Sometimes...

Sometimes when life brings a soul-wearying day as it did yesterday, I wish for someone to just be with in a restful way. Someone who is not judgemental or accusing. Someone who won't sugarcoat her comments, but will just be there to support and encourage and remind me that I'm not the only pebble on the beach, but in a kind way. Someone who can and will recognize when I need support and give it, even though I'm doing something stupid; and then later, when I'm stronger, tell me I was doing something stupid. Last year about this time I thought I had several such friends, but I found I was sadly mistaken in my perception of the relationship. However, God in His goodness has not left me alone, but He has sent me one such beautiful soul. Even though she is semi-invalid and pain is her constant companion, she finds time and energy from her heavy workload and worries to encourage me, pick me up with a funny story, remind me gently that I'm not the only person who has troubles, and tell me when I am right and when I am wrong. What a treasure. Thank you, dear friend. You know who you are.

Speed typing "test"

My score was 77; not really a big surprise.

77 words

free Touch typing

Non nobis Domine

Non nobis Domine, Domine
Non nobis Domine
Sed nomini, Sed nomini
Tuo da gloriam

Not unto us, O Lord
Not unto us, O Lord
But to Thy name
But to Thy name
May all the glory be

We had rain today, and wind. Gusts of wind toppled trees and shut down power in many places all over central Alabama. After the rain, the weather made the setting sun look like it was burning down the woods behind my house.

Get to Know Your Friends at Christmas

Turtlerock has tagged me, and I'm tagging Athanasia and Mimi; so here goes my second blog post of this day!

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?

Giftbags, or delivered to their homes by the online retailer.

2. Real tree or artificial?

Potted rosemary pruned into a cone shape. I put little red, velvet bows on it, or tiny brass bells. This year, though, there are no rosemary plants to be found, so we'll make do with a beautiful poinsetta and some artificial decorations from the Dollar Store.

3. When do you put up the tree?

Whenever we can find the potted rosemary in the store.

4. When do you take the tree down?

Around Theophany (Jan 5 / 18), or when it shows signs of serious dehydration from the dry, indoor air. Then we plant it outside.

5. Do you like egg nog?

Yes, but I've never made it. It's been decades since I've had it.

6. Favorite gift received as a child?

A baby doll and two, beautifully illustrated story books.

7. Do you have a nativity scene?

No. I could never get "into" the schmaltz of the "holy family" and the "baby Jesus."

8. Hardest person to buy for?

My husband. He is impossible to please. He even admits it.

9. Easiest person to buy for?

Grandkids! I have to seriously rein myself in from buying every toy I see.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards?

Both. I email to friends whose snail mail addresses I do not have, and mail to those I do have. (I'm supposed to be getting those out this morning instead of doing this, so I hope they actually get sent out!)

11.Worst Christmas gift you ever received.

I really can't remember a "worst" Christmas gift.

12. Favorite Christmas movie?

Oh, there are so many! Most anything with Bing Crosby or Jimmy Stewart.

13. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?

I don't think so. Been tempted to, though, if I could be sure of who gave it to me in the first place! It just wouldn't "do" to accidentally give it back to the giver!

14. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?

Do I have to chose just one?

15. Clear lights or colored on the tree?

Colored, if I have lights at all, but nothing blinking, PLEASE!

16. Favorite Christmas songs?

Today the Virgin, White Christmas, O Holy Night, O, Come Little Children.

17. Travel at Christmas or stay home?

Go to Church, break the long, weary fast, refresh and recoup for the rest of the winter.

18. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeers?

Can't everybody?

19. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?

Whenever it's convenient. Some presents are exchanged at Church, family presents whenever I see them, whether before or after Christmas.

20. Most annoying thing about this time of year?

Too many unrealistic expectations. (I do put them on myself most of the time, though.)

21. Favorite ornament theme or color?

Red, green, and gold.

22. Favorite for Christmas dinner?

Hmmmm. Whatever we're in the mood for. I usually long for scrambled eggs, melted cheese, sausages, toast with real butter, and coffee with real cream.

23. What do you want for Christmas this year?

What I always want--peace and quiet and a happy family.

24. Who is most likely to respond to this?

I haven't the foggiest notion.

25. Who is least likely to respond to this?

Ditto.

Ok - TAG! Athanasia and Mimi! You are IT!

Winter is finally here in Alabama

Winter has finally come to north central Alabama. This week has been cold and frosty. I awake to temperatures of 20F and a hard frost on the ground. The world is icy and even the clouds show blue with cold and red with their chapped cheeks. Everything seems to have stopped. The world hides from the anger of the lost light and warmth. Even when the sun breaks over the horizon and turns the blue and red morning into bright silver and ice, the world is encased in cold. Gone are the yellow and orange hues of Summer. Here for a time are the blue and silver-white hues of ice and cold. There is no pre-dawn songbird cantata. The birds twitter nervously and search anxiously for any water that is not frozen. They explore deliberately and thoroughly for any seeds and berries left on bushes or trees. There is no background music of crickets, frogs, and cicadas that accompany the life-throb of Spring and Summer. The world is silent; it hides and waits. It goes in to itself to search the darkness down deep to recover the buried life that has been exhausted by the exertions of the Summer.

Scrooge

Just for fun, I thought I'd embed this 1935 film of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." This one has a different ending from the more familiar version, but I think you will like it.

"Seymour Hicks plays the title role in the first sound version of the Dickens classic about the miser who's visited by three ghosts on Christmas Eve. This British import is notable for being the only adaptation of this story with an invisible Marley's Ghost and its Expressionistic cinematography. This is the uncut 78 minute version."

I got this film from Internet Archive Feature Films.

This morning my mind is full of thoughts that stumble all over themselves for attention and instead just make a jumbled mess in my mind. It's one of those "Gracie Allen" days for me. I'd like to get at least some of these thought straightened out enough to at least resemble something coherent, but it may take a day or two for my "Gracie Allen" moment to pass. In the meantime, I'll post this schmaltzy story that I received in the email this morning. It's really cheesy, and probably totally just made up, and it's been going around the internet for years, but I love it every time I read it. It reminds me to be kind, even when I'm feeling frustrated. It also reminds me of that quote attibuted to St. Philo of Alexandra, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." So, at this time of the year when everyone is rushing to buy stuff and so prove that they are good, loving, better, or whatever; when tempers flare in the rush to prove themselves to be "loving and caring," I thought this story just might cause one or two people to pause and think about their priorities. It certainly causes me to pause.

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m ., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away.

But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".

"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now"

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, ~ BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL

Commitment to Loveliness

I was browsing blogs this evening and was introduced through Meg's Muttonings blog to a new (to me) blog written by Emma, a young woman who says in her profile that she is "trying to create a peaceful and lovely life for my sweet family!" Her blog is called "Charming the Birds from the Trees," which in itself is intriguing. Once a week she dedicates a blog to a Commitment to Loveliness. She describes it this way: "This is a fun way to increase femininity and beauty in our lives each week without even trying! All you have to do is choose five things that you would like to work on or do during the week that will increase the loveliness in your life!" This sounds like something I would like to try; it's easy enough, and "easy" gets done more in my life than "not easy." So, on the eve of my trip to Florida to see my daughter, her husband, and my granddaughter, I presume to make a list of Lovely things I can include in my life during the next week. I'll probably have to wait until next week to start this, though, after I get back from Florida.

1. I will take just a few minutes at least every day to sit outside (weather permitting) just to listen to the quiet and soak up the peace of my pine woods.

2. I will read something beautiful and uplifting, like a short poem or a good story, every day instead of all the (bad) news of the world.

3. I will make an effort each day to get back into painting, even if it's just uncluttering my "painting room" or finding a subject.

4. I will listen to some nice music for a while instead of spending so much time on the computer.

5. I will send a cheerful e-card or message to a lonely or sick friend each day.

There, we'll see what gets done and what doesn't get done.

If anybody reads my blog, and decides to try this, too, please link to this blog and to Emma's in your post.

A bit of humor for the musically inclined

ladididaaididididaaaadididaaaa
#
Pachelbel’s Canon in D must die, according to Rob Paravonian

Sourdough Bread

It's been years, maybe decades, since I've attempted sourdough bread. My husband has been craving the stuff, though, so we bought some San Francisco starter from Linda and followed all her directions to a "tee." Linda has the best, most complete directions for making sourdough I've seen. She also has a FAQ that covers just about everything. Even if you've never tried baking sourdough bread before, you will be able to turn out a delicious loaf by following her directions.

Yes, yes, I know the traditional shape is round, but my husband wanted it loaf-shaped so we could make sandwiches. It turned out very well, if I do say so myself. It had a nice, chewy crust, a tender, moist crumb, and lots of nooks and crannies for all the melted butter to slide into. I didn't go to all that work for four days to wait for the loaf to cool before I tasted it, so I cut into it while it was still hot enough to melt butter. The starter is now fully activated (after the 3 days initial activation period), so now I can make sourdough bread when I feel like it. Just in time for cold weather. I like baking in cold weather.

My "inner room"

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are a warm hearted and open minded person. It's easy for you to forgive and forget. You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds. You see yourself with pretty objective eyes. How you view yourself is almost exactly how other people view you. Your near future is still unknown, and a little scary. You'll get through wild times - and you'll textually enjoy it. For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust.

Inside the Room of Your Soul

Death's Cure

“The Fountain”

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0414993/

*I watched a movie called “The Fountain.” It’s about a man, a medical researcher, whose wife is dying because of a tumor in her brain. He is working on a new medicine that will stop and shrink the tumor. She dies just minutes before he is informed that the last experiment worked. He has been obsessed—frantically obsessed—with his research to develop a cure for this brain tumor. At her funeral, he says that “Death is a disease like any other, and there’s a cure for it. I will find that cure.” After she dies, he becomes obsessed with finding a cure for death.

It’s a rather surreal movie, passing from scenes in his “real” life, to surreal scenes in his mind, and then to scenes from this book his wife was writing about Spain and the Inquisition. After she dies, the man sees in his mind-world his wife alive and well. He is overcome with grief, and when he looks up at her again, she is the Queen of Spain who has sent him to find the Lost Pyramid of the Mayans which contains the secret source of immortality—the lost Tree of Life from Eden. The Queen tells him that he will find this, that he knows where it is. His wife, just before she died, had asked him to write the last chapter of the book. He said he didn’t know the ending. She said that he did know and he will know. In this surreal mind-world, the Queen changes from the Queen to his wife saying these words and back again to the Queen.

As I watched this movie, I kept thinking how completely it describes man’s condition.
Archetypally speaking, a man’s wife, or a country’s queen, represents symbolically the man’s anima, or soul. Now, if we can say that Spain represents this man’s world, and the Queen of Spain represents this man’s soul, I think we can understand this movie a bit better. This man is completely unable to accept death, either his wife’s or his own. This inability to accept the inevitable is the fuel for his frantic obsession to find a cure for death. In a way that he does not know, he is right. Real Death is a disease, and it is curable. But it’s a disease of the spirit and the cure is spiritual. The disease and the cure are spiritual, and physical disease and death continue as long as man lives on this earth. Man was not created to die, but he turned away from Life and allowed Death to enter the world. This turning away from Life is the spiritual sickness that causes death. Therefore, turning TOWARD Life is the cure for death. Turning toward God brings us to Life just as surely as continually walking east keeps the sun in our faces. Any turning to the right or left, and the sun is no longer in our faces, only darkness. This is the “medicine,” the cure this man so frantically sought. If he could only know.

In the last section of the movie, he replays in his mind a scene from the beginning of the movie in which his wife calls him to come walk with her in the first snow of the season, because that is their custom. He is too busy, and declines. Except now, at the end, after she has died, in his replay of this scene, he follows her out into the snow, but when he catches up with her, the scene switches to his surreal mind-world and his wife becomes the tree that is in that mind-world of his. He climbs this tree to the top and continues on higher, floating through space. As he floats he assumes the cross-legged “lotus position” so common to eastern meditation. (Man intuitively knows that all the answers to life’s questions are spiritual, but he cannot envision Truth in the fake spirituality of the mostly protestant Christianity of this world, so he turns to the east. It’s ironic how in his desperation he intuitively turns toward the east.) The scene switches again to the search for the lost Mayan temple. Just as he finds the way there, he is confronted by the temple guard and attacked. He is wounded in this attack, but suddenly he is no longer the Spanish conquistador; he is the meditating monk floating in mid-air in the lotus position. The temple guard immediately kneels, asks forgiveness, says “We will be immortal,” and offers his throat to be cut. He becomes the Conquistador again and cuts the guard’s throat. Then he enters the temple and sees the Tree of Life growing in the middle of a square lake. The number four, and the square, represent wholeness.

To my way of thinking, this scene in which he becomes the “meditating monk” symbolically represents that we cannot access Truth until we become apathetic, not the “I don’t care” type of apathy, but the apathea, or dispassion, of which the ancient Church Fathers speak. Now, this movie, to be perfect, should have ended here, but it didn’t.

He walks on top of the water (of course, having achieved perfection) to the tree. He stabs the tree with his dagger, and white sap flows out. He touches it, and a drop of the sap falls from his fingers to the ground from which immediately springs a blossoming plant. This blossoming plant hearkens back to an earlier scene in the movie in which he says his wife will live and blossom again. He puts the sap on his wound, and it heals. He goes a little nuts here, tears the dagger out of the tree, cups his hands to catch the flowing sap, and channels it into his mouth. Then the tree groans, and a blinding light appears. He sees his queen in this light, and she reaches to put a ring on his finger. Somehow the ring falls onto the ground. He freaks and falls. As he is freaking out and lying there, his wound reopens and the same flowering plant grows out of him that grew out of the ground when he dropped the tree’s sap. He tears at the plant, trying to get it out of himself, but it grows faster than he can tear. Soon it is growing out of every part of him, and he becomes only a man-shaped patch of this flowering plant on the ground.

The scene switches again. We see the ring on the ground, and the man picks it up. He is in his “meditating monk” form, bathed in blinding light. He holds the ring up and looks at it. (A ring, or circle, is a symbol of eternity and completeness.) Finally, he places the ring on his finger, and is immediately catapulted up and he becomes the tree, which has a fruit on it--a round, prickly fruit which reminds me of the prickly seed-pods of a sweetgum tree, but that’s neither here nor there. We see his wife pick this fruit off the tree and hand it to the man. He looks at it puzzlingly.

Then the scene changes again. The man is standing in the snow by his wife’s grave. He digs through the snow and plants the seed on top of her grave. He stands and looks up into the sky and sees a new star, or nebula, shine out. Then in his mind he again whispers to his dying wife that “everything is alright.”

These last scenes seem to me to represent mankind’s lack of true understanding, his insistence that he can “get it right” and “fix it” all by himself. He should have just stopped when he found Truth, instead of trying to interpret it and use it for himself.

*This was hastily written, and it sure could use a LOT of polishing up and expanding, but my purpose was only to get my basic thoughts down—not create some perfectly written piece. Many symbols and scenes were merely glossed over.

"God's Creation Sings"

A dear, online friend, Theodora in the Mountains posted a beautiful "meditation" on a group I subscribe to. This was so beautiful that I asked for her permission to re-print it here, which she graciously gave me. So, here it is. I wish I could write like this. Heck, I wish I could think like this!

God's creation sings

Sitting on the porch with my morning coffee I was enchanted by the wind moving through the trees. The sound was like a choir in full voice. As it raced through the tops of the tall, majestic pines the drone was like a mighty horn blowing through creation. As it reached the dry, drought ridden mighty oaks and maples it reached up into the high notes as it shook the leaves to the ground. A shower of dead leaves filled the air around the house. What a creation our Lord God made for us. I thought of the poem I had just read in a book found at the one last book store in town. A second hand store where the owner knows every book on her many shelves. It is titled "Rugged Hills, Gentle Folk - My friends and Neighbors in the Big Pine Valley". The life of that people put down in beautiful words and pictures. It is poem from 1900's about Fall.

Come little leaves, said the wind one day,
Come over the meadows with me and play.
Put on your dresses of red and gold;
Summer is gone and the day's growing cold.
Come little leaves! said the wind's loud call,
Down they came, fluttering one and all.
Over the fields, they danced and flew,
Singing the songs that only they knew.
Dancing and flying, the little leaves went.
For Winter was calling and they were content.

How like the Wind of God that sweeps through our lives. The changes of the seasons are given and the Lord provides even when the seasons change and what was once is no more. The drought makes the songs sung by my trees a different one than before but the Wind of God still brings forth the music of Him. My trees are one though not the same. There are Oak, and Maple, Pine and Dogwood. All trees but different in their own way. And the Wind of God blows through them all to the make a glorious mountain of songs. I
listen to the song as the Wind surrounds me, sitting on my porch. This too is life, this too is the Faith. Come Wind of God, sing for me Thy glorious song.

Delete if you wish, but the song goes on as so, too, will our Faith in this world to come.

Theodora in The Mountains

An American Epidemic?

Just lately, it seems, I've heard more people say they suffer, regularly or occasionally, from depression. I can speak only about depression in the USA, because I've never been out of the country. (I don't count that weekend foray into Nuevo Laredo more than 30 years ago.) My mind always wanders into the "why" of things. I can't help it any more than I can help breathing, even though it tends to irritate some people. Why is it that so many Americans are depressed? Is there some toxin in the polluted air that causes this? Is there some nutrient missing in the American "diet," or some element that inundates our system and fogs our brains and judgement? Is it the completely unrealistic portrayal of "the good life" in advertising? Is it the corporate expectation that everyone give their best 24/7 without room for being human and sometimes catching colds and/or just needing time to rest and re-create themselves?

While some conspiracy theorists might favor the polluted air and deficient diet thoughts, frankly, I believe that the cause of our depression lies in the expectations of the later two suggestions and their impossiblility of attainment. We believe, though, that not only are they possible to attain, they are expected. There is no room for human error or weakness in this society. Employers grudgingly give a day or maybe two (if he's generous) off if an employee gets the 'flu. Get real. Influenza is a killer, and makes its victim miserable with body aches and fevers for at least ten days. How is a person supposed to perform at all, much less at the eternally expected peak of perfection, when he is shivering from chills and fever? The employer would rather see on paper that he has good employee attendance rather than protect the majority of his workers from catching this contageous disease just because everyone is supposed to "be strong" and not "wimp out" when he is sick. How sick is that attitude?

Along with the totally unrealistic expectation of perfect health is the equally unrealistic expectation that everyone is to perform at peak skill and perfection at all times. This expectation resides not just with employers, but with the general populace at large, whether they realize it or not, and even in our own minds. If we're having a bad day at work, we're told to "snap out of it," or "get with the program," served with side innuendoes that nobody is irreplaceable. In our private lives, even our friends (and ourselves, too, truth be told) expect a "Martha Stewart" type of perfection in our homes, our hospitality, our socializing. Who has the strength to maintain that for any length of time at all, much less 24/7? Why on earth do we put so much value in what other people think of us, anyway? (But that's another story altogether.)

So, we run around like rats in a cage searching for that eternally elusive piece of cheese that will miraculously make us perfect so we can be happy. Happy about what? That other people approve of us? That we kill ourselves to promote some greedy employer's promotion of capitalism? Will we be happy that we have neglected our spouses and children and offered them up on the altar of social approval? How shallow can we be? If our happiness depends upon our being perfect in every way, and in gaining the sunny smiles of society's acceptance and approval; then it's no wonder we are depressed. We have set for ourselves an impossible task.

As an Orthodox Christian who hourly falls far short of perfection, I look at the world around me, and I'm sad. The level of suffering out there is overwhelming, and my heart literally breaks for all the people. I want to take them by the shoulders and look straight into their faces and say, "Wake up! Happiness is inside you, not outside of you." I read a little blurb recently that said, essentially, that if we are always dissatisfied with what we have, then we will always be unhappy. On the other hand, if we can learn to be satisfied with what we have, then we will be happy. That is so true. I feel so lucky to have the caring, understanding, and loving husband that I am privileged to say is mine. I feel so lucky that he has stayed with me through more "thick" than "thin" in our 37 years of marriage. I feel so lucky that he has worked when he was sick, when things at work were less than optimal, and come home to me every night to keep the bills paid, food on the table, and a good roof over our heads, and then pitched in with whatever "crisis" was going on the lives of our children. Heaven knows that there were many times that no one would have blamed him if he had thrown in towel. I am so lucky that all three of my adult children talk with me, share their lives, ask my opinion and advice on things. In spite of all my many, many faults, they have all become good, caring, productive individuals whom I am very proud to know. How can I be dissatisfied with all that and more?

Some Orthodox fathers say that depression is a result of sin, and they are right. But there is also a disease or dysfunction of the body that can, and does, cause debilitating depression. This type of depression can, and must, be managed with the help of a physician. It's not my purpose to say that all depression is "all in your head." No, not at all. I've had that one thrown at me far too many times to denigrate a person's experience that way. However, I am not qualified to address the biological side of depression. (I'm really not qualified to discuss anything about depression, or much of anything else, except my own experience of it.) For a good, comprehensive discussion of depression and modern psychology, read Fr. Stephen Fraser's essay here.

But I want to get back to this "depression is caused by sin" concept. When I first read about that, I was offended and appalled at the insensitivity of the writers. (There are many articles and books by Orthodox authors on this subject.) I didn't even finish reading the book, but put it down to gather dust. However, the idea stuck in my mind, and I've been turning it around in there for some years now. I am convinced that there is a type of depression that is biological in its genesis, and the sufferer of this type must take advantage of the services of a good doctor. However, I'm equally convinced that even this type of depression can be, and most likely is, aggravated by sin. I'm also convinced that a non-biological depression exists that most likely has sin as it's prime cause. How can this be?

I've done a bit of reading about this sin-as-cause concept, but not nearly enough to speak in any way authoritatively. I have thought a lot about it as it pertains to me, personally. My thoughts, briefly, are that the basic sin (or common denominator of all sin, if you will) is pride. There's no surprise there. To my mind, all of our unrealistic expectations about and for ourselves, whatever they may be (and they may be quite different from any expressed in this short meandering), have pride as their root cause--pride in our own capacity to govern and control our lives and feelings. We can't and don't "measure up," so we begin to think of ourselves as "not good enough," or (my favorite) "defective," or "inadequate." This type of thinking leads us to anger towards people and circumstances outside ourselves, and finally towards ourselves for being so weak, defective, inadequate, no good, etc. We become depressed. We sink into the bog and wallow until we hurt so bad we must do something about it. So, we find some poor, unsuspecting, caring soul and dump on him or her. Or, if we're lucky enough to have a good confessor (or an available priest at all), we dump it all on him. This is the best thing to do, if we can. After we've done the dumping, we feel better. The sun shines again, and we face the world with a smile on our faces. Until the constant barage of expected perfection, whether coming from our own minds or from society, takes its toll and we find ourselves in the bog of depression again. So the cycle continues. The trick is to break this cycle. But how?

Well, for an Orthodox Christian, availing ourselves as frequently as our circumstances allow of Confession and Communion is the only cure that heals, because this type of depression is an illness of the soul. This type of depression cannot be managed or healed by secular medicine or even therapy. Only the Church is the appropriate "hospital" for soul sicknesses.

In addition to availing ourselves frequently of the Mysteries, we must learn to be vigilant in our minds. We must learn to consciously become aware and recognize when these self-deprecating thoughts make their first appearance in our minds. The moment they first rear their ugly heads, we must learn to close the door of our minds and hearts to them. To do this, we simply refuse to entertain the thoughts when they appear. Metropolitan Hierotheos of Nafpaktos discusses this process very well in his book Orthodox Spirituality, or more specifically in his conclusion to this book in a section called "Praxis and Theoria."

This vigilance is no small or easy task. It's exhausting. It can also be frustrating to learn how often we allow ourselves access to destructive thoughts and feelings; which can lead to depression, because, of course, we should be better or stronger than that. As I said, it's not easy, but "practice makes perfect" as they say.

At the bottom of all this, we need to learn to rely on God and not ourselves.

"Put not your trust in princes, in sons of men, in whom there is no salvation."

Family life to the tune of Pachabel's Canon in D

There was a link to this on another forum I'm on. It's all about family life with kids. Whether you're in the midst of raising children now, or have BTDT, you'll enjoy this father's rendition of family chaos to the tune of Pachabel's Canon in D.

"whacko" thyroid

I had a follow-up doctor appointment this Friday morning. The doctor informed me that my TSH level is 4.65 -- slightly less than one point inside the "normal range" on the high end. Now, I had Graves Disease back in 1997-98 and was treated and made a "full" recovery in a short time. My doctor at that time told me that people who get Graves Disease invariably get hypothyroid at some time in the future after recovering. So, I am a bit perplexed as to how/why my TSH is getting high. The doctor said that sometimes people with/tending toward hyperthyroid have a "subclinical" hypothyroid. That doesn't make sense to me. I just didn't even ask for an explanation. I probably wouldn't understand it, anyway. Back in 1998-99 when I recovered from Graves Disease, my TSH levels were in the normal range, but just barely, and at the low end of the range. So, I guess they have been slowly rising since then. The doctor seemed a bit concerned, which concerned me. I will go back in six months for more bloodwork. I have to admit that I'm a bit frightened at this.

This rising TSH certainly would explain the insomnia, short temper, increased dream activity, fatigue, and nervousness I've been feeling these past several months.

bleh

Not been sleeping well lately. Can't seem to turn off my mind at night, so I lie awake with thoughts crowding out sleep. So, I feel rather foggy-headed today; but not so foggy-headed that I couldn't ace this online grammar "test." :P  (Thanks, Meg.)

You Scored an A You got 10/10 questions correct. It's pretty obvious that you don't make basic grammatical errors. If anything, you're annoyed when people make simple mistakes on their blogs. As far as people with bad grammar go, you know they're only human. And it's humanity and its current condition that truly disturb you sometimes.

The It's Its There Their They're Quiz

Roots

My poultry yard is a large, fenced area in a pine woods on the side of a small hill, or knob. It's been there for about five or six years now, and the chickens have scratched away all of the grass and weeds until it's just bare earth under the trees and privet bushes. This year I noticed that there are more tree roots showing above ground than before, especially in the more sloping areas. This observation has been brewing in the back of my mind for several weeks now, and yesterday I got the beginning of a thought about it. It's a rather negative thought that can lead to quite positive things, I think. But I suppose that depends on how you look at it.

Roots are things hidden under the ground. They bring nurturance from the ground up to the plant we see above ground, and its state of health depends on what the roots bring to it. Now, the chickens' daily scratching and the yearly rains have begun to unearth the roots and expose them to the sun and air. On a material, practical level, I'm just a bit worried that if this process goes on too far, the trees might start falling. But I suppose, on a material, practical level, that is some years in the future. To get back to my thought, it seems to me that our secret thoughts and behaviors, whether good or ill, can be seen in the roots. With the erosion of weather and circumstance, these roots become exposed, and could threaten the existence of the plant above ground. In the same way, our "roots," or secret thoughts and behaviors, become exposed by the troubles and trials we experience. The above ground plant and fruit (our life and external behavior) show how well we travel through these trials and troubles. If our "roots" are bad, i.e. thin, diseased, and shallow, then the tree above ground might very well die. If they are sound, i.e. strong and deep, then the tree lives.

Once the roots are exposed, everyone can see their state, whether diseased or healthy. I don't know why this would happen to a person. That is, why, after many trials and troubles, a person's soul would be laid bare for all to see. Is it to show the disease so that medicines and remedies can be applied before the erosion becomes too much and the tree falls? Is it to show the strength and health so as to encourage others who have not come so far yet?

In the "poultry yard" of my life, circumstances and trials have scratched away all the "weeds," all of my coping mechanisms and bravado, until there's only "bare earth" now. Only my bare self, sans persona, shows. The incessant scratching of Life has worn me down to just me; what you see is what you get. Now in the evening of my life, after many years of troubles and sorrows, my roots are beginning to show. I wonder what they will disclose?

(This was posted on my 360 blog in July of this year, but I wanted to share it here, too.)

Dawn Thoughts

I'm always amazed at the ever changing beauty of this planet we live on. This is a picture of the pine woods on the hill behind my house. My chickens live here. This was taken just as the sun was beginning to peep over the horizon. See how the sun paints everything red? That's amazing. And it's so pretty in real life. There's a freshness and clarity in the air at that time of day that lasts only a few minutes. I breathe in deeply the coolness and feel my body waking up, and a smile awakens my face and heart.


This is the same woods just a few minutes later--after the sun had risen completely over the horizon. See how the light has changed? It reminds me to take advantage of life's happy moments when they come, because they don't last forever. Granted, they last more than the five or ten minutes it took for the pine trees to "change" their "red dresses" to their "every day gray." Now the air is less clear, even though the day promises to be a bright one. The air is heavier, and I can already feel the cares of the day pushing their way into my world.


So, when I've managed to slow down my racing thoughts and my hurried steps enough to notice the sun coming over the horizon, I try to just stop and stand still for a few moments to drink it in and feed my soul before the concerns of the day begin their oppression of all my better sensibilities.