DATELINE: November 1, 2020; Lady Proverbs, somewhere on the Oregon Coast
It was terribly nice today*, sunny on the coast, low 60s, tourists no where to be found, just us townies. Ok, full disclosure: I just became a full time coast resident in August. So maybe we’re virgin townies. But can’t I be one too, please…we lived here part-time for 5 years, so that should mean something, people! In the Cape May area of New Jersey the townies call the tourists ‘shoebies.’ It’s supposedly because back in the day some of the lower income tourists brought all of their belongings to the beach in shoe boxes, in lieu of a suitcase. Another fun fact to know and tell, although it could be full of shit. I haven’t been a townie on the Oregon coast long enough yet to know what townies call themselves and the tourists. Hard to make friends during the days of COVID and take out food. And no one is picky any more: anyone can be a friend. Well, not White Walkers in Game of Thrones. Or Cerci. I was hoping that the gal who cut my hair in L.C. might consider that I could be a friend. Snip, snip.
But back to my point, also known as a random direction: why does the sun suddenly change my mood? I know I’m not alone. It gives energy, a hope, big or small, with its luscious rays. We’re little nuclear reactors and the sun is our plutonium, creating the fission that sparks a euphoria. And opposite that, why is it so easy to feel depressed and lazy on grey days when the rain drizzles down all day and it’s cold, and simply annoying. It’s so easy to just curl up in a ball and obsess about the election, or that virus fucking up our lives this year, or racism contagion hurting and killing Americans, or whatever each of our customized issues are…for me, Dementia Mom, among others I share with you. But Mama Bear pretty much saps my strength these days, mentally and physically, which is more closely aligned than you might think, in terms of each affecting the other as two peas in a pod rather than two separate peas on a bush.
I didn’t think my mood or ego was so fragile that a grey day would send me on an ennui spiral. For those days, the occasional edible inspires me to see sunshine in the cracks between the rain clouds. Or the vista from the beach house window inspires, with hues of gray and cobalt offering a sepia toned sea. My grey-skies-blues turn into a Tammie movie and optimism bubbles forth. It pushes through the grayness the true idea that great stuff is happening too, and it’s okay to see that and feel good about it and be in a happy, optimistic mood even when other shit is going down at the same time. And a Cadbury bar can perfectly seal the deal of a sweet day all around.
*So the ‘terribly nice’ in the first sentence is likely an influence of my watching the British version of Antiques Roadshow every day on some streaming channel at the rental we’re in. And also every episode of The Crown, the Great British Baking Show, and other tv tidbits from the former oppressor of the American colonies and the early United States. I now know that British people love little square, gold clocks, ancient biscuit tins that survived The Blitz, Asian pottery, and anything silver!