The thing about feeling melancholy is that it doesn't rate a prescription from your doctor. Who doesn't get blue once in a while? It doesn't flat line your joy like real depression does. Consider it a cousin to sadness, but more transitory. That said, it does mess with your happiness quotient.
I get melancholy when the days are shorter and people are hunkering down for a long evening at home, which is cool if you have someone to hunker down with. Lucky for me, I have that, but he is feeling kind of down himself lately, so it takes a little push to feel perky. Forget perky. Just contentment is better.
Melancholy is sneaky. It creeps up on you in unlikely settings. Take the other day listening to opera arias performed in an Italian/Catholic Church in Chinatown. Surrounded by cheerful people, practically sitting in the laps of a full orchestra, gown bedecked performers, men in formal attire.
Oh, and did I mention the food, a spread of savory Italian food, buffet style that begged for second helpings. What's not to like in this environment where a total stranger tugged at my Jacket that practically advertised the Italy countryside all over it, while she told me where she came from and how wonderful it was and kissed me on the cheek. Turned out she was a violinist with the orchestra, but adopted me as family instantly because all my four grandparents were born in Italy.
You'd think that, enveloped in all this warmth, accompanied by wonderful friends, I'd be protected from a melancholy aura hovering overhead. Nope, as I listened to an aria from Madame Butterfly, eyes closed to sink into the music, my mother floated into my thoughts. She had never seen an opera, been to Europe, left alone in her small home in Panaroma City after my father died at age 64, she hardly traveled, worked hard her whole life. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of her life, wished it had been more joyful, more peaceful.
Madame Butterfly ended, my eye opened and I shook off the memory of mom, remembering her youthful laugh, her pleasure in her friends,grandchildren, recording songs of Elvis and Sinatra. Not to mention her joy in cooking, patting herself in the back at Thanksgiving dinners for the feast she put on. I mean literally, she reached across her chest, patted her back and said aloud, 'good job, Gracie.'
Eventually, my melancholy lifted, actually at the precise moment I began to type this blog, after entering the title, 'Melancholy Baby.' The phone rang, an excited voice of a grandchild, telling me awesome news that was a secret I couldn't share yet. Interesting how this works, melancholy better than depression or sadness, it can be wiped away in an instant replaced by tears of joy. Life is like that and don't forget it.
So Says Sassy
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