empty pedestal because I disappeared for months and forgot about it.

To my followers though, look at it this way, you know I won’t spam you!

I never actually forgot about the blog, I’ve just gotten sidetracked by other projects and shiny things.  I’m working on another book, which is going to be much bigger in scope than Life Songs and much more difficult to write.  Life Songs lived in my poetry, my head, my heart, it was written from inside.  The new one is going to be complicated and if I can pull it off, important to others like me.  That’s my goal.

The working title right now, by the way, is Nightmares and Laughter.

I want to take you with me on this one.  Life Songs was very personal, very intimate and there really wasn’t anything to discuss.  But this new one, heretofore called N&L (I’m fancy like that) is so involved that I want to bring you along in the process.  This is not entirely altruistic; writing things out, sharing them with someone else, can help keep me inspired.  And it will be a good way for me to keep up N&L the blog, while I work on N&L the book.

I’m certain that while I go through this process, “talking” with you will help me sort things out.

I will be honest with you, it’s Tuesday morning, I’m in my jammies drinking coffee, and I’m watching the pouring rain outside my window, thinking about my book.  You do not have my full attention, and I may start to ramble.  If you’ve been reading this blog, you know this is not super unusual.

Lost in Thoughts and Daydreams

Since N&L starts with my old diaries, I’ve been living firmly in the past for a few months.   This is not entirely good, given the things I’m reading and reliving.  I had 10 physical diaries covering ages 9 to 33 to read page by page, capture notes, analyze…and remember.

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Why can’t I just write children’s books?

This journey thus far has not been pleasant.

Here’s what I do to stop a downward spiral, and it works a lot of the time.

I have many photos and drawings of long-dead relatives, some going back to the mid-1800s.  I can see my face in a smirk, or a side-eye, or pursed lip annoyance, I can see these long-dead relatives in my siblings, my parents.  Except for my sister, all of these people are gone.

Bear with me, I’ll get to the comforting bit.

See, most especially with the very old photos and drawings, these people have been gone a long time.  They had trials, pains, headaches, menstrual cramping before Ibuprofen, (girlfriend, respect!) They lived through the Civil War, WWI, the Depression, WWII, and a million problems I can’t even imagine.  But those human events, all of them, are over.  Whatever one believes about an afterlife, those pains, as well as the joy, are done.

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L to R – Grandpa (on the far right) with his sisters.  Grandpa and Grandma in their vibrant youth.  Grandma during the Depression.  The same beautiful couple late in life, laughing and enjoying the snow.  Good times, bad times, laughter, and hunger.  Lives lived and long gone.

I try to hang on to this, look at these pictures and see my family, imagine what they went through. Did they keep diaries?  To my knowledge, there are no actual diaries for any of them.  How is that possible?  I can’t believe that in a family as artistically inclined as mine there is not one journal.

Maybe you have figured out where I’m going.

I will die someday

I’m not afraid of death, I don’t believe in an afterlife of any kind, so I’ve no fear of that.  But I do fear dying.  Any pain, regret, and worrying about what will happen to my journals, my writing, my photos, those beautiful family photos I take comfort in.

Neither my siblings nor I had children.  I have no close blood relations who might care about this random woman in San Francisco.  Will my diaries, at the moment I have kept 21, be in a landfill?  Deleted? In an antique store?  All my thoughts and fears and joy and pain will be gone.

But then I look at photos.

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Three generations greet me every day.

All of those people are dead, there are no diaries, no way to “hear” their voices. They are pictures in a frame. I can do a family tree, I can trace exactly how they are related to me, (the lady in the picture on the cover of Life Songs is my great x3 aunt Alice) but they are strangers.

At the end of our lives, we are stories.  We are not the photos, we are not the antiques, we are the stories.  Once we are gone, we have no control over our legacies.  Regardless of what you believe or not, we are gone.  I can’t imagine an afterlife that involves worrying about human concerns.

Grief is for the living

My brother died in June, my first sibling to die. Of course, I miss him, but there was something else.

He, my sister, and I formed a whole lifetime of memories.  No one has all of them, we filled in the blanks for each other.  Now with him gone, 1/3 of our memories are gone.

This made me very sad first, but then I realized we have the photos, the memories, the stories.  There are a great many stories where he is concerned. Kenneth was quite unique.

And that’s my point.  He lives in stories, our lives, our memories.

My close blood relatives are dwindling, but I have many friends who are my family.  They have children who are my nieces and nephews; I love them dearly.

Will they care about my “stuff” when I’m gone?  I don’t know.  But they will have stories, oh I guarantee, they will have stories.  From my grown niece who calls me her Fairy Goth Mother, to my little nephew Mini Cooper who has resigned himself to the fact that I will always call him that, and everyone I hold dear, there will be stories about me until there are not.

And I will not care, because I will be dead.

This is comforting to me.

Legacies Long Gone

I got an old phonograph from my brother, with the hand crank, and a collection of old 78 rpm records.  I love to listen to long-dead artists living their dreams.  I know too many musicians to think that they did not sit around and argue and swear and fight artistic differences.  One of the records is the Andrews Sisters.  They straight up hated each other.

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But the music, ladies.  The music!

But they all made beautiful music, they all left beautiful music.  And these passionate musicians will all be forgotten in time.

Except for the Beatles.  That’s just science.

 

Anger, Mental Illness, Women, Young women

I Can’t Do it Today

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I can’t do it today.

I have several articles I’m working on right now. I was going to post a happy, lighthearted romp to help people get through what’s happening right now.

I can’t do it.  I can’t write it, I can’t try to pass it off as genuine right now.

Here’s the thing, I’m pissed off, rage-filled, and every abuse button is being bombarded like a meteor shower on my chest.  Every woman I know is having similar reactions, and the men in my life are standing beside us, there to catch us if we need to break, and there to be a show of force, of unity, as we stand tall.

But that doesn’t alter the fact that I feel like I’m going to shatter.  It seems like a contradiction, I’m strong and about to break, but it’s not.  I am strong because I’m about to break, but I stand anyway.  Strength is doing what we think we can’t, bravery is doing what we are afraid of, and integrity is doing what is right because it is right, regardless of the cost.

As I write this, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford is testifying about her abuse at the hands of a candidate for the highest court in the country.  She has received death threats, her family has received death threats, she has had to uproot her life to move away from men so terrified of women that they must resort to terrorism to feel better.

This is not about politics, this is about human rights.  Human dignity.  It’s about what we as women go through all of our lives.  It’s about the smirks and knowing winks between men with power over us, it’s about the President of the United States demeaning women everywhere this time, by immediately taking the side of the accused, and saying in his best five-year-old schoolyard vocabulary that this is a “…big fat con job.”

Are you angry?  Are you feeling helpless, or empowered, or scared, or on fire?  Maybe all of those things?

The main point of this blog is mental health and safety for people suffering.  I am here for you, and I will be a voice of comfort when I can.  But right now, I can’t.

I am enraged with a white-hot flame.  I am alternately strong and crying, motivated and hiding.

But I want to write at this moment because it’s real and raw and unedited.  This is me, in a bad place, trying to keep my shit together.

I  hope that by the time you read this, Kavanaugh is pounding sand somewhere.  But I am not optimistic.  I am not optimistic about anything.

I stand with you, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford.  I wish I had a quarter of your strength and integrity.

This is my cat Crazy Legs with his doggy sculpture friend.  It makes me smile.  Maybe you will like it too.

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Brother, Cancer, Death, Dreams, Family, Goals, Humor, Photos, Regret

Dreams, Death, Second Chances

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One finds the oddest things when going through old photos.

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I have no memory of this postcard. I assume it was my dad’s since he was the musical one. It’s just an ordinary photo of a long forgotten group, who lived their dreams for a little while.

It’s what’s on the back that made me stop what I was doing and get lost in a time warp.

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I think it’s the same person writing all those little quips, and I assume who drew that lovely lady and the rather odd…dolphin? Airplane? I think it’s a dolphin. Anyway, I have no idea which one of those young men did, and I never will except in the astronomically unlikely event that one of them sees this article, looks at the photo and says “Say, that’s me n’the boys!” I’m not holding my breath.

Besides the little sketches, there are the things one would expect, the name of the band and members, and of course the promotion.

“The One and Only Quartet – Good Nuts”

A quick (image search off) Google search turned up nothing, so it looks like these boys went the way of most bands and found themselves working at insurance companies or warehouses or, well, the photo isn’t dated, but I think it’s safe to say they could have left us in the war. It’s likely we’ll never know.

I started to read the little scribbles around the edges. Random thoughts and silliness written by someone probably around 80 years ago or so, things he thought were interesting or funny or little bits of truth disguised as mirth.

“Don’t ask me if I got married when school was out!! Imagine. Aah. I can’t.”
“I learned a new song, real cute.”
“On what grounds were her aspirations founded? Those are $10 words.”
“My man’s a garbage man.” (I assume this was meant to be said by the lady, but it still makes zero sense.)

But what stopped me, what made me catch my breath, sit down, and disappear, was this, “I have one chance, shall I take it?”

Assuming this photo is from the late ‘30s, early ‘40s, I think it’s safe to say these boys are no longer with us. So did he take the one chance while he had it?

Are you taking your “one chance” while it’s there? Am I?

Between the silly sketches of fur-coated ladies and dolphins with underbites, there is this one little snip of truth, this one doubt that we all share,

“I have one chance, shall I take it?”

The words of a young man, uncertain and maybe scared to take a leap, whatever it was. A new band? Writing songs? Putting himself out there somehow, at a crossroads in an old-timey car, the signs labeled “Safety” and “Risk” with a hitchhiking, bindle carrying hobo, for some reason?

This hit home for me because my life is at crossroads like that, has been for a while. I’m taking the chance in some ways, finishing my book and putting it out there, working on some future plans, even this blog is a chance of a sort.

But I’m not doing enough. I’ve let so many dreams die. So many years I can’t get back. But I have now. I have right this minute.

This is why the musings of a man who was living his dreams 80 odd years ago landed firmly on my heart.

I have been going through my photos and mementos to put together a display for my brother’s memorial service on Saturday. He died June 18 of prostate cancer. Family photos always take me away sometimes very far in the past. But this one, I have no memory of it. It won’t go in the display of course, but it did cause me to think.

Did this boy in a quartette called Good Nuts achieve what he was looking for? Did he at least take the leap and was happy for it?

Did my brother?

He died young, only 57. That’s too young, but cancer doesn’t give one half of a shit about our wishes. So ready or not, here it comes. Fuck cancer.

I will make you all a deal, ok? Let’s all hit at least one thing we’ve always wanted to do. Just one thing, even if it’s small. If you can, grab a dream and hold on, ride it out. I will do the same, and in a little while, I’ll report back. I would love it if you told me what you are doing.

You are alive. You’re filling your lungs with air, and your blood is pumping through your heart, and you feel hungry, and your arm itches and you get eye-boogers…you are alive.

Don’t let that slip away. Have your adventure, whatever it is.

“I have one chance, shall I take it?”

Yes. Whichever young man you are in this picture, I desperately hope you did.

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Reach for your dreams.  If you try and don’t make it to the top, you tried.  Rest easy when time has its way.

 

 

 

 

Mental Illness

Politics, Exclusion, and Mental Health

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Sometimes as I prepare an article, my brain is racing with current events, the endless “Breaking News” banners which are seldom pleasant, the division that has become the norm in the United States.  Many of these issues are causing people pain and stress and anxiety to the point that there has been a name coined for it.

I have largely avoided addressing them directly, but sometimes the constant barrage of shock and awe makes me want to publish a reply that necessarily involves politics.  If it affects me like burning coal in my chest, I know that others feel it too. A comment from the White House even caused me to self-reveal some time ago.  Now as I find myself slipping further into anxiety and depression, I will address them, but I will try to be as non-partisan as possible.  If it affects mental health in any way, I will bring it here and talk about it, and I will offer resources and comfort.

I will address it.  That is my reason for this page.

Consider this: is there anyone reading this article who has not had their guts ripped out by the footage of little babies and children ripped from their mother’s arms?  The recording of them screaming from cages?  Reports of drugging, and sexual assault?  Parents deported without their beautiful children?

This should not be a partisan issue, this should not be red vs. blue, this is a human issue.  How the hell could it be otherwise?

This travesty is just the latest, and one of the most horrific, that is hurting everyone, and for us, it can be the final straw, as it were.  That one thing that is just too much to deal with that leads us back to booze, drugs, self-harm, or worse.  I can’t ignore that.  I just can’t.

Look, what’s happening right now is painful, no matter your politics. So many people are hurting and holding their own truth to their hearts. But can we agree that some of the actions of the current administration are far beyond the pale?  Can we agree that what is happening to children is a crime against humanity?

Can we agree that some things should not lead to an ugly interchange, that we can agree to take care of each other?  Yes, there are bridges too far to cross, I won’t seek common ground with Neo-Nazis for example, but can’t reasonable people agree that this particular example is absolutely inexcusable?

I really hope so.

Nightmares & Laughter is first and foremost about advocacy and safety for people with mental illness, addiction issues, suicidal ideation, or anything under that umbrella.  It’s also for people who have someone in their lives dealing with these issues.   Sometimes this pain and anxiety will involve things that are happening.

USED Politics Exclusion...
We cannot work for a better future if we disappear. 
Find a way to breathe.

I want to be clear, no matter where on the political spectrum you hang your red or blue hat, you are welcome here.  I very much want you here.  I am not doing right by my community if my words push you away.  But to fulfill the purpose of this blog, sometimes I will be calling out behavior or events that will likely fall to one side.  My concern is for our collective health, and I will address it as I see the need.  I don’t want to chase away anyone, I really don’t.  But I can no longer sit on my hands when little children are locked away or devastating fires in my home, California, are callously dismissed.

I will not, however, use this blog as a strictly political platform.

I include two resources in case the world is getting to be too much, or you are finding yourself in a bad place.

Take care of yourself and please, take care of each other.

 

National Helpline

SAMHSA’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders.

https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline

National Suicide Prevention Hotline

We can all help prevent suicide. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.

1-800-273-8255

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

gallows humor, Humor, Mental Illness, Women

Exciting News!

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I am over the moon to announce the release of my autobiography, Life Songs – Discussions with an Angry Child.

It’s a unique collection of poetry I had written from 11 to 25, poems about my mental illness before I knew what it was, addiction, abuse, fantasy, and rage.  I spoke to each poem from the perspective of these 50 years that I somehow managed to survive.  I know!  I am as surprised as anyone!

It is painful, funny, surreal, unflinchingly honest, and quite literally my life’s work.  It means the world to me.

When you click the link below, you can read the entire Forward for free in the preview, which will give you my detailed explanation of what brought this about and how to get the most from the journey.  You are a participant, sitting next to me.  Just don’t eat all my salsa.  I hate that.

 

Life Songs – Discussions with an Angry Child

 

Sue_Life Song (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Humor, Mental Illness

Preparing for the Crash – Processing Healthy Sadness

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I am currently preparing myself for a crash.

I’ve been on an up and down since October, but the ups have been stunning and glorious.  I don’t mean manic highs, just the kind of excitement and anticipation of finishing my book which means the world to me.

But since what goes up must come down, I know that when it is done, when I have it in my hands, there will be a crash.

This is just human.  We cannot live in a sustained state of happy, it’s not possible.

Always happy
I shall have this bliss for a million gagillion years!

So I am preparing myself for that.

Here’s what I’m not doing, I’m not trying to set up something that will take my focus away from these feelings, try to push them into the back of my mind.

I know this sounds counter-intuitive, and maybe unhealthy, but I don’t think so. I don’t think it is unhealthy to want to feel sadness or even a sort of grieving, which this will be.  I think it’s healthy to want to be with those emotions, to feel them, and then…let them go.

If we ignore these things, that smoldering emotion can show up in other ways.

What should you do at these times?

I don’t know, what feels right for you?

For me, I’m lining up ideas. I’m going to let myself feel whatever it is that’s in my heart, and I’m going to respond however it makes sense at that moment; I’ll no doubt cry, this is a 25 year project which is deeply meaningful to me, then I’ll employ three of my best non-alcohol defense mechanisms; sleep, daydream, hide away in the dark like a troll awaiting its next billy-goat, and process the emotions.

And then, I will center and get to the next thing.

I’m telling you all of this because I think we in the U.S. specifically are too wrapped up in “we must be happy/sadness is bad.”

No, sadness is not bad, sadness is human. Telling someone to “smile, you’ll feel better!” or “oh, it’s not that bad” or my personal favorite “if you changed your gladitude you’d be fine!” (“gladitude” is a real thing that someone actually said with their mouth and larynx and got paid for doing so.) All of these glib phrases can be truly offensive to someone who is suffering, regardless of why.  Pain is not a contest, yours may not be equal to someone else in magnitude, but it is exactly as valid.  So these well-meaning platitudes are rude, actually.

But for us, they can be deadly.

Telling someone with a mental illness to get over it or just smile is beyond dangerous. By its nature depression and its friends tell us that we aren’t good, that we are broken, and other damaging messages. So this could be the last straw for someone already suicidal.

But if you can still talk yourself through the sadness, it’s a good thing to do, in whatever way resonates with you.

It can be an issue for people with jobs, kids, school, anything that takes up your time and energy and leaves you with little left for yourself.  I understand I’ve been there.

If you have the luxury as I currently do, to be with your sadness and process it, that is wonderful.

But if you can’t, if you are too overburdened, I hope that you can find a way to get a moment, even just a moment, to be with it.

If you can’t do this because you are in an unsafe place, if you’re in an abusive relationship or feel too far down the pit of depression to try to do it by yourself, I’ve included some links below that could be of help.  Please do not try to do this alone if you are not sure.

Otherwise, let me know in the comments what you do in these moments for self-care, I’d love to see your ideas.

Because yeah, I’m about to crash.

 

National Helpline

SAMHSA’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders.
https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline

 

National Suicide Prevention Hotline

We can all help prevent suicide. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.

1-800-273-8255

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

 

 

 

 

 

 

bipolar, Humor, memories, Mental Illness, Travel

Travel – Bad Times Make the Best Stories

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I love travel, I can’t recommend it highly enough.  Experiencing new things, food, cultures, meeting new people, getting out of my comfort zone, all of these things.

I am an advocate for travel, and I recommend not doing a tour, especially in Great Britain, for example, where everyone speaks English, even the Scottish. No really, they do.

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This has nothing to do with that, I just love this picture.

 

Europe is dead easy, and you’ll get more out of it without a tour guide telling you where you can go and for how long.  A friend informed me, much to my shock and horror, that their tour allowed only an hour for Paris.  Paris!  That is a crime against nature, is what that is.

So, my husband and I don’t do tours.  We don’t do itineraries either; we have a basic idea of what we want to see, but that can always change.  We generally fly by the seat of our pants.  When I travel alone, I do the same.

Here’s the thing though, travel will never be perfect.  Every vacation includes some bother.  We have missed a few trains in Egypt, because we could not begin to read the ticket.  On a train in Poland the lights sparked and crooked doors between the cars would close without warning and trap us.  We have been stuck driving up mountain roads in Ireland barely large enough for our right hand drive car and, oh look at that, it’s a two way road!  And we both got bronchial infections in India.

At the time, these things were unpleasant.  Now they make the best stories.

The main advice I give to people who are traveling for the first time is, part of it will not be fun.  There is no such thing as a “perfect vacation.”

Charles bridge
Also, if at all possible, travel in the off season. This is the Charles Bridge in Prague. It does not look like this in the summer time.

Maybe it’s better with a tour group, I’ve no idea.  But let me tell you this.

If you are on a tour, you are missing out on one of the main reasons to travel because the people you meet are paid to be nice to you.  You are not getting a real taste of the culture.

Let me give you an example.

My husband and I were in Egypt during Ramadan, 2004.

It happened that Ramadan ended in November that year, so we went to a shop and bought Christmas presents to take home.  We spent around $200 USD, which to the young man working there was a lot of money.  He was so happy he closed his shop and invited us back to his home.

When we got to the apartment complex, a tiny boy, just barely walking, saw us and was about to explode with excitement.  He said “Hi!” and we said “Hi!” and he waved his arms at his sides like a play-pretend bird and made a sound like a balloon deflating.  He ran with us the rest of the way to the stairs saying Hi! and giggling like a little Muppet.

When we got to the young man’s apartment his sisters prepared tea and Ramadan cookies for us.  We sat and chatted and enjoyed the cookies and company.

Now, would that ever in a million years happen with a tour?

No.

I have so many stories like this.  So many beautiful moments that would simply have been missed.

Egypt cat
Egyptian cat says “marhabaan.”

And sure, there were awful moments too, and when they happened, I scowled and vowed to never travel again.  San Francisco is enough for me, dammit!

But I get home and tell all the stories and everyone laughs and then I’m planning my next trip a week or so later.

Next should be Thailand.  I will give the elephants a bath!

And enjoy the stunning antiquities, delicious food, and amazing culture, of course.

But mostly elephants.

By the way – Please don’t ride the elephants.  Don’t pay for places where people can ride elephants.  It’s not good for them so please don’t give these places your money.

I’m going to go here and bathe an elephant.

https://www.elephantnaturepark.org/

Happy trails!

Mental Illness

Mental Health Awareness Month

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I did not intend to let a month go by between articles.  I have been utterly consumed by a project, finishing my book for publication, so things like self-care, the outside world, and current events have pretty much escaped me.

I’m afraid that one of the things that got past my radar is that May is Mental Health Awareness Month!  I cannot believe I missed that.

I was reminded by a Facebook post, because of  course I was, and quickly consulted one of my favorite advocacy/support organizations NAMI – National Alliance on Mental Illness.

https://www.nami.org/

I think this site and others like it will provide more information and more eloquently than I can, so I will keep this short.

I just want to be sure that you have this information in case you, like me, didn’t know until half way through the month.

Let me say though, there is something wonderful and healthy about being so wrapped up in your passion that you very briefly* lose all track of time and pass the days feeling excited, fulfilled, and looking forward to starting you day.  I wish that for all of you.

* Very briefly.  If you start to go Howard Hughes, miss paying any bills, or generally neglect the real world it’s time to rejoin us because that would not be healthy.

Snipped out

 

Humor, Mental Illness

Requiem for a Cat Lady – The Legacies We Leave

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Betty was my elderly cousin, second cousin…my mother’s cousin, on her father’s…cousin it is!

She died many years ago.  She was not married, (she was married once, the gentleman tried to strangle her with a phone cord, which was sort of a deal breaker) and she had no children so my brother, sister and I went to her place to clean it out.

It’s uncomfortable, going through another’s belongings.  Pulling things out of drawers or nooks or jewelry boxes, all the places people tuck their treasures – letters, diaries, jewelry, things passed to them from a cherished friend or family member.  That memento from a trip of a lifetime, something that reminded them of an amazing time they had someplace magical.  Betty had all of these things among her socks and hairpins, but there was one clear majority of knickknack.

Betty had an astounding number of cat things.

I don’t mean things for actual cats; she did not have one, and didn’t as long as I’d known her.  No, I mean things with cats on them, decorative plates, clothing, pictures.  And dozens upon dozens of cat figurines.  Cats made of glass, ceramic, wood, china, plastic, pretty much any material that can be manufactured or harvested, there was a cat made of that item.

I wanted to do something with them, something to honor her in a way.  I didn’t know what yet, but I tucked the cats into a bag and brought them home.

Finally I made this, which I call Requiem for a Cat Lady.

IMG_20180307_131848
I’m not a photographer.  Oh my no.

I wonder sometimes, what will happen to my own treasures when someone goes through them?  I’ve mentioned before about my huge collection of a certain mouthless white Kitty (still don’t want to get sued) what happens to her?  What about my diaries, and the poetry I’ve written all my life?  What about the treasures collected in my travels?

I think these concerns are very human.  The things we have are meaningful to us.  They tell a story of a life that mattered.  My life, your life, we were here and we mattered.

We also leave a legacy that does not involve things.  Our possessions can certainly be reminders, as with my cousin’s cat figurines, but really, they aren’t forever.

But this is not sad. Whatever one believes of an afterlife or lack of, once you’re gone these things are no longer your concern.  So why obsess?

What kind of legacy would you like to leave?  What would you like people to say about you?  Will they smile gently at the memories?  The funny stories will outlive us, if they are told. In reading this article, you know a few tidbits about a woman you have never met, and if you should tell someone say, the phone cord incident, the memory of this unique lady goes on!

For me, the legacy I would like is my friends and family hearing something deeply dark, absurd, inappropriate, and saying “Oh man, Sue would have found that hilarious!”

Also they must take care of my Kitty.

My beautiful mouthless white Kitty.

kitty for blog cat lady
I’ll just leave this here.

Anyone who knows me, knows that.