On malaise, 'fake and bake', and Rosina

Malaise may be too strong a word, but the energy level of yours truly is certainly lower than usual.

You could blame it on the weather - except for the fact that bright sunshine and 'balmy' 30 degree temperatures this past week were positively grand for the first week of January.

That good old, stand-by complaint of being overworked doesn't quite cut it either. The last week of an Old Year and opening one of a New Year are typically pretty slow news-wise, and that held true to form in 2001-02.

A partial explanation may be the 'downer' that follows the holiday season. Family gatherings are finished; the exchange of greeting cards with friends living in locations other than mid-Michigan is past; left-overs from dinners have - finally - been recycled for the last time.

All that remains of holiday treats are a few random pieces of Christmas candy - which seem to leap from the box to an open mouth, completely against my will.

A chocolate-loving friend, Fred Olmstead, assures me that this phenomena is a proven scientific fact. Tests - funded by the government - have shown that the tiny chocolate morsels sprout legs and wings in order to propel themselves into human bodies that are already maxed out on sugar.

And I thought it was because I have absolutely no will power - I'm actually a chocolate victim.

Sarah, who is also feeling 'lower' now that her office Santa hat has been packed away until next year, says we both may be sad - due to SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder. While the sun has been shining, it's not the 75 degree variety and there's just not enough daylight, she says.

Her SAD solution includes regular trips to the 'Fake and Bake' - that's a tanning salon in Sarah-speak.

The idea has merit, except for an up-close-and-personal encounter with tanning lamps set up by an amateur - me, of course.

Thinking that two are much better than one, I assembled a pair of sun lamps above my prone body - and promptly fell asleep. Thankfully, my foolishness took place years ago when my sons were quite young - there were no lengthy naps of any sort for Mom at that time, and so I was saved from what could have resulted in a trip to Clinton Memorial's ER.

It did produce the Mother of All Sunburns, though - thank heaven for Aloe plants - and cured me forever of attempting any sort of tanning process that doesn't come from the 'real' source.

I'd rather be SAD than scorched.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

As often happens, relief from the blues came in an unexpected form - via a trip to Osgood's to pay respects to the family of Rosina Mohnke.

This truly remarkable woman passed away Dec. 30 after a long struggle with cancer - but the beautiful sons, daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren (60 in all) she leaves behind are filled with the joy and solid faith that Rosina's life embraced. It's impossible to be sad in their company.

A number of years ago, I wrote a column about several women whose lives have shaped my own - Rosina was one of those ladies. She was like a second mother to me during my young childhood - countless happy hours were spent at the Mohnke home where freedom to explore and 'create' playthings were part of every visit.

Rosina's youngest son, Rex, is older than me by just a few days - a fact that he continues to impress upon me even now. He was the 'leader' in all adventures that often centered around outdoor activities - building elaborate forts in the sandbox next to the Mohnke house, playing in Stoney Creek just down the road, and engineering tunnels through the bales of hay and straw in the loft of the barn.

I'm certain we tried Rosina's patience more than once - it's hard to hear someone calling you to come inside when you're in a tunnel in the barn - but she was always forgiving and encouraged our creations.

What I didn’t understand at age four and five was that Rosina was bearing the burden of ultimate sadness - the death of her husband and first-born son, both named Herman. They were killed in May 1955 when lightning struck a tree they were sitting under, waiting out a spring storm while working in the fields.

Rosina was left to care for Rex and his siblings, Ron, Mary Ann, and Sandy - a responsibility she fulfilled every second of every day in the intervening years, instilling the same strength of character into all the Mohnke offspring.

She lived her faith in a manner equaled by few others - she was fearless because she trusted so completely, and in so doing, was an exemplary role model.

Rosina knew laughter can spring from sadness.