GC and I were walking to the bus stop the other morning and he asked if I wanted to do the 100-Day Happiness Challenge with him.
“Absolutely,” I said. “What is it?”
So here’s what it is. You can start anytime. You register. Every day you take a picture of something that makes you happy that day. It doesn’t have to make you happy all day. It doesn’t have to make anybody else happy. It’s not a competition. Just one thing that made you happy for a moment of your day. You post that picture to whichever social media platform you’ve chosen (I chose instagram, but I’m also posting some of them to facebook), using the hashtag #100happydays. You do that for a hundred days.
We’re on Day 5. I’ve posted pictures of the Bobby McFerrin concert, my bunny out for a walk, the aromatherapy garden near the Fletcher wildlife garden, my massage therapist’s room, and Canada Day on Parliament Hill.
I’m really liking this challenge, and I’ll tell you why. It’s making me realize that there are a lot of happy moments in my days, despite my depression. When the bunny does a happy leap or I get a whiff of lemon or I arrive home from work or GC brings me a cup of coffee or I get a glimpse of the new baby lovebird in the nest…there are just a few of the many things every day that give me little jolts of joy. The 100-Day Happiness Challenge just makes me more aware of them.
Not all of them are easy to photograph, of course. Like today, the Snowbirds did a fly-by in formation over Parliament Hill, and I’ve never seen them so low – it was quite thrilling and it was one of those quintessential happy-to-be-Canadian moments. But it was over in a split second and I didn’t get a picture. And later, on the way home, a nice breeze cooled us down from the extremely hot muggy weather; I would have liked to have taken a picture of that happy breeze.
And that new baby lovebird in the nest? His name is Solo. I haven’t taken any pictures of him yet because I think it might upset Billie and Lester. GC and I haven’t allowed Billie and Lester to have any babies for several years now. Overpopulation and all that. So whenever they’ve laid an egg, we’ve refrigerated it overnight before returning it to them. That way the eggs never hatch. Kind of sad, but necessary. Anyway, I decided with this latest clutch of eggs, which was their second clutch this spring, that I would let them keep one egg and raise one baby. They’ve tried so hard for so long and it made me sad to keep disappointing them. So I drew a happy face on one egg and put it back in the nest. I drew an X on each of the others and put them in the fridge overnight. Baby Solo hatched on June 26th. Billie and Lester are very happy.
Yesterday I was at Loblaws (Baseline and Woodroffe) buying ingredients for veggie quesadillas. Pesto was on sale for $4.50. I bought one. As I walked away from the store, I scanned my bill and saw that I’d been charged $6.99 for the pesto. I went back to the pesto shelf and re-read the sign.
Aha! The sale price only applied if you bought two or more packages of pesto. But look! The regular price is $5.99. If you only buy one, the “special” price is $6.99. Is it just me, or is this doubly misleading?? It’s so easy to not notice that the sale price only applies if you buy two. But then you get charged an EXTRA dollar over and above the regular price if you only buy one.
I snapped a picture and took it over to customer service. The nice young man agreed you shouldn’t have to pay more when it’s on sale. He let me have the sale price even though I only bought one.
Another example involved 20-packs of batteries where it said in large print that the sale price was $11.99. But in microscopic print it said that if you only bought one package, the price was $17.99. At the cash we were charged $17.99, and when we complained, the friendly young woman at customer service took us to the shelf and showed us the sign. Even when she pointed it out, we still couldn’t see it – that’s how small it was. She agreed it was ridiculously small. She called her manager who said we could have it for the sale price, but “in the future we should be more careful.” (I was tempted to say something like “In the future you should be more careful not to steal from your customers,” but that seemed a bit ungracious given that we had already won this particular battle.)
I’m not particularly vigilant – both of these times, I just happened to notice that I got overcharged. But I think from now on I’m going to pay closer attention, because I am not sure these are honest mistakes. They seem like deliberate attempts on Loblaw’s part to mislead and deceive customers. Are these tactics even legal?
If I had a store, I wouldn’t need laws to keep me from ripping off my own customers. I’d do it for ethical reasons and also because I wouldn’t want my customers to think I’m trying to rip them off.
Parrots are smart. They need plenty of stimulation or their mental health will suffer. Parrots are difficult enough to live with when they’re mentally healthy; you definitely don’t want to push them over the edge. So parrot toys are a necessity. And, since many good parrot toys will quickly be reduced to piles of rubble in the bottom of the cage, you have to replenish your stock regularly.
I spent my income tax refund on bird toys this year. When the box finally arrived, I lugged it into the bird room, tore it open, and started unpacking all the new toys and showing them to the birds. Everybody was out of their houses at the time, flying around.
There were foot toys and hanging toys and shredding toys and chewing toys and toys that make noise and toys to climb on and toys to eat and foraging toys. There were toys to hang in cages and toys to hang from the ceiling. There were toys for lovebirds and toys for Amazons and toys for African Greys. There were toys that will make great toys for the bunny after the birds are finished with them.
I put new toys in everybody’s houses, and stashed the rest in the toy-rotation closet.
Simon got six new things in his house right away: a new perch, a nice big hanging toy, three foot toys and a ball that makes 10 different noises.
It was like Christmas in May. I was so excited.
But in my excitement I forgot that African Greys are not like little kids on Christmas morning. They’re the opposite.
A new perch? Alarming. A ball that makes noises? Scary. A whole bunch of new toys all at once? Terrifying.
Even though African Greys are very smart, they somehow believe that a 3-inch ball that makes 10 different noises must contain 10 different predators.
Simon wouldn’t go into his house. Not until I removed the new perch, the big hanging toy, the three foot toys, and the predator ball. Even then, he wouldn’t go into his house. I had to put peanuts and sunflower seeds in his house and be very patient and reassring over a long period of time.
That was two weeks ago. He’s just now starting to get back to normal, not startling at the slightest noise. (Or at least not more than usual…birds tend to be that way by nature.)
Kazoo, the Amazon, recoils from new food, but she’ll hop onto a new perch or object without a second thought. Simon will dive headfirst into a bowl of unfamiliar food, but he’ll sometimes avoid a new object for weeks.
One of the new items I purchased is a parrot backpack. Kazoo climbs right in and we travel all over the place with her on my back. She looks out the windows and talks to strangers and makes new friends. Simon, on the other hand, after two weeks of daily “getting acquainted sessions” has gotten as far as peering tentatively into the backpack from the outside, beaking the zipper, and reaching in to grab a peanut from the treat bowl. I’m optimistic he’ll be ready to go outside for a walk by the time the snow flies.
Where have I been the last few months? I’ve been depressed. I still am, but I’m doing better now than I was. It was bad. It started in December and peaked in February I think. Between crazy workload issues and packing and moving and selling the house and renovations and migraines and awful migraine prevention meds and Duncan dying and other stuff I just got overwhelmed and anxious and then I couldn’t sleep and I would wake up in the middle of the night and worry for hours. And you know how that goes, it’s always catastrophizing, imagining the worst things that could happen. And everything just kept getting worse with the lack of sleep and the anxiety and the exhaustion and the cumulative effects of everything.
In February I started antidepressants. Within a few weeks I noticed a pretty significant improvement. I’ve increased the dosage a couple of times since, but the depression seems to have plateaued. I’m a 12 on the depression scale, if that means anything to you (I was an 18 initially). Last week my doctor added sleeping pills to the mix, and that seems to be making a difference. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in six months, and now I’ve had seven of them in a row. I see two benefits: 1) I’m not exhausted, and 2) I don’t lie awake for hours stressing about work.
Anyway. Depression’s a weird thing, isn’t it? I always thought I wasn’t prone to it, but I guess that’s changed. This is my third depression. I had one bout as a teenager, and this is my second middle-aged depression.
At its worst it was really bad. I got to the point where I couldn’t handle anything else, so I was literally not opening my mail or paying my bills or answering my phone. My memory was completely shot. Even writing things down so I wouldn’t forget them felt complicated. I couldn’t keep lists. Everything felt overwhelmingly hard. I could feel gravity tugging at my face – it was an actual physical sensation. I literally felt myself aging. I cried a lot – many times a day.
GC was very supportive, of course. He was there for me, he made food, he didn’t tell me to cheer up, he took care of things.
It’s actually pretty amazing that I kept working. But I had a project I was very committed to, and that project had a looming deadline. (“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.” – Bertrand Russell.)
When I went off antidepressants several years ago, I said I would never take them again because of the difficulties I had with withdrawal symptoms. But you know what? This February I knew I needed them, and I didn’t hesitate. I wanted them. I have no regrets. I’d rather take antidepressants than feel that dying wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Here are some of the things we got and did at the Great Glebe Garage Sale yesterday:
- An authentic persian rug, 4×6, for $25
- A pretty leash for Rosie for $1
- 2 gorgeous light switch plates, painted with birds, 50 cents each
- 5 books for $5
- 2 sweatshirts and a t-shirt for $10 (yes I overpaid, but I loved the colours)
- An antique photo album of cabinet photos, most of which were ordinary but one of which had an antique bicycle, for $15
- A laptop case for $5
- A scarf for a nickel
- A stretching lesson for a handful of change (proceeds to Uganda)
- A pair of earrings made out of beer bottle caps for $5 (proceeds to Uganda)
- GC played a song on a Seagull guitar – it was filmed and he’ll be entered into a draw to win the guitar (free)
- The book Annabelle by Kathleen Winter – thanks to Bonnie and Len. (We ran into them early in the day and I mentioned I was looking for that book – I never found it, but when I got home there was a message from Bonnie saying she found me a copy!)
But our favourite thing of all?
Three pieces of advice for $1.50. We had to wait in line because these kids were in hot demand. We eavesdropped on the advice they gave the woman ahead of us, and it was good.
“Never be afraid to tell a guy you like him. Just go up to him and tell him you like him and ask him if he wants to go do something with you. He’ll like it. He’ll like you even more because you had the courage to do that.”
We were impressed not only by the caliber of the advice, but also by the confidence with which it was delivered.
Then it was our turn.
“We have three grown-up kids,” I said. “We want grandchildren, but none of our kids seem to want to have kids. What should we do?”
Girl: “How old are your kids?”
Me: “Twenty-three, twenty-five and thirty-one.”
Girl: “Okay, leave the twenty-three year old and the twenty-five year old alone for awhile. But the thirty-one year old: you could tell him some of the great things about having kids.”
Me: “Like what?”
Boy 1: “Like they’re fun….and they can help around the house.”
Boy 2: “Not when they’re babies.”
Girl: “No, but babies are cute.”
Boy 1: “And you could offer to help with the things that aren’t so cute or fun, like diapers.”
Girl: “Just focus on the positive. Like why kids are great and why they would make his life even better.”
Me: “Okay, thanks. I’ll try that. GC is going to ask the next question.”
GC: “My favourite colour is yellow and I’d really like to wear it, but it doesn’t look good on me. What should I do?”
They answered this question as if they get asked it all the time.
Boy 1: “Wear yellow undies.”
Girl: “Wear splashes of yellow, little pops of yellow. Accessories. Like a yellow handkerchief, yellow buttons or a yellow tie.”
Me: “You guys are really good at this. Here’s 50 more cents. Can you just give us some general advice?”
Girl: “Of course. Never give up. Just keep on trying. If life knocks you down, get right back up, dust yourself off, and try a different approach. If you don’t give up, sooner or later you’ll reach your goal. Here. Have a cookie.”
We asked them how they came up with the idea to set up an advice booth in a sea of lemonade stands. Turns out they got it from Peanuts. It’s modelled after Lucy’s 5-cent Psychiatric Help booth.
They charge more than Lucy, but their advice is better and it comes with a free cookie. I took their picture and told them that if I ever had grandchildren I hoped they’d be just like them.
So I kind of got busy there for awhile and didn’t write much about what was going on. Among other things, we fixed up my house and put it on the market. By fixed up, I mean painted the inside from head to toe, re-faced the kitchen cabinets, replaced the kitchen floor, refinished the hardwood floors, replaced the toilet and vanity in the bathroom, and fixed damage that the pets had done. And when I say we did all that, I mean we paid other people to do it, which is still a lot of work.
We then put it on the market, and a week later it sold. (It wasn’t quite that simple: there were negotiations, a home inspection, an issue with the insulation in the attic, wringing of hands, rolling of eyes, and writing of cheques to guys in Haz-mat suits.)
But as of April 25th, it will officially belong to somebody else. I have kind of mixed feelings about it. The house was nothing fancy, just your basic, down-to-earth working class house. Still, it suited me…I always felt that that house and I had a lot in common, including being of the same vintage. But once I started packing and moving and fixing it up and getting out, I just wanted someone to buy it so I could get the whole thing over with.
Anyway. It was a good house and I was happy there. I hope the new people are happy in it too. I wonder if I’m the only one who thinks of houses as having a kind of karma or character. Like…if you move into a house in which a miserable family lived, and where there was violence and abuse, I wonder if that energy somehow lingers in the house. (I’m tempted to delete that, because it sounds crazy. But even if I don’t *think* it’s true, I *feel* that it is. So I’m leaving it.)
I got an advance copy of Gender Failure, by Ivan E. Coyote and Rae Spoon. It’s not quite available in the stores yet, but it’s coming soon and I urge you to get yourself a copy. It’s an extraordinary book.
I loved the show Gender Failure so I knew before reading it that I’d love the book. The book is just like the show except it’s got a bunch of extra goodies.
Ivan and Rae take turns telling stories about their experiences of being trans throughout their lives. Some of the stories were illuminating, like “How to Be Gay When the Gays Won’t Have You.” Some were laugh-out-loud funny, like “A Cautionary Tale.” And some were burst-into-tears sad, like “Rosie.” (If you saw someone weeping into a book on the #95 during the morning commute last Monday, that was probably me, reading “Rosie.”)
Gender identity can be complicated stuff. What I admire most about Ivan and Rae is how they find the right balance – they don’t over-explain and they don’t oversimplify. They’re educational without ever being teachy. Storytelling is the perfect medium for humanizing theory.
I think the key to their success lies in their unflinching honesty. They have the guts to put their own naked truth on the page, and to resist the temptation to cloak it in extra words. There is something, I think, in all of us that recognizes and responds to the raw, naked, truth when we see it. I think it brings out the best in us – maybe our own raw vulnerable nuggets of humanity.
Anyway. Extraordinary book, and highly readable too. I recommend it to anyone who loves good writing and good storytelling, especially if you have an interest in trans issues but even if you don’t. Five stars, two thumbs up, worth a second read.
Ivan Coyote and Rae Spoon will be in Ottawa on April 25th at the Ottawa Writers Festival. Details here
. Visit Arsenal Pulp Press
for more information about the book.
First picture of Duncan (OHS 2008)
I have such sad news to share with you.
Duncan Donut, the Glorious Dogcat, the big old Puddin’head, the best cat ever…Duncan died on Thursday afternoon. I know some of you were very fond of Duncan, and I’m so sorry.
He was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease a couple of years ago, but he weathered it pretty well. It was a gradual descent, and he was a trooper. He really only declined sharply in the few days before his death. On Thursday we took him to Dr. Hughes, and she said we could either throw everything at him in terms of treatment and hope for the best, or we could let him go. We decided to let him go. GC and my son and I were all stroking him and crying when he died. Dr. Hughes was sad too.
Duncan deserves a kick-ass memorial blog post, but I don’t feel I can do him justice right now. So I’m just going to link to some old blog posts about him, and share some pictures.
With the Zoom Blanket
Moving day – February 2014
Tank Top Tuesday
Snoozing with GC
Snoozing with Zoom
Duncan always loved bath time
Playing with yarn
Helping block a sweater
Just hanging out
Duncan in a sunbeam
So we moved! It was stressful, as moving always is, and we’re still digging out from under all the boxes, but at least the move is behind us.
The movers were great. We’d never heard of them but they worked hard and fast, they were friendly and nice, they treated our stuff and our home with respect, and they charged less than half of what we were quoted by the other moving companies we talked to.
Here’s my favourite line of the day:
The mover was taking the legs off a table to make it fit better into the moving van.
“Will you be putting the legs back on when we get to the other house?” asked GC.
“I can do whatever you want,” the mover replied. “I can even make you soup if you want.”
You know what? I don’t care how scattered or stressed I am, how many hours of sleep I have lost to insomnia, how many IQ points I have lost to meds, or how bloody awful I look and feel. The moving truck is pulling up to my front door in an hour and 19 minutes. In about 8 hours the move will be over. I will be able to stop dismantling my life and start putting it all back together again. Life will start to get better again. Right?