ROBBLOG #997- French like France

 

First off.

Notice this Blog is number 997.

Only 3 blogs and I reach 1000.

A milestone. What happens next?

I had planned to stop writing at number 500.

What happened?

I should go back to number 500 and have a read.

This past week, I slipped into Homo Depot to buy chalked paint.

For several years I have had a yearning to paint our oak dining set and hutch French Linen White.

We had been through a few days of fog and mist and rain when about 4ish in the afternoon I says

to the Mister- "That's it. Homo Depot has the chalked paint I have been wanting back in stock. I'm going to do it!"

And I did.

I painted and chalked my little heart out for a couple of days. Then, I waxed my work.

Overall it was pretty easy.

No prep.

Just paint- although a wipe down doesn't hurt.

Chalk paint doesn't splatter much and it goes on quickly. The end product is bee-you-tea-ful.

A French White Dining room in a day plus a few hours to wax once the chalked paint is completely dry.

This Solid Oak Dining set was made by Mennonites in Ontario- near Guelph, thirty four years ago.

It has stood the test of time but it was looking dated.

I love the French look. Some call it Farmhouse.

The Mister calls it- "I'm not sure but as long as you like it..."

I am used to these retorts these days.

Anyhoo, I do love the look and it brings the white woodwork in the dining area to life.

So back up a bit.

When I stepped into Homo Depot I walked into seasonal splendour. The store just inside the main doors was stocked from ceiling to floor with Holiday decor. There was not a ghoul in sight only reindeer, Christmas Trees and sparkle.

I had a quick look even though I was on a chalked paint mission. On a top shelf I could see a six foot Eiffel Tower. Definitely not as large as the original in Paris but with the twinkling lights it was a very reasonable facsimile in understated gold.

When you visit the tower in Paris it actually is a rusty brown.

This store model was a flat gold. It drew my interest because I bought the same tower in white years ago.

Since my purchase, the twinkling lights have all stopped twinkling and I have had to re-string it with simple, white fairy lights. It works. Just not as pretty as with the prelit twinkling lights. I noticed the price at one hundred and seventy dollars was not as pretty as before either.

I believe a ten dollar can of gold spray paint could give my tower a lift but I'd have to remove the lights, then spray the gold and re-string the lights.

Not sure I'm up for the redo.

I've painted enough this week but never say never.

As a final thought I encourage you to think about "prelit" anything. Over the years I haven't had the best luck when it comes to prelit trees- indoor or outdoor as well as prelit geese. It sure saves time when decorating a tree. Then one year you plug it in and half the tree is dark.

I am thinking about that this year.

Our huge 14 foot prelit, 900 light indoor tree from Costco is looking at its 6th year this Holiday Season.

I hope the heck it works when I plug it in.

If it goes dark you'll hear me scream from British Columbia all the way back to Ontario!

ROBBLOG #996- Sore as "Ho"

 

I fell walking through the man door into our garage.

It was wet out front.

I was barefoot.

I went outside to take down a pumpkin banner that was flapping and snapping in the mountain breeze.

As I stepped into the garage over the threshold and through the door, my right heel slid forward on the floor causing me to fall on the cement on my left knee. I am bruised on my knee and sore from neck to waist on my right side. In hindsight, if I was attempting the splits as a ballet dancer I would be proud.

The Mister opened the door into the mud room just as I was getting up.

He panicked.

I said I am fine but I'll be sore.

What is it that makes us Seniors fall?

I came in the house. Iced my bruised knee and sat down to peruse the CBC News website.

On the second row of stories down the page was the headline- "Risk of Falls for Seniors".

Apparently we seniors- over 65, flop to the floor enough times to have falling related injuries the number one reason we are hospitalized.

I may have gone to the hospital if my right leg had been wrapped up around my neck but it wasn't and I didn't. The article pointed to hearing loss and vision loss as the causes of us smacking the deck. Losing our balance was the result. In my case it was a slippery garage floor. Good Gawd, I might have chipped a tooth or broke my nose. I wouldn't have gone out for weeks what with the swelling and black and blue around my eyes, nose and mouth.

Of course, I repeat- I am fine but I am sore.

I don't feel like 70 but somehow some things I do point to the fact I am and I am not pleased.

A neighbour asked if I wanted to borrow a cane.

"Have one and used one before"- I said, "but thanks."

Crap.

These days my skin is much thinner too. I can mark my arm with anything vaguely sharp like a rubber ball- and have blood gush forth like never before. If our Mini Schnauzer pulls at my arm wanting a treat or a walk, her nails gouge my skin. The rich, crimson blood flows around the blonde hairs on my arm and droplets hit the floor.

This is crazy and the marks take longer to heal than they did in my previous youth.

Some days I should just lock myself in a padded room.

I'd be safe.

Lonely but safe.

I'd better go and apply another ice pack to my knee.

It's smarting a bit.

I have Dr. Ho to help my right side. He doesn't come to the house. I keep his equipment in a drawer in the "Boy's Room"- our main floor powder room.

I use his pads quite often.

Buying his contraption in a search for pain relief, I feel that I have provided extra cash so he can continue to enjoy his life on his huge yacht with all those nubile, blonde girls sunning themselves on every deck.

I'm sure Dr. Ho is well aware how often we oldsters fall or are in pain.

He's stepped up to the plate

...which is better than falling on it. 

ROBBLOG #995- Over the Log

 

I had to reach out to a friend who had recently sunk down a dark, black hole called depression.

It's a bitch.

I suffered from depression years ago.

It's still there inside my head.

At my lowest point down that hole, I was given a choice- hospital or staying with someone- outside of my immediate family, who would care for me. My Cousin Judy- who passed a couple of years back, stepped up to the plate.

I will always love her and will never forget her for that.

She saved me.

You saved me Jude!

I always suffered most at the changing of the season from summer to autumn. I don't know why.

Late August through the fall when it seems everything dies.

Weather changed. Seasons changed and so did I.

At that lowest point I stopped going to work. I lied. I stayed home. In my state of depression I needed to be alone and to be surrounded by my things. I remember thinking if I was a millionaire I could deal with this. I wouldn't have to work and I could take off somewhere whenever I wanted.

I thought it would cure me.

It would have made me feel better but a cure? Not sure there even is a cure. 

It's more of an understanding how to cope and still live a normal life- not that I personally have lived a "normal life" whatever that is...

One day- the final day before I got help, my Mum and Sister, found me crouched in a fetal position

between my bed and a wall.

I was so low.

So low...

I wasn't answering my phone.

People were worried and rightly so.

When I was at the bottom of that dark, deep hole, I had to be on drugs to level myself out.

This was about 1980.

Mental Health issues were not talked about.

If one was depressed one was told to pull up one's socks

and get on with it. 

My Dad told me that.

The brain knew different, however.

A broken arm people could see and understand.

A Mental illness and confusion- not so much

Anyhoo, it was three months or so for me to get back to feeling sort of okay. 

I had put on weight. 

My clothes felt tight. 

My cheeks were chubby.

I was tired but looking forward.

I was "okay enough" to be out in public and even well enough to want to return to work.

I tried.

It didn't go quite to plan.

My work- CHAY FM at the time, let me go.

I went in for a meeting all set to go back to work and they kindly let me go never understanding what

pain I had been through. None of the three managers at the meeting could look me in the eye.

I was done.

I bawled my eyes out in the car as I drove home.

One of my major problems resulting in "the Great Depression" was being in the closet.

I was 29.

On the final day I saw a psychiatrist he said to me:

"Rob you know what you have to do, so go out there and do it."

I did.

I called someone I had met that I knew was Gay and off I went to Toronto never telling a soul why.

After a few weeks- and not long before Christmas, I began to come out to family and friends.

Imagine if every straight person had to come out to family and friends.

For most Gay folks- like myself, it's a journey we must take.

It's like jumping over a log to a better side of the meadow.

Crossing a line in the sand to personal freedom.

It felt great and so right and remember this was 1980 not 2021!

It's a life-changing experience and takes guts but it's a road to wellness I had to take and wanted to take.

My Mum called me one day and said my Dad didn't want me to come home for Christmas!

How nice!

After struggling for months this was not what I needed to hear but I was stronger and moved forward.

Then, at the last minute she called and said Dad had changed his mind.

"Come home for Christmas"- she said.

I said- no.

I had other plans.

I had to watch myself for a few years.

I had to be careful and watch for depression's warning signs.

Things eventually fell into place.

After a relationship from hell in Toronto, I met the current "Mister" on a plane to Honolulu.

A few weeks later when we met up back on Toronto, I told him what I had been through what with depression and coming out a few years before.

Funnily enough, I helped him come out. He hadn't jumped over the log as of yet.

He helped me with my depression. He stayed strong when the vile illness tried to rear its ugly head in the next few years.

I still have "episodes" now and then. 

A small blip but I handle it as best I can.

At least I don't curl up between my bed and a wall any more!

Just a couple of years ago I wanted to go back to Ontario when I found myself dreadfully homesick. I thought maybe we- I, had made a mistake coming to the Island.

Depression is a devil of an illness and creeps up on you.

I had tears.

I tried to feel better and did eventually. Nothing like 1980.

I was just sad and feeling away from everything I had known.

Several people back in "Old Home" had passed and we couldn't go home.

The "monster" lurked and I had warning signals but I beat it back.

I'll always have some form of depression. 

It's in me.

I have to control it and I do.

Recently, I asked the Mister- "If we still lived in Orillia right now, would we make the move to the Island?"

It's a hard call to make and I don't know why I asked the question in the first place. I still get a pull from "old home" and the Autumn season now and then it leaves as quickly as it comes.

Most importantly, if you believe you are suffering from depression, know you are not a alone.

That's the most important part of all this depression crap.

You go to the people who support you and understand and it's not always those closest to you. 

Some people have a very hard time sorting through things like this and want no part of it.

If they only knew what it was like for us...

So that's my rambling on my life with depression.

Get help.

Keep strong.

Remember "Life is Good".

Lean on those you can.

and

Be Well.