Category Archives: Mackenzie Crook

Oct1

one less egg to fry

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We’re having November today, this last day of September. It’s Michigan, so…it is raining and I am grateful. Grateful it isn’t snowing – which feels like it could be just two degrees away. And it is dark. Perfect weather for me these days. I am dark. The sadness does not seem to be subsiding. I guess I thought it would by now. There is definitely a risk that this mood has become habitual; my new default.

It is not quite noon yet and I have managed to tick off two people already. Said the wrong thing the wrong way. It’s a talent and the day is young. It’ll happen again. You could be next.

Meanwhile, I think I’ll just go back to bed and start over later – right after I feed the birds. I’ve been feeding the songbirds again the past few weeks. I had stopped the past couple of years because of the resident bear. The bear has disappeared. That makes me sad. Not that I wanted to get to know the bear personally, but I did feel it had a right to be here, out in the country. Apparently the DNR did not agree. They “relocated” it. I don’t even want to know what that means.

The songbirds bring me joy. And I seem to have little joy these days. I’m having to learn to find joy in new ways. The old sources of my happiness are not working. Birdseed is a small investment, and although money is too tight for comfort, I will find a way to afford it. I feel like I can’t afford not to. I’m taking it out of the grocery budget, which has taken a hit lately anyway. No more pizza or carry out, less organic produce, a few less eggs. Anyway, it’s worth it. I’ve managed to be healthy for 73 years so far; I’ll manage a while longer. Birdsong goes a long way toward bolstering my mental health.

Bird seed also invites mice and squirrels, and they like to find their way inside this time of year. It’s quite nice in here. But the house has had some recent reinforcement, so hopefully it won’t prove a problem. Some of this I’ve done myself in the way of simple tasks like caulk and insulation stuffed in cracks and around doors. I’ve cleared the vegetation away from the foundation and spread gravel. And this past week we got a new roof! Woohoo! Now, that is cause for celebration. Of course, in my little AuDHD brain I had conjured all manner of great and good imaginings about the effect this would have on lightening my stress. It hasn’t come to pass. Yet.

The job is not entirely complete, though it will be soon. As much of the house structure is original to it’s 1955 build, some of the attic was discovered to be rotten. Apparently one of the crew put a foot all the way through the soffit overhanging the porch. It is now hanging in splinters from a gaping hole…talk about inviting critters in! Fortunately no one was injured, the materials have been ordered, and the contractor will return to make the necessary repairs. I am relieved. The agency paying for the roof had a contigency allowance, and they will grant me the few hundred dollars overage to the loan. Phew! I am grateful beyond words.

Somehow I am still sad. I maintain that there is an anxiety that sets in as dusk comes, a kind of “sundowners syndrome” that I believe is related to ADHD; it subsides with darkness. So I try to distract myself from it in the evenings with television series and movies, but it is a teeter-totter of emotions. Binge-watching the new Mackenzie Crook series, Small Prophets, was absolutely delightful. As you would expect. But I made the mistake last night of watching an Irish film, 500 Miles, with one of my favorite actors, Bill Nighy. Loved listening to him with an Irish accent! It’s a beautiful film actually. But so sad. Don’t watch it unless you’re ready for a cathartic wail. Nobody does sad like the Irish. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me…my Irish is showing…

You and I both know this pervasive sadness is straight up grief. It began with the death of my familiar last October. My beloved feline companion died after an infection from a simple medical procedure. It’s been almost a year. Then my former husband died unexpectedly from a fall in April. That has really hit me hard. And then my son’s near death experience this summer. The hits just keep on coming! At any rate, it has never been like me to be so sad for so long. But things are different now. I am different now. I am far more vulnerable. And far more available to it.

I’m not telling you this to garner sympathy – I’m telling you this in hopes that you might not have to go through this same intensity of grief for this extended period of time. I know you can’t avoid loss or grief. I know you can’t control it. But here’s what I wish I would have done sooner: I wish I would have practiced gratitude like my life depended on it. ‘Cause, guess what? It needs to be habitual – our new default. It takes practice, the noticing. So let’s practice, and while we are doing that, I’ll be out back in the shed…

Mar13

hopeless romantic

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It has been almost a month since I have written here. Remember when I used to write almost daily?! That hasn’t happened in a very long time.

It has been a very long winter. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever write here again, to be honest. In fact, I’m not sure about much of anything anymore. My life has been a “watch this space” kinda life…I’m taking it one day at a time. You might think that wise in my old age, but that isn’t really new for me. I’ve pretty much always lived by the seat of my pants.

Now I just live more in retrospect – and I am paying particular attention to the healing. That is one of the many beautiful things about growing old: self-awareness grows, too. Often in spite of ourselves, although I shall only speak for my stubborn self here.

And you notice different things that you never noticed when you were young. How could you have, scrambling to keep up with the impositions of the world? Trying to work and love and think and feel and survive the constant barrage of needs and expectations…trying to survive…

Now I look back and realize that I completely and utterly lost any semblance of romantic inclination decades ago. I had no desire for romance in my life. In fact, I found the notion of romantic love repulsive. Deliver me. Go away. “I vant to be left alone,” as Greta Garbo actually said. I only wanted to enjoy my own company. It didn’t happen right away. In fact it took decades (and several therapists) to extricate myself from the addiction of people pleasing. But, in retrospect, I see now that it was a healing that had occurred. A great big – HUGE huge huge!!! healing: I stopped needing to be accepted. I stopped killing myself trying to prove my worth. I stopped needing to be anything other than who I am so that you wouldn’t leave me. I stopped needing to be needed.

And everything changed. Everything. Halle-fucking-lujah…

Although, I cannot tell you how many friends have told me that living without romance in your life is sad. Sad?! I’ve never been happier. Sad? Because I’m alone? Sure, I experience waves of loneliness. They last about 3 minutes before the delight of something else grabs my attention and I am free to blissfully dive down that rabbit hole.

And this morning something wonderful occurred to me – that I might be living the most romantic life of anyone I know. I am a hopeless romantic.

I romance everything in my life. The trees! Oh, my…the trees. Aren’t they magnificent?! They are not just shade from the hot sun – no. They are my cathedral; my sanctuary. I do not merely walk through the woods; I am on a pilgrimage of spirit. I sit at the beach, watch the water pulling diamonds to the shore, listen to the inland sea rolling onto the sand, and I am transported to heaven. I hear God whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Yep, I’m a hopeless romantic, having a mad love affair with life. Watch this space.

Almost a decade ago I discovered a weird little television series, and I am currently watching it again…as romantics tend to do. It’s so much better this time through. Do you know why? Because I’m so much better this time through. Detectorists is a very quirky little slow moving story about two misfits who become friends over a common hobby – metal detecting. I could not BE LESS interested in metal detecting. But I am a nerd. And my nerd of a son likes to go metal detecting, especially on the nearby beaches after a storm…and it gave us something to watch together.

My hard-ass, hard-hearted unromantic stupid self thought I’d indulge him. But I fell in love. I fell in love with the characters and the writing and the scenery and the music and the spectacular talent and the oh-so-unpredictable surprise delight of it all! What a masterpiece.

Jump down this rabbit hole. Written, directed, and acted by Mackenzie Crook. You’ll never look at a nerd the same way again. Music by Johnny Flynn…and if you don’t know who he is, pull yer head out. Most recently I watched him in Goodbye June. And Rachael Stirling, so talented in her own right, even if she is the daughter of Dame Diana Rigg – who petitioned for a part in the series herself when she learned about it. If you don’t know who Diana Rigg is, well…we really can’t be friends. Go wake up your inner romantic and join us among the living.

Will you search through the lonely earth for me? Climb through the briar and bramble? I’ll be your treasure…I’m waiting for you.

Aug5

“I mean…where do I start?”

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Rabbit Hole Alert. Ohhhh….boy. If you’ve been here at the blog for long, you may remember how obsessed I was a few years ago with the BBC series called The Detectorists. I’ll still aver that it was one of the all-time best ever television series. Then, just yesterday I discovered The Lost Words. Low and behold, the artists of both have worked together. No surprises there. Remember, ultimately it will be the artists who save us.

This beautiful series explores the tender world of the autistic genius, of how sweet friendships are, and how difficult romance (or any form of emotional intimacy) for those who hang by a thread on society’s hem…it’s about paying attention and persistence and most of all it’s about dreaming.

Renowned actor Rachel Stirling apparently petitioned her friend Mackenzie Crook for the role of his wife as she wanted to participate in the series. And when her mother, Dame Diana Rigg, heard about the series she asked to be in it. So she plays the part of Rachel Stirling’s (Becky’s) mother. Between the 2nd and 3rd seasons Dame Diana Rigg sadly died. So Mackenzie Crook re-wrote Season 3 to include her character’s death. The talent that gathered to participate in this series brings so much for our enjoyment, not the least of which was Johnny Flynn writing the musical score. You’ll laugh and cry, but you’ll never feel the same about these goofy characters or the nerdy brainiacs they represent. My own autistic genius child went right out and bought himself a metal detector after watching this! It reminds us that the ordinary and invisible in our culture are precious beyond measure. It is a gem.