In Praise of the Pieman

After a grueling and frightening week of mom in the hospital, we celebrated all we have to give thanks for with a delicious meal. It was not all cooked by mom as usual, but we did have our traditional pie. I believe it was the best one ever! So I thought I would finally share what we are lucky to have for every special occasion. It's a lot of work and a work of art. Wish you could try it too!

It has been 3 days since the world changed. It has taken me a few days to process it. I sat and watched the election returns come in and was so nervous that something would go wrong. Polls are not always right and so many dirty tricks have succeeded in the past. When I was a child it was illegal for a black person and a white person to marry in some states and it was frowned upon everywhere. On Tuesday night I saw thousands of people dancing in Grant Park because we had elected a black person as our president. On Wednesday, I saw people from Germany to Djakarta, from London to South Africa, dancing because we elected Barak Obama. People in Pakistan rejoiced because we elected a man whose father was a Muslim. They cheered in India and Japan. Our president is supposed to be the leader of the free world, but for 8 years we've had a bully. I get the sense that even with the limited contact people in France have had with him, they can sense that here is a leader, here is our change. When was the last time anyone real moved you to tears or made you want to dance?

A Real American

When I was a kid, everyone knew what a Real American was. You saw them in every movie and on every TV show. Everyone knew what a Real American looked like; like John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Gene Kelly or Kathryn Hepburn. Everyone knew what a Real American acted like. Now some people seem to think we don't know who a Real American is- but I am quite sure they have it all wrong. A Real American is not exactly like Joe the Plumber who runs around getting attention and holding news conferences. For those of you who weren't lucky enough to learn about Real Americans from John Huston and Frank Capra, I have a few identifying characteristics so that you will immediately know a Real American when you see one. A Real American works and doesn't expect a hand-out, but is ready to help someone who needs help. A Real American is honest. A Real American is kind. A Real American is generous. A Real American is brave and sacrifices for others. A Real American is responsible for themselves. If a Real American makes a mistake, he or she admits it and takes the consequences. A Real American has a sense of humor and can laugh at themselves. A Real American has honor and self-respect. If there is a hero in any situation, you can bet that it is a Real American. A Real American believes in the good in others, but recognizes the bad and is not afraid to confront it. A Real American is a graceful winner and a good loser. A Real American shows reverence for the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence and the laws of this land. A Real American knows our history, knows their part in our democracy and is happy to do their civic duty. Underneath their jeans and tee shirts, their blazers and ties, their work shirts and coveralls, a Real American is a little bit Superman and a little bit Mother Theresa, a little bit Abraham Lincoln and a little bit Amelia Earhart. There's a phrase you don't hear much any more. This year, I sure hope all the Real Americans get together and do their civic duty. It's time to take our country back.

Santa Claus?

In 6 days, I will get to do something that I never thought I would do in my lifetime. I will vote for a black person for President of the United States of America. I never thought I would get the chance. I'm not talking about write-ins or marginal candidates, but a real, live, mainstream candidate. I am old enough to remember Selma, to remember hearing Martin Luther King's speeches on the radio. Remember when the radio was big?- I do. There were no black children in my grade school. I don't think there were in my junior high school either, due to the segregation of neighborhoods. I remember there were riots at the high school the year before I started there and it was frightening. But, by the time I got there, all was calm. Peace and love. Well, not really, but with the Vietnam War we had equal opportunity dying and some other concerns. As far as race was concerned, the reality was we continued to be separate in the same space in high school and college. Friendly at times, but not often really friends. Time marched on, and on and my children went to the some of the same schools with a very different outcome. Their friends didn't look just like them and over time, our family grew to include some colors and shapes that don't look much like our name sounds. That doesn't matter now, because the world has moved on, but I remember a time when that was unthinkable. Now, I know that I, along with millions of other adults are experiencing a feeling that we haven't had since we were kids. On November 5th will the present we've been waiting for, or just another giant disappointment?

Hello Tiger!!

Today, ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VhpA8f8r10) Cindy McCain stated that Sarah Palin is qualified to be the Vice President, a heart beat away from the presidency because Alaska is the closest place on the continent to Russia. This has opened new vistas for me! I am starting a second career tomorrow as a golf pro.

Memory

My dear friend very recently wrote of a fond memory of her soon-to-be-sold childhood home- "I recall... members of the bridal party at my first wedding lighting and dancing with sparklers on a snowy late November day". While I recall many warm and happy memories of their wonderful screened-in porch and secluded yard, I have no memory of that night. It sounds warm and wonderful. I can almost, but not quite, picture it. At times like this, I wonder what else I no longer know. On October 16, 2005, I suffered an internal bleed, though I didn't know it at the time. Early on October 17, I suffered a massive bleed. I had no idea. As my hemoglobin dropped, my brain oxygen also dropped and my judgement disappeared with it. I felt terrible so I called the doctor, waited for the appointment and waited for my turn, and waited and waited. Barely able to keep my balance, I walked into the office and was very quickly rushed to the hospital by my mother. Where I again waited. I didn't wait long, but each minute was difficult and I was drifting off. I was given fluids, oxygen and admitted. Later that night, blood, though I was leery of taking it. I was scoped and "the biggest ulcer we've ever seen" was discovered. Transfusions and fluids and medications continued. Pain pills and ooh, they kept up the oxygen for a day, then forgot. On October 20th I suffered another massive bleed. My hemoglobin dropped to 6. Again, I was drifting off. I have since come to realize that certain memories and some other things drifted off as my body struggled to supply my brain with oxygen. Nothing can bring back what is gone. I don't even know it's missing until I hear these stories and realize I have no recollection of being there. For me, it didn't happen. So these beautiful, impossibly young girls dance with sparklers on a chilly November evening and I don't remember who they were. I know I was there and who at least one other of them must have been. I remember walking down the aisle and what the bride said to me as I helped her with her final adjustments with her gown and veil. I recall first meeting her first husband and that dinner with her mother and our mutual friend and how very uncertain we were about him. But I do not recall that night, glistening with sparklers and youth and hope. Each time this happens I wonder what else I don't recall.

Machu Picchu

Tonight I saw Machu Picchu, green and glorious, perched where no city should ever have been, high in the Andes. It came to me, in high definition, right to my family room. I did not have to worry about the altitude and my asthma or the rocky climb and my bad knee. The day was sunny and I looked down on the ancient ruins from the perfect vantage point. I followed the spring melt from the heights down the Amazon River Basin and wondered at the wealth and beauty of the diversity of nature. Thanks to public television, WTTW to be exact, HD Tv and Nature, I did it from the comfort of my favorite chair. I can recall a time when I thought I might be a world traveler. I have learned that this is not who I am destined to be. I prefer the comforts of my own country and honestly dislike being away from home for longer than a week. I always harbored a desire to see the pyramids. Too many old movies I suspect. In my lifetime, it has never been safe enough, at least not for me. I will not, I don't think, see the pyramids, but I have seen the treasure of King Tut. I am unlikely to visit Mount Kilimanjaro, though I often thought that would be something to see as well. I hope to still see some of Europe before I'm done. But I have seen all of Machu Picchu that I am likely to see. I was feeling a little sad about that, then I remembered that you never know.

Homeward Bound

I have had occasion to think a lot about the nature of siblings lately; my friends', my own, my childrens'. Why do some seem so close and others seem to never outgrow infantile rivalry? Why are some relationships so unbalanced, with one sibling forever doing favors and the other sibling only taking and unwilling to give? Why do some grow apart, distant and uncaring? All relationships take effort. At the end of the day and at the end of our lives, we only have our families. We'd like to think our parents will always be there, but it's clear that they won't. At some point along the way, we will have to work with that brother or sister to take care of our parents. It's a job that's frequently far too difficult to do alone. We may also need that brother or sister ourselves to stand up for us at a wedding, to be a Godparent to a child, to hold our hand in a crisis and to stand in our stead in our absence. In the end there is nothing like family. Modern society has shown us that marriages may end. Nothing changes the brother/ sister relationship, maddening or loving, this the only person on the planet who remembers your family more or less the way you do. You share history and biology and home.

Land Shark

Friday, I did 2 maintenance appointments. Mamogram and gynecologist. There's something funny about the word mamogram. I always hear it in my head like the skit from Saturday Night Live with the land-shark, waiting outside the door saying "candygram" in that odd voice. There are 3 facilities open to me, Lake Forest, Gurnee and Grayslake. This year, I gave Grayslake a try, having heard from my friends that this was the superior facility in that they did not rip the breast from your chest in the process of flattening it into a temporary pancake. It is a newer facility and because of this, quite nice. I was greeted by a lady who is some kind of receptionist type. She took me to the little changing room and gave me instructions. I was given a very lovely rose pink shirt-gown that crossed over and tied on the side. She explained that the bathrooms were lovely and cleaned hourly. Then she said something I thought was quite odd. She said that no men used the washrooms. And if one dared to he was chased right out the back doors and on to the prairie. Clearly, she is from Grayslake. There's a field behind the building. Just a field, it's not a prairie. (visualize rolling eyes here) And aside from the fact that it was as pleasant a mamogram as I have ever had, the technician was professional and as gentle as possible under the circumstances, I continue to be bothered by that remark. As a person who is well known for the question "what is it with men anyway ?", it may seem a bit strange to hear me standing up for the gender, but really, several of my favorite people are men. In fact, on the whole, I am fortunate to know a large number of really decent men. I would not mind any of them using that bathroom. I would even extend bathroom privileges to some of the less well-liked men of my acquaintance, should they have need of them. More to the point, I am quite certain, I am not the first person that woman has said this to. If she is like most people who have to say the same thing over and over, she has a patter that she says to everyone. Here's the room, here's the locker, here's the gown, here's the bathroom, blah blah man-joke, hah, hah, sit here, wait. Tell everyone the same thing and you don't forget anything important. Nasty men can't use our pretty pink bathroom. And we wonder why we have trouble getting men to take us seriously.

Garbage in Gabage out

As you know, I live in that little slice of that heaven we'll call Babbling Brook Lane; West Babbling Brook Lane to be exact. Last Monday we did not get a garbage pick up. We thought it was due to the fact that the roads in and about Babbling Brook Lane are being resurfaced. All of the residents left their trash out, expecting that someone would come to pick up the trash the next day. But they didn't. The recycling truck got through to pick up the recycling, but the trash: No. The sun beat down. The rain fell. Wednesday, on my way to work, I noticed that the trash was picked up on North Babbling Brook Lane. It was picked up on East Babbling Brook Lane. It was picked up on on Ipswitch and Dogwood and the other cross street but not on West Babbling Brook Lane. So, when I got to work, I called Viola Waste, the garbage service. The very nice young woman customer service person there told me that the truck couldn't get through because of the road re-surfacing, but they would pick up the trash today. When I got home, there it was, just like everyone else's garbage, sitting by the side of the road. So, Thursday morning, I called again. This time I was told again that the trucks couldn't get through. I again pointed out that the recycle truck made it. The customer service girl said they hadn't been able to get through because of the paving trucks. I pointed out that there had not been any trucks for 2 days and that the people on North Babbling Brook, East Babbling Brook, Ipswitch etc had gotten their garbage picked up in spite of the trucks. Then the girl told me that they couldn't come and get the garbage because they couldn't bring the truck on the new road without permission from the road people because the truck is heavy and might crack the new pavement. I confirmed with her that she could not tell me when they would be picking up our garbage from our newly blacktopped street and hung up. I have to admit that I kind of admired her imagination, but there more I thought about it, the more pissed I got. I mean really-crack the blacktop??? I also had visions of the local wildlife strewing the garbage up and down the lane. So, thanks to the miracle of modern technology, with a few clicks of my mouse I was sending a message to the 2, count'em 2 aldermen who represent the Babbling Brook subdivision-the ward boundary runs straight down North Babbling Brook.

Now I don't know if I had anything to do with it, but when I got home, the garbage had been picked up.

Order is once more restored.

Country Road

I went on a trip today, to take my mom to visit my aunt. My aunt has been very ill for a long time and is now living with my cousin and his wife. He is a cop and she is a nurse. They have 2 small children and my cousin's 19 year old daughter from his first marriage also lives with them. Three long hours into Wisconsin to get to their home. Whenever I take one of those drives I am mentally lured back to my childhood, to a different way of life. To those quiet notes and long summer days that we access only on the printed page and through our own memories. I wonder if that way of life isn't still alive in these little towns. It's silly I know, but going past the old churches and by the miles of railroad sidings, by the barns and pastures it seems just possible. Like nothing has changed. Like you could go home again.

It's a mirage, of course. We arrive at my cousin's and he is exactly as I remember him; a sweet faced boy, now in a middle aged body posturing about the mean streets of middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin. I'm sure his criminals are like criminals everywhere. No better, no worse. His kids are normal, sweet kids, playing video games and watching Sponge Bob. Another cousin has come to visit as well, now balding and a bit paunchy, looking like his father, focused on downloading pictures onto a laptop to show them to my aunt. He recalled mushroom hunting when we were kids. I have no recollection of this. He swears it is true. And so we visited my poor aunt as she drifted in and out. My cousin's wife came home from work. Invited us to return. As we left, all I could think of was getting home. I drove for 3 hours and did not stop.

What I like

The intersection of Sunset and Lewis has, in the past, been a completely unremarkable intersection in our town. Lately, however, it has become quite unusual. Unlike other intersections, people stop when the light turns red. They do not sneak through on the yellow or slide through on the red. They obey the arrow. You can count on the fact that the car next to you will not change lanes unexpectedly, cut you off, tail-gate or even gesture rudely. They proceed with caution. It is really the most civilized intersection in Lake County that I'm aware of. It harkens back to the intersections of my youth. The only difference are the cameras taking pictures every few seconds, 24-7. I really like this intersection. I like lemon drops too.

Pursuit of Happiness

In the hope of attaining a sense of relaxation and balance, I recently went to a nearby spa with a friend. She enticed me into a number of things to fully enjoy the "spa experience" which I must admit was quite lovely. The spa itself was serene and purposefully zen in its design. There was a marvelous hot tub, a warm pool and fountain and an array of juices, teas and coffees available for your pleasure. Salon services and other treatments available at a price. Among the treatments we tried, my friend highly recommended a "Swiss shower". This was available at a nominal fee and I thought, "Why not?" In this particular place the shower consisted of a large number of nozzles arranged at the end of a long narrow room in such a manner that the nozzles are aimed towards the center of the area from 4 sides. When you stand in the center, you are showered from head to foot on all sides at once. it is quite nice...except that I am a bit shorter than my friend. The upper nozzles hit me square in the face in such a manner that I couldn't breathe. Not quite as bad as water-boarding- I'm sure, but not pleasant. When I stopped gagging and figured out that I could turn off the upper nozzles in the array, and therefore breathe, it was quite pleasant. Then came the pièce de résistance. My friend assured me her previous experience did not include this. The lovely young woman who operates the Swiss Shower enters the room, takes out a fire hose, and sprays you with it. I kid you not. I'm thinking, this was riot control in the '60s. I missed seeing my friend pummeled with this fire-hose spray and I would have paid extra for this. I'm quite sure there are people who would pay good money to see me sprayed with a fire hose. In any case, it really kind of hurt. Afterwards, the sweet, young woman, left me a glass of ice water with lime and a fluffy towel. She said to me, "you want one of these at home, don't you?". Uh, not so much. I did pay for this, plus tip, but not so much.

Boggle

Last week, 2 days before we went for our tax appointment we received a letter saying that our accountant had left the company. However, we should come for our appointment and someone else would see us. That was Thursday. We thought it was strange because we knew a friend had seen him the previous Saturday. Friday, I tried to find out if he had opened up somewhere else. The man did our taxes for 25 years. So we went in and saw another elderly accountant. I asked if he at least knew if our accountant was all right. He said that as far as he knew all was well. However, he couldn't do our taxes right then. He talked to us for 15 minutes, took our records and said we could pick up our taxes at the end of the week. We left feeling dissatisfied. Turbo Tax could do what this guy was going to do for us. When we get home there is a letter. Our accountant has opened a new office. I thought for a while. I thought about how he was kind to us when my husband lost his job and did our taxes for half his usual fee. I thought about the good advice he gave us. I thought about the fact that he is still working because he is paying for his mentally ill son and his problems and the problems he caused others. He has always been a kind man and as far as I know, has always done right by others. He has always done right by us. I called him and made an appointment. I called the company and left a message. I just said that he had always been our accountant and had I known he was opening an office, I would never have come in and I would be by to pick up our documents, please do not process them. I did so and they did not charge us anything.

Today I went in and asked what happened. I knew that he had merged with this company due to financial difficulties after a problem with his son and due to his making good on his son's debts. I expected to hear that there was a parting of the ways due to a disagreement over wages or policy or some other, similar issue. I was entirely unprepared for what I heard. He said, quite simply, "They beat me up". Dumbfounded doesn't cover it. I didn't get a lot of details, but apparently there was a disagreement over something and a 60 year old man and a 35 year old man sent my 80 year old accountant to the hospital. "Did you call the police?" I asked. He said that he did, but that his attackers then claimed that they had called. My accountant said that he "didn't want to be vindictive" and thought that these men might have Bipolar Disorder. I told him that that's as may be, they still don't get to put people in the hospital. He said that he was speaking with an attorney because they were also suing him since he opened his own office again, claiming he was stealing clients. My accountant now walks with a cane. He said that he fears his spine is permanently damaged. He has had only 1 physical therapy appointment. He said how impressed he is with his physical therapist. I told him that they can work wonders, which I truly believe. But I was and remain appalled.

In honor of Crusader Rabbit

Many years ago, for reasons too complicated to mention, we collected glass in dump trucks and recycled it out at Anchor Hocking. It was fun to break the glass by lobbing it into the trucks. It was fun to hang around in the Jewel parking lot and take the glass from people. It was clean, weirdly glassy, teenage good times. And Green, really green. We didn't make any money. The city donated the trucks. We donated the time. The glass was recycled. It was all good. No one got cut (don't ask me how) and we didn't worry about liability. This was probably dumb, but it was how it was. Being Green was very popular for a while, then it went out of vogue and being wealthy was chic once again. Now, Green is in, again. Unfortunately, it's very tricky. At our house, as at lots of houses, we recycle, paper, glass, plastic, cans. We do it faithfully. But they won't take plastic bags. We have to take those ourselves. They won't take styrofoam, no one will around here. They won't take batteries, those have to wait for periodic drop off events along with toxic household chemicals and electronics. The government (meaning that genius president of ours) is now urging us to be Green. He is joined by a number of other, more well-meaning individuals who want us to use ethanol made from corn. They neglect to point out that corn-based ethanol takes more energy to produce than it provides. Lately the big push has been compact fluorescent bulbs. Saves energy. I'm no fan. Fluorescent bulbs provide lousy light. Bad for the eyes. Distorts color. They are vile for people with migraine. As my daughter has been so fond of pointing out, these bulbs contain mercury. Still, we are admonished to save the planet by using these bulbs. If everyoe did it, the energy crisis would be over. Uhhhhh. Today I read this article http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/23694819/
In brief, the mercury in 1 bulb is enough to contaminate 6000 gallons of water beyond EPA levels. Even the newer "low mercury" bulbs contain enough mercury to contaminate 1000 gallons of water. If you break one in your house, there is an 11 step process recommended by the EPA to safely clean up. It doesn't actually mention what to do if you have children crawling around on the floors. The article sounds as though the expectation is merely that people will be walking. Pets aren't mentioned either. There are very few fluorescent recycling facilities in the country, but IKEA will do it for you- save those bulbs- but for the love of God, DON'T BREAK THEM. Still don't want those things in my house. However, you can get some nifty little bags to take with you and you can use them again and again. You just have to remember to take them. The truth is, it's just not easy being Green.

Can't get no....

If 60% of the American public is overweight, why can't I find anything to wear?????? I have spent a very frustrating weekend shopping. Now I generally like to shop. But this has been very frustrating. I am looking for a power suit. Something "real nice". And I'm willing to spend money on it. I'm not trying to get it cheap. I admit I did go to 1 outlet mall, but only because there were 2 stores there that carry plus sizes. I tried on 2 suits. Both were just bad. They Jones New York Woman Outlet had 2 suits and a few things for parties and a bunch of leisure wear. Well, 3, but there seemed no point in getting another suit that was the same as the one I had. Liz Claiborne Outlet-0. So off to the real mall. Carsons- 1 suit. yech. Macy's- None. Carson's at least has the good grace to put the fat ladies department on the same floor as the other ladies clothes. Macy's has a tiny little corner with almost nothing in it. My mom went with me on the voyage of non-discovery. On day 2, when we went to Northbrook Court and tried the Macy's there, I had to explain to her that the fat ladies' clothes can't be with the other clothes, because the fattness might rub off. Or maybe the skinny ladies just don't want to look at fat people. Nothing at Macy's there either. At Lord and Taylor, the other ladies clothes are upstairs. Fat ladies are downstairs. However, they have a decent sized department with a variety of clothing that a real person might actually wear to work, as well as dress-up clothes and leisure wear. Some things were on sale. Just like with skinny ladies. The suits- again 2 of them, left me unmoved, but, some of the other things were pretty cute. The sales lady was helpful and found me a little sweater to wear under my old suit. We walked the mall. We went to Coldwater Creek just because there was a sale. The sizes there start at PS and go to 2XL and they just all go on the same rack and everything they carry comes in all the sizes. No one faints in that store. The skinny clothes don't get fatter and they don't seem to be going out of business even though skinny ladies and fat ladies shop in the same space. I bought a pretty little pink jacket, just because. We walked to Nieman Marcus. I asked a clerk, supercilious as only those Russian immigrants can be- I asked, "Plus sizes?" She looked at me as though I was INSANE, said "NO", and not another syllable. Of course not, not there. 60% of American women may not shop there. They don't want them. So then I went and bought a new pair of heels at and tiny Free Spirit shop where I met a lovely woman whose daughter is getting married and who supports Obama. So, I guess, I'm wearing the old suit. Which I suppose says a lot about buying classic clothes. It also says a lot about the fashion industry. Who is buying all those clothes? I walked through Macy's and saw a Jones New York Outfit that I tried on at the outlet, but Macy's won't carry it in my size. I just can't figure out why. Fields would have. That's not economics, that's predjudice. And that's just stupid, because my dollars have exactly the same fat content as a skinny woman's.

Tapestry

I came across this picture of a beautiful maiden, I knew long ago. She didn't have a clue. Really. She did not think she was beautiful. She did not even think she was smart, even though she was and still is one of the most brilliant minds I have ever known. Amongst us, there was another beautiful maiden, very talented, bright and edgy. A super-star-to-be, for sure and certain. She now moves millions with the touch of a button. She now kills rattlesnakes with a hoe. And me, puzzling over politics, collecting broken glass, dreaming of other worlds, footlights and curtain calls, now sitting with the unsettled, the insane, the murderous, without a second thought. Of late, I have thought of all I have achieved and what more I have received, of all I have given up, unknowingly and with full knowledge. I think about what I have built and what I might yet do and what I will always be beyond me. When I see that picture, I think about how our paths have gone where we never dreamed they would go and did not go where we hoped they would. I think about our children, who, after all we've been through, think we know nothing, when really we knew nothing much, but know quite a lot now. I suppose we deserve it. We thought the same thing of our parents, but not for quite as long and not so openly. Though I can't help thinking, once I knew a beauty who did not know she was... now I know a woman who is both wise and wonderful.

Too Bad So Sad

I went to a seminar on grief. I thought my job would pay for it because it kinda sorta related to the job- many of my clients have suffered tremendous losses. It's hard to find trainings that relate. So off I go. I didn't expect it to be uplifting. But this... First off, there is a reason this speaker knows a lot about grief. It's because he's had a lot of it. And he talks a lot about it. All these sad, sad, stories about sad, bad things that have happened to him. And he's been working as a grief counselor and hospice administrator so he knows even more sad, sad stories, --- sad sad sad. Then he had exercises for us to use with clients, but since we don't have clients present, we have to practice with our own experiences. This got us to think about all the saddest stuff in our lives, sad sad sad. Then he breaks us into small groups after having told us to think about a great loss, and think about what we needed. So we are sitting in our small group- me and 5 other therapists. Looking at each other. Not saying anything. So finally, I decide I will "share". So I talk about when my dad died. I'm fine talking about it. It's not a problem. Though I've never done it with 5 "therapy faces" looking at me. The rule was that the person who shares doesn't have to answer any questions. But they're therapists, they can't help themselves. So I have 5 of them trying to therapize me into having grief I no longer feel. Then this 1 little old lady therapist follows me around for the rest of the day asking me personal questions and generally trying to therapize me. Then she asks if I find her too intrusive and of course, being my mother's daughter, I didn't say "Yes, you stupid b*&#!, back off". Then we listened to more heart-rending stories, did some more upsetting exercises, then lo- without warning- back into the stupid small groups. This time, the exercise is: If you died, and your family was going to make a table display to represent you or your life, what objects would they put on it and why? What would be the glue that holds the objects together, makes it a unified whole?" So, here we are in the small groups, looking at each other and I just look. So one of the others starts, "My table would have a candle and some family pictures". And the next lady, "My table would have and candle and a Bible" The next lady, "My table would have a candle and some family pictures and a Bible and a smooth stone". Then it was my turn. I passed. They all looked at me with "therapy faces" and made sympathetic noises indicating that they understood that this exercise was just too much for me. Clearly, I have issues. I thought this was preferable to my telling them that I thought they are shallow, lying bitches and that I would commit suicide if all I could think of to represent the sum total of my life was a candle and a featureless rock. So then the next woman talked at length about the importance of candles in her life and I wondered if she might be masturbating with them and hoped I merely looked blank. Then we got yet another dose of insufferably sad examples from this man's life and I began to lose patience with his poor judgement and bad choices. Hoping to gain something from this nightmare, I asked a question, having to do with a dilemna I have faced in my work, the presenter responded with yet another sad story about himself which in no way answered my question. So I took my CEU's and did not leave an evaluation.

SNAP

The news is full of yet another tragedy. On Valentine's Day a young man entered a large lecture hall, and, in a spray of bullets, ended the lives of 5 young people. The news was full of repetitive reports, all asking 2 questions: "What can be done to prevent this from happening"? and "What caused this young man to snap"? Though I do not claim to be a genius, this is, to a large degree, my area of expertise. I truly believe I have the answer to both questions.

What can be done to stop this from happening?

Disarm the citizenry. I have several friends in my place of work, whom I respect greatly on many levels. They share 1 thing in common. They are all "outdoorsmen". For reasons that I do not comprehend, they have a need to run around outdoors shooting at animals, small and large. They kill them, skin them, cook them and eat them. And they like it. They share them with those who want a share. For some reason, their preference for this activity supercedes the need of the rest of society to be safe from everyone else who has a gun because they are so readily available in this country. I know, I've heard it. If you take guns away from citizens, only criminals will have guns. Think again. If you don't believe me, look at the statistics for school shootings in England or Japan. They are people just like us. They have as many disgruntles, angry and unhappy people. They just don't have guns.

What caused this young man to snap?

Nothing. Nothing caused him to snap because he did not snap. People do not snap. Today, finally, there was some indication that the shooter had a history of mental health problems. I'm sure they were severe. I'm absolutely certain that there has been a pattern of escalating problems, a series of symptoms and signs there for other people to read. I'm also certain that other people have seen these symptoms and signs. They may or may not have known how to interpret them. They may have attempted to intervene. If they did try to intervene, it was likely with little success. The laws governing mental health care today favor the least expensive intervention in the name of protecting individual rights. In reality it's a way to avoid responsibilty for those incapable of taking responsibility for themselves. The media assists by refusing to give full coverage to the story in the name of not inspiring others to imitate the offender, as though the incessant coverage would not do that in any case. Delusional people will pick and choose what they believe. Movies and video games, fiction or reality, it's all the same to them. If we were to really know what happened in this poor man's life, in the last shooter's or the one before, what we would see is a common pattern of repeated signals that there was a problem, growing more and more serious, readily visible to those who knew him. Why these things grew to mass murder in them is something I cannot say, but that they were headed for violence would be obvious.

I always reccomend The Gift of Fear by Gavin DeBecker. A book for young men and women that will keep them safe, teach them to understand violence in others and is just interesting. I buy it used just to have copies. It's not a happy thought, but it is true. Some things you need to be afraid of. Knowing when to be afraid is a gift. Knowing what to do is a blessing.

Flamingos

The nice thing about life is that you never really know what is going to happen. You may think you do, but really, you don't, especially in the long run. Some people make projections and some of those projections are accurate, but they can't predict the quirky turns life takes; the little mistakes, the little triumphs, the leaps of faith or magic moments that do occur. The decisions that people make and then follow through on. The happenstance meetings or stories you read or hear that inspire and result in a change. The chances you take. The bad thing that turns out well, the good thing that goes bad. Everything changes. That's both good and bad. If you are happy now, you must know that something unhappy is in your future, because the universe is not static and everything changes. If you are unhappy now, it will not last forever, unless you make it so. Even you change. Every 7 years all of your cells are different.

I love flamingos. They eat shrimp. They nest in alkaloid lakes where nothing else lives. They are pink. Their knees are backwards.

I love flamingos. They are improbable.

I love flamingos. They remind me that life is not predictable. You just never know, even when you think you do.

30 Days of Night

I read a story today http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21886273/
about a settlement between the Jesuits and 110 Alaskan natives who were sexually abused as children. According to the story, these people, in this remote and desolate area of the world, were systematically abused by priests and assistants to clergy who were known to be doing this and were given free reign. Other coverage (Newsweek) about this disgrace indicates that many victims committed suicide. Several children were fathered by these criminals- (it's not just a sin it's a felony) and one girl was instructed to have an abortion and say that her own father had impregnated her. As I read about the destruction these crimes (let's call the behavior what it is) have caused to the individual victims and to their families and to their native culture, I began to comprehend that it is almost beyond description. What happens to a community when every male child is the victim of sexual abuse? When most of the children have been raped? When every family has children who suffer from Posttraumatic Stress Disorder? It boggles the mind.

Some months ago, I saw a movie, "30 Days of Night". It was a gripping, terror film based on a graphic novel. The plot was basically that in an Alaskan town, there is a period every year when it is dark for 30 days. Taking advantage of this, a band of vampires invade, take over and decimate the population. With modern special effects the vampires are quite horrifying.

When I read the news, all I could think of was the movie.

Wax and Roses

Recently, I found a lovely vintage glass chandelier on e-bay which was just like the ones I've been eying for a year, but I got it for half price. No one loves a bargain like me, but as usual, nothing is simple. One of the arms broke in transit. The seller generously sent me new ones, but then everything had to be re-wired. It came with cardboard candle-covers. Th0se are the little white tubes that cover the electric socket that the bulbs screw into. Since I knew my husband was going to re-do the wiring and all, I thought I would replace the cardboard with plastic so it would be easier to clean. Onto the internet I went and found a bunch of these little tubes. Some were plastic and some were wax. I thought this very odd. Why would anyone put wax tubes around electric lights? Wax gathers dust and doesn't tolerate heat. I was appalled to read that these tubes are scented, so that when the lights are on, they fill the room with a "lovely"? scent. Because when people are eating, they want to smell perfume instead of food?

It is definitely not the most wonderful time of the year. It seems like everyone has a new bottle of perfume or 10. For some reason they feel the compulsion to bathe in it. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the ladies room the day after New Years and found an array of creams, scented soaps and even a bottle of spray cologne on the counter. It was all I could do to keep from chucking it all in the garbage. Later I found out that a friend had brought it in; her Christmas presents. She didn't get it at all when I smiled weakly and said, "It's a lot of different smells".

We are likely the cleanest America in history. We bathe and deodorize daily. We wash and press- Most of us don't labor. Why do we need all this fake smell? Fully 10% of the population has asthma. But suggest to someone that they do without their perfume, cologne, scented hair products, scented laundry detergent, scented fabric softener, scented lotions, scented deodorants, scented room sprays, diffusers in their cubicles and they look at you in horror- what do you mean you want to breathe? You don't want to be nauseous, you'd rather not have a migraine? Wow, You are too sensitive. I guess so.

Packaging

When I was first pregnant, a very long time ago, I wanted a daughter. I thought it was because I wouldn't know how to raise a son, because I am, after all, female. I got a son, and after a while, I figured out that this was a good thing, because if I had a daughter, I would have wanted her to be everything I was and everything I wasn't too. That would have been an awfully heavy burden to put on such a tiny being. So I had a son and he taught me that it didn't matter what I wanted, because he was who he was and that is so wonderful, I didn't really care anymore. So then, when I was pregnant again, I wanted a daughter, because I had a son already. I thought it would be perfect if I had one of each and it has been. My daughter is who she is and is everything she could ever want or need to be. She is far beyond me in everything I have ever done that was important or clever or even interesting. It's a good thing, because she knows I love flamingos and she put them here for you to see.

New Hampshire isn't Iowa

Today, my boss asked me what I thought about Hillary's win in New Hampshire. I told him: New Hampshire isn't Iowa. Wait until Super Tuesday. My boss has the advantage of having once actually participated in the Iowa Caucuses and he's been to New Hampshire. He feels neither is representative of the country in general. I simply think it's not over until it's over. I've heard a dozen theories from the geographical to the conspiracy. It's not over til it's over and it ain't over yet.

At the same time, you have to feel bad for Hillary. I don't think she'll win, no matter what she does. Too many people hate her for no reason at all. It's not fair. I swear, if Hillary turned water into wine, she'd be criticized for alcoholism. If Hillary healed the sick, she'd be charged with practicing medicine without a license. If Hillary walked on water it would be dismissed as proof that she's out of touch with environmental issues. If Hillary wins, it'll be more than a miracle, it'll be the second coming.

A Sense of History

A few days ago, Barack Obama won Iowa. People were surprised. I was surprised too, though not necessarily for the same reasons "people" were. What surprised me more was that it took rather a long time for the media to note what an historic achievement that win was. Hilary's third place was also an historic achievement. The media pretty much missed that. We've just been sitting through it for so long we've lost the sense of it. A black man and a woman; it's easy to lose sight of just how amazing an achievement that is. Today my daughter came home from a "family party" at a friend's and said that some members of the friend's family declared that they would move to Canada if a black man became president. While we smiled and declared it was devoutly to be hoped, it's easy to forget that these attitudes still exist. Unlike Mitt, I will not lie and say that I saw my father march with Martin Luther King but I remember seeing those marches on TV, the black and white images on the screen of Selma and Chicago and Washington. I remember the dogs and the firehoses and the uniforms and nightsticks. I remember seeing the perfectly reputable-looking marchers, men in suits and women in hats and gloves with nice purses and wondering what all the fuss was about. A child only sees what's there I guess. And there was an awful fuss, for years and years. And lest we forget, there was bloodshed, plenty of that too. And now, Barack Obama wins Ohio and there's not so much fuss. Could it be that we are judging this man by the content of his character? That would be something, wouldn't it?

Starting Over

The nice thing about a new year is the new part. Around here it is certainly is not the weather which is God-awful. It seems like we regularly need a new starting point, just like the cupboards need a spring cleaning. A way to mentally begin again. I was talking with my incredibly cute intern today, who noted that she does not make resolutions, because when she finds something she needs to correct in her life, she does it right away. Which is, of course, what we would all like to do, but in the great scheme of things, we do not. At the same time, there is a flow to the small things, and we don't notice, except when we sit down and take stock. Then patterns surface. It will be interesting to see what happens and what doesn't. January is always full of possibility.