The Adumbrated Wilderness

 

adumbrated (part.) symbolized (Google)

For those of you who fall under the religious nomenclature of Christian and are practicing, you are aware that it is the season of Lent, which is marked by Jesus's forty-day journey into the desert to contend with Satan. Any desiccated environment (picture Death Valley here) is synonymous with the wilderness, otherwise known as an "uncultivated, uninhabited, inhospitable" region (Google). In their reflections, a.k.a. sermons or homilies, those of the cloth use the image of the wilderness to adumbrate where many of us are today: feeling quite alone and/or anxious amidst the turmoil of contemporary society. 

Unfortunately, many modern-day Protestant churches (and perhaps even Catholic ones) are losing parishioners because the young are getting lost in a wilderness of Sunday activities unrelated to the sabbath, but also because they don't feel connected to institutions that they view as antiquated. Which is a shame because religion isn't. Faith isn't obsolete. In fact many need it more than ever but just don't realize that they do as they are lost in the busy business of their daily lives. 

Fortunately, there are some parishes that are not short of attendees. Mine, for instance. Known among national Presbyterian boards as "the little church that could," my congregation, the Culver City Presbyterian Church (with eighty members), is not lost in the dark remoteness of irreligiousness. The light that emanates from it is small but bright. The singles, couples, families from all walks of life and pronouns unite as a community, stand by their belief system, and inculcate it in their children. All–even the most isolated socially–are welcome. What they hear each week coming from a young, vibrant, former actor of a preacher (who looks like Uma Thurman) they interpret as the word of God, the living Bible. Her verbiage, a reflection of the Good Book, holds meaning. It pretty much cajoles them to follow in the steps of Christ, finding purpose in their lives. Don't we all need that? A purpose? Yup.

Although I have never viewed myself as a "religious" person, I do see myself as spiritual. I attend church because what is spoken I find relates directly to problematic situations that I visit in my life. The messages can offer solutions. Ergo, in my case, the reverend is more of a prophet who also proffers solace and guidance not only to me, but others who venture to the simple Spanish structure weekly for a heady concoction of verbal hope. 

I know that the infidels may bypass my words altogether as they are "done" with what they believe is mere mythology. I can't change their minds. But I will say that among my various friends, those who do have a spiritual center of some kind (not necessarily Christian but Jewish or Buddhist) are a lot happier than my friends who have created their own adumbrated wilderness by worshipping materialism, capitalism, or any other "ism" that propels them forward or holds them in place. 

Just sayin'. 

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The Madness of March: Defining College Basketball

 

madness - n. - a state of frenzied or chaotic activity (Google)

It is often suggested that the month of March comes in like a lion yet goes out like a lamb weather wise. When it comes to what is known as "March Madness," the opposite may just be true as it is its own version of spring fever. Before I go into why I happen to like this athletically competitive time of the year, it is worthwhile to note that "madness" has three definitions, all of which apply to college basketball and its fans at this juncture. The first meaning is "the state of being mentally ill," the second is "extremely foolish behavior," and the third is posted at the top of this page. The way I look at it is that March Madness embraces all three. The diehard fans who watch all of the games could just be mentally challenged somehow, or others who don't quite understand their addiction might think they are. If they indulge themselves in betting sprees or in getting too emotionally invested in their own brackets, their behavior may be categorized as "extremely foolish." And finally, since basketball tends to be a fast sport given to personal fouls and quick ball turnovers, as a result, there is frequent "frenzied or chaotic activity" both on and off the court. Surely, whoever named the tournament March Madness considered the validity of the entire definition, not just the third. 

I suppose I enjoy watching college basketball for reasons related to the three-prong denotation. Admittedly, I like the cacophonous, collective cries of chaos that often ensue when a game is very close. Whilst engaged in spectating, I, too, find myself morphing into one of the temporarily tattooed cheerleaders relegated to the sidelines and shout out abbreviated compliments or insults sans any regard as to where I am, which is often in a sports bar at lunch when few are even watching the game on the widescreen TV. No worries. My unchecked ebullience is just a reflexive action. Okay, fine. Some who could care less about the sport might think I am quite mad, have Tourette's, or am just a silly buffoon, but it is all part and parcel of the fun. Right? I'd like to think so. 

If we delve a bit deeper, we might agree that coming together to participate in March Madness is a way of uniting the country during these divisive political times. Perhaps it is. It reminds me of the movie "Invictus," Clint Eastwood's poignant, celluloid rendering starring a former colleague of mine, Morgan Freeman. If you don't remember it, the plot is based on Nelson Mandela's uniting of South Africa after the separation of Apartheid via a rugby world cup match. The paradox is that sports have a unique way of temporarily dividing yet uniting people. Fans among friends cheer for their choice to win. Even if there is a bit of ill will resulting from a loss, it doesn't last too long. It helps warm a chill in the stands if the losing team on the court can shake hands with the victorious side and walk off into the locker room sans any animosity. It is what their coaches instruct them to do, and it is called good sportsmanship, something we could all use to revisit. 

Perhaps all of the aforementioned defining attributes are why March Madness is such a huge draw. We Americans need the temporary insanity, the foolhardiness, the bedlam that all merge into escapism. We can lose ourselves in the fast and furious for two hours or so and get a break from more serious mayhem that the 24-7 news cycle keeps reporting. And maybe, just maybe, some of us will get lucky and win dollars for our bracket choices. Which just might be capitalism at its best.

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Depression: Solutions to Serious Blues Singing

 

depression - noun - a common mental health condition characterized by persistent feelings of sadness, loss of interest, and low mood that interfere with daily life. (Google)

Although I don't know for sure, common sense tells me that quite a few people in the U.S. are suffering from depression at present. Very little that the 24-7 news cycle is reporting motivates the masses to get up out of bed every morning with lust for living. Most probably, more than a few are finding it hard to face the day lately.

Emotional depression is the voice of "Debbie Downer" (SNL) deep inside, affecting one's ability to function actively on a daily basis. "Debbie" is a parasite within that sucks up all of the effected's ebullience for the pleasures of existence. The effected may be consistently morose, negative, lackadaisical, difficult. The effected may not be able to sleep well or may sleep all of the time. The effected may be overeating or under eating, perhaps even starving himself/herself. There may be or not be anxiety present as "Debbie's" wingman. 

Case in point, two of my very close relations under age 35 are experiencing symptoms of depression at present. What is tough is being the next of kin, the cheerleader who feels as though she is at the base of the triangle, crawling her way up to the top of the human pyramid. When it comes to depression, you have to be cheery, courageous, indefatigable, relentless, and hopeful. It's just not easy.

After my loved one had an emotional breakdown, I called one of my close friends who just happens to be a top psychotherapist in Los Angeles, recommended by Psychology Today. He gave me choices that you can make yourself if you or a loved one is experiencing the symptoms of depression: 

1. Call your doctor. Ask for a recommendation. Find a psychiatrist or psychotherapist that your insurance plan will cover, but choose someone you like, someone who is well known in the field. No matter whom you select, both professionals will evaluate you. The psychiatrist may prescribe medication, and it may or may not relieve your symptoms. An EMDR psychotherapist may work with you to eliminate your misery, but it will take more than one session.

2. Stop drinking alcohol and eating sugar. Attempt to eat healthy foods. Stay hydrated.

3. Force yourself to exercise even if you just walk around the block.

4. Spend time outside in the sun. Vitamin D is essential to good health. 

5. Call or text a close relative or friend whom you trust. Share your personal concerns. Or just make a date to have lunch or go shopping with the person. Loneliness often walks hand in hand with Depression.

6. Meditate. Google what it means and how to go about it, or find a Buddhist temple that offers free, open meditation as it has been proven to beat depression. 

7. Turn off the 24-7 news cycle. Remember that no one can accurately predict what will happen in the future. 

What seemed to work for my loved one was a long walk/talk on the beach at sunset with me. Although it wasn't an instantaneous, permanent cure, it was the start of something that looked like a breakthrough. She spilled a lot of what had been plaguing her, which helped. An attempt was made to regurgitate "Debbie Downer" and perhaps the unnoticed wingman, too.

Depression doesn't go away overnight. It is, after all, a mental illness. But don't give up. Never, never, never give up. There is light at the end of the tunnel. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life, #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #depression, #TreatmentForDepression

Can You Date James Bond Safely?

 

trauma - noun - a deeply distressing or disturbing experience (Google).

Out here in the realm of internet dating, as a single, straight, sixty-something woman, I know that you can meet a plethora of  men, especially if you happen to look way younger than you are, have hair (preferably long and bleached), and can still pull off wearing a bikini. (Am I suggesting that men are superficial? Hmm.) Most of the available gentlemen I have met are successful and have led fascinating lives, which is to be expected when one lives in a large, cosmopolitan city populated with over nine million people. But for whatever reason, the relatively "normal" ones are a rarity. I haven't met one yet who hasn't had at least a half dozen red flags safety pinned on to his Tommy Bahama camp shirt. The trouble is that I tend to ignore them because I get caught up in the glimmer of a shiny surface and nod yes, when I should shake my head no.

My last Match date or six dates were with James Bond. Okay, his last name wasn't Bond, but it could have been. Geez! All I can say is that Ian Fleming's psychological characterization of his antihero is spot on. In case you don't recall the reason why the fictive James has control and intimacy issues, it is due to severe trauma when he was eleven; his parents were killed in a mountain climbing accident, leaving his aunt to raise him. My actual version had alcoholic parents, who were not entirely present for him; ergo, he was left to his aunt. Like Fleming's Bond, this James (his real name) was trained as an assassin (but by the U.S. Army, not MI6, the British Secret Intelligence Service). To this day, he still claims ownership of a few pistols. Just as Ian's testosterone-charged invention, my James is a handsome adventurer, a pilot, an expert surfer, a mechanic, medic, an archer, and a snowboarder. Not surprisingly, he has slept with a multitude of women (two more than celluloid Bond) but has never been in love even though he was actually married and divorced. (You might recall that fictive James was married, but his counterpart was killed.)

All of the aforementioned should have daunted me, but as a big fan of the Bond movies, I just couldn't resist the actual James's ability to take initiative, act like a perfect, romantic gentleman, and insist on picking up the tab. Unmitigated generosity is rare. The problem was his expectations were as unrealistic  as Bond himself. Perhaps like the fictional version, my James is insecure. For one, he didn't like that I was way too popular on the dating site where I found him. 

What can I say? I could have fallen in love with James, but I am glad I didn't because it just wouldn't have worked out in the long run. I am sure the sex would have been addictive and might have allowed us to last a year or so; but in the end, strong, secure women just need strong, secure men who understand who they are and accept them as is. Perhaps what I want is the opposite of how Bond liked his martinis. I desire to be stirred gently and consistently, not shaken passionately and precariously. In case you are curious, I prefer JD with honey on the rocks and real men to literary creations.  

Can you date James Bond safely? What do you think? 

P.S. As of today, Bond and I are friends, trying to make it work like most fictitious characters aiming for a Hollywood ending do. Hey, anything is possible. Right? We have a chaotic king for a president.

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Hugging the Homeless

 

hug - verb - to embrace someone with one's arms; to express affection (Google).

Just in case you didn't already know, one hug can make a huge difference in the quality of life. Remember the adage, "An apple a day keeps the doctor away"? Well, sub in "hug" for "apple," and you have an analogous aphorism that is completely true. According to RWJ Barnabas Health, hugs boost oxytocin, which is associated with feeling good. They also reduce anxiety, chronic pain, and high blood pressure. In addition, a hearty embrace increases feelings of belonging and safety and strengthens your immune system. In short, if you substituted a sweet hug for sugar on a daily basis, you'd probably live a lot longer.

Hugs can be commonplace for some naturally affectionate people who are fortunate enough to have relations and friends who are accessible and agreeable to hugging. (Don't forget that getting near anyone during the pandemic was verboten. My, have times changed.) 

However, there is a lot of single, unfortunate souls out there who rarely have the opportunity to hug, souls such as homeless people, who are vulnerable to myriad illnesses.  In any case, most don't think of bestowing affection upon those strangers living in poverty. But maybe some do? 

When was the last time you hugged a homeless person?  

Actually, not to one up you, but I hugged one today. Yes, I hugged a homeless person. Being that I was in the right place at the right time (a rarity for most), the chance arose and I took it. I was volunteering as a server at a restaurant specifically for the indigent in Venice, California. Admittedly, I was reluctant to accept the risky invitation at first. After all, the man was a stranger off of the streets. For a few seconds, Fear stepped in and tried to talk me out of the embrace. The man could have body odor, lice, some incurable, communicable disease. As a member of the wait staff, perhaps I wasn't permitted to touch the clients? I probably wasn't. But then the brave side of me took over. Envisioning myself as a lay version of my idol Mother Theresa, I opened my arms after Alex, an elderly regular with a scraggly, white beard and yellowing smile, stood up from chair, asked me if it would be okay, and reached out to cuddle me. I not only let him; I returned the favor. Few took notice of the anomaly as it was so brief, but he and I felt instantly appeased. The volume of sunlight that filled the room increased from ten to eleven. In short, I took a risk, and it paid off. I made someone sans much to be happy for, very happy.

Now will I be walking down Lincoln Boulevard in Venice hugging as many of the homeless as possible? Probably not. But I wish I had more in the way of courage to do so. Mother Theresa would have. Then again, hugging for the sake of hugging was most likely in her job description. If not, she wrote it into it. Maybe it is something we can all do. Write it into our personal job descriptions. Hug the daylights of someone you know or don't know at all without being stingy about it. 

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Soporific Venus vs. Mars

 

soporific - adjective - tending to induce drowsiness or sleep (Google)

The battle between the sexes has been waged ad infinitum for decades despite being complicated by the addition of an alternative gender. In fact, the debate between Venus (female) and Mars (male) has been so overplayed that some might feel that it has become soporific. We've been there, done that so the mere mention of the topic makes us drowsy with boredom.

 I'm going to throw a wrench in that engine. Just recently, via research, I've discovered a major difference between women and men that could just be the cause of an increase in the break-up rate among heterosexual couples: romance. Men and women define it differently. 

Although you may disagree (if you do, you have probably been married for too long), when it comes to perpetuating romantic love, romance is key. Without it, this type of love is just, well, love sans specifics. To men, romance boils down to sex. The more, the better. A romantic date to them reflects testosterone, meaning something physical must be involved. Think fishing, hiking, golfing, skiing, jogging, playing pickle ball. Am I right, ladies? If men are thinking of what their women want at all, at the end of the day, they might include dinner at a moderately priced restaurant. And they might even pick up the entire tab if they think they might have a chance at the golden ring. You know, sex. 

Women, on the other hand, tend to be more emotionally intelligent than their male counterparts. Because estrogen rules us even after it is nearly nonexistent, most of us have a love language that includes affection, poetic compliments (albeit this could be a stretch), and gestures (often a total stretch). A dozen red roses? They are a bit trite, but okay. We'll take what we can get.

I was lucky enough, or unlucky enough, to have had a 24-year romance (not a relationship) with a man who referred to himself as a "gay, straight man" because he was fully in tune with his feminine side as well as his masculine side. He was above and beyond Casanova when it came to pleasing me, both in and out of bed. And most of the nonsexual gestures had little to do with money and more to do with imagination and perhaps, genuine ardor. For example, he would cook me gourmet dinners served before the fireplace. Afterwards we would slow dance to songs we sang to each other. He would draw me bubble baths in a candlelit bathroom, frequently joining me in the tub. Since he rented a small cabin on a flower farm, to prepare for my visits, he would pick myriad bouquets and fill every room with them. Breakfast in bed came every Sunday morning for all of the years that we were together. Even though we are no longer together due to a complication that can't be helped, I will always be in love with him because of his degree of sensitivity, creativity, and selflessness. At present, I am now "unlucky" in that I am so spoiled that no other man whom I have dated since has ever been able to live up to his example. Why? Most men are from Mars; women are from Venus. Ugh. I'm feeling soporific just thinking about it.

The takeaway? Men, if you want to keep women of high value in your life, you are going to have to pony up in the romance department if you haven't done so already. Valentine's Day is vast approaching. Although everyday should be Valentine's Day in a romantic relationship, the actual day is the perfect starting off point for you to spice things up in the romance department. 

Just sayin'. 

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Anaphora as It Applies to Life

 

anaphora - noun - repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive sentences or clauses in order to create a drama effect or for emphasis.

When I taught high school English, anaphora was one of the literary techniques that I encouraged my students to use in their writing, mainly for poetic as opposed to dramatic effect. Back then, poetry was appealing. The term and its defining synonym "repetition for effect" popped into my head today at a care center while I was sorting through myriad boxes of clothing to be made available to the survivors of the recent L.A. wildfires. A fellow volunteer and I were told to keep all nearly new items and toss the threadbare. As we went through box after box of all kinds of donations (even designer garb), I discovered via chatting that my comrade in selection was not only from a town near my own hometown in Jersey, but she had worked for a man who had been friendly with my dad. Small world. 

Without prompting from me, she began a new verbal paragraph and told me that many of her friends lost her homes to the fires in Pacific Palisades and Malibu. Using anaphora unintentionally, she dramatically revealed that one of these current domestic mourners had lost more than one house on the same plot of land in more than one fire over a period of six years. The family had been displaced, yet returned to the scene of the natural crime only to rebuild. They just lost the latest version of the home two weeks ago and are already meeting with architects. Why? To rebuild. Really? Anaphora is one thing; deja vu is another. The question that plagues me is why someone would wish to fall down the same rabbit hole more than once.

What makes certain individuals ignorant of obvious patterns? Do they not believe in warnings from the Universe? Heck, for me, one loss would have been enough of a sign to sell the lot and move to Vegas where there is literally nothing to burn but hard-earned wages over and over again via any of the slot machines in the abundant casinos. 

As you know, I am not Einstein, but I do have common sense. But maybe that's just it. "Common sense is not so common" according to punny Voltaire. Some people are willing to take extraordinary risks especially when it comes to real estate. What it all boils down to is money, that abstract, concrete concept that rules the world. A house (particularly a new one) in Pacific Palisades or Malibu will be worth a lot more than the same house anywhere else. Who cares if the owners can't find an insurance company to insure the place? They can always sell the land. Or can they?

I have no time for complications of this nature, which is why I live in an apartment, a distance away from what tends to be burning these days in SoCal. I have insurance, but just enough to replace some of the contents of my 725 square foot abode. If the building were to disappear one way or the other, I would just find another apartment somewhere a bit safer. It would just make sense, though, like anaphora, not deja vu. 

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