Snow continued to fall gently, as it had for the past 12 days. It truly looked like the storybook ‘winter wonderland’. Up and down both sides of the street, the neighborhood appeared like a fairy tale. Christmas lights and scenes had sprung up in virtually everyone’s yard with everything from the traditional lighting to homemade elves in ‘Santa’s Workshop’. Our own house was no exception.
The front entrance was decked out in blue and green lights that winked on and off continually. The junipers under the living room window were spot lit with yellow which, under the soft blanket of snow, had an aura rather like spun gold. The young birch saplings were strung with red reflective globes and the blue spruce, nearly 40 feet tall, was crowned with a star 3 feet in diameter. The family tree could be seen through the living room window, so full of ornaments and tinsel you could hardly make out the foliage. Packages lay under the tree, with some of the smaller ones suspended lovingly in its branches. The strains of traditional carolling could be heard off in the distance, while in my own home I knew some holiday classic with Bing Crosby was likely on television.
It was with all of this seasonal beauty in mind that I ascended to the roof, snow shovel in hand. It had been while clearing the driveway that I noticed, while looking up at the fat, fluffy flakes drifting down, just how much snow had accumulated on the roof. Several feet thick, it was no longer a sight to admire, but rather represented several tons of pressure on the rafters and supporting walls. The time had come to clear it off, even if it meant circling the house again with the snowblower afterward. So I climbed to the gutter and worked my way onto the deep drifts atop the shingles.
Stopping for a breath about 30 minutes into the laborious task, I noticed that the snow had stopped falling. In fact, the sky had cleared and the crisp December night was now illuminated by thousands of tiny, twinkling stars. It was at that moment I could have sworn I heard sleigh bells. The street was empty, and dark too, except for the colorful displays. Listening, all I could hear by now was my own heavy breathing. A cloud of foggy breath enveloped my head. Had it been silhouetted against the moon, one could almost have believed I resembled an angel. I resumed the shoveling but stopped immediately, convinced once more that I had heard bells. Leaning on the shovel and taking a peek over my shoulder I was absolutely stunned to see a reindeer-driven sleigh slicing through the night and heading straight for my own house out of the starlit sky. Snow billowed outward as the strange vehicle landed forcefully on the still snow-capped half of the roof.
A fat bearded man in a red suit, trimmed with white, and carrying a large sack over his back, stepped from the side of the sleigh. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Sure, this was Christmas Eve, but I had already bought all the gifts the children had asked for. Every year it had been the same. In a whisper I spoke out loud, “Santa Clause isn’t real”. My eyes bulged with disbelief.
Scarcely had the red-clad man stepped out of the sleigh when he slipped on the roof, temporarily losing his balance. He fell to one knee, arms flailing. I stepped forward to help, but saw that this strange visitor’s stumble was only minor. What I hadn’t noticed was that as ‘Santa’ struggled to maintain his balance, his jerky, awkward and sudden movements had spooked the lead reindeer dreadfully. With flaring nostrils and a terror stricken look, the nine deer began to prance and tremble uneasily, each one smelling the fear of the next as it spread down the line. The harness soon became entangled and Santa was quick to drop the sack in order to try calming the excitable, high strung animals. With one terrific jerk, while holding onto a halter, he was lifted completely off his feet and dropped right in the midst of the now panic stricken brutes.
My mouth dropped as I watched helplessly, the Santa of my boyhood being trampled mercilessly. Red velvet and white fur flew in all directions. Each time Santa appeared about to crawl free he was somehow drawn back into the center of the frenzy, as if caught in a backwash. Blood began to stain the remaining snow on the roof and trickled toward the eaves. Santa’s face was becoming a bludgeoned, pulpy mass; his body a crumpled lifeless form beneath the spindly legs and hooves that continued raining down their mortal blows.
After what seemed like hours, but was really less than three minutes, the beasts calmed down, drained of energy, the panic spent. The fright that started the carnage was waning. With a snort here and a pawing hoof there, they finally seemed to have forgotten what had just taken place and stood placidly in the reddened, crusty snow, steam rising from their flanks.
And, eventually, I too got over the trauma of what I had witnessed that Christmas Eve. In retrospect, though, the fact that my children were presented with a seemingly bottomless bag of toys the next day; and considering that we enjoyed fine homemade sausage all the rest of that winter, it really hadn’t been such a bad experience after all.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
When the Marriage *Spark* Seems to Fizzle
A number of years ago I read the very wise words of a doctor who specialized in treating Panic and Anxiety Disorder, Depression, and related psychiatric ailments. Dr Claire Weekes, who died in 1986, suffered from these things herself so carried great credibility when I needed treatment that would be both self-administered and effective. But what she taught me carries over into virtually every aspect of life. I wish to address one key area here; marriage, and how we cope when that "spark" seems to be fading and about to die. Please bear with me as I lay what may seem to be an irrelevant groundwork...
Let me briefly describe the person who has been mired in depression and anxiety for a long period of time. Not only is depression a term which well describes the downward spiral of mood, it becomes a daily retinue of hopelessness, listlessness, and can be so crippling that even the simple decision of what to make for dinner can by beyond the ability of a very, very tired mind. Thoughts are scrambled and we are unable to pick one from the bunch and concentrate on anything at all. We are overwhelmed by a veritable vacuum of emotion which is so draining we eventually will be unable to even cry for a brief release. When a person suffers in this way for years it becomes a challenge to do the most minor of tasks. It is not unusual to hear of such a patient being bed ridden for months, responding little, if at all, to prescribed treatments. But when the proper treatment does finally arrive, and usually this has more to do with education than it does medication, the light begins to come on once again. There is a dawning and an awakening. The dark veil begins to lift. Life seems to gain purpose. Glimpses of joy sail past and the person begins to feel alive once more. And here is the key sign of recovery; things begin to seem interesting.
There is a joy to be discovered, shared, and revelled in. But at this point the patient needs to be aware of something most health providers fail to caution. Dr. Weekes knew this, since she had cruised this cycle of illness and recovery many, many times as have I. Moving from the depths of illness to the bright light of recovery presents us with a startling contrast. The newly healthy person will feel euphoric, commanding, confident, able to conquer the world. But as time passes this feeling begins to fade. Not because they are falling again into illness. But because this is how life simply is; ordinary for the most part for most people.
No normal person feels euphoric every day, they would never accomplish a thing if they did. But the ill patient coming out of years of illness wants to hold onto that euphoria. They want to be immersed in it, bathed in it, rolled in it and deep fried in it. But that is not normal. The average person who has never been depressed does not feel that way. So life, as it begins to return to a stable routine, gradually takes on a somewhat less exciting gleam. The heightened emotions of recovery cannot be kept at fever pitch perpetually. They calm down as they are supposed to and as they are meant to.
So, after all that we come to the one word I want to use; contrast. Now I would like to apply the words of Dr Weekes herself on this topic. "The nervously ill person, suddenly emerging again into the world of life and activity after years of debilitating illness will feel euphoric, brimming over with happiness and confidence. But when these feelings begin to calm down, as they must in a very basic biological sense, they must realize, perhaps again and again, that life is not made up of perpetual euphoria. It is made up in great measure of very ordinary, frequently very uninteresting events".
If we feel the spark has gone out of a marriage, it is most often, in my unprofessional opinion, only a contrast we have become aware of. The first moments of young love, even for older people, are more exciting than pretty much anything we'll ever know on this earth. But they eventually must calm down to a manageable level. It would not be healthy if, for years on end, we could not eat or sleep because we're so enamored with the visions of loveliness we behold daily. The trouble is, we LIKE those feelings of excitement. That initial spark is what unites us and we love the feelings that accompany them; the dream world spawned from within, fed by the memories of kisses and perfumes. Only an extremely rare married couple could claim to have maintained that delirous "spark" since the day they met. And they're probably lying if they do.
As much as those feelings make us feel wonderful, they are not meant to remain turned on HIGH. Life really is very ordinary for most hours in a day for most people. We get up, shower, dress, rowse the children, make breakfast, find leftovers for lunch, off to work (which may itself be dull and uninteresting). Then shopping, dinner, dishes, laundry, tidy the living room, and finally collapse in a chair with a book or magazine wanting nothing more than to catch our breath. One day we look up and think, Where did that spark go? What happened to that euphoria we knew when we first met? Well, the spark didn't really go anywhere. It was used to ignite a long term relationship which, we often don't realize at the outset, is going to eventually be filled with these very routine and ordinary activities with little time for non-stop love making.
I am not saying that marriage need be dull and uninteresting, or without excitement. But we would do well to remember that the fever pitch, head over heels feelings we once felt are not going to come calling every day. There will not be an exciting and romantic adventure lurking around every corner waiting to surprise us. As fun as this might be the fact is that we must settle down, calm down, manage our emotions in order to get things done. When we become aware of the contrast, however, between what we may have felt many years ago and what we appear to feel today, we may become alarmed that something is wrong; something has happened, something is missing. This is one of the great myths of modern culture.
Marriage that survives long term is one that is cultivated daily. Successful marriage requires nurturing, watering, careful tending and loving attention. It cannot be so if its something we only take down from the shelf to give a dusting to when we have the inclination. It takes effort, a conscious effort. In the initial stages we are carried along on tides of emotion that are easy, joyful, and effortless. But when these things subside and return us to normal life, as will happen, we need to be aware that there is nothing wrong with dull days. There is nothing needing fixing just because we can't always find something interesting to talk about. Silence is beautiful too.
Marriage matures and ages. It grows beyond the need to be sustained by that early infatuation. It becomes self sustaining through a joint commitment to its furtherance. This commitment does not become alarmed when there is little to say and seemingly nothing interesting to do. At such times it is helpful to just rest, let quiet slide gently in and know this is a healthy thing to do. Worry over it will only prolong it, give it a needless focus, and add stress to an otherwise normal situation.
Say "I love you", as you look into the other's eyes, and mean it. A quick mumbling of those three words as we rush out the door is not the same thing, though it certainly may be all we can manage at times. Show appreciation for the smallest things, thank them for making dinner, for doing the laundry, for tidying up a mess we left behind, and for seeing that the bills get paid. Then off to bed for a good romp. Thats a prescription that cannot fail. And never fear the contrast between what once was and what now is. The former is the foundation. The latter a mighty edifice. Not every corner and closet will be filled with unending arousal and excitement. But it can become as solid as a mountain. The spark hasn't fizzled. It has become a roaring furnace, kept under control and well maintained. Or at least, it can be.
Let me briefly describe the person who has been mired in depression and anxiety for a long period of time. Not only is depression a term which well describes the downward spiral of mood, it becomes a daily retinue of hopelessness, listlessness, and can be so crippling that even the simple decision of what to make for dinner can by beyond the ability of a very, very tired mind. Thoughts are scrambled and we are unable to pick one from the bunch and concentrate on anything at all. We are overwhelmed by a veritable vacuum of emotion which is so draining we eventually will be unable to even cry for a brief release. When a person suffers in this way for years it becomes a challenge to do the most minor of tasks. It is not unusual to hear of such a patient being bed ridden for months, responding little, if at all, to prescribed treatments. But when the proper treatment does finally arrive, and usually this has more to do with education than it does medication, the light begins to come on once again. There is a dawning and an awakening. The dark veil begins to lift. Life seems to gain purpose. Glimpses of joy sail past and the person begins to feel alive once more. And here is the key sign of recovery; things begin to seem interesting.
There is a joy to be discovered, shared, and revelled in. But at this point the patient needs to be aware of something most health providers fail to caution. Dr. Weekes knew this, since she had cruised this cycle of illness and recovery many, many times as have I. Moving from the depths of illness to the bright light of recovery presents us with a startling contrast. The newly healthy person will feel euphoric, commanding, confident, able to conquer the world. But as time passes this feeling begins to fade. Not because they are falling again into illness. But because this is how life simply is; ordinary for the most part for most people.
No normal person feels euphoric every day, they would never accomplish a thing if they did. But the ill patient coming out of years of illness wants to hold onto that euphoria. They want to be immersed in it, bathed in it, rolled in it and deep fried in it. But that is not normal. The average person who has never been depressed does not feel that way. So life, as it begins to return to a stable routine, gradually takes on a somewhat less exciting gleam. The heightened emotions of recovery cannot be kept at fever pitch perpetually. They calm down as they are supposed to and as they are meant to.
So, after all that we come to the one word I want to use; contrast. Now I would like to apply the words of Dr Weekes herself on this topic. "The nervously ill person, suddenly emerging again into the world of life and activity after years of debilitating illness will feel euphoric, brimming over with happiness and confidence. But when these feelings begin to calm down, as they must in a very basic biological sense, they must realize, perhaps again and again, that life is not made up of perpetual euphoria. It is made up in great measure of very ordinary, frequently very uninteresting events".
If we feel the spark has gone out of a marriage, it is most often, in my unprofessional opinion, only a contrast we have become aware of. The first moments of young love, even for older people, are more exciting than pretty much anything we'll ever know on this earth. But they eventually must calm down to a manageable level. It would not be healthy if, for years on end, we could not eat or sleep because we're so enamored with the visions of loveliness we behold daily. The trouble is, we LIKE those feelings of excitement. That initial spark is what unites us and we love the feelings that accompany them; the dream world spawned from within, fed by the memories of kisses and perfumes. Only an extremely rare married couple could claim to have maintained that delirous "spark" since the day they met. And they're probably lying if they do.
As much as those feelings make us feel wonderful, they are not meant to remain turned on HIGH. Life really is very ordinary for most hours in a day for most people. We get up, shower, dress, rowse the children, make breakfast, find leftovers for lunch, off to work (which may itself be dull and uninteresting). Then shopping, dinner, dishes, laundry, tidy the living room, and finally collapse in a chair with a book or magazine wanting nothing more than to catch our breath. One day we look up and think, Where did that spark go? What happened to that euphoria we knew when we first met? Well, the spark didn't really go anywhere. It was used to ignite a long term relationship which, we often don't realize at the outset, is going to eventually be filled with these very routine and ordinary activities with little time for non-stop love making.
I am not saying that marriage need be dull and uninteresting, or without excitement. But we would do well to remember that the fever pitch, head over heels feelings we once felt are not going to come calling every day. There will not be an exciting and romantic adventure lurking around every corner waiting to surprise us. As fun as this might be the fact is that we must settle down, calm down, manage our emotions in order to get things done. When we become aware of the contrast, however, between what we may have felt many years ago and what we appear to feel today, we may become alarmed that something is wrong; something has happened, something is missing. This is one of the great myths of modern culture.
Marriage that survives long term is one that is cultivated daily. Successful marriage requires nurturing, watering, careful tending and loving attention. It cannot be so if its something we only take down from the shelf to give a dusting to when we have the inclination. It takes effort, a conscious effort. In the initial stages we are carried along on tides of emotion that are easy, joyful, and effortless. But when these things subside and return us to normal life, as will happen, we need to be aware that there is nothing wrong with dull days. There is nothing needing fixing just because we can't always find something interesting to talk about. Silence is beautiful too.
Marriage matures and ages. It grows beyond the need to be sustained by that early infatuation. It becomes self sustaining through a joint commitment to its furtherance. This commitment does not become alarmed when there is little to say and seemingly nothing interesting to do. At such times it is helpful to just rest, let quiet slide gently in and know this is a healthy thing to do. Worry over it will only prolong it, give it a needless focus, and add stress to an otherwise normal situation.
Say "I love you", as you look into the other's eyes, and mean it. A quick mumbling of those three words as we rush out the door is not the same thing, though it certainly may be all we can manage at times. Show appreciation for the smallest things, thank them for making dinner, for doing the laundry, for tidying up a mess we left behind, and for seeing that the bills get paid. Then off to bed for a good romp. Thats a prescription that cannot fail. And never fear the contrast between what once was and what now is. The former is the foundation. The latter a mighty edifice. Not every corner and closet will be filled with unending arousal and excitement. But it can become as solid as a mountain. The spark hasn't fizzled. It has become a roaring furnace, kept under control and well maintained. Or at least, it can be.
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