Farewell, dear column readers

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” -  Winnie the Pooh   

Winder, Barrow County and my lovely readers – this is “Goodbye.” Mr. Clark and I are in process of buying a lake house and if all goes as planned, we’ll be moving by mid-April. Sorting through 26 years of memories and possessions, preparing to downsize dramatically is a daunting, detail-filled task and I’m afraid even if I applied myself with fervor and urgency 15 hours a day between now and then, I won’t get everything that needs doing done. Hence, my “Goodbye.”

I’ve had a good run as a columnist in this community. I appreciate each and every person who has enjoyed or tolerated, turned first to or become angered by my work. It’s been fun to be recognized, hugged and complimented - not so fun to be yelled at or typed harshly about. I’ve enjoyed hearing that my words have had a positive impact on a stranger who introduces him or herself at an event or a store. And, I’ve done my share of ducking behind racks or hustling to the next aisle when I recognize someone who’s not so fond of me.

My first column appeared in the Barrow Eagle newspaper in the fall of 1994. Either the readers liked my work or the thin start-up the Eagle was at the time needed space filler…probably a combination of both led to me share weekly musings for the next six years. That was a busy time in my life. I worked full time at the paper as a reporter/ photographer and eventually became the features editor. My kids were in middle and high school during those years and it was such a pleasure to be able to cover their events, as well as attend them.

My columns in those days were about the kids, my experiences as their mother, local events, local politics and other thoughts as they occurred. My editor told me “a columnist’s agenda should be to inform the public, offer a fresh viewpoint, stir vigorous debate or to raise hell.” I took his words to heart and applied myself. The columns people seemed to like the most were my rants about local shenanigans, as well as the ones that brought a tear to the eye - some tender mother’s memory or a remembrance of a fallen friend or pet.

Those were good times, as a newspaper person and as a columnist…When the Eagle sold and I had to take a break from peddling my words. I missed my family of readers and the reactions I generated, a lot.   

I got another shot at column writing when the Barrow Journal started up in the fall of 2008. My old publisher called up the publisher of the new paper and told him he “had to have” my work. Imagine my surprise when my new publisher called and asked if I’d return to column writing. I was both flattered and scared…What if I didn’t have anything to say?

My run as a BJ columnist was a good one, as well. As with the Eagle, I ended up reporting, taking pictures and becoming the features editor for a while. I taped my old editor’s quote about “a columnist’s agenda” near my home work station and did my best to live up to it. By this time, my kids were grown and the things I had to write about were different – the musings of an older person, with a different perspective. There were still local events and causes, and by this time, I was involved with animal rescues and feeding the hungry. These things provided inspiration and plenty to write about. As for the rant columns, still based on local shenanigans, they were once again quite popular and so much fun to write.  

During the BJ years, I generated more tears, got more hugs and the hate mail was, at times, frightening. It’s interesting to be loved and hated, with equal fervor, by readers in the same community.

When I left the BJ in 2013, it was with the hope of being elected to serve in a political capacity. When my best efforts fell a bit short, I had the good fortune of joining the Barrow County News as a weekly columnist. This has been an honor and pleasure for me. The political campaign took its toll and one result was that my desire to rant and/or fight public battles with my words died. My goal in sharing my thoughts in this paper has been to interest or possibly provoke thought, to promote local events and causes, and share pieces of my personal world. The stories I tell about animals are by far, the most popular.   

I don’t know if I’ll ever write a column again…I’ll have to wait for the moving dust to settle and get our home established again. I will challenge myself to post photos and thoughts about the “new life” and other things on my blog. It’s http://dontworrybehappy-lorin.blogspot.com/  Please feel free to check in and see what I’ve been up to.       

Ernie Harwell said, “It’s time to say goodbye, but I think goodbyes are sad and I’d much rather say hello. Hello to a new adventure. “ And so, off I go…Take good care, dear readers and friends. I’m going to miss you all, so much.

 

 

 

moving to the lake...

“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” – Alan Watts

 

Mr. Clark and I bought a lake house this weekend and my head is reeling! It’s a classic case of “be careful what you wish for, for you may surely get it.” We’ve been talking about scaling back and moving to the lake for a few years, but had made no concrete steps in that direction. Then all of the sudden, Kaboom! A For-Sale-By-Owner pops up on Zillow – the lake house of our dreams – on a whim we go see it, we fall in love with it and make an offer. The offer was low enough we assumed the seller would counter and then we wouldn’t be able to afford the place…Imagine our surprise when he accepted our offer instantly! OMG! We just bought a lake house!

 

The initial emotion was euphoria – it’s a well-built log cabin on four acres on a deep water cove with a dock and a lovely view. Just under 1,900 sq. feet, it’s significantly smaller than our current home which means I just might be able to keep it clean and in good repair. There’s a loft and a wrap-around porch and a sun room along the back of the house with a luscious view of the forest and lake. No nearby neighbors, plenty of wildlife and a peace and quiet that is profound. No more city noise for us - nothing but the sound of the birds and crickets and wind in the trees.

 

Amazing! It felt like it was meant to be - the whole thing happened so quickly and easily. Then, the next day it hit me, hard – this meant we would have to leave our beloved big white house and a yard so large and lovely we call it Clark Park. The place our kids grew up…a place so full of happy memories, laughter and love…rooms full of visitors, family and friends…all of those long pleasant evenings on the back porch…The place that has sheltered and nurtured our family for 26 years will no longer be called home. I get tears in my eyes just typing about it.

 

When we called our kids to tell them the news, they were kind, supportive and understanding, but also very sad – especially since our decision was such a surprise. Some houses are just houses, others become homes. Our house has a soul of its own, a soul that other families who have lived here, other kids who have grown up and played here, have experienced. She’s just such a special, spectacular, grand old hostess…             

 

She was condemned when we bought her – nearly gutted by a fire. We restored her, moved in and have loved her dearly ever since. She was the hang-out house when our kids were growing up. Our daughter’s best friends stayed here during the week of her wedding. Our son and his wife got married here. These walls have seen our best times and our worst. Our pets, so many, so loved over the years, are all buried in the back yard.  

 

Clark Park has been a labor of love and a work in progress for years. Initially, our kids were small and life was very busy. As they grew up, life moved from busy to hectic, so we didn’t do much to create an outdoor living space until it became time for their high school graduation parties. With those, the lawn and landscaping started creeping slowly backwards, displacing privet and kudzu. When the kids went off to college, the energy Mr. Clark and I used to pour into them went into the yard. Year after year, our once overgrown acre became a private park. Flowerbeds, paths, shrubbery; hammocks, swings, benches; bird feeders and yard art – lots of bird feeders and yard art. The pergola we built for the wedding is now covered in jasmine – such a sweet scent in the spring!

 

When Mr. Clark was out of work after the crash in 2008, he threw himself into gardening and making homemade hot sauce, pasta sauce and salsa. When he found work again, it became a team effort and now we have a 1,200 sq. foot garden with some of the nicest soil you’ll ever sink a seed into. Our “Ed Bob’s” products have become nearly famous because each year we make so much that we have to give A LOT away. We have “Ed Bob’s” “customers” (you can’t buy it, we give it away…) as far away as California, New York and Alaska.  

 

It was easy to forget how much this all means when I was grousing about yard work or weeding or washing all of these d%&m windows…Easy to long for a bungalow or a lake house…fewer chores…a different life. And, then we got that and all of the sudden it’s clear how much I love this place and all the things I’ve been grousing about.  

 

Change is hard; that is to be expected. A big change, like moving away from the best home EVER and beginning to sort through the few things that will go with us and all the things that must stay to be sold or be given away…Well, right now that feels like an awfully large task.  

 

“We’ll have new adventures there,” my daughter said, hopefully, her voice wobbling from fighting back tears…”This is a chance to make new memories,” my son added, with a big lump in his throat.

 

Big house, beautiful yard, ridiculously productive garden - we’re going to miss you so much! It’s a blessing to be able to chart a new course and start into a new life, but there’s going to be a lot of tears, throat lumps and sadness, on the way to that lake house.

 

Since we’ve taken the leap and plunged in, now our challenge is to turn this move into a bittersweet dance.  

 

 

Hello, Black Dog

“It’s okay not to be okay.” – Namaste Café

 

Depression, melancholy, down in the dumps, the blues, S.A.D. (Seasonal Affect Disorder) or Vitamin D deficiency – call it what you will – for years I have struggled emotionally this time of year. The days are short and often cold and gray; the nights are long, dark and even colder. I can’t seem to get warm, even on a sunny day. My heart feels like it’s coated with ice; I wonder if I’ll ever feel warm sun on my face again…

 

Meet my Black Dog – the Black Dog of Depression. Winston Churchill made his Black Dog famous most recently, but it turns out the history of the Black Dog goes way back. In British and European folklore, influenced by Greek and Roman mythology, black dogs are harbingers of death or emissaries of the Devil. Several 18^th Century writers wrote about their Black Dogs and “the Black Dog is on his back” was once a term for melancholy.    

 

I named my Black Dog some years ago, after all attempts to fight him or ignore him or conquer him or reason him away failed. He’s a wily dog, persistent and stubborn, unwilling to deter from his annual schedule of spending early January through late March with me. And, like a real dog, when left uncontrolled, he became the alpha/ boss of me - almost larger than life.

 

When I read about Churchill calling his depression “The Black Dog” something clicked. If an important intelligent prime minister found some success in putting a face on his depression, naming it his Black Dog and learning to coexist, so could I. And so, I stopped letting the Black Dog control me and I took control of him.

 

Not only did I let him slink onto the porch of my S.A.D. melancholy mind, I invited him in, gave him a place to lie by the fire and eventually agreed to foster him – temporarily. Like all dogs, he seemed to respond positively to me taking control this way, and since we’ve come up with this arrangement, he’s much gentler on me.

 

I’ve always had dogs, often too many at once, and black is my favorite canine color, so I like to think of my depression this way. My Black Dog lies around the house, always near, ever keeping a watchful eye, but these days he barks only occasionally and I can often ignore him. When he’s hungry, he laps up a little of my weak, S.A.D. energy. Mostly, he just naps contentedly, snoring loudly, moving his feet as if in a dream, running after whatever it is he runs after once he’s left me. Sometimes on a particularly dark, cold, sad-ish night, my Black Dog whines softly and thumps his tail, as if to say, “It’ll be alright.”

 

And, he’s right. After all of our time together, I know it is temporary. We have learned to coexist. Our relationship has become an easy, if not so pleasant one. I accept him and he stays in his place. And, as predictably as he appears, he’ll lope off again, once the dogwoods bloom and it’s warm.    

 

For years, I resented that Black Dog. Why did he have to torment me and always so predictably? None of the remedies for depression or melancholy or S.A.D helped and those Vitamin D supplements had no effect. What lesson did he have to teach me? What purpose did he serve?

 

Then, it occurred to me that my Black Dog may be teaching me to deal with adversity like any old dog does – face each day, each step, each physical challenge with consistency, determination, and optimism.  

 

As bleak as this day may seem, there are daffodils blooming outside, bouquets of light, and the birds don’t stop singing, even in the freezing cold and their feathers remain bright. Each day offers some promise, even if it’s only that we are one day closer to spring and the Black Dog’s departure date.  

 

This year I thought I’d dodged the Black Dog’s bullet altogether. Here it was, late February and there’d been no sign of him. I was beginning to allow myself to consider the possibility he might be gone for good. But then that bitter, bitter cold last week descended and even though I only lost power for a few hours, had plenty of food and blankets, and only one frozen pipe - that cold got the best of me and in my Black Dog came.  

 

This year, the gloom is gentler, hanging lightly over my head. I’m able to keep better track of my many blessings; I’ve started telling the Black Dog about them. He seems to like listening. Maybe, like me, he’s tired of being depressed. Maybe he’s finally ready for spring…

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