Every week, or most weeks I should say, I go to a small cafe for lunch. This cafe is also an antique shop with tables placed throughout the store. The name of this hidden gem is Annabell’s.

During the work week, I usually eat a protein bar and work through my lunch. I don’t often find time to go somewhere to eat and there isn’t a lot nearby. Annabell’s is a staple point in this town and you can always count on the same people serving you every week. They know my name and order without me having to remind them.

When I go to Annabell’s, it’s usually because I’m having a bad day. Today I’m having an okay day. . . but I needed to take my eyes off my computer for more than 5 minutes. I spend one interrupted hour here a week and I look forward to it.

So, here I am. I just downloaded a new book on my Kindle and they brought me my coffee. It’s raining outside and for now, I’m happy.

Oh and they always give you a free cookie for dessert.

Whenever I feel sick, I order a gallon of minestrone soup.

So: here I am eating said soup with a ladle.

(Taken on Adam’s film camera)

I’m back, baby!

Ryan forgot to renew my domain but have no fear, we’re up and running again!

I was listening to a podcast on my way to work this morning. I chose this particular episode because it dealt with depression and that’s an area I have been struggling with myself, as well as a few people close to me.

I find depression interesting in the way that cultures view this topic differently. Some are very open about treating depression while others have to suffer in silence.

In this episode, a psychiatrist from Zimbabwe tells a story about how a woman with two children, a husband who left her and unemployment propels into a spiraling depression.  She approaches a community grandmother to talk about this in a local park. The grandmother listens to her, shows empathy and offers solutions. As a result, the woman feels a weight lifted off her shoulders.

Confiding in someone when you feel so low is not something to which I am unfamiliar. The more interesting piece, in my opinion, was that in Zimbabwe, the word for depression translates to the phrase “thinking too much”. . .

For some reason, that struck a chord with me. They view depression as the act of “thinking too much” and well, they aren’t wrong. Most people I’ve encountered who suffer from depression think about things in such depth that the average person wouldn’t understand. They question the meaning of everything, or the point rather, and how systematic everything is.

Circling back to this psychiatrist: his approach to depression in these communities is through grandmothers. He trains elderly women in Zimbabwe with the tools to be empathetic, understanding and offer clinical solutions to these people in a way that is non-threatening and feels as if it is coming from their grandmother. He recognized the comfort one feels from a grandmother figure and how this approach could help many people in need.

Anyway- food for thought.

“I don’t always know what you’re thinking but I know how you think”