Springtime for Elon (Trump salute song parody)

My only consolation during this worst of all possible times is the superb parody that is popping up all over YouTube. That is, until these channels mysterious disappear during the night. I can't even get into  my feelings about all this, but after hurling myself into the anti-nuclear movement in the '80s, I promised myself I'd never do that again.Things changed, and let us hope they change again, because it seems as if Trump is literally above the law in so many ways, he could destroy the planet in a heartbeat (or a nuclear code - no one is even talking about this, as if the dread is just too great). 

So why am I doing this? Meditations on past-tripping

 

So why am I doing all this "past-tripping", as I like to call it (or don't like to call it)? It just  seems "old" of me to look back so often, and I try not to. But I came across this cache of author photos (taken by a professional photographer for my first novel), and wondered who on earth that could be. I look like a baby. My hair is completely different. Barely any lines or wrinkles anywhere. I think I was about 48 years old, which DOES seem like a baby to me now.

As usual when a lifetime dream comes true, there were thrills, and there were also some pretty wretched disappointments. And in 2005, it all hit the fan again and I was back in the hospital with a bipolar attack, the worst one of my life. I had been so sure all that was behind me - even doctors assured me I'd never go through that again.  And now that I was a published author, SURELY that sort of thing would never happen to me again! Would it?

So am I humbled, or what? Right now I'm grateful to more or less have my body back, after the harrowing misadventure of my gut surgery. I'm minus a good part of my colon now, and though my digestion is remarkably close to normal after three months, the rest of me is taking a while to catch up.

When you've  been flat on your back for a couple of months, you  lose all the muscle tone in your legs. Your knees won't hold you. I couldn't figure out why I kept wiping out on the stairs, or why when I tried to kneel or squat, I could not get back up again and flailed around, hurting myself. I couldn't even get off the commode sometimes. And let's not get into the gruesome bathroom accidents that went on for weeks and weeks. I hope I never have to wear Depends again. 

But I have my legs under me now, and just in the past week or  so I've been able to take up more of my normal routines. Just being able to get outside is an ecstatic experience, particularly now when the cherry blossoms are exploding into bloom everywhere. My recovery coincides with the coming of spring, the birds returning. When I was lying helpless and connected to tubes and monitors in the hospital, all I could think about was being able to go outside. I thought about the bird f'eeder equipment I had bought on Amazon  last fall, and had never been able to assemble. It was all still sitting there in the original boxes. Since November 8, the date I landed in the ER with excruciating abdominal pain that everyone assumed was appendicitis, I was unable to do anything but lie in bed and go to medical appointments, tests, more tests.

On Christmas Day, when I had the family over for the first time in many months, I got a phone call from the hospital giving me an appointment date for a CT scan.This was scheduled for New Years Eve. That was about as festive as my holiday season got. But the  worst was yet to come. The prep for the surgery was so  debilitating that I was barely able to leave the house. So it has been more like FIVE months since all this hell began. Officially. But long before that, this "thing" that they had to remove was silently brewing inside me, making me feel lousy for no reason I could ascertain.

Just in the last few days, I have begun to feel like my actual, real self (though it has happened a couple of times before, then cruelly caved in on me). Just going out and taking a walk on a fine day is a treat. I just wanted my life back, just as it is, no more yearning for things that can't possibly happen anyway. Or that do happen, and somehow turn out to be full of heartbreak as well as joy. 

And just a few days ago, I FINALLY opened those boxes from Amazon and set up my new bird feeding system.

So when I find myself past-tripping today, I do wonder why. The past was so mixed, and sometimes it was wretched. Didn't I  realize how frantic my activities were, constant busyness that I  did not even acknowledge? I never thought I was doing enough, and now I wonder how I ever kept up with it all. Now I wouldn't even want to try.

These meanderings are probably only meant for my eyes.  A year ago Easter, my husband was also in the hospital with gut surgery that knocked him flat. We've both been tested. Now I  just want to eat normally (took  MONTHS for that to happen!), sleep normally (the  same), breathe in and out. And not look back too much. Why do  I have the sort of brain that remembers everything? That is the price of having an intact mind, at least for now. The spectre of dementia hangs over all older people. And surely that's infinitely worse than losing a big chunk of your guts.

How my pants became an internet sensation!

 

NOTE: This is a copy-and-paste from a Facebook post I just made. The thing is, even though I know these two insufferable busybodies were being extremely rude, it left me feeling lousy, not about the unwanted public attention but because I didn't TELL them they had been inexcusably rude. It lingers like an ache somewhere that won't go away. The fact several others joined in the fun didn't help. I did not engage with them, which might have indicated I wasn't going to "go along with the joke" (if that's what it was), but they didn't twig, just kept on pointing and giggling.

So are Canadians still "polite"? Do they still apologize to the furniture if they bump into it? Today I had proof that not all of them do.

I was standing in line at the mall food fair, when I noticed two women in front of me (about my age), looking around at me and my bottom half. One of them came up to me and said, "I LOVE your pants!" I was wearing the kind of casual pull-ons you see everywhere now, but she kept at it, noticing the logo and saying (loudly) "Are those pajama bottoms?" (They weren't, but I was struck dumb by now). Both started giggling and literally pointing at the pants in question, like two junior high girls in the school washroom.

By then, others in the lineup began to "notice" my famous pants. They had become a sort of social focus in the food court. Then came the kicker - the other lady said, loudly, "SO, ARE YOU SLEEPWALKING?" I just said no, not engaging with them, then moved as far away from them as I could, wishing I could have said something about how rude they were. But I didn't.

Does that make ME a good Canadian, or just a chump who can't speak up for herself? Am I, as so many people claim, "too sensitive", and THAT'S the problem? As far as I am concerned, I am just sensitive enough.

It could be that the stereotype is eroding due to the stress of woeful world events. But added to feeling kind of humiliated in public, I also felt bad that I didn't say anything.

I should have. But I had it drilled into me all my life that I HAD to be polite to strangers. So I guess I turned out to be the "good Canadian", after all.

But if you're going to give a complete stranger a compliment, please mean it, and don't follow it up with public mockery. It just doesn't go down well, these days.

UPDATE!     I received quite a lot of likes and comments on this post, including one from a nasty editor basically making fun of me for being made fun of (?). I deleted his comment and blocked him, but it gave me pause that I probably worked for or  with this person in my publishing life. I guess nastiness comes in all sizes, shapes and ages. And occupations.

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All reactions:

9Bev Daurio, Lisa Reynolds and 7 others

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Deb Bird

She’ll be 80 soon. 

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Margaret Gunning replied

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Amber Hayward

Wow some people never grow up! They still live in that teenage mindset of judging and assuming that others are constantly judging them. Must suck to be them.

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Margaret Gunning

Amber Hayward Well, it sucked to have my pants held up for scrutiny (so to speak). When I got dressed that morning, I never knew my apparel would become so famous.

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Bev Daurio

These people were downright rude and awful. Sorry this happened. I think you were correct to get away from them. There are people who do distraction pickpocketing, for instance; there are people on drugs; there are people suffering from mental problems; there are mean people just looking for a tiff. Even from this distance I trust your gut that seems to have said, don't engage, gain distance from them. 

And you seem very Canadian to me, just saying.

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Margaret Gunning

Bev Daurio Thank you! I have mixed feelings about it all, but at least I wouldn't play whatever game they were playing.

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Debbie Bateman

I'm sorry you went through that. It really hurts to be made fun of in that way and it is nothing short of bullying. Thank you for speaking up. Take care.

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Margaret Gunning

When I was going home with steam coming out of my ears, I thought to myself: oh well, at least there's Facebook! I usually just post fun stuff, but this wasn't my idea of fun. At least I had somewhere to put my feelings.

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Lucy Black

It sounds like you handled a terrible situation with grace and class. Be pleased with yourself. Those rude women are not worth your time.

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Margaret Gunning

Lucy Black I just deleted a comment that reflected the same kind of nastiness. To make it worse, it was someone I actually knew through publishing. Some people just don't have enough to keep them busy. BTW, I blocked him.

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Kate Rogers

You are not “too sensitive.” They were not sensitive enough!

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Margaret Gunning

Kate Rogers I wish people wouldn't see sensitivity as a weakness. Mine is precious to me, and I couldn't function without it.

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Kate Rogers

Have you read Elaine Aron’s book The Highly Sensitive Person? Her research has been very helpful to me.

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Sky MacKay Curtis

What assholes. I’m sorry this happened to you.

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Margaret Gunning

Sky MacKay Curtis It's not true that young people are more rude and thoughtless than those of my age group. These were women in their 60s. It was as if I was wearing a particularly garish clown suit and they felt perfectly OK to comment (loudly) on it.