Adieu, Mr. Williams

Robin Williams is dead. 

The earth won't stop turning, my daily life won't be directly affected. In fact, the truth is most of us will forget within a few months. And then it will hit us again. 

It seems crazy to be so sad over someone you didn't even know in person. 

But right now, I'm ridiculously mournful about the fact that we'll never again get to enjoy his riotous, manic, sometimes strange but always engaging stand-up performances. I'm heartbroken that we'll never get to see his unbelievable dramatic performances like in Dead Poet's Society or The Fisher King. It's unfair that he'll never make a feel good comedy like Mrs. Doubtfire again.

I grew up with Robin Williams being a household name. I was maybe 10 or 11 when Mork & Mindy hit the airwaves. 

As a child growing up in a very conservative, non-artistic home, it was the craziest, weirdest, most out-there thing I had ever seen. And I loved it. My parents indulged me by letting me watch it every week. A lot of the humor was beyond me, but I knew I liked him and he made me laugh. 

He made all of us laugh. 

Maybe we did know him, after all. Through all of those performances, television shows, and movies. Through all we knew and all he told us about his struggles with drugs and alcohol, failed marriages and inner demons. 

It made him more relatable to me. Little did I know, even at the age of 22 when I watched him in Dead Poet's Society, that we would have so much in common. 

I suffer from depression, too. Sometimes it's overwhelming; sometimes it's unnoticeable. Always, it's a mystery; always, it's there. It just depends. On life, on medication, on a lot of things. 

I was in my late 30's before I was diagnosed, although I'm sure it was there much earlier. As early as 2004 I began having this feeling that something wasn't right. I just didn't feel like myself in a way that was inexplicable. 

I felt .... vacated.... empty....void. I was rarely happy, but neither was I sad. 

I would cry in the car on the way home every day and I didn't know why. I just felt not right, even when every doctor I talked to told me I was fine. 

By the end of 2007 I was 12 hours from my life, my friends and my family in Nashville and I was in such a deep depression that I would make my 30 minute drive to school each day and think, “I could just get on that interstate and drive away and never come back.” Everything made me blow a gasket. I just wanted out of my life. I never thought or considered myself suicidal. 

For me, it manifested in a “If I could leave my life and start something all new it would be better for everyone” kind of thing. Finally, in spring 2008 I found an amazing therapist and an amazing psychiatrist who worked to pull me out of the mire through a combination of counseling and medication. 

The amount of time it took and the problems I had to endure to be diagnosed, well, that's another story in itself.  I was very highly functional, to be sure. I got up, dressed, and went to school or work every day. I smiled at people because that's what you're supposed to do. I wore clean clothes and cooked dinner because that was the routine, and I knew if I stopped I'd never get back up. 

But one day, I literally had a therapist tell me I looked too good and was too put together to be depressed. He said that all I needed was a girls shopping weekend. I just lost it and walked out in the middle of the appointment, unable to say a word because I was so mad and my southern manners wouldn't allow it, which only made things worse.

People, we need to take depression seriously in this country. I resisted getting help for so long because I was raised to think that if you're in therapy you're “crazy” or “broken” or destined for the mental hospital. It's just not so. 

There are some of us who feel so much. We feel everything from injustice to discontent to sadness from everything that is happening around us. We're empathetic. We have chemical imbalances that keep us from dealing with those feelings in a reasonable manner. Some of us medicate with alcohol and drugs, like Robin Williams. Some medicate with food like me. Some with sex or danger or adrenaline. There are a million ways to get enough of a high to feel better, even for a moment.

One day I was driving home from Nashville and this sky was the view out the front windshield of my car. When I saw it I had to stop and take a picture of it because it kind of felt like how I see life. 

This friends is how it feels to have depression. If you don't know why, you are fortunate. Every single day can feel like you know something else is out there. See that little patch of blue near the bottom? Through that tiny hole is where other people live their lives. You know the blue skies and sunshine are there. You're aware that other people can see it. But all you see are dark clouds ahead of you. 

Sometimes you get just a glimpse but the opening isn't enough to jump through to get to the other side. Sometimes your friends reach and pull you through. Sometimes you wriggle through or talk until the opening is bigger. Other times, when the medication is going well, it's mostly sunny and few clouds. 

This morning, I watched a video of Robin Williams doing stand-up about the invention of golf and laughed until I cried. Then, I just cried.

Robin Williams is dead. And yes, I'm sad. Cheers, Robin, and thank you. I hope you find a patch full of sunshine.

A link to the Bloggess where she writes much more frequently than I about how DepressionLies. If you know of someone who needs help, please don't ignore it or think that it will "get better."

Here's to you!

Lately I've had a ridiculous and overwhelming urge to get out my sewing machine, blow off the dust and start sewing things.

Now, while I'm not a novice behind the sewing machine, I'm no expert either. I've made curtains, hemmed skirts, tailored in t-shirts-easy things that aren't a big deal. But pleats, zig zags, anything with curves or any kind of detail, forget it.

I can sew a straight line. On a good day. But for some reason right now I feel like I can totally slipcover my sofa cushions, make that tank dress into something cuter by adding material from a skirt that doesn't fit anymore. Or take a skirt that is too big and attach a shirt that is too short to make a cuter one piece dress from it.(Damn you Whitney!)

I know. Anyone who knows me knows. I am delusional. It's like when I watch Olympic ice skating and actually believe in my mind that I could pull off a triple axel or a salchow. What? Like it's hard?

In reality, I'm sure my sewing machine will stay safely tucked away in the closet where it allegedly is, but I have no idea because I've never unpacked it since we moved here 4 years ago. I am not even sure it made the trip here from Pennsylvania.

But the reason I'm so delusionally inspired?

I'm surrounded right now by a lot of artistic people. People with talents who actually earn a living, no matter how modest, through their arts. This, I love. This, inspires me. This, is necessary for me.

Friends who paint, dance, take pictures, write, design and create clothing, paint pottery, make soaps and candles, run galleries, and just “imaginate” their way through life.

As someone who spent the first 15 years of my adult life in a profession that was very, very wrong for me, it's hard to explain what this means to me. I now make my living in an artistic profession and have done so for almost 3 years now.

I returned to my writing almost three years ago, first through my blog and then through freelancing for the newspaper where I now work. I have written a novel that needs some serious attention and editing, and have begun a memoir that needs a lot more of everything before it is complete.

My point is this. If I weren't surrounded by so much creativity I wouldn't be nearly as inspired to be creative, artistic and offbeat. I feed off their energy. And I hope they do mine as well, in some small way.

I know now something that I never realized before. It is...stifling for me not to have other people around me who understand what it is like to have this....thing. And equally as energizing to have them around.

But artists, we're a different breed, all of us our own kind of crazy. Some reign it in and try to maintain a normal façade while others revel in their eccentricities. But we all have it, whether we like to admit it or not.

We're neurotic, hyper, depressed, schizophrenic, bi-polar, split personality sons of bitches who'd run off all our friends if only they weren't as batshit crazy as we are. And the people who love us, well they'd better really love us. 1,000%, especially if they are a non-artistic ilk. We can only hope they love us not only in spite of our crazy but because of it (at least a little bit of the time).

It's been just over 3 years since I kicked off Tinfoil Magnolia in April, 2010. Although I've neglected her somwhat over the past year or so, she is not forgotten. I feel every other day that I will reign my life in just enough to at least commit 3 days per week to posting here. Sometimes (well most of the time) it just doesn't happen. But this blog means a lot to me.

Yesterday a friend of mine told me that he'd received a pretty serious diagnosis. Not one, I don't think, that he was entirely surprised to hear, not one he hadn't suspected. But hearing it in black and white, sometimes that's another thing, isn't it?

Although we've never met in person, I consider him a friend. He was the first non-relative or friend to comment or follow Tinfoil Magnolia when I began the blog. I had no idea who he was or how he found me, but I am so glad he did.

So I'm thinking of my friend and his wife and family today. His new diagnosis? Well, it's always been part of who he is. Part of the artist crazy. It doesn't change how I think or feel about him. I don't have to deal with it daily as his family does, but to change that part of him, I would think, would change who he is on a basic level. As it would for any of us.

The fact of the matter is, and this goes for all of us, it makes us who and what we are. Our narcicissms, our addictions, our faults, our neuroses-they are all part of us. Our insecurities, our grandiose thoughts, our voices and all of our personalitites. It makes life wonderful and difficult and passionate and thoughtful. And I embrace that about all of my friends.

No matter how crazy they might make me. :)

TGiving. And other stuff.

Thanksgiving? Well, it's done and over. It's not what it used to be, crowded out of the holiday lexicon by that bitch Christmas. Black friday, midnight shopping, standing in line at Best Buy or Wal Mart rather than being home with kids, family, grandma, etc.

Hyper extended families have made for scheduling nightmares; I know so many families that celebrate days even a week after the actual holiday in order to have absolutely everyone there. Once upon a time we had 4 meals to eat, ending with a traditional meal with friends, booze and wine that started somewhere around 8 pm and concluded when everyone passed out or stumbled home. That was the best way I could ever think of to wind up Thanksgiving.

When we left Nashville and moved to Pa. we tried to come home for holidays, but the trips were just too long and we eventually began making our new traditions. Turkey breast for two, dinner with friends, and eventually just mentally giving up on the big, giant Thanksgiving idea all together in favor of a much more introspective take on the holiday.

Lots of people have spent time this November posting things for which they are thankful in honor of Thanksgiving. While I totally appreciate this attempt to maintain the spirit of the holiday, I have not been participating. That's because, well, I think every day about what I'm grateful for and write it down even.

I've kept a gratitude journal for about 8 years now. It's nothing fancy. It's not even all in the same place. But (almost) every day, I make a conscious effort to think of 5 things I'm grateful for and put them down in black and white. It's much easier said than done.

After a while, you feel like you're out of things to say. Husband, wife, kids, church, house, car, job. These are things that are easy to be grateful for. They are what you think of first. However, when you do this on a sustained basis, daily or at least several days a week, you really have to look deeper than that. It is difficult.

Mine has really evolved over the years - becoming almost a diary of feelings. The things I am thankful for have evolved from things and people to experiences and emotions. Curiosity. The ability to communicate well(most of the time); being able to pay bills (even when just barely). Sometimes I'm thankful for things I've not yet been able to achieve. Patience. Calm. Acceptance of faults. Other times I'm thankful for opportunities I'm given. To talk to high school kids about how many options they have out there. To meet leaders in the community who spend their lives working to make a difference for others. To write a story about someone who wouldn't otherwise be recognized for doing something amazing.

I would encourage everyone to try this year round, not just in November. It helps you recognize what the feeling of gratitude is within yourself. It helps you focus on finding more of that feeling, and focus on the positive things in life rather than negative all the time. The giving of thanks can be done anytime, anywhere. We don't need permission, laws, holidays or even a notebook or computer to acknowledge the amazing things that we have in our lives.

That being said, Thanksgiving, well, it used to be a holiday with big family dinners. Extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins. Lots of yelling, screaming, laughing, joking. I do miss that, I miss seeing my cousins and aunt and uncles. But now my cousins have kids and grandkids and big family dinners of their own to enjoy. Which is great for them. I personally am thankful I don't have kids and grandkids. I love my little family of friends, that's all I need.

But Thanksgiving, I'm sorry. I didn't even eat turkey or pumpkin pie this year. I've failed you. Maybe I'll drag it out to include Sunday and we'll just pretend you didn't get trampled by Christmas again.

Today I am thankful for:

New friends I've met recently while doing community theater. They have given me a new energy and helped me realize how talent (and friendship) is found in the most unexpected places.

My job. I've been struggling a bit lately, mentally, but after being (unwillingly) unemployed for almost 3 years, I've now been at my job for just about a year. While it isn't perfect, I don't complain. Where we are financially now compared to a year ago, well, it's amazing and I am beyond grateful to be employed at all, much less in a job where I write and take pictures for a living.

My creative spirit. Sometimes it is a bit hard to control or reign in. Usually it is impossible to understand. Always it is annoying to someone else. But it's me. And I'm grateful to have finally found it after 30-some years of pushing it away.

A child-free (by choice) lifestyle. Kids just are not for me and I know in my heart we made the right choices when deliberately deciding not to procreate.

and while we're at it-A country that allows me to have that freedom. To choose a method to prevent unwanted pregnancy. Because I'm a grown woman and I should be able to make that decision for myself.

Yes, overall, I have a lot of gratitude for a lot of things. This is just one day. But everyday I say one thing to myself as I am falling asleep at night. "I LOVE MY LIFE" And it's true, I do. It's not perfect, it's downright messy. I have issues- medical, mental, emotional-who doesn't.

But I also have the opportunity to change, improve and challenge all of it. And that my friends is what life is all about. Not things staying the same, but rather things changing. Because when you struggle to find things to be thankful for, I promise you, with change comes opportunity for gratitude.

Black Friday

I love all of my crazy, midnight shopping, bargain hunting, deal finding, black Friday crowd fighting friends. Really I do. But I will never, ever be on enough of a budget to make me do that. Ever. But then, I don't have kids. So if I don't have money for Christmas, I just don't. The end. 


I've never ever experienced Black Friday. Not at Wal-Mart, not at the mall, not anything. On the Friday after Thanksgiving I am normally enjoying leftovers from our turkey dinner or working. The closest I had ever gotten to Black Friday in the past was getting up early the day after Christmas to hit Target for the sales. That's MY favorite shopping day of the year. Clearance. 


So having said all of this, last night my intention was to experience some of the "goodness" that was black Friday. First hand. Up close and personal. Because I really believe you can't judge someone until you've lived their experience. So there's a little girly shop down the road a bit that I really like. They were having a "football widow" open house on Thanksgiving night from 7-10. OK, I thought, I can do that. That's not crazy. 


So I told my best-friend-since-8th-grade-Amy that I was planning to go and she said she'd like to go along too. She was meeting her daughters later for a trip to Wal-Mart and a nearby mall at midnight and asked if I would want to join them. I thought, "Maybe I will! Old Navy is giving cameras away and I do need a camera. I think I can stay up until midnight. Why not?" Wal-Mart madness started at 10pm and I thought I really could make it for some of that. Maybe even go to Old Navy. Or Best Buy, be out until the wee hours of the morning. It all sounds fun in theory, doesn't it? Kinda like sneaking out of your dorm room to see the midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show with a group of your friends and then having to sleep in the airport because the dorms are locked until 6 a.m. Not that I've done that. 


So we met up at 6 and drove to the open house. Now, this shop is in an old house that has been made into a store. It has separate rooms and not the best "flow". You have to enter and exit some of the rooms through the same door. Every time I've been there in the past there have been less than 5 people in the store. 


We got there and stood out in the cold in line for about 20 minutes. They were giving freebies to the first 50 people who showed up and we figured we'd hopefully get something. When they finally opened the doors, everyone started pouring in and the house filled up quickly. Most of the ladies started making a bee line for the items they were most interested in. We collected our free gifts and tried to push through the crowd to find items we wanted that were on special that night. 


Inside the door was a huge display filled with items for $5 on special for that night. This immediately clogged up the entryway. I fought my way through, wishing I hadn't brought in my purse, as it was impeding my "pushing through crowd" progress. I couldn't get close enough to the display to see if there was anything I wanted so I let the crowd push me back into the other room. I couldn't even get out of the way. I was being pushed and pulled and everything else you could imagine.


I tried getting from one room to the next and couldn't because someone's husband was standing in the hallway blocking traffic. I stood behind him for what seemed like 5 minutes before I realized, Good Grief! He isn't waiting on the crowd to part, he's just standing there!!!!!!! 


"Argh! No unnecessary people need to be in here right now! It's crowded enough with people who are shopping. GET OUUUUTTTTT OF MY WAAAAAYYYYYYYY!!!!!" I said inside my head. 


Out loud was just a small "excuse me" as I pushed past him. I ended up in a small hallway where a tiny bathroom had been set up for displaying mongrammed towels and the like. I stepped in there to quell my arising panic. My friend saw me and came in too. 


"omg this is crazy!" we said to one another. Then she looked behind me and exclaimed "Is that MONOGRAMMED toilet paper!"


I noticed she already had her arms full of stuff. I just walked out.


Back to the front room where everyone was pushing and shoving to get to the $5 monogrammed lotion. OK no M's or H's so. Moving right along. By now the lines for the checkout were stretching across the front room. I want to get in there to see the purses but it seems all but hopeless. 


At first I think I see my friend, she's made it to the $5 table. She waves me over and as she is digging through the baskets, thrusts a nightlight into my hands with an H on it. 


"AWESOME!!!" I say, as if I have been looking for this all of my life. 


As we stand digging through monogrammed mirrors, brushes, nightlights and hand painted christmas glasses, my friend says out loud "What the hell is going on? WHY did everyone bring their husbands and kids??? They are just taking up space that those of us with credit cards need to shop!!! They should leave the husbands and kids at HOME!!!"


The girl standing next to me giggled, and I said to my friend "OMG that is why we're friends, I was thinking the same thing. They are just standing there blocking the shelves."

I picked up a couple gift items, which weren't on sale at all by the way, and just tried to make my way into the other room where all the kitchen stuff and candles were. It seemed to take forever. I didn't see my friend, the lines were getting longer, and I just couldn't think straight enough to know what to grab. 


I hear someone in the crowd say "Oh, LOOK! A monogrammed flask!" and when I look, there is a bin full of silver flasks positioned directly over a sign that says "We have great gifts for all the teachers on your list!" 


I had to smile at that and if I could have reached my phone I would have snapped a picture. But I couldn't, I couldn't even raise my arm. So I decided to call it a day and get in the long, long lines that had formed erraticly across the front room. 


Then I get a text. "I am in line, bring me your stuff and I will pay, not too far from the front." I look across the room and my friend is in the line on the other side of the room. Not even 20 feet away, but blocked from me getting to her by dozens of people.


I look at her and shrug, then text "I don't think I can get there, I'll wait." She and I text back and forth while we're waiting in line. 


Moments later when we've checked out and struggled our way back through the store to the front porch, she picks me up outside the store. When we look at the clock she says "Oh, my gosh. It is only 7:35 we were only in there for 35 minutes!"


I laugh and say "Well, that answers one question....how long does it take for me 
to work up to a full blown panic attack?"


It really did seem that we were there for hours. I decided right then and there that was the LAST time I'd ever participate in anything remotely related to black friday. When we got back to Wal-Mart Amy dropped me at my car, took  my front row parking spot, and went in to stand in line for a great deal on a television. Then went to the mall and got home at 2am. 


I? Went home, put on pj's and ate dinner. 


You guys are so brave. And so crazy. Honestly.