Reconstructing, But First, Wednesday ...

Why yes, as a matter of fact, I have indeed disappeared for 11 days yet again. Thanks for asking.

This depression, which I euphemistically refer to as the summer malaise, is making even basic functioning difficult most days. Is it any wonder I can't bring myself to write? How many different ways can you bear to hear about my midday naps, about going to my beautiful places but not finding beauty. Nothing feels right, tastes right, smells right.

But I promised myself back at Imbolc that I would document The Year of Unknowable Things. So when this happens, this writing stoppage, I go back and retcon, reconstruct, and try to remind myself (and share with you, patient reader) what it was like to live those days, and maybe glean some clues on how to get myself out of this seemingly endless fog.

Before I do that, though, here are a few thoughts on yesterday :

It was Wednesday, so even though E was still recovering from her cold, and I was in the thick of mine, we got up and got moving. We were gentle and slow and lazy about it, but we honored the Wednesday energy. The drive down to the sea was nice, though when we got to Avon it was considerably more crowded than we even thought it would be. So we shifted plans a bit.

One of things that's keeping me going is watching E thrive with her new college career. She is so engaged, so committed, and consequently so very inspired. She learns about something in class, and then she wants to get in the car and go to the place (if possible) and learn more, poke around, feel the energy. Today's focus was the Hindenburg disaster.

Who knew that there was a tiny museum in an old church in Lakehurst, just up the block from where the disaster occurred, staffed by old lady volunteers, that contained all sorts of memorabilia, as well as actual pieces of the destroyed airship? E did, apparently. So we went and looked around and asked questions and she got a button and we drove across the way to where the airfield was / is.

There's a park / neighborhood now, and what appear to be blimp hangars, and the clouds were beginning to settle in, so we thought it might be time to try Avon again. We wound through a bunch of shore towns, stopped for a few minutes at Point Pleasant, before arriving back at Happy Cove a little before 5pm. On the plus side, we didn't have to pay. On the minus, there were still quite a few people ...

We set up our tent. E swam while I sat in our uncomfortable new chair (which was cheap and actually ended up breaking) and my mind went to all sorts of dark places. I couldn't breathe, literally and figuratively, and we ended up leaving after only two hours. E had her own worries, about money stuff primarily, so our drive home was mostly quiet, with music playing to at least lighten the mood.

We did make two brief stops, though, that inspired and lifted us, that made dreams and hope feel like something that might be possible again someday. Funnily enough, both stops were staring at the same thing, from different distances, from different angles ...

Oh, city of possibilities! Oh sunset and mystery clouds and miraculous July breeze! First from the lookout at Hudson Highlands, then up to Weehawken, we remembered that The Year of Unknowable Things is only half over (Imbolc to Imbolc) and that the last time we stood at Weehawken, just a few months ago, it was E who was feeling hopeless, and look what has changed for her!

So I said a prayer, with the mighty Hudson herself as my wishing well. I sent it off into the breeze, and up to the stars that I knew were up there, somewhere above the mystery clouds and the glare cast off by that miraculous jewel. The depression is not gone. Far from it. Even now, as I write this on Thursday morning, I feel flat and anxious and very very small. But I remember last night. It was real.

And Autumn and Winter are coming ...