I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me…
A line from a beloved poem by Robert Lewis Stevenson that my mother read to me when I was little girl, probably over and over and over, assuming I was like most other young children who seem not to get tired of hearing things they like over and over and over. I discovered this when our boy was little and I would attempt to skip pages of books I had read to him over and over and over – books that he had memorized. Every time I tried to turn 2 pages at a time to get through it faster, he always caught me.
At any rate, I sometimes view the Depression that began stalking me last December at about this time, when our son’s physical condition took such a nosedive, as a Shadow that occasionally grasps me around the ankle and tries to trip me up and slow me down and wants to get up close and personal. I would rather not go back on the happy pills that the doctor gave me last December. They either worked very well or it was a placebo effect, but I would just as soon not take the drugs if I can avoid it.
And most of the time I seem to do fairly well. We are only a few days into December, but already I have been feeling Shadow’s arms trying to embrace me in his dull, gray hug. I am determined to shrug him off. It would be easy to blame the time of year for this – the deciduous trees are now naked, standing with their skeletons exposed. Barren. Dull. A cold, gray day today. There is a feeling of wanting to retreat and withdraw and hibernate.
It began to drizzle sleet and some freezing rain as I drove home from town this morning, but within a half or so after I had picked up where I left off working, a light snow began to sift down, reminding me of how my mother dusted powdered sugar on a chocolate cake through a wire-mesh strainer.
We watched The Adjustment Bureau Saturday night. The movie intrigued me. Now that I have seen the ending, I must watch it again to pick up things that I missed the first time through because I was nervous about how it was going to end.
Today I am wondering was it chance, or the devil, or part of a Master Plan, that resulted in my unfortunate fall several years ago in which I fractured my pelvis and spent at least 2 months camped out on the couch and needing a wheelchair to move? I suppose I will never know, except that I know God worked that event into a marvelous good.
Yesterday, we working together in the kitchen preparing food, with the roles switched. He did the actual cooking, making cabbage sauteed with green and yellow peppers, dressed with a sweet, Asian style sauce; and a green bean dish cooked with hot chili-tomatoes and mushrooms, a bit of sugar. I did the chopping and the assembling of ingredients.
Hard to say, but I am enjoying this new interest of his very much.