A Very Good Day
Today offered promise, sunlight and relaxation. After stumbling around my house and yard in North Mankato for a few hours, I suited up and drove to the gym for a strenuous workout. I couldn’t remember the last time I had lifted weights. Last week? The lifting, the treadmill run, even meditation and progressive muscle relaxation had become tedious chores. I often had to overcome significant anxiety in order to get started. Before I returned to work, it was so routine, effortless. After two weeks working part-time in my position as technical Sisyphus, management provided me with gratuitous feedback. It had the effect of reverse-therapy. I had done many things wrong. I lacked initiative and failed to act aggressively. I had opted out of a great opportunity to kiss up to the visiting area manager at lunch. Things weren’t going well – about like they had gone when I became suicidal and decided to visit my physician. This was another turning point, and I thank my friends, my wife and my crazy pets for their support.
Macie Tries on a Bra
I’m back on full-time disability again, regrouping. The new SSRIs (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors) seem to be acting without the deflationary side-effects of the previous prescription. The sleeping pills, the first I’ve ever taken, made me wonder why I wasn’t given these seven years ago. Seven years of poor sleep, or no sleep, with the exception of a few brilliant days here and there. I finally stopped shaking. It’s a fresh start. Only, it took the better part of a week to remember how to manage thoughts a la CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) and relaxation techniques. Thank you, big corporations. Thank you for the paychecks and helping me realize who I really am.
Britt Sweats
Of course, these were all things I had to avoid thinking about in order to prevent a panic attack. I arrived at Anytime Fitness, plugged the iPod into my brain, and thought about things like breathing and gravity. It took some time to figure what I wanted to listen to, though. Rock and Electronica were way off. The meditative chants were soothing, but not motivational enough for heavy lifting. Ah – here it is. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor for organ. Yes, and loud! The music took me through biceps and pull-downs into chest-press. I set it on 120 lbs. and lifted 30 times, slowly. This is the most I’ve ever pressed for 30 reps. Things were definitely looking up.
Instruments of Health at Anytime Fitness
A small woman with brown hair entered the gym and looked my way. Her smile exploded at me. When she got to work on the weights, though, she was serious. I introduced myself and asked her about her workout. She told me her name was Tami, and she was getting ready to run a marathon. I told her I didn’t think my knees would make it through a marathon, even though I had been running off and on all my life. She said she had never been a runner, but wanted to do this with her daughter, and “People our age have to work a little harder to keep up, you know.” We had not shared our ages with each other, but she was right. Somehow I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to keep up with her.
Tami Rocks
When you’re in a gym, there’s a good chance you’re going to see someone who is in very good physical condition. It’s not unusual to see guys with huge, well-developed muscles and narrow waistlines, with practically no fat anywhere. I’m not one of those guys. I’m not even close. One of them was sitting in the chest-press machine, pumping a few more after getting a real workout on the free weights. I didn’t know his name, but let’s call him Hercules. The guy is a body-builder. He knows exactly what he looks like in the mirror, and likes what he sees. This is what he lives for. If I ever get back into free weights, he’s the type of person I would approach for direction and advice. I’m sure I would get it, too, if I ever go that route.
Dude has Arms
I finished off my workout with scrunches and decided to take a walk. I left my vintage 1998 Cavalier in the parking lot, crossed Riverfront, walked past the police station and coffee shops, and sauntered across Front Street to Once Read Secondhand Bookstore and Exchange.There were a few customers browsing the shelves, and the cats were ballistic. Yes, a used bookstore with cats. One, gray-striped, is named Fred, the other, mostly gray, is Ethel. Ethel was darting from the front to the back of the store, back and forth. The other was content to sit in the window. This would be a bad thing for people who are allergic to cats, but for those of us who like both books and cats, it feels perfectly natural. It’s a small store, but a large world unto itself. A diagram is posted up front, describing how the store is organized. By now, I know where poetry, classics and history are located. The place is a literary treasure trove. You may not find what you’re looking for, but something may find you. A month or so ago, I found a copy of Julius Caesar’s Gallic War commentaries. It was published in 1898, and would have been in perfect condition if it had not have been missing several pages. I paid $3.50 for it.
Fred Likes Books
This time, I struck gold, or platinum, or diamonds, which ever is more valuable. I found Rilke: A Life by Wolfgang Leppman, a very comprehensive 400 page biography of one of the 20th century’s greatest poets. The other gem I dug up is The Complete Rhyming Dictionary and Poet’s Craft Book, edited by Clement Wood, and published in 1936. It’s in perfect condition. It covers all of the basic terms, techniques, patterns, and forms, but the bulk of it is a dictionary of the English language in which words are grouped by like sounds, rather than by first letter. Very few modern poets write in rhyme, but this is fun reading. For instance, under the group heading of EZ´i, are the words breezy, easy, free-and-easy, freezy, greasy, queasy, sleazy, sneezy, speakeasy, uneasy, wheezy and Zambezi. That sounds like an interesting night out, doesn’t it?
Kim Holds Down the Fort
The price of both books together: $10.50. The woman working the till was named Kim, and she was genuinely friendly. The owner’s name is Mark, and I’ve never met him. I assumed he was kicking back somewhere, reading a good book. I took my purchases under my arm, dodged Ethel and walked out into November. I started to head back to my car, but the coffee shop across the street said, “Hey! You sure would like a good, steaming cup of mud!” Why, yes I would. And not just mud – a double espresso. The door to the Fillin’ Station was wide open. A few patrons sat here and there with their favorite companions - laptops and cell phones. I ordered a double, dumped some sugar in it, and sipped away. Instantly, I was transported to the back streets of Napoli. That’s good stuff. There was original artwork on the walls, newspapers and magazines lying about, and a noticeable shift in the perception of time. Not to say there was more or less of it here, but it just wasn’t important. As it should be.
Fill 'er Up, Joel
I floated out the door, several wavelengths above ground. I’m referring to electrical ground, where all the electrons go when they die. Did I tell you I rarely drink coffee? Heh. Newly energized, in warp drive, traveling somewhere beyond light speed, I decided to visit the Barkhadle Store, located across from the police station. The store had been featured recently in the Mankato Free Press, as an example of the lack of integration immigrants had with the larger community, particularly in regards to relations with the police force. I spoke with the proprietors, Ahmed and Habibo, who were very friendly and justifiably proud of their business. I picked out what I had come for – Indian Pickle – and inquired as to what food the typical Somali household eats. I thereupon received an education. I think they were a little surprised, and delighted, when I purchased the items they showed me. A very popular dish contains crushed white corn and adzuki beans. Ahmed advised me to cook the corn first, and add the beans when it was almost done, along with a little salt. When the contents of the pot are fully cooked, I can add anything I want. That sounded easy enough. Once I cook this meal and eat some of it, I’ll give a full report.
Ahmed Runs His Business
I walked out of there with several bags of food, including fresh injera, the spongy East African flatbread that lends itself so well to scooping up well-seasoned sauces, meats and vegetables. I planned on having that and Orange Pekoe for breakfast the next day. At that point, I also decided to put an end to my exploration of a corner of downtown Mankato, and drove home. That was enough excitement for one day, and I needed to do some work at home. I crossed over the Minnesota River, took the Center Street ramp, and took a right on Belgrade towards Range. As I neared the intersection, I noticed some kind of construction going on, and began to look for ways to negotiate around it. Getting closer, I saw that it wasn’t construction at all, but city workers decking overhead cables with Christmas decorations in a cherry picker. I pulled over, grabbed my camera and began taking photos. I wasn’t sure of how they would turn out, but this wasn’t something you see every day. When I asked the workers to wave for me, they said, Yeah, each raising and lowering a hand quickly, without smiling. They obviously found me obnoxious, but if I ever see them out and about, I would be happy to buy them each a beer for putting some magic into our lives.
Tacos @ Spinners
I managed to make it home without anything unusual happening. Looking back, though, nothing out of the ordinary had happened during my trip across the river and back. People read books, sold food, drank coffee, and did their jobs. It was just another autumn day in a small Midwestern city. The only anomaly to be found was a bald guy walking around with a camera, bothering people with questions and taking their photos. For him, it was a very good day.
Ethyl Shows Off
9 comments
What a great piece of journalism. For a depressed guy you sound a note of wonderful hospitality. I would almost say that the problem of depression is usually the lack of this element — like, who cares what they all think. The sense is that this is a very good day for you, but you don’t load us up with the drama of the not so good days — but the thought is there. And the kind thought that of we step out on the branch just a bit, then a bit further, and then juist a bit further, the results will be healing. Good work, Britt!
I like that you took pictures and wrote captions, too. It’s all a valentine.
I love it, Britt! I love the transparency, the way you start with your problems but then shift to what is happening around you and making each event a celebration. I love the photos. I love your tone of non-self-pity but wonder. You have to turn this into a regular column! Simple steps back to wholeness.
That IS a good day! It’s an idyllic day. You’re doing all the right things.
In the neighborhood where I grew up there was a Hungarian pastry shop where everyone–from Zionists to Columbia professors to teenage me–used to sit squished together at the same tables, whether you knew each other or not. The tea was always stewed and the pastry dry, but I liked the atmosphere. Anyway there was always a cat, sometimes more than one if the first cat had kittens. The cat (or cats) sat wherever they liked and graciously sampled our inedible pastries and saucers of milk (I think they still use whole milk in this place). No-one complained about it, although it was probably illegal. Come to think of it, there were several small businesses in the neighborhood with cats. Everyone knew the cats by name. All part of a vanished New York, before it got sanitized to death.
It is always a good day when the world around us draws us into it. Love the smile on your sweaty face! Ethyl (achoo!) is too much. Watch out for the kids and animals — they tend to upstage the stars.
Yeah, what a great tour guide you are! I LOVE that you got so many pictures of people and domestic pets doing what they do in a day. I felt grounded by all the specifics, too, and expanded by what you chose to focus on–like the Somali food. What a day!!
Britt, I took SSRI pharmaceuticals for over 20 years - I’m off them now and treating my condition with light box therapy, and with alternating days of wood betony tea and oat straw tea - traditional nerve tonics. For sleep, I drink valerian tea. Much much cheaper and effective for me. I am grateful to prozac and the other drugs for helping me for years, but they stopped working. Exercise is critical too, as you clearly know. My point is, there are options if what you are trying stops working.
In the far back reaches of my mind (?) I was always curious about your decision to end northography. I knew there must have been extenuating circumstances. Glad you’re dealing with your demons in a positive way. Writing is both confessional and therapeutic. This is a great piece of writing. Suggestion name for a column: Footnotes. I’ve always wanted to write one, but I can’t write like this. Would like to have a beer with you some day.
Hi Britt, It was a pleasure to meet you at the Bookstore- I’m glad that it contributed to your good day. I hope you’ll have many more to come! Thanks for the photo
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