Rebuild from Depression Blog

It strikes me that I should not neglect to post here for three weeks only to post about the looming beef Apocalypse and that I am running off to eat a burger at a cowboy restaurant without even the smallest of updates.

Since Easter weekend when we got the news, life has been centered around "the wedding" (and you thought I was going to say "the baby"). A good friend was married here this past Saturday and 185 guests and staff showed up to witness the event. We don't do events here so we were absolutely unprepared with the four-month notice. My mom and I have spent many hours on the landscape, she has painted herself silly, and two young men worked their tails off all summer long to make the property presentable. Now is the time to visit us, by the way.

The wedding was fantastic. As the bride was leaving, she said, "This really was my dream wedding." I expect actual dream weddings are fairly uncommon these days, so this was high praise. I was too busy to take pictures, but I will post some when they become available.

The days leading up to the wedding were so busy that we never did attend to all of the details we normally would. My swollen feet and ankles are some proof. On the day of the wedding in fact, I laid out a purple shirt and tan shorts for Frederick to wear. Purple was one of the wedding colors. It was a good outfit for a child who would spend his day playing with children in the designated children's area. Apparently he wasn't into tan, so he appeared in his two favorite colors -- a purple shirt and red shorts.

"Honey, let's find something that matches a little bit better."

"But Mama, these are my favorite shorts."

Far too many things needed our attention, so the shorts stayed and Frederick spent the better part of the day on his new obsession -- Pac-Man. (Pac-Man is a great babysitter in a pinch, by the way.)

The wedding dinner was outside under a structure of white lights on Saturday night. The ceremony itself was in our great room, a massive 36x36' room that opens up two stories. There is a balcony on three sides of the room with two sets of stairs descending on the fourth wall and meeting at the bottom. The bridal party entered the wedding down these stairs, men on one side, women on the other. Each pair met at the foot of the stairs and processed to a massive rock fireplace. (I should add now that the only reason normal people like us can afford this house is because it is in the middle of nowhere and needs a lot of work.)

Just before the procession began, my mom and I were outside ushering in last-minute guests when we realized we had not unplugged the phones. She and I each made a mad dash to different phones and then I joined my husband at the video camera that was streaming video to the folks outside who preferred shade and beer.

The procession began and I asked, "Where's Frederick?" I left to look for him but assumed he must be in the great room.

I returned in time to see the bride and groom meet at the bottom of the stair and process to the mantel.

Only later did I hear that just after the flower girls descended and just before the bride would begin her procession, the door behind the stairs opened and a little boy wearing red and purple made a big entry. It would appear that most people thought it was funny. Surely I will laugh about it someday. That laughter would probably come sooner if his clothing actually matched.

In any case, I have survived. This whole pregnancy thing doesn't seem like a big deal at all after having nearly 200 people come to visit.

It's high in iron and B vitamins, but that is a small consideration if you find yourself in the ICU after eating an E. coli burger. I have deprived myself this summer of burgers from my favorite cowboy restaurant in the High Sierra's Ponderosa. Granted, the restaurant is stronger on the cowboys than on the burgers, but the burgers are a key part of the package. Lamenting my deprivation the other night, the topic of the Nebraska Beef recall came up.

My son Frederick was incensed that not only would pathogens find its way into beef and deprive me of burgers, but that the company providing the beef would actually blame others for resulting illnesses. Back in June, Nebraska Beef sued members of the Salem Lutheran Church for not preparing their meatballs properly for a church dinner. Had those ladies used better food safety measures, the pathogen that was illegally present in the food in the first place would have made no one sick.

The dinnertime discussion was made more interesting by Frederick's recent fascination with Old Testament stories. Could God be punishing Nebraska Beef for its behavior earlier this summer with even more recalls? Would locusts swarm Omaha? Would the Missouri River turn to blood? Probably not, but perhaps some figurative lightning was striking the Omaha area nonetheless. Our dinnertime discussion inspired a painting (below) in the spirit of Frederick's series of "Pollan Paintings." At the same time, apparently a friend of food injury attorney Bill Marler has been counting the pounds of beef recalled and pointed out that 6.66 million pounds have been recalled so far. The Mark of the Beast embedded in a hamburger recall along with all of the other signs of the looming Apocalypse may send me to the Ponderosa for one final comfort burger.

In case I don't return, I leave you with a final message from Frederick (6 years) called "Nebraska Beef's Final Days," poster paint on construction paper.

The way I figure it is that God made babies extremely cute so that the human race might actually perpetuate itself. I'm somewhere in week 20-something or other here, laying only on my poor injured left side, tired basically all the time, and up twice a night for tasks that shouldn't be necessary. I tried a t-shirt on yesterday with a pregnancy pillow so that I could see if the t-shirt would still fit in three or four months and decided that the last thing I would be worrying about in three months is whether the t-shirt fits.

This reminds me of a winter I spent in Michigan where I had the terrible realization in January that winter was half over at best. Here in California it is half over too in January, but we have about a month left at that point. "It's half over and I still have three more months?" I said to myself about the Michigan winter. I said something similar to myself just recently. I am somewhat torn, however, because there are some work projects I want to complete before this baby is using his or her own lungs instead of mine. I suppose I should make this book available too at some point before these children are in college.

In the meantime, I thought I'd post a bit about how I am surviving. First, a caveat: many days I am not entirely sure that I am surviving, so take this advice for what it's worth. I have done much better than in my previous pregnancy. I have been able to work in the yard fairly consistently, though I do need to rest much more than ever. I have not had a down cycle, though I am sure my family would report that I've had my moments.

A big part of our survival is "This List." It has provided a perspective for us here. It is most certainly centered around me but I make no apologies for it. No one in the household seems to dispute the list since they know how bad things can get. The list comes from a note to pregnant women closer to forty than twenty. My husband agreed to it well over a year ago:

Future Baby Agreement

1) If I say I need something, the correct response is:

"I will figure out how to make that happen."

The incorrect responses are

"Are you sure?" or

"How much will that cost?"

2) Do not expect me to earn more than $XX a month (5-8 hours of work each week). I cannot be a money machine and a baby machine at the same time. If other money needs to be made, someone else needs to do it. And if my demands from item #1 on the list exceed my own earning power, that should not be my problem.

3) If we need more funds to pay for #1 on the list, reducing retirement savings is far better than me going bananas. Retirement is still decades away. The mental institution is just a few miles away.

4) If it becomes unreasonable for me to earn even $XX a month, then revert to #1 on the list.

5) Should I earn more than $XX a month, the excess will pay for additional household staff at my discretion.

6) I will not require us to move to a deserted island during my pregnancy so that you can harvest wild seafood for my dinner while I bask in the sun. Though it is my pregnancy fantasy, I won't make it a requirement under Item #1. It would, however, make a handsome holiday gift.

Of course, the list revolves around item #1 and I have only needed to use it once so far. I lost a pretty big contract and said that we could not replace it. The work that we could replace it with would not be good for me right now. We agreed fairly easily. It is a lot easier to live on a budget than to live with depression.

Some other rules of thumb for survival after the jump:

Continue reading "Surviving the long pregnancy march" »

In the midst of a summer yard clean-up and forest fire watches, our Victory Garden has slowly begun to provide us with summer squash and peppers. The orchard has provided cherries and early apples so far (read about how to keep the birds from eating your fruit). We wondered if the produce was in jeopardy yesterday when we awoke to the sound of helicopters at dawn. My mom and I were headed to civilization to shop for clothing to cover a pregnant belly and as we left we saw the helicopter carrying a bucket from a point about a mile away to some more distant spot in the forest. I pointed it out to my husband.

"Sander, I want pictures but don't be a hero. If the ask you to evacuate, just evacuate."

Those helicopters are usually dropping a red powder fire retardant on fires but we saw no smoke. We wondered how the situation would progress as we were gone.

When we returned to a blue sky we knew that our Victory Garden was safe from fire and stopped at the local post office for a report. It turns out that the whole affair was related to gardening after all. The four gardeners tending their crop left on foot as law enforcement moved their garden bounty out by helicopter. Three gardeners were still on foot yesterday evening, adding to the excitement in this community. If they showed up here, we planned to show them our own victory garden, far less exciting but more nourishing. Getting caught with our sort requires no jail time.

Our Victory Garden, then, has lived another day and should be in peak production in about three weeks. In eleven days from now at least 150 people will be joining us on our property for the wedding of a friend, so it is convenient for us that the garden has decided to wait until after the event to help us fill our freezer. Until the bounty (and in a very busy season of wedding preparation), one of our favorite recipes for the summer harvest is roasted vegetables. Last fall my mom posted a video about roasted peppers, a technique that can be used for summer squash as well. For the freezer and pantry, we plan a number of casseroles, eggplant stuffed with ricotta, tomato sauces (from the thirty tomato plants), and soups. We will work on posting the recipes.

The garden has had a slow start this summer, but we have had an abundant and welcome collection of volunteer purslane. Many people refer to purslane by its more common name, "weed." Purslane, however, is a great vegetable source of omega-3 fatty acids, the alpha linoleic acid form. Omega-3 fatty acids build our brains; clinical trials have shown them to be effective in fighting depression. Packaged as purslane, omega-3 fatty acids also make a great stir fry. We fried some up with a small zucchini and yellow crookneck, the first bit of produce from our garden. I highly recommend purslane and you can find it literally anywhere -- even growing out of the cracks in your sidewalk. (It is that sprawling weed in the picture above.) According to a recent New York Times Magazine article (also discussed at The Ethicurean), these weeds could be the food of the future with climate change.

Our family orchard has three trees that are already bearing fruit. I look forward to the fruit but I do not look forward to fighting the birds for the fruit. I don't mind sharing but birds have a way of clearing a tree. We have gone to great trouble to net our trees. but fussing with each free net is not my idea of entertainment. In fact, we could not face the nets this year.

As our cherries began to ripen and I wondered how many we would actually eat, our friend Gerry happened by one day and discussed her orchard in the context of sampling her apricot jam. She mentioned casually, "I save those plastic bags from the grocery store and tie them to the tree limbs. They scare the birds away!"

The sun had not set that day when I noticed our cheery tree cluttered with plastic grocery bags.

That was a few weeks ago and I have made it my duty to spend at least 10 minutes with that tree every day enjoying those cherries. I look forward to the nectarines and plums.

We have are returned from a six-day trip to Southern California, a trip to escape some of the smokiest air I have had to live in. In the past week, our little area of the Sequoia National Forest has seen four small fires. We also have on-going smoke from the Clover Fire to the east in the high Sierra. The first fire was just 2 miles away and inspired our departure. Another struck while we were gone. The third and fourth fires hit as we were returning home. ( The fourth was actually itty-bitty and for those who follow milk shenanigans on this website might find it interesting trivia that the fourth fire was on the property where the Vander Eyk heifers graze in the winter.)

The trip was a great escape for me. Before this trip, I had only left the forest on three one-day trips. I was stir crazy (but without a lot of energy). As it turned out, I spent my days in Southern California much like I do here: resting and doing data analysis. I did manage one movie and one trip to the outlet mall because that's what I hear city people do. I also needed shoes. Who knew shoes could cause a mid-life crisis. Read on for fire and shoe pictures.

Continue reading "Un-charred, breathing easy " »

Diane posted days ago asking for an update and, finally, I’ll pop out my head to say that I’m still here and actually doing fairly well. I work two to three hours each day on my data business. On occasion I work zero hours on data. The rest of the day I work on yard work, lie in a hammock, or watch the latest from Netflix. Most days in my pregnant state I do wonder how the human race has ever perpetuated itself.

My mental state is pretty good but I expect that is in large part due to my schedule. On the one time each month that I venture from my place here in the Sequoia National Forest to civilization, I do get a bit frazzled and overly tired. My solution: don’t go.

After months of “not going,” I have had a bit of cabin fever, a strange thing to have in the summer. I’ve been complaining over the last week about being a shut-in. I suppose we should all be careful what we wish for. We are actually packing the car now (I’m on a break) to find fresher air in the Los Angeles basin. That is a sentence that I would have never thought I would ever form, but here we are.

I’ve mentioned that forest fire is our biggest natural threat here and that the local rangers tell us “It’s not a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when.’” We a due west of the Clover fire burning in the Golden Trout Wilderness and further east to highway 395. Weather patterns are bringing us quite a bit of smoke and socking it in. The Clover fire is no threat to us now and it is unlikely it will become one. However, we did have some excitement early yesterday morning when a grass fire started about three miles away on Forest Service land. We could see the smoke plumes and the air got much worse. We had our evacuation list ready but luckily did not need to pack the cars. The fire was within a mile of a ranger station and half of the local population (all employed by the Forest Service) descended on the fire within minutes. The fire lasted for about three hours before it was put out completely. It did add a good bit of smoke to our smoky air.

My weather-watching uncle called us this morning and offered us refuge from the smoke. He says it may clear by Saturday and we considered waiting it out, but my lungs hurt a bit, my son has sudden allergy symptoms, and my husband has a mild case of asthma. I figure we can cure a few symptoms and cabin fever at the same time. My uncle and aunt live north of San Diego and should have great air tomorrow. Today we’ll seek refuge in the Los Angeles area. I hear they have places called "restaurants" and "stores." I'll have to check those out.

Back in March I retold the first "annual" celebration of Mercury's birthday. (Yes, that's Mercury the planet and, no, this is not a pagan ritual as far as I know.) My son Frederick, always in search of birthdays since they tend to come with cake and ice cream, decided to celebrate Mercury's birthday. Conveniently, Mercury orbits the sun every 88 days and, thus, requires more birthday celebrations than the rest of us.

Our first celebration of Mercury's birthday found us secretly ribbing Postmaster Dean using the community's "Burma Shave signs," signs usually dedicated to announcing events such as a community dinner. We flew remote control airplanes at the local school and ended our day at a cowboy bar eating dollar tacos and telling the cowboys about our birthday celebration. It may have been the first time I have seen my father embarrassed.

On the schedule for the second annual celebration is an ice cream give-away at the post office at about 11:30 tomorrow (Friday). Everyone in the community picks up their mail and loiters around at that time. It is the perfect opportunity to spread the word about the birthday celebration. Word spreads pretty easily up here, by the way. To let everyone know you're pregnant, you can either post something on the Burma Shave signs (which frankly I hadn't considered and now I find myself a bit disappointed that I missed an opportunity) or just tell someone at a local bar.

All of this is to say that if you don't do something fun and quirky this week in honor of Mercury's birthday, you are missing out.

Mom and Frederick planted seeds back in April which are now ready to burst out of their pots and garden beds if only they had some sunshine. The heat wave in mid-May that caused them to leap out of their six packs was replaced by an unseasonal cold spell.

When the sun does hit, we are set to be over-run with produce. We planned a small garden for the season because we were "too busy" for anything bigger. We just don't seem to do much around here that is small. The garden plans have mushroomed. I do not know exactly how many tomato plants we will have but I did overhear a conversation between my mom and husband,

"Sander, could you please pick up seventeen tomato cages when you're in town?"

I expect we had quite a few tomato cages already and now we have seventeen more.

My mom has been collecting seed for a "perfect tomato" for our area and has quite an assortment of heirlooms. What is great about the tomatoes is that we can plant them in our orchard under the young trees and water both at the same time. It really gets better because a hen house sits in the middle of the orchard. Then hens fertilize the crops and do not bother the tomatoes. It doesn't get much better than that (except that we move the tomatoes around so this tomato nirvana only comes around every few years).

With a wedding at this house in a short two months from now, we have another garden area planted with summer vegetables and wedding flowers. We could probably serve fresh garden produce to the 180 people coming to visit, though I do have plans to eat most of it myself.

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