Black Dog, Revisited

Today I need to vent, just a bit, so if you're not in the mood to listen to me whine, feel free to leave. I've had a few people ask me about reference to The Black Dog. Depression has been referred to as The Black Dog. That's all, The Black Dog = depression. I fight with it pretty much daily. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, that's just the way it is.

Everyday, I have to watch the strongest man in the world, fight to try to do the little things that most of us take for granted. And every day, the strongest man in the world fails (in his eyes, never in mine) to do most of these things. And he knows it. You can see it in his eyes, and he knows it. He knows that he should be able to figure out the little things, he knows he used to be able to do it, and he knows he can't. And he knows that we consider it necessary that someone be with him all the time, and it surely burns away at his pride and ego to know that we consider him to be "incapable".

Yet, he still fights. Every day. To be the man he used to be. To be the man who is not confused by little things, like where to put the leaves he just finished raking. Stuff like that. Any why can't he get the lawnmower started, or which terminal to put the battery charger on.

And every day, we watch as he gives up the fight just a bit more, and falls into his hole. And every day, we have to figure out new ways to hold him up, to help him fight. To keep him going. To be the person he would want to be if he could.

And the next day it starts all over again. Some days are good, some are bad. I used to think it was the weather, it doesn't seem to matter. I used to think it was whether or not people were around, but that doesn't seem to matter either. We all have good days and bad days, that's just the way it is.

And every day I thank God for the incredible support system we (my mother, daughter, and I) have. For the phone calls from other family members, checking not only on the strongest man in the world but also on us. For the endless doctors who take our questions and treat us like we're the only patients in the world. For a husband who always asks how my day was, and if it was crappy, I can tell him that, and he listens. He knows he can't fix it, all he can do is listen, and he does. Even when I forget to ask him how his day went. For the friends and co-workers who hold us up in their own way, to give us a bit more strength so that in turn, we can give it back to him. And especially, I thank God for the strongest man in the world, who has taught me so much about living, loving, and life. There's still so much to learn, I will soak up every little bit I can while I can. And I sincerely hope, that if it's ever my turn to face this kind of insurmountable struggle, that I can do it with the same amount of dignity and grace and strength.

I love you Dad, but I hate Parkinson's.

2 Black Dogs

Yeah, my titles need some work. Anyone want to apply for the job?

I was here yesterday, but not here really. I tend to suffer from depression (black dog #1)and yesterday was one of those days that I could have gotten out of bed and crawled back in. Seriously, I was awake for 12 hours before I went back to bed. But enough of that!

On the bike front, the road is almost clear! There's still a patch that has so far resisted my mental orders to melt. I'm going to go up there tonight and have a talk with it. I want to ride my bike! I must ride my bike. Plus, there's the fact that my bike gets 50-60 mpg, as opposed to my farm truck that tops out at 11. There's also the path from the barn where the bike lives during the winter to the driveway. That's not clear either, but soon.

I woke up to a balmy 18 degrees this morning. Not condusive to path clearing, but the sun has returned once again and I expect a high of above freezing (dare I hope?) that IS condusive to path clearing. What's that you say? Why would you consider riding a bike when the temps are 18 degrees? It's really no different than riding my snowmobile. Put on my Carhartt overalls, heavy gloves, helmet liner and sunglasses and start her up. Look on the bright side, with temps in the high teens, the occurance of bug dots is pretty much eliminated!

So Earth Hour came and went. I want to personally request an email stating when Earth Hour starts and ends. Oh, sure, we read about it in blogs, and other emails and I get all excited and think, we can outdo this. An hour? Please, we'll do the whole day. A whole day w/o electricity, and gas and stuff, I can do it, just go ahead and tell me I can't! The mind boggles with the possibilities, maybe we can make it a week! Maybe this will really catch on and zoom! It's gone!

Next thing I know, I'm reading blogs and emails about all the things others did for Earth Hour. And I missed it. I kind of like to participate in these things, kind of as a thank you to Mother Earth for things like berries, leaves and stuff, and I missed it. So in honor of the earth hour/day/week that I didn't participate in, I'd like to request that special email please.

That's out of the way now.

The turkey egg count is currently at 9!! Maybe, just maybe I won't have to buy turkey babies at 6.67 a piece. Maybe I can make enough turkey babies to keep my flock going, plus, stock the freezer.

I love turkey babies.

The first Chickens that are scheduled to hatch should be on the 4th. on or about. Everyone who knows about these things say 21 days to incubate a chicken egg. It's personally been my experience that on or about 21 days is more accurate. So anytime now, provided that Mr Rooster has been doing his job, I'll have chicken babies.

I love chicken babies.

The Wings play again tonight, against Chickago Blackhawks. Should be another awesome game, and I'll be parked in front of the TV from 8:30 ET until ??? (or until it's clear that they're either going to win or lose and I'm falling asleep). Note to dd: this is NOT a good time to call me! I'll get another fair amount of knitting done, either that or Mommy/Bu-Dawgh time, in which the baby Bu-Dawgh (black dog #2) climbs up on my lap and cuddles. Hard to knit with him on my lap.

When I say Baby, he's pretty much 18 months old now and at about 60 lbs. But he's still my baby. And being of the Shar-Pei variety, and since he gets left alone most of every day, well not really alone, he's with the Siberian, he's the poster puppy of separation anxiety. And I since during the 3 or 4 hour window of opportunity for such things, I forgot to tell him that he was in fact really of the canine variety, like all of our 4 footed babies, he thinks he's human.

Go Wings! Go Baby Turkeys and Baby Chickens! And since the sun is out in full force today, maybe I'll actually get some work done!