Deano’s Blog

Most people look forward to their weekends.  A break from the dreary work week.  A chance to reset and recharge.

Me?

I’ve spent many lost weekends puttering around the house, maybe getting a couple of small things done but mostly sitting on the couch, scrolling through whatever, with something as background noise on TV.  Ignoring any personal project I really don’t feel like doing.

Recently, however, my weekend was completely unscripted.  And quite surprising.

Saturday:

Started off as most Saturdays do — not much planned.  Might possibly flip on the computer and poke around, pretending I’m focusing on something.  Probably not.

But today my Dad calls.  He’s recovering from triple-bypass surgery, and he’s trying to get reimbursed for a trip he had to cancel.  This all has to be done online, and he’s having trouble finding the forms he needs and uploading them.  Can I come help him?

He’s an hour away.  But, he needs my help and, again, I pretty much knew how my day would go.  So I say sure, of course I can help.

It’s a remarkably cool day, a blessed break from the multiple heat waves.  Overcast, breezy, too cold for shorts, even.  Although I’m not usually a fan of grey skies, it’s a nice change.  Where my Dad lives typically gets well into the 100’s, so I’m thankful.  I hop in the car, put on a podcast, and head out.

My help, unfortunately, is fairly limited.  There’s more forms my Dad needs before he can submit his claim.  I do what I can, and tell him I’ll come back once he has everything.

We retire to the living room.  One of my cousins has been staying with Dad for a while to help him in his recovery.  He and my Dad are fairly close in age, so he’s basically been like an uncle for as long as I can remember.  He lives out of state now and we rarely see each other anymore, so we strike up a conversation.

He’s a real storyteller, and for the next hour or so he regales me with tales of growing up in our old hood, catches me up on his kids, and tells me about his wife, who died quite suddenly several months ago, not long after my Mom passed.  That’s why he offered to come down, for a change of scenery for a while.

It was a great conversation.  He’s always been a fascinating guy — architect, contractor, pilot.  It was really nice to reconnect.

Sunday:

My wife and I have a wine-tasting day planned in Napa.  But she’s taken ill this morning, not feeling well at all, so we cancel.  I offer to head up anyway, not to taste but to pick up our wine club shipment (we’re running up on the deadline before they get shipped, and lord knows we don’t want to pay for shipping).

I first stop for breakfast at a coffee place down the road.  It’s been there for years, but we’ve rediscovered it recently.  I have one the best breakfast sandwiches I’ve ever had along with an outstanding iced mocha latte (go ahead, judge).  I also pick up a pastry for my wife, who’s starting to feel a little better.

Then it’s off to Napa.  I had planned on listening to more podcasts, but one of my playlists pops up on shuffle, so I go with that instead.

Although it’s warmer today, it’s still not brutally hot.  I crank up the tunes.

When I pick up the wine, I notice a bunch of brochures on the counter for Yountville, which reminds me that one of my favorite breweries has just opened a taproom there.  I immediately add that stop to my impromptu itinerary.

And I’m glad I did.  The beer was amazing, the bartender very cool, and I had another great conversation, this time with a local couple with a very unique claim to fame.

Once again, I crank up the tunes for the drive home.  I’m having such a great time I don’t even care about the stop-and-go traffic, which is saying something for someone who sits through it on a near-daily basis.

All this to say, it was an astoundingly satisfying weekend, and absolutely nothing about it was planned.   Lots of alone time in the car listening to podcasts and great tunes, enjoying amazing food and terrific conversations with interesting people, hopefully being a little bit helpful, and just generally appreciating life.  Something I rarely do anymore.

All of this because I actually got myself up, out of house, and did things. Who’d a thunk?

It is true, you can’t really see the patterns you fall into until you break out of them.  I may very well snap right back, but for once, when anyone asks me how my weekend was, I can say it was great.  And mean it.

This post was originally going to be yet another entry in the now ongoing “Surreal” series, as at this point it doesn’t seem to end.  I’m recovering from my SECOND hernia surgery, and my 80-year-old Dad is going in for a triple-bypass next month.  Really???

But, I realize I’m no one special.  I’m not being picked on.  This is called life, and as the clock inevitably ticks, this is what’s in front of all of us.  Nobody gets YOUNGER.  I think comedian Marc Maron put it best — aging is really nothing more than “decay management.”

Plus, I have to say, it’s been nice to have an EXCUSE to sit around and do nothing.  I’m recovering, right?  I have to take it easy.  No heavy lifting!

And I’ve realized a few things during this latest period of “forced” inactivity.

One of my depression symptoms is the classic no-longer-enjoying-things-I-used-to.  Reading has piled up, shows go unwatched, writing has pretty much ceased altogether.  They’ve all just turned into chores anymore.  Most of my time is now spent in endless scrolls, brain completely disengaged.

But I’ve noticed a shift lately.  Maybe it’s just getting off the treadmill for a minute, but I’m actually tackling my reading pile.  I’ve FINALLY started this season’s Simpsons (I’ve watched every year since day one — I was in freaking COLLEGE for cryin’ out loud!).

And I’m finding the capacity to write these words.  My brain isn’t constantly gasping for air.  I can actually focus on something for more than a few minutes.

And, while I’m not exactly sure if I’m actually going to start taking better care of myself like I always say I want to, at least now I’m not immediately telling myself I won’t.

This is kind of huge, actually.

My inner dialogue is brutal.  Usually in these situations I automatically tell myself, why bother?  You’ll never follow through on it, so there’s no point in even starting.  You’ll save yourself a lot of mental anguish if you just give up now.  You’ll wind up in the same place, anyway.

Maybe not, this time.

Is the latest adjustment to my Prozac dosage actually kicking in?  Perhaps.

Or perhaps I’m just tired of adding my own manufactured misery on top of the daily piles of crap I already have to wade through.  Yes, I need to take better care of myself.  But I’m not a bad person because I haven’t.

Maybe my mind, as well as my body, is starting to mend.

I broke my elbow last week.

Funny story, really.  I was already at the hospital for a doctor’s appointment, his office is in the adjacent medical offices.  While walking out of the parking garage, I tripped on one of those cement wheel stops and hit the pavement.   Landed on my left side, all my weight on my arm.

My first thought was “not again.”  Less than a year ago, I was walking down a sidewalk and stepped into a tree well (that circular cutout around the base of a tree).  That time I landed on my right side, resulting in some bruised ribs.  So I was already familiar with that feeling when the ground leaves you and you’re in that half-second free-fall ending in the inevitable crash landing.

I’m in my mid-50’s, people.  Way too early to be falling this much.

I knew something was wrong immediately, I could barely move my arm.  After I gathered myself, I knew I had a choice to make.  This doctor visit was just a yearly check-in with a specialist that would take all of five minutes.  Or I could (probably should) go straight to the ER, and reschedule with the doc.

I kept my appointment.  I expect my Purple Heart will arrive imminently.

A few hours, several x-rays, and an arm splint later, I headed back to the office (I’m right-handed, so I could still drive) to pick up my stuff and call it a day.

But the day wasn’t done with me yet.

Before I even got to my desk, our HR person stopped me.  Was I heading home?

Well, yes, actually.  I just broke my arm, figured I’d take the afternoon off.

Well, the company was making some cuts, which included one person in my department.  We had to negotiate who it would be.  Right now.

Excuse me?

You know, most days, you pretty much know what to expect when you work in an office.  You drive in, spend the majority of your eight hours at your desk, putting out one fire after another, then you drive home.  Occasionally, if you’re lucky, you might have lunch brought in.  Or maybe it’s Wacky Shirt Day.  Otherwise, not a whole lot of variation.

Breaking a limb and firing an employee?  Nope, NOT on my office bingo card.

So I’d already lost a battle with gravity and concrete.  NOW I had to fight to save someone’s job with one arm tied behind my back (strapped in a sling, actually).

But, even wounded, I fought valiantly.  All looked lost, but at the last moment we rallied.  We were able to find cuts elsewhere, and my department (if not myself) remained intact.

Battered, bruised (I now have bruised ribs on my LEFT side), and exhausted, I returned home to nurse my wounds and reflect on the tragedies and triumphs of a VERY surreal day.

At least next week we’re getting burritos.  Easy to eat with one hand.

Like most commute-weary suburbanites, I am a caffeine addict.  And like most addicts, when your supply gets interrupted, you’ll resort to drastic measures to get it back. So it was with my coffee maker.

I have one of those single-serve, individual pod coffee machines.  I recently had to descale it.  This is a newer machine, and gone are the days where you just run vinegar through it and rinse it out.  They have their own special solution (available at a small additional cost) and many, many steps to the process.

So, I go through the process,  and several gallons of water later, the display still says “descale.”

????

After reviewing the instructions, I realized I missed one small, crucial step in the beginning — I didn’t put the machine in “descale mode.”  It just thought I was running brew cycles over and over and over and over and over again.

So I decide to start over.  But I screwed up trying to start Descale Mode and it wound up running a brew cycle.  With no water.  The machine overheated, and died.

Like, dead.  Like would not power on.  No pulse.  Nothing.

Uh-oh.  The supply was in danger.

Once I stopped panicking, it was on to the interwebs.

After a little research, I discover the problem.  The thermostat has “popped,” cutting power to the machine.  The good news — it can be reset, just like a wall outlet.  The bad news, unlike a wall outlet, there’s no easy button to press.  You have to take the coffee maker apart to get to it.

So my choices are either spend more $$$ on a new machine, or try to fix it myself.

You should know, I’m HORRENDOUS at any kind of home repair.  Anything more complicated than a light bulb, I’m out.  The very idea of fixing ANYTHING makes my eyes sweat.

But, being the addict (and gigantic cheapskate) I am, I have no choice.  I have to get this thing working.

Gulp.

I clear an entire day (which isn’t much of a problem, since I don’t do much), and set to work.

I luckily found an extremely helpful video that went step-by-step through the process, which basically involves popping the outer cover off to access the innards.  Everything’s plastic, of course, so the trick is to pry the cover off of the unit without breaking any of the million or so tiny little tabs that hold it in place.

With the concentration (if not skill) of a surgeon, I manage to peel the cover off without any apparent damage.  And using the high-tech tool of an unwound paperclip, I reset the thermostat.  But before putting everything back together, I plug it in, and nervously hit the power button.

Success!  Although the damned “descale” message is still on.  But at least it’s alive.

I carefully pop the cover on, CORRECTLY put the machine in Descale Mode, and run several brew cycles (WITH water) until the message mercifully goes away.

Crisis averted.  I will have coffee for my morning commute.

Why am I telling you all this?

Depression has robbed me of the motivation to do pretty much anything.  I do my job 40 hours a week, but little else.  Goal setting??  What are these “goals” you keep talking about?

It took the frightening specter of caffeine withdrawal to do it, but I made a plan, faced my fear and actually fixed something.  I didn’t replace it.  I fixed it.

It may not be much, but for a day, I felt like a person.  For a day, depression can take a seat.

Hey gang, welcome to Deano’s Blog.

Welcome also to Deano’s List.  Whereas my other site is a Craft Beer fan site, this one’s devoted to my hobby/wannabe side-hustle of Freelance Writer.

You’ll find links to my published work here (which you can find at the handy My Work link, up top there).  This specific blog is more of a space to spew out whatever random thoughts are bouncing around my noggin.

Because — depression.

Although it still feels like something I use as a dodge to avoid doing actual work, it is a thing I’m diagnosed with, taking medication and in therapy for.  

And it’s pretty much stopped my writing in its tracks.  I haven’t had anything published in nearly a year and a half.

So, here I am, trying to keep my writing muscles from completely atrophying.  And this is the easiest way for me to do it.  Just sit, open computer, start typing.

I’ll try my best to resist the temptation of whining about whatever might be annoying me at any particular time (which is a lot).  Hoping this will serve as more of a writing journal.  Maybe some great idea will spring forth from one of these posts.  Probably not, but you never know.

In the meantime, I’ll try not to bore you.  And if this does lead to something good (read lucrative), you can say you knew me when.

Here we go.  Thanks for hanging out.

You can also read my beer scribblings at The Beerverse.