Diamond Dogs, by Martha Thomases – Brilliant Disguise | @MDWorld

August 19, 2016 Victor El-Khouri 1 Comment

Next week would have been my father’s 93rd birthday.  He hated this time of year.  He hated the shorter days.  He hated Back to School.  Every year, around now, he would get darkly depressed.

Being the good girl that I was, I followed his example.

I mean, it’s really hot in New York right now, and it has been for a few weeks.  I live with my air conditioning going all day and all night (and I’m really lucky to have it).  It feels like I’m hermetically sealed in a vault.  Some days, I get out of bed, put on my pajamas, and don’t get out of them all day.

My cat is confused.  I feel grumpy and ungrateful.

Because I don’t want to leave my apartment, when I do, I try to get a zillion things done.  When I do my grocery shopping, I try to buy enough to last as long as possible.  This means I have to figure out what I’m going to want or need to eat for at least several days, and more likely a week.  Although this is supposed to be a good thing, it tends to get kind of dull.  And also, if someone wants to see me and eat a meal together, I’m thrown for a loop, because I have to rethink my entire eating schedule.

It is better to have friends than to eat at home.  I get angry at myself when I forget this.

This time of year, I’m eating a lot of vegetables, because I like them, they make me feel virtuous, and they are both plentiful and pretty at the Green Market.  I’ve always liked raw vegetables, usually more than I like them cooked, and it’s extra grand to prepare a meal without needing to turn on the stove.  For some reason, this summer, some of the things I’m eating are giving me terrible heartburn.  It’s not enough that I already fart enough to scare the cat.  Now I have to feel there is an alien about to burst from my chest while I wonder if I’m turning into my father.  He couldn’t eat raw green peppers when he was my age, and because of this, he felt betrayed by the Universe.

Being a depressed person, living alone, is not only sad enough to induce paralyzing self-pity, but it’s also really really boring.  So I’ve learned a few coping mechanisms.

The most effective way to beat the blues is to be funny, or at least entertaining.  Last week, when I was at Trader Joe’s doing my weekly shop, I waited on line with my cart for a free check-out person.  When my turn came, I did a little dance.  The guy ringing up my groceries said he might try the frozen artichoke hearts (my current favorite product at TJs) because there was no one else dancing in the store.

And that’s just my clunky hip-shake.  Just think what joy I could bring if I had any natural rhythm!  Plus, it’s highly possible that he’ll enjoy artichokes and then there will be that much more happiness in the universe.

When I go to the hospital to teach knitting to kids who are patients and their parents, it’s quite common for some to not want to knit, but to visit.  This week, I made a lot of people laugh.  That feels better than watching their scarves get longer.

When I was out of yarn, I went to the playroom to see what else I could do.  It was later in the afternoon, an hour or so before the playroom would close for the day.  Two girls were looking for something to do, taking out construction paper and glue.

“Is it too late to get them glitter?” I asked one of the staff.  I was afraid bringing out the glitter would make a mess, one that staff would get stuck cleaning up.

“It’s never too late for glitter,” she said.

I have decided to adopt that for my life’s motto, at least until the days start to get longer again.  Let the young and fashionable have their good taste, their subtle refinement.  I’ve got sparkles!

Martha Thomases, Media Goddess, actually prefers to give glitter than to receive it.