Playing for Time

***

We’re in mid-winter thaw here, false spring, whatever description fits. It’s a gray rainy morning in the 50s, all our snow gone, a few people actually walking around in shirtsleeves. We’ll no doubt pay for this nice little hiatus but it’s sweet for now.

We have Jayhawk men’s basketball in the Fieldhouse this afternoon. Houston, new to the Big 12, is favored over us by a hair, so we’ll hope DaJuan, KJ, Kevin, Johnny, Hunter, Elmarko, and the rest of the force have more than a hair’s worth of difference in reserve today.

It’s been a good week here, in spite of a few mitigating circumstances. Monday was stitch-removal for the Mohs surgery on my nose and I walked out no homelier than when I walked in last week so I’m counting that as a win.

Speaking of wins, we got another one in the Fieldhouse on Tuesday night against OSU. Needed that.

Wednesday I had a consult with a doctor Kim sees and for whom he has tremendous respect. The medical part of the visit turned out to be a mere sideline, but what struck me all over again is how fortunate we are to live in the midst of the KU Med Center community. The professional level of care we’ve received here and the innate kindness we encounter in every office can’t be acknowledged enough. The dedicated and talented medical personnel we deal with month by month add a crucial layer to our quality of life that can’t be bought.

Wednesday evening brought something I’ve waited years to see… my husband not just playing guitar with other people, but singing with them. Out loud. I’ve been a little mouse behind the amp over the years as he’s steadily gotten better through hours of playing every day… but he’s always said he can’t sing. Welp, as God is my witness, if you pair his voice with one or two others that hit the right marks, I’ll listen all night. He can sing. On his own terms. It was a sweet evening.

The interesting thing about the foregoing is that it all took place under a blanket of depression that dropped onto me before I woke up Monday morning. Happens often enough that I’m used to the drill: cry first thing and get it over with; set that soul-suck package back and to the left where I can’t see it; proceed with living. I’ve learned that there’s no way to explain depression to people who’ve never really been there. They want it to be ABOUT something because that sounds fixable. There are contributing factors, but mostly depression just IS and for me the best cure is to wait it out and never let it win. I like a challenge, so don’t tell the person doing it that it can’t be done.

Three hours until game time and I’m seeing the overflow from Mass Street. Lots of cars, more than the usual number of people coming in on foot from East Lawrence dressed in KU colors, a certain buzz you can feel here even on overcast days. I love it so much, and what I tell depression is “But look how happy I feel underneath all the unwelcome angst. Look how grateful I am for life. You can go away now and save us both a lot of time and trouble.”

And if you think that incantation works like magic I still have a little bit of swampland left to sell.

Happy Weekend, my friends. I appreciate you.