Pruning roses is a very spiritual endeavor to me. Today, my body reminded me that I should not do this marathon style anymore, as 3 hours of pruning has me very mindful of muscle groups I didn’t know I had before. Yet, the comment of the day on my feat was not the “great job!” from eldest, but a semi-shocked reaction of youngest, “Will they grow back roses again?!” Well, I am thrilled to say I don’t have to worry about them sprouting potatoes instead of roses, but the shock of the change does bring some reflection. Actually, the rose bushes will grow back much better and more roses as a result of my ruthless chopping than if I had left them alone to their ipods, or whatever it is that teenage rose bushes do with their spare time.  Pruning out the cross-branches and the dead, spindly parts gives room for the strong, healthy branches to get some air circulation and do what God created them to do– grow roses. Yet another funny twist that turns up the noses of the kids, is that fact that roses happen to love “fish emulsion” (also known as fish poop, cuz that’s basically what it is.) So my roses will grow vigorously and bloom ferociously, I feed them with the cast offs of a fish’s body. It reminds me ever so humorously that cutting, getting rid of, and stinky stuff is the best way to get beautiful, sweet-smelling flowers. There’s a sermon in there somewhere…..

Yes, I do, in fact, have a life. I just have not expressed it for a long time. Does not help one’s creativity to shove it aside day in & day out, so I’m trying again. Since my last post, I have managed to finish 2 cross stitch projects, about half way thru a third one, and feeling good about my progress. The biggest one I finished in honor of my dear friend Nancy who passed away a little over a year ago of early onset Alzheimers–a horrific disease. She was an expert needleworker, and some 25+ years ago taught me how to do counted cross stitch, as I had done needlepoint, embroidery, and stamped cross stitch, but had terrible anxiety about starting with a blank canvas. Lots of deeeeep breathing! I miss Nancy so much, and finishing my project to honor her was both painful and healing. I feel much better about stitching since I finished the piece. Here it is:

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So I saw I hadn’t posted in over a month and took down my “I’m A Part of Post A Day” button, as it seemed rather silly at this point.  I need a “I Wish I Was With It Enough To Post A Day” button, that would be more accurate.  So what is my lame-o excuse?  Depression. Relentless, annoying, can’t “snap out of it”, overwhelming, walking thru molasses everyday, depression.  It sucks the life out of you, you can’t remember what it felt like to feel “good”, “energetic”, “happy”, or any of those kinds of words.  But you can’t let on to people that you’re depressed, because then everyone takes it upon themselves to a) Become Your Shrink, b) Cheer You Up, c) Tell You What Diet/Exercise/Prayer/Nutritional Supplement Will Make You All Better or d) Tell You They “Understand” Because They Felt Lousy Once When ________.

Really, all I want is somebody to “reboot” my life and possibly give me a mainline IV of Rockstar, Monster, Red Bull, or whatever high energy drink is popular at the moment with all those tired teenagers.  Doesn’t help at all that my particular version of Depression Hell comes with an extreme lack of finances or health insurance. So I can’t even afford the shrink, the meds, or the case of high energy drink I need.

I vaguely remember what it was like to enjoy things, but its like an illusive dream that won’t come back. I look at my quilting and needlework, knowing these things are suppose to bring me joy, and instead I just feel “flat”.  Days just go sliding by, and I spend hours staring at my ceiling fan. I totally “get” the mobile hanging over a baby’s crib thing now.  Depression hurts everywhere, I feel like someone hijacked my life and I haven’t kept up my Lojack subscription. 

[Image: annetaintor.com]

Moms of teenagers do not like being in the passenger seat when our beloved Planet Teenage Boy (PTB) citizen is driving and decides that he “has” to cut someone off.  If you are a mom with a PTB/PTG citizen and feel I am taking liberties with this statement, please feel free to express your willingness to get yourself killed by teenage offspring in the comments. I will update this post as necessary. I am still unsettled about my helpless position during my brush with death this morning on the way to school. Helpless beyond the screaming and yelling at the top of my lungs, that is, but I remain confident my input was somewhat effective if only to equally scare the bejeebers out of my Newly-Licensed Teenage Boy in the moment.

Of course, my PTB Citizen found the nastiest old guy (yeah, I know, who’s talkin) with the shortest temper on Earth to cut off. Thus we had war between the Old Guys and the Teenage Boys occur on our normally peaceful roads this morning, with me and all of my Mom-ness literally a captive audience. Let’s see, first OG flipped off TB, which TB found shocking, then OG chased us down, cut us off and tried the I’ll-teach-you-a-lesson-by-suddenly-slamming-on-my-brakes-in-front-of-you thing twice, allowing TB to show off his “skills” by swerving and testing the limits of our Minivan’s Antilock Braking System. Fittingly, OG’s license plate proudly states he is a “Dad,” and I must say the maturity level verified it. While I’m exceedingly grateful that OG’s wife didn’t let him pack the gun this morning, the whole flipping/chasing/lesson-teaching thing was not an effective example of mature conflict resolution skills for my citizen of Planet Teenage Boy. “Whoa, that guy has a temper!” was foremost in our debriefing.

Choosing not to go with either of the moral puppy dilemmas presented in today’s Post A Day question, I have been re-energized in my crusade to save the Earth, one teenager at a time. I came across Bridget Baker’s post where she mentioned a saying of her’s, a revolutionary one in my opinion, that “Responsibility is sexy.” While this has motivational pull for my own life, I immediately thought “Well, duh!” How did I miss this beguiling approach with my dear citizens of Planet Teenage Boy and Planet Teenage Girl? (PTB/PTG)  Advertisers know the key term to motivating their gold mine 18 to 24 yr old male segment of the population is via the word and or concept sex. While they use this to get young guys to eat more hamburgers, I am wondering why no one has turned this little gem on it’s head for the Betterment Of Mankind In General? No one, that is, until Bridget Baker.

Teenage boys care about 3 things: girls, food, and sports. Not necessarily in that order. Moms of teenagers everywhere want one thing to occur on Planet Teenage Boy: maturity, civilization (ok, so that’s more than one thing, but it’s closely connected.) Why not create a win-win situation by marketing responsibility as a Sexually Desirable Trait? “Chicks think responsible guys are totally hot.” Can we get one of those video game makers to have those type of statements subliminally flashed across the screen when someone plays their game? I’m in.  If I actually had any capital to venture, I would quickly sink it into a product which could simultaneously satisfy both teenagers and their parents. Forget the “Carl’s Jr. Burger Break” at halftime, replace it with a scantily-clad, flirtatious hottie lamenting the serious lack of responsible and mature guys to satisfy her needs. Can anybody say “Superbowl ad”??

Creatively productive. There’s the holy grail. To express the fullness of my potential as a unique individual and somehow do it well enough and often enough to get paid for it. Which is more important? Caitlin Kelly blogs about this and points out some of the beloved irony of us creative types — she won a Canadian National Magazine Award for humor for an essay about her divorce.  Humor and divorce really don’t seem to go together, but that’s probably what made it work. I will spare you all the make lemonade with the lemons of life metaphor (whoops, that didn’t work.) In Real Life we must be productive, but do we put the cart in front of the horse with our focus on quantity?  I am fascinated by Austin Kleon’s advice not to wait around until you know yourself to make things.  Just make things, which leads to knowing yourself and thus the well of human creativity.

People tend to be amused by my eccentric creativity, but where is it’s value? That’s the big question. What makes a painting created by random slinging and splattering worth thousands of dollars, or not? I’ve got some pretty amazing metaphors and word plays up my sleeve, but what makes it marketable? Austin Kleon’s work, Newspaper Blackout, is a smash hit, but does the monetary value lie in the use of markers on newspaper? Would people value the same poetry if it were just typed out on regular ole paper? People are funny like that. Some things are perceived as wickedly cool, while others are relegated to lame gimmicks. I happen to think Austin’s work is Wickedly Cool, by the way. Does anyone care about the monetary value of Mom-ness? Is my in-depth research on the citizens of Planet Teenage Boy and Planet Teenage Girl significantly marketable? I have lots of creativity, but creating productively is the heaven to which I aspire.

Image via Mark Sebastian