The January Blues

I haven’t written a post in a while because I just haven’t felt like it. I’ve got a case of the blues. It happens to me every January—Mondays too. January feels like the Monday of the year to me. So what to do about it? I honestly don’t know! I have tried a few things, but nothing seems to get me over the hump. I even tried doing chores. The 30-year-old grout in the shower needed cleaning, so, whoopee, I did that! Clean or not, it still looks 30 years old! Reminds me of my face. No matter how many creams I try, I still look 79. What’s that about?

Hubby and I have been watching a lot of NFL football lately. Suddenly, I noticed the words “Choose Love” on the backs of the players’ helmets. What does that mean? It turns out “Choose Love” is a league-wide initiative that honors Martin Luther King Jr.’s message of empathy, dignity, and humanity and was promoted during the weeks leading up to MLK Day. The initiative began when the Buffalo Bills adopted the catchy phrase following a 2022 supermarket shooting and the initiation of the Choose Love Movement. The slogan represents a message of compassion and unity, an integral part of the NFL’s social responsibility campaign.

I watch NFL games and see huge, powerful players blocking, tackling, and violently piling on top of each other, sometimes breaking bones, tearing ligaments, and causing concussions. “Choose Love”? I don’t see the connection to professional football. Isn’t it an oxymoron?

Do you suppose the person who came up with this NFL initiative is the same marketing genius who dreamed up the Bud Light commercial featuring a transgender person promoting their beer?

I have a few personal dilemmas and would appreciate your input. About a month ago, I nearly finished a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle. Why do I say nearly? Because one piece is missing! I searched and searched but couldn’t find it. I even asked a recent houseguest to look for it, too—no luck. Now the almost-completed puzzle—featuring New York’s Times Square—sits on my coffee table, missing that single, infuriating piece.

Here’s my dilemma: I usually donate my old puzzles to a local activity center. Because this one is missing a piece, should I still give it away? If I do, should I include a note in the box saying a piece is missing? If I do, won’t that drive them crazy, wondering every time they can’t find a matching piece if it’s the missing one? On the other hand, if I don’t tell them, when they finish the puzzle, they’ll think they misplaced the piece and could spend hours futilely searching for it. Either way, I probably won’t make it into heaven!

One last thought on that puzzle. If I do say a piece is missing, should I specify which piece or leave the dissectologist in suspense? (I did not make up the word “dissectologist.” A person who assembles jigsaw puzzles is officially called a dissectologist.) I always like expanding my readers’ knowledge.

Trying to shake off the January blahs, I worked up the nerve to play duplicate bridge at our local bridge center, part of the worldwide ACBL (American Contract Bridge League), where advanced players gather. I only went because a friend guilted me into it. Some people say bridge is just a game, but those same people would call the Grand Canyon just a hole in the ground.

We’ve played at the Duncan Center four times now. The first time, we came in last; the second time, third; the third time, fourth; and the last time, second. We would have taken first, but I completely botched the final hand—what was I thinking? A few things about the experience surprised me. I expected such a prestigious bridge event to be more impressive. Instead, it was just a large room filled with card tables and chairs, with groups of gray-haired seniors quietly playing. For a moment, I felt like I had wandered into a homeless shelter.

Another surprise was that food was available. There’s always a counter full of food donated by the players—all kinds of snacks. There’s also coffee, ice, water, and soft drinks. You know what’s puzzling? Why do bridge players want to eat while playing cards and end up with their cards all gooey? Everything about these official bridge sessions is highly organized—scores are entered into a worldwide computer system. When their performance warrants it, players are awarded Master Points, which rate individual players. Where do I fit into all this? I’m a baby bridge player, ranked “C.” That is the lowest rank, since, lucky for me, there is no “D” or “F.” I don’t think I will live long enough ever to become a Master, which requires amassing a large number of points. Coming in second earned me only 0.22 points!

Bridge is a complex game that attracts intelligent people, but it also has a reputation for rude “bullies” who intimidate newcomers. Psychiatrists have studied this phenomenon extensively. They believe this widespread rudeness among some bridge players stems from frustration with the game’s difficulty and a personal lack of patience. It’s particularly prevalent among players who think they know everything but don’t.

One player at our table last week turned out to be one of those bridge bullies. She gave my beginning partner a harsh verbal dressing-down for the minor mistakes she made during our games. “Don’t touch the dummy cards!” she snapped. “Don’t ever leave the bridge table. Don’t say ‘throw.’” The woman was a real pain in the a**.

Clearly, some players take bridge far too seriously. In a prior post, I mentioned a judge who declined to convict a bridge player for murdering his partner (his wife) because the judge also played bridge and understood the primal urge to kill a partner who makes a critical playing error.

On a different subject, a few months ago, I had a real eye-opener: I started seeing double! Whenever I drove, I saw double lanes, double vehicles, double signs. What was I supposed to do? I tried closing one eye, but people thought I was winking at them. That was troublesome—men and even some women started coming on to me. Could I actually be reported as a sexual predator? Of course, I became concerned—did I have a tumor? Was I developing MS? I wondered if I had simply drunk too much wine. However, I still saw double even when I didn’t have wine. I have to admit, there were moments when I didn’t entirely mind seeing two of something—a handsome man, for instance. I consulted my ophthalmologist, who explained that as we age, the eye muscles weaken and our eyes have more difficulty focusing. Prism eyeglasses help the eyes line up properly. Naturally, I researched it. It turns out what I have is called “sagging eye syndrome.” I’ve already accepted other sagging body parts as I’ve aged, and I’ll spare you those details. But, please… sagging eyes?

A friend asked whether any form of exercise could remedy this ailment. I don’t think so. Can you imagine a workout program for sagging eyes? What would you do—eye lifts, eye jumping jacks, eye spin classes, eye treadmills, eye rolling? And on I rave. I got the prescription prism glasses. With them on, I don’t see double anymore, but they sometimes give me a headache. I also bought prism lenses for my sunglasses. To save a buck, I had the new lenses put into one of my cheap sunglass frames. Within a week, the frame broke. I guess I’ll go to Costco and see if I can buy just one pair of glasses, not ten!

Another January disaster—my allergies make my eyes burn and water. Recently, I attended a Celebration of Life service, and my eyes streamed the whole time. Several kind attendees tried to comfort me, saying they were sorry for my loss. While I was sad the person had passed, she was elderly and quite ill.

Should I have explained to the other mourners that it was just my allergies? What would Miss Manners do?

One last dilemma. I saw my hairdresser yesterday, and she washed my hair. When I looked in the mirror, I said it looked gray. She replied, “Yes, I shampooed your hair with purple shampoo to enhance your hair color.” What? Enhance the gray? I’ve been trying to disguise that gray for years! Hubby thinks my new hair is beautiful. He said women would die to have my new hair color. Being my usual obnoxious self, I said people like him would die to have hair!

If I weren’t feeling so lazy, I might even consider driving up to the Golden Gate Bridge and jumping off. On the bright side, February is coming soon, and I’m hopeful that I’ll be back to my happy self. Maybe I’ll get a Valentine!

Are you affected by the start of a new year? Does it affect your attitude? Your comments are welcome and appreciated!