Gardening and Beating the Blues

I've been struggling recently with feeling a bit down. I wouldn't describe it as depression, because that is rather more serious and difficult to deal with, but feeling sad and low is bad enough. It robs me of energy and motivation, and I find myself moping for hours at a time.

Since earlier this year, we've had local and general elections and Article 50 has been triggered to start the process of leaving the EU. The impression is that Britain is in a complete shambles and it's probably going to get worse before and if it gets better again. I'm still in a grump about Brexit, because I can't get my head around the 'great opportunity' it's supposed to offer. Still, I feel very sorry for my friends in the USA and I worry that their country is not in safe hands.
The news is unrelentingly depressing; the political rhetoric of dangerous lunatics in power, so many countries involved in conflicts, so many refugees and tragic deaths.
The terrorist attacks in Manchester and London were awful, the atrocities made worse by the targeting of children at the Ariana Grande concert and the indiscriminate violence against people just going about their business. There have been approximately 725 terrorist attacks globally to date this year (source - Wikipedia), which may actually be fewer than for the first 6 months of 2016, but with attacks in London and Manchester, it feels closer to home, however distant those cities feel, both in miles and culturally from this quiet backwater. Not all of the attacks are related to the plethora of Islamic fundamentalist organisations, of which so-called Islamic State is a major force. There are plenty of other violent organisations and individuals, including white supremacists, and most recently, an attack apparently fuelled by a completely misguided racial hatred and desire for revenge coming only a few days after the horror of the Grenfell Tower fire.

Adam Warne's death in early April came as a shock, but I was also terribly upset over Yvette Cowles' death on 4th June. She had been living with and fighting back against cancer for 20 years or more, and had been less well this year, so it wasn't a surprise, but was still immeasurably sad.

In the meantime, my lovely boy-cat Greebo has been unwell too, with a problem with his hind legs, no sooner sorted than he suddenly developed an intestinal infection and had to have antibiotics for a week.

It's midsummer! Half the year has gone already. The thought of how quickly time goes is enough to send me into a panic! It feels as though I my days are punctuated by moving things around the house and putting various other things into various bins; compost, recycling, glass, non-recyclables, special recycling (printer ink cartridges, light bulbs, spent batteries ...), laundry ... more laundry ... more compost .... And despite all the binning, I struggle to keep myself mucked out.

I can see from my Facebook echo-chamber that I'm not the only one feeling like the world has gone mad. And some friends have sick children, which must be far more difficult to cope with than a sick cat! All we can do is send love and kind, supportive words and spread some love.

Still, Facebook and particularly TV adverts leave me feeling left out. The world appears to be made of and for couples and families, having holidays and all sorts of fun. I have no money, as usual, can't afford a holiday and have no significant other(s) to go with, even if I could afford it

Gradually, I've come out of my slough of despond. Gardening and dancing, both working like moving meditations, have been key activities. The physical work leaves me tired enough to sleep well enough, my cats and I, sprawled and curled in a heap on the bed. Gardening has been particularly useful, as if feels very constructive and productive, as weeds are uprooted, compost heaps grow, patches of soil appear and coalesce into beds which then have vegetables planted into them. The cats love being outside with me, and play with bits of vegetation trailing from the tubtrug as I trundle to the compost heap with it. They make nests in long grass and in the shade under the hedge, and sit with ears and whiskers pricked by the pile of privet branches (evidently some squeakies live under it).

I don't dwell on the huge amount of work to be done, but go out with a job or two in mind. I may or may not complete those jobs. I may get side-tracked and do other jobs. Whatever I do, even if it's only meditating on my swingseat, it's all fine, it's all progressing, and that, I find, is a great way to beat the blues.