The news report didn't clarify who conducted the study, how many subjects were included, how long the study took, or how much it cost ... but the results are so incredibly obvious that it's what I've always called a no-duh!
The study concludes that people in the early 40s are, for the most part, depressed. No duh!
You wanna know why? Here's my take:
The idealism of youth has melded with the realism of adulthood, and it's hard to accept that not all dreams come true, not all decisions are beneficial, not all aspirations are reached -- and the clock is ticking. There comes the day when the reality check occurs and each individual has either to accept what is or change it -- or have the wisdom to accept that what is is what's going to be.
Hence, the flurry of "late in life" children; the plethora of divorce; the torrent of job change; the ego-purchase of the sports' car; the therapeutic affair; the cosmetic plastic surgery. The list of symptoms is endless, but the syndrome is as old as time.
One day we realize we are no longer young, but we hope we're not yet too old to still have a life before we die. Today's society says "50 is the new 40," but it doesn't change the truth that there is a line we inevitably cross between "young" and "old," and when we come to it at whatever age is currently fashionable, it provides us with head-on contact with our mortality.
If I'm going to do it, I'd better do it before it's too late drives most of what happens in the 40s. If I go for it and it doesn't work out, how depressing; if I don't go for it and spend the rest of my life regretting the shoulda/ woulda/ coulda, how depressing; if I accept the status quo and just continue one day at a time, how depressing.
If, however, I accept that what I've done is what I've done, it's working out pretty well for me, and I'm going to stay steady on course--how fortuitous and how rare.
That's life.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Winter Weather
Desert dwellers are funny about winter weather: they don't want it to rain or be cold, but want more water for the landscaping, the fountain, the swimming pool, and the spa tub at their seasonal condo than is consumed by the average home in the east during an entire year. It irritates me that the news commentators always apologize for the rain when it finally arrives during the tourist season, and then warn residents about the draught once the tourists depart.
The desert needs rain, not tourists, but we try to accommodate both.
After a slow start to the winter, the rain began in earnest yesterday afternoon, falling in wind-driven sheets throughout the night and scarring Mia into staying inside, curled up with my couch afghan. She came into the bedroom a half dozen times during the night to bark her disapproval at the winds and the wetness before finally settling down about 3 AM. I'm not sure what she expects me to do about it being cold and wet outside when she has to pee, but I get up each time she comes to get me--just in case it's the boogeyman she's barking at "this time."
Later this morning, a friend (playing hookey from school today) called to see if I'd join her for a late b'fast, which I was happy to do. On the drive to Denny's, I basked in a brilliant double rainbow that looked to be between the highway and my home. It was still shining brightly after finishing b'fast, and I wished I had brought along my camera, which usually is in the car--but not this morning.
Arriving home, I saw an empty paper plate on the kitchen floor, my first clue that Mia enjoyed the 6 fresh biscuits I made early this morning. I left them on a covered plate on the kitchen counter to enjoy with a hot bowl of soup at dinner, but Mia evidently thought she should enjoy the fruits of my labor. I chastised her, but you never know with a dog whether they're thinking "oh, sorry" or "too bad: you snooze, you lose!"
I made another batch of biscuits for my soup supper.
I'm working on another afghan, using up yarn I bought a while back. Of course, I don't remember the original intent for the yarn, so I've had to create a plan, then buy more yarn to make it happen. My goal is to empty the closet in the guest room as it has way too many skeins (both new and already used) of yarn to justify buying more. I also have a plan for the "not much left" skeins, a patchwork afghan. I made a huge patchwork blanket for my brother's 5-0 birthday a couple of years ago, and another one for my g'son that I sent off a couple of weeks ago, but there is still one heck of a lot of yarn! I'm going to keep knitting and crocheting until the supply dwindles.
And then I better start on the embroidery projects ...
The desert needs rain, not tourists, but we try to accommodate both.
After a slow start to the winter, the rain began in earnest yesterday afternoon, falling in wind-driven sheets throughout the night and scarring Mia into staying inside, curled up with my couch afghan. She came into the bedroom a half dozen times during the night to bark her disapproval at the winds and the wetness before finally settling down about 3 AM. I'm not sure what she expects me to do about it being cold and wet outside when she has to pee, but I get up each time she comes to get me--just in case it's the boogeyman she's barking at "this time."
Later this morning, a friend (playing hookey from school today) called to see if I'd join her for a late b'fast, which I was happy to do. On the drive to Denny's, I basked in a brilliant double rainbow that looked to be between the highway and my home. It was still shining brightly after finishing b'fast, and I wished I had brought along my camera, which usually is in the car--but not this morning.
Arriving home, I saw an empty paper plate on the kitchen floor, my first clue that Mia enjoyed the 6 fresh biscuits I made early this morning. I left them on a covered plate on the kitchen counter to enjoy with a hot bowl of soup at dinner, but Mia evidently thought she should enjoy the fruits of my labor. I chastised her, but you never know with a dog whether they're thinking "oh, sorry" or "too bad: you snooze, you lose!"
I made another batch of biscuits for my soup supper.
I'm working on another afghan, using up yarn I bought a while back. Of course, I don't remember the original intent for the yarn, so I've had to create a plan, then buy more yarn to make it happen. My goal is to empty the closet in the guest room as it has way too many skeins (both new and already used) of yarn to justify buying more. I also have a plan for the "not much left" skeins, a patchwork afghan. I made a huge patchwork blanket for my brother's 5-0 birthday a couple of years ago, and another one for my g'son that I sent off a couple of weeks ago, but there is still one heck of a lot of yarn! I'm going to keep knitting and crocheting until the supply dwindles.
And then I better start on the embroidery projects ...
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The Hesitant Housekeeper
When a person comes across a body, regardless of who it is, where it is, or whether you think it's alive or dead, it's react first--think second. Evidently, the housekeeper and/or the masseuse decided that something other than saving his life took precendence when they found Heath Ledger "cold and unresponsive" on his bed.
Rather than hitting 9-1-1 on the cell phone they picked up in the actor's bedroom, they called a friend--an actress--and asked her what to do. She said she'd call private security to come check the situation. The security personnel arrived at the apartment about the same time the medics arrived, but the news didn't say who finally called for help!
Once the 9-1-1 call was made, the medics arrived within 3 minutes.
It appears that there is a lag of almost 45 minutes between finding Ledger "cold and unresponsive" and the medics' arrival. The housekeeper says she heard him snoring, then he wasn't; thus, the time of death is ... let's see, somewhere in the 45-minute range between finding his body and the paramedics arriving on the scene?
Your first duty is to dial 9-1-1, then the friend, private security, agent, publicist, whatever. Not calling 9-1-1 first could very well be the difference between life and death when a person is "cold and unresponsive," and it appears that may be the case in this situation.
If I were Heath Ledger's family, I'd be insisting on investigating the 2 people who first found him unresponsive and failed to call for help immediately. As a parent, I'd want my son's life saved first, before ANY other phone calls are made!
Rather than hitting 9-1-1 on the cell phone they picked up in the actor's bedroom, they called a friend--an actress--and asked her what to do. She said she'd call private security to come check the situation. The security personnel arrived at the apartment about the same time the medics arrived, but the news didn't say who finally called for help!
Once the 9-1-1 call was made, the medics arrived within 3 minutes.
It appears that there is a lag of almost 45 minutes between finding Ledger "cold and unresponsive" and the medics' arrival. The housekeeper says she heard him snoring, then he wasn't; thus, the time of death is ... let's see, somewhere in the 45-minute range between finding his body and the paramedics arriving on the scene?
Your first duty is to dial 9-1-1, then the friend, private security, agent, publicist, whatever. Not calling 9-1-1 first could very well be the difference between life and death when a person is "cold and unresponsive," and it appears that may be the case in this situation.
If I were Heath Ledger's family, I'd be insisting on investigating the 2 people who first found him unresponsive and failed to call for help immediately. As a parent, I'd want my son's life saved first, before ANY other phone calls are made!
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Speculation: conclusion, opinion, or theory reached by engaging the mouth before the brain
Heath Ledger is dead, apparently found naked on his bed in his apartment and with pills in proximity to his body.
That's what is known; anything else is speculation. However, not to be slowed down by the lack of fact, commentators have spent the hours since the discovery of Ledger's body posing theories about this death -- and then making a point of claiming that they don't want to "speculate" about the cause of his death. When you have no facts, but you speak as if you do, you are "speculating," not reporting, and speculation creates the worst case scenario, rather than giving the benefit of the doubt to the victim of the speculation.
Sure, the actor could have committed suicide, but what if he simply took too many pills because he couldn't sleep? What if he had an allergic reaction to medication? What if something else caused his death, and the pills are coincidental to that cause?
The media doesn't want to wait for the facts, doesn't want NOT to speculate because that wouldn't be a story! These media figures accrue face time at the expense of their victims. and only stop feeding on this event when another comes along to take this one's place.
If nothing is known, then nothing should be reported.
Heath Ledger's family has to endure the public exposure of speculation as if it were fact, and once that bell is rung, there is no undoing it.
That's what is known; anything else is speculation. However, not to be slowed down by the lack of fact, commentators have spent the hours since the discovery of Ledger's body posing theories about this death -- and then making a point of claiming that they don't want to "speculate" about the cause of his death. When you have no facts, but you speak as if you do, you are "speculating," not reporting, and speculation creates the worst case scenario, rather than giving the benefit of the doubt to the victim of the speculation.
Sure, the actor could have committed suicide, but what if he simply took too many pills because he couldn't sleep? What if he had an allergic reaction to medication? What if something else caused his death, and the pills are coincidental to that cause?
The media doesn't want to wait for the facts, doesn't want NOT to speculate because that wouldn't be a story! These media figures accrue face time at the expense of their victims. and only stop feeding on this event when another comes along to take this one's place.
If nothing is known, then nothing should be reported.
Heath Ledger's family has to endure the public exposure of speculation as if it were fact, and once that bell is rung, there is no undoing it.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Sugar Sugar
A fond memory is the weekend our next-door neighbor was playing his stereo on full volume. My son was home, and we decided to even things up a bit. We put on the song "Sugar, Sugar," one of our favorites, as loud as our stereo would go, then opened the doors and windows. For a few minutes, it was a battle of the bands, and we dissolved into fits of giggles. What fun!
Recently, however, sugar has become no fun for me. After 2 years of being symptomatic, I finally sought medical help about 15 months ago for the physical issues I could not longer cope with; the diagnosis of Diabetes II confirmed that sugar is my enemy. I've worked hard to control the disease with diet and exercise, and both the doctor and I have been pleased with my progress.
However, emotional stress continues to send me into a sugar frenzy, often without conscious knowledge that I am ingesting that particular form of personal poison. Since the Diabetes II went into over-drive, I’ve been so careful not to keep sugar products in the house as I don’t have endless amounts of self-control. When it comes to will power, I will, but when it comes to won’t power, I often will, when I know I should won’t.
Some family news sent me into foraging mode about 4 weeks ago, accompanied by debilitating headaches, the extreme “swimming” dizziness, lethargy, blurry vision, and crankiness. I couldn’t figure out what the heck was wrong until I had an awakening one early afternoon last week and literally saw myself dunking a left-over holiday cookie into my cup of hot coffee. Had you asked me if I was bingeing on sugar, I would have told you “no” because I had no awareness of it.
Alcoholics drink, smokers smoke, drug addicts snort, smoke or shoot, over-eaters gorge, and I mainline sugar, my drug of choice.
Since my moment of lucidity, I have had to work diligently to remove the sugar from my intake process—again. It was a challenge the first time, but more difficult this time because it’s a do-over. The old saying, “There’s never time to do it right, but there’s always time to do it over” comes to mind.
When I stopped smoking decades ago, I went from 2 packs a day to not smoking, and I know that all it would take is one cigarette for me to become a smoker again. Therefore, I don’t buy cigarettes. However, when it’s food, I have decades of food choice patterns that are on auto pilot: I stroll the aisles, pick up the items, check out, take the sacks from the car into the pantry, put the groceries away—and don’t pay attention to what’s there until I stress out. That’s when I go searching for anything that can feed the need for sugar to make me feel better. Because I’m still buying cake mixes, boxes of brownie mix, and the staples of sugar, white flour, and bread on auto-pilot, when I stress out, my drugs are right there in the cabinets. I love cooking, which also soothes me when I’m stressed, so the potential for falling off the wagon to make myself feel better is high.
After 3 weeks of all sugar all the time, packing on the pounds (again), and feeling downright awful, I’m clean, feeling better, and determined not to go there/do that again. One day at a time, dear Lord, one day at a time.
Recently, however, sugar has become no fun for me. After 2 years of being symptomatic, I finally sought medical help about 15 months ago for the physical issues I could not longer cope with; the diagnosis of Diabetes II confirmed that sugar is my enemy. I've worked hard to control the disease with diet and exercise, and both the doctor and I have been pleased with my progress.
However, emotional stress continues to send me into a sugar frenzy, often without conscious knowledge that I am ingesting that particular form of personal poison. Since the Diabetes II went into over-drive, I’ve been so careful not to keep sugar products in the house as I don’t have endless amounts of self-control. When it comes to will power, I will, but when it comes to won’t power, I often will, when I know I should won’t.
Some family news sent me into foraging mode about 4 weeks ago, accompanied by debilitating headaches, the extreme “swimming” dizziness, lethargy, blurry vision, and crankiness. I couldn’t figure out what the heck was wrong until I had an awakening one early afternoon last week and literally saw myself dunking a left-over holiday cookie into my cup of hot coffee. Had you asked me if I was bingeing on sugar, I would have told you “no” because I had no awareness of it.
Alcoholics drink, smokers smoke, drug addicts snort, smoke or shoot, over-eaters gorge, and I mainline sugar, my drug of choice.
Since my moment of lucidity, I have had to work diligently to remove the sugar from my intake process—again. It was a challenge the first time, but more difficult this time because it’s a do-over. The old saying, “There’s never time to do it right, but there’s always time to do it over” comes to mind.
When I stopped smoking decades ago, I went from 2 packs a day to not smoking, and I know that all it would take is one cigarette for me to become a smoker again. Therefore, I don’t buy cigarettes. However, when it’s food, I have decades of food choice patterns that are on auto pilot: I stroll the aisles, pick up the items, check out, take the sacks from the car into the pantry, put the groceries away—and don’t pay attention to what’s there until I stress out. That’s when I go searching for anything that can feed the need for sugar to make me feel better. Because I’m still buying cake mixes, boxes of brownie mix, and the staples of sugar, white flour, and bread on auto-pilot, when I stress out, my drugs are right there in the cabinets. I love cooking, which also soothes me when I’m stressed, so the potential for falling off the wagon to make myself feel better is high.
After 3 weeks of all sugar all the time, packing on the pounds (again), and feeling downright awful, I’m clean, feeling better, and determined not to go there/do that again. One day at a time, dear Lord, one day at a time.
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