FOR WHAT IT’s WORTH

My wee Annie taking in views
from her new anti-anxiety bed.
TAKEN: AUGUST 23rd, 2024

For what it’s worth, I hope I never experience another summer like the one I'm currently living. As I go through the motions for the last long weekend of the season, I am folding like a lawn chair and willingly admitting that I am spent.

Between medical trauma at home, multiple personal losses of loved ones, and day to day work stresses, this past week was the last straw. We were worried we were going to have to say goodbye to our Annie. 

Then, after a visit to the vet yesterday, and $400 later, she is home. They have no clue why she is ailing and what is going on with her. Par for the course for the summer of 2024; as it has been a summer of limbo. 

Seriously, the only thing missing from that visual being the catchy tune playing and Chubby Checker singing, because yours truly has been bending over backwards (to the point of breaking) since mid May.

That said, I want everyone to know that I know better than most the symptoms of depression. I honestly don’t feel depressed, simply overwhelmed and ultimately deflated.

What I will share, is that come hell or high water, this whole ‘one step forward, four steps backward’ bullshit needs to come to an end.

And though I try and pride myself on keeping my glass half full, somedays it feels like the water has been turned off at the spigot and the lake in front of me drained dry.

Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t all doom and gloom. I know my fear of the unknown is making me feel uncertain, which I have alluded to in previous posts.

Anyway, the other side of my ‘bitching about my really shitty summer coin’ is my more immediate remedy to help my negative mindset will be loudly listening to the Top 500 countdown on Rock95 outside all weekend. Forecast says it may be under an umbrella, as we have scheduled rain in the forecast.

See, that’s the forward and backward thing I just referenced. 

Hey, maybe I was just meant to master the Cha-Cha this summer. If that’s the case, call Dancing With The Stars.

...Because these last three months have deemed me a freaking PRO in that category!

#yagottalaughaboutit

CHEERS FROM ANDY GIRL

My smiling sister embracing
cottage life whilst enjoying
a drink with our dad.
TAKEN: AUGUST 9th,  

I'll start with the fact that she's a complete and total homebody. Therefore, I'm not quite sure when my sister and I first broached the subject of her coming to stay with me at the cottage for a week. 

But, if I were to bet on it, I am pretty sure it was in the days and nights I spent alone while my travel buddy hubby was in the trauma unit of St. Michael's hospital last May and June.

She would call me to regularly check in. She was the only one I felt comfortable talking to about the gravity of the situation at hand. Everyone else was kept at a distance. During that time she was unconditionally supportive, and always started our calls with the same four words... "How are you doing?"

Completely unprepared for the emotions swirling at what the many doctors were telling me, she kept me calm. She made me laugh. She helped me focus on the day to day, not on the possibility of what may ultimately transpire.

I don't know if anyone reading this can appreciate just how fragile one's mental health can be during such trying times, but I can confirm that the last few months have tested mine to its limit.

Even now, in a conscious effort to self preserve, I no longer want to be around people. I don't want to discuss what has happened and the journey we are on, as my eyes immediately fill with tears. 

It is like I am transitioning from a full blown extrovert, to a comfortable introvert, hanging out in the bathtub with a blanket over my head; sipping a warm bowl of gravy from a ladle.

That said, my sister visiting offered me a sense of calm and a true feeling of comfort better than any gravy ladle ever could. 

No pressure, zero bullshit. I worked upstairs in my office at the cottage, and she kept herself busy with whatever leftover internet bandwidth I didn't utilize.

I loved hearing the sound of her voice telling the dogs that she was 'NOT going to throw the football in the lake again', probably because it saved me the energy of saying it; about a hundred times a day.

When I dropped her off at home after our nine days together, we gave each other a big hug. As I headed to the door she hollered, "..love ya." To which I responded with "I love you too."

Then, I immediately said, "see you back at the cottage sooner than later." Her last visit was around the spring of 2008.

Which in my opinion, is solid statistical proof, why 4 out of 5 full blown homebody's never come to visit me. 

My sister being the one, that was simply pushed over the edge by a heat wave and the cottage country aromatic allure, of three wet dogs...trying to share her bed!

#yagottalaughaboutit

WHIRLIGIG WONDERS

As you’ve read here many times before, music is a big part of who I am. Numbers and analysis may be how I earn a living, but everything music is how I spend the majority of my spare time. 

To be clear, it’s not because I can sing; because I can’t. 

My point is that I gravitate to the melodies produced (via radio, turntable, and watching live) by those that can. From the time I wake, until I wind down for bed, all genres of music surround me.

Anyway, imagine my surprise when wandering our cottage property my husband came across a 45 rpm record insert. I picked it up, snapped a pic as my tween and teen years came rushing back to me. 

This little fella has been waiting almost 25 years for me to find him.
TAKEN: AUGUST 6th, 2024

We have owned this property for more than two decades. And though I have an extensive vinyl collection at home, we have never broached the idea of spinning a turntable here. 

Therefore, this little beauty has been surviving the seasons for us to find, for almost a quarter century. 

That said, if I am being truthful, as I pondered writing about something so silly, I couldn't resist. 

As I held this gem up, I could see the 45rpm records stacked and ready to play, my hairbrush in grip, with my bedroom mirror pumped on standby to capture my performance.

And trust me. When I was in high school, a whirligig similar to the one my husband found played a large part on those memorable bedroom lip sync concerts.

Here's an idea. How be you cue Sheena Easton and drop the needle on Morning Train. (click to listen) ... and I'll run and grab my hair brush!!

#yagottalaughaboutit