Today I found myself laughing aloud as I drove to work. For whatever reason--the smell of the air outside, the way the sky looked, the sun on the hospital--something reminded me of the day I started my first job as a nurse. I was wet behind the ears and hardly recognized any equipment I saw. I realized that I was truly a hazard to the wellbeing of most patients there. It could be the family genes, but I had it in my mind to bluff my way through whatever unknowns that would present themselves.
One of the nurses who was assigned to orient me that day, invited me to help her give a patient a bedbath. Not any kind of patient, and not any kind of bedbath. This was the trauma unit. Every patient seemed to have a cast, metal hardware, be covered in bandages, have tubes from every orifice, or be on some sort of specialty bed. The bath consisted of two large body towels in a plastic bag full of hot water and rinseless soap. One large wet towel would be placed over the patient and we'd all scrub up and down, back and forth with it, being sure everything was cleaned. Then it would be whisked away and the patient would be covered with a large hot towel with which to be dried. After turning the patient over, the same routine would be repeated on the back, etc.
I watched the first bedbath and noted the assured way the nurses worked: not flinching at nakedness, scrubbing in a way that would surely make me blush, and all the while talking with the patient to be sure he felt okay during the bath. I didn't know if I could do it, but was up for the next bath.
About four of us descended on a large male patient, pulling the curtain partway around him for privacy. I don't remember much about him, just that it took all four of us to life his casts, turn, and scrub. As three of the nurses turned the man to his side, I was left with a large, dirty, soapy towel dripping down my arm. There was no place to put it and I looked around to find a place to set it down. Just then I recalled seeing these wonderfully seasoned nurses throwing the towel through the curtains onto the floor outside the bathroom door. Well, I could do that. I wound up my arm, hoisted the huge towel in the air, and with a surge of energy, threw it overhand at the bathroom door. However, just then, Dr. Thompson, a large stiff, jowly doctor with white hair, walked past the curtain. The wet towel slapped up against the back of his neck, wrapping part way around his face and leaving water marks on his tie and collar.
He whirled about to face me. If looks could kill, I was on my way. His eyes bored into me--the guilty one with wet hands and one upraised arm. The other nurses froze, horrified, as they watched Dr. Thompson disentangle himself from the dirty towel. "That kind of behavior should never be seen in this hospital," he spat.
"Yes sir..." My face turned red and my stomach started doing somersaults. "I'm very sorry."
"See that it never happens again!"
"Yes sir."
Dr. Thompson strode out of the room, his subdued residents with twinkly eyes, following close behind. He looked like an egotistical bantam rooster. I almost fainted. The nurses around me cackled and howled with laughter, in a quiet way so as not to be heard outside the room. I was "in" --at least with them.
Isn't unexpected memory entertaining?
September 20, 2006
September 19, 2006
Power of Precarious
I didn't know if I was doing this whole play therapy thing right. Sal, who was caught in the middle of his parent's ugly divorce, had been brought in for counseling. He had been acting out at school. His parents had locked horns on every major and minor issue surrounding their divorce. I still couldn't figure out why they were getting a divorce. Both told me they desperately loved one another, but things had gone from bad to worse with them. They were unwilling to come in for therapy themselves and instead, wanted me to "fix" their son.
Sal was six years old. He didn't have words to describe what was happening to his little world. He had no way to explain how disruptive everything felt to him, so he became disruptive himself. That way, people would know what he felt like. It was my job to help him think aloud about his situation and to help him put words to his experience so he could discharge the raw intensity of it and go back to the business of just being a little boy.
So here we sat, playing a game in which we hammered blocks of "ice" out of a grid until finally the entire platform collapsed onto the floor. The one able to knock out the most blocks without making it all fall apart won. I wasn't sure what was so therapeutic about it, as I was still trying to figure out how to do this therapy business. Sal energetically hammered out block after block, stacking the pieces on a low table next to our game. While we tapped out the pieces he told me what it was like to be a kid with ADHD in school and how people thought he was bad. I kept hammering and we fell silent, intent on our game.
Sal kept collecting his hammered out ice blocks and absentmindedly placed his last one up on the table. It hung halfway on and off the table, ready to fall to the floor.
"Wow, Sal!" I exclaimed. "That block is pretty precarious!"
He screwed up his face and squinted up at me.
"What's precarious, Barbara?"
"It means ready to fall and not very steady." I couldn't help but notice the deep blue of his eyes and in that moment I loved his little soul.
"Oh. I never heard that word before."
"It's a very big one" I heard myself say as we went back to hammering out ice blocks.
Sal worked quietly for several minutes. I wasn't sure how to get him back onto the topic of his ADHD or his parents' divorce. I knew he had an older sister and she was furious about her parent's choice to divorce. She had sided with her mother and wanted nothing to do with her father. This must have had some impression on Sal. Surely, he intuitively knew about the impact of her rage on the family. But you can't just come out and ask little kids things like this, so we kept playing our game in silence.
Suddenly Sal scrunched down on one knee and put down his hammer. "Barbara, I think my parents have a precarious love." His eyebrows furrowed and he looked deep in thought before looking up at me for a response. "Do you think they have a precarious love?"
"Maybe they do."
"I think so." And he sat for a brief moment looking at the ice blocks on the floor.
"Ok. I'm done with that. Let's play something else."
It is strange, but the next week I could see that he truly was done with that. He was more attentive and seemed to have gained some sense of control over the situation with his parents. He couldn't change them nor could he change the impact of his sister on the family dynamic. But now he had a word for what was happening: His parents had a precarious love. And he could move on to something else.
There are many times in life when we need to understand what is happening to us in order to calm ourselves. Even if it's not a good or pleasant thing, we need to be able to articulate what is happening so we can put it away. Sal did. His parent's precarious love did not change, but he did.
It is strange, but the next week I could see that he truly was done with that. He was more attentive and seemed to have gained some sense of control over the situation with his parents. He couldn't change them nor could he change the impact of his sister on the family dynamic. But now he had a word for what was happening: His parents had a precarious love. And he could move on to something else.
There are many times in life when we need to understand what is happening to us in order to calm ourselves. Even if it's not a good or pleasant thing, we need to be able to articulate what is happening so we can put it away. Sal did. His parent's precarious love did not change, but he did.
September 15, 2006
The Boss
You have met Otis before. Here he is again, waiting for his humble subjects to approach him for a scratch under his chin or a swat with his feathered toy. It is such fun to have this little character in our home.
September 14, 2006
Wait and see
I was in over my head and it would not be easy to back out now. It was a relationship that should never have taken place, and I was in the thick of it. I thought we had similar beliefs--if he had any, they were not religious and scarcely spiritual. He expected me to stay home with babies while he worked. I was on my way to a doctorate and had no intention of staying home full time after all the effort to get such a degree. I did a zillion things in my spare time. He did one. It was a match that never matched. My conscience had smitten me and I decided to board a plane, fly to his home and put an end to the relationship.
It was with a very heavy heart that I sank into the airplane seat and strapped myself in. I hoped that I wouldn't give in to his persuasion, as he was quite good at keeping me on the line. I had prayed and worried about the whole thing. Lost in thought and barely holding back tears, I turned my head to the little oval window and stared outside onto the tarmac.
Just then, a heavyset woman came down the aisle, her skirt swishing against the arms of people seated on either side. Her face was wreathed in smiles, and she looked me squarely in the face. "Hello darlin'," she sang out. "You look like such a nice young lady. I'm so lucky to get to sit by you."
I smiled one of those smiles that was a cross between a determined look and kind patience. It stopped the lady dead in her tracks. She had been settling into her seat and she stopped shifting about, looking right at me. "Honey," she said in a voice that was full of warmth. "The Lord's gonna fix it. You wait and see."
There must have been something in my face that told this dear person that I was full of struggle inside. And she was compelled to tell me that everything would be all right. I could have thrown my arms around her and fallen weeping against her generous bosom. "The Lord's gonna fix it."
I don't remember much else about that flight or the woman, except that her words echoed in my head for the next three days whilst I ended the relationship that should never have started. The Lord did fix it.
When I was younger I used to be so worried about looking right and saying the polite things to people. What would they think of me if I were to say what I really thought? There were times when I did say what I thought and got into trouble. But rarely did I ever say the kinds of things that this woman had said to me that day: that God really does love you. That having things and being a jet setter is nothing compared to being able to read to your children at night in a humble, peaceful home. That there are worse things than dying: living a rat race, or living like you're waiting for some "big moment" to come but until then make do with a miserable existence. That being alive and connected to other people is what makes life worthwhile, not the prestige of a fantastic job that keeps you so busy that you can't spend time with your family.
So today, those who read this--I want you to know, that the Lord is going to fix whatever it is that you face. It may take time and you may feel like you can hardly hang on. But He is able to fix anything and support anyone. It might not come when you would like, but God's gonna fix it. You wait and see.
It was with a very heavy heart that I sank into the airplane seat and strapped myself in. I hoped that I wouldn't give in to his persuasion, as he was quite good at keeping me on the line. I had prayed and worried about the whole thing. Lost in thought and barely holding back tears, I turned my head to the little oval window and stared outside onto the tarmac.
Just then, a heavyset woman came down the aisle, her skirt swishing against the arms of people seated on either side. Her face was wreathed in smiles, and she looked me squarely in the face. "Hello darlin'," she sang out. "You look like such a nice young lady. I'm so lucky to get to sit by you."
I smiled one of those smiles that was a cross between a determined look and kind patience. It stopped the lady dead in her tracks. She had been settling into her seat and she stopped shifting about, looking right at me. "Honey," she said in a voice that was full of warmth. "The Lord's gonna fix it. You wait and see."
There must have been something in my face that told this dear person that I was full of struggle inside. And she was compelled to tell me that everything would be all right. I could have thrown my arms around her and fallen weeping against her generous bosom. "The Lord's gonna fix it."
I don't remember much else about that flight or the woman, except that her words echoed in my head for the next three days whilst I ended the relationship that should never have started. The Lord did fix it.
When I was younger I used to be so worried about looking right and saying the polite things to people. What would they think of me if I were to say what I really thought? There were times when I did say what I thought and got into trouble. But rarely did I ever say the kinds of things that this woman had said to me that day: that God really does love you. That having things and being a jet setter is nothing compared to being able to read to your children at night in a humble, peaceful home. That there are worse things than dying: living a rat race, or living like you're waiting for some "big moment" to come but until then make do with a miserable existence. That being alive and connected to other people is what makes life worthwhile, not the prestige of a fantastic job that keeps you so busy that you can't spend time with your family.
So today, those who read this--I want you to know, that the Lord is going to fix whatever it is that you face. It may take time and you may feel like you can hardly hang on. But He is able to fix anything and support anyone. It might not come when you would like, but God's gonna fix it. You wait and see.
September 12, 2006
More on words
Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars. —Gustave Flaubert, French novelist, Madame Bovary, 1857
September 11, 2006
My Gene Pool
I come from a long line of people who love to produce "hogwash," as my father calls it. No one in my family would be surprised to see that I keep a blog. My father writes all sorts of letters and memos to people either to make a point or to be heard. One of my cousins is writing a book; my sister and another cousin have real appreciation for comedic writing. I suppose it is in my blood to write, and it probably all stems from my grandfather, Dale.
His name wasn't Dale, but he was called that by my elder cousins and Dale he was until he died. We didn't know it was a first name, he was just Dale to us and that meant Grampa.
A self-made man, Dale was a hardware store owner turned mayor, turned salesman. He could really turn a phrase. When he and Nanna celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, he published a full page glossy flier with their picture on it. It was entitled, "Why Every Man Should Love Women." He spun out quite a tale and made many intriguing assertions--ideas that most of the family would not have recognized as belonging to their marriage had they not known that Dale wrote it. It's quite an eye roller, even now.
As a young man, Dale was a violinist. His accompanist was a young lady named Iva. During one concert while he was playing Humoreske, he recalls that he looked down into Iva's eyes where he saw "a line of diapers flapping in the breeze." If he told us this story once, he said it 100 times. They were married shortly thereafter. Their engagement picture shows Nanna turned away from him looking miffed about something, and Dale grinning from ear to ear. It was a metaphor for their entire marriage.
On Sundays we often had whole family gatherings at our grandparents' home. The meal usually included mashed potatoes, gravy and peas. There was a grand old painted white round table and everyone squeezed in around it. It seemed enormous to me then. Halfway through the meal Nanna would ask in true hostess style, "What will you have, James?" Turning to her with a beneficient smile he would announce, "Just a slice of you, my pet." There would be a hiss and Nanna would stamp the heel of her little black shoe on the floor. Our chuckling would begin.
Soon it would be time for dessert and Nanna would bring out a lovely cake. As she cut the cake, Dale would take a dish in one hand and hold it out to her. "Iva, how's your bowels?" Before she could respond he'd say, "Have a piece of cake." We would erupt into gales of laughter and Nanna would be madder than a wet hen.
My grandfather was an extrovert of the truest sort. He was happiest being around people, chattering away with them. He was a wonderful storyteller and many of his stories we could repeat verbatim. Dale loved music. Even after he could no longer play the violin with his arthritic fingers, he would play "O Susanna" on the harmonica, while stomping and dancing through the house. As children, we were delighted with his energy and verve.
Oh he was a dancer alright! There was a period of time when he'd go downtown to the bank and dance with all the tellers every week. I'm not sure what Nanna thought of that, but the tellers sure enjoyed his visits.
At one point Dale bought a piece of property which he wanted to have for his sons. I was too young to remember much about it, but I do remember "P'Tung Studio." It was written on a sign over a hollow where frogs lived. We got a real charge out of that.
As I get older, I have begun to observe myself saying some of the same things that Dale and my father have said. I consider both of them to be eccentric in some ways, but very endearing. When I see my sister or brother following suit, saying things that could have just as easily come out of my father's mouth, I have to say that everything seems right in the world. The familiarity of their words and the feelings engendered remind me of the long line of unique word turners from which we all hail. Perhaps I shall be making a spectacle of my relationship with Sam in a more updated way than Dale featured Nanna in the media back in the 60s. My words will probably embarass someone I'm related to, but they are written in the fulness of appreciation and love for the gene pool from which I sprang. I could be off doing much worse things than writing a blog.
His name wasn't Dale, but he was called that by my elder cousins and Dale he was until he died. We didn't know it was a first name, he was just Dale to us and that meant Grampa.
A self-made man, Dale was a hardware store owner turned mayor, turned salesman. He could really turn a phrase. When he and Nanna celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, he published a full page glossy flier with their picture on it. It was entitled, "Why Every Man Should Love Women." He spun out quite a tale and made many intriguing assertions--ideas that most of the family would not have recognized as belonging to their marriage had they not known that Dale wrote it. It's quite an eye roller, even now.
As a young man, Dale was a violinist. His accompanist was a young lady named Iva. During one concert while he was playing Humoreske, he recalls that he looked down into Iva's eyes where he saw "a line of diapers flapping in the breeze." If he told us this story once, he said it 100 times. They were married shortly thereafter. Their engagement picture shows Nanna turned away from him looking miffed about something, and Dale grinning from ear to ear. It was a metaphor for their entire marriage.
On Sundays we often had whole family gatherings at our grandparents' home. The meal usually included mashed potatoes, gravy and peas. There was a grand old painted white round table and everyone squeezed in around it. It seemed enormous to me then. Halfway through the meal Nanna would ask in true hostess style, "What will you have, James?" Turning to her with a beneficient smile he would announce, "Just a slice of you, my pet." There would be a hiss and Nanna would stamp the heel of her little black shoe on the floor. Our chuckling would begin.
Soon it would be time for dessert and Nanna would bring out a lovely cake. As she cut the cake, Dale would take a dish in one hand and hold it out to her. "Iva, how's your bowels?" Before she could respond he'd say, "Have a piece of cake." We would erupt into gales of laughter and Nanna would be madder than a wet hen.
My grandfather was an extrovert of the truest sort. He was happiest being around people, chattering away with them. He was a wonderful storyteller and many of his stories we could repeat verbatim. Dale loved music. Even after he could no longer play the violin with his arthritic fingers, he would play "O Susanna" on the harmonica, while stomping and dancing through the house. As children, we were delighted with his energy and verve.
Oh he was a dancer alright! There was a period of time when he'd go downtown to the bank and dance with all the tellers every week. I'm not sure what Nanna thought of that, but the tellers sure enjoyed his visits.
At one point Dale bought a piece of property which he wanted to have for his sons. I was too young to remember much about it, but I do remember "P'Tung Studio." It was written on a sign over a hollow where frogs lived. We got a real charge out of that.
As I get older, I have begun to observe myself saying some of the same things that Dale and my father have said. I consider both of them to be eccentric in some ways, but very endearing. When I see my sister or brother following suit, saying things that could have just as easily come out of my father's mouth, I have to say that everything seems right in the world. The familiarity of their words and the feelings engendered remind me of the long line of unique word turners from which we all hail. Perhaps I shall be making a spectacle of my relationship with Sam in a more updated way than Dale featured Nanna in the media back in the 60s. My words will probably embarass someone I'm related to, but they are written in the fulness of appreciation and love for the gene pool from which I sprang. I could be off doing much worse things than writing a blog.
September 9, 2006
100 Things About Me
(I saw this on another blogger's site and decided to see what I could come up with)
1. I’m 47 years old and feel like I’m 20.
2. I’m five years younger than my husband.
3. I’m 30 years younger than my mother.
4. I’m the third of four children.
5. I always wanted 10 siblings.
6. When in high school I told my mother I’d like to have 10 sons.
7. I’m a stepmother.
8. After watching “Sound of Music” I wanted to be a governess who turned into a stepmother.
9. I could have been a nun because I'm passionate about spirituality and service and I'm a hopeless introvert
10. I love being married.
11. I’ve lived in 25 different places (26 if you count college)
12. I dream of living in New England, in the country
13. Most of my young life was lived in the country
14. I took piano lessons for about three years
15. One piano recital was my first and last
16. I played French horn for six years in middle school and high school, and bass clarinet for a year in high school
17. I would be happy to lie down and die if I could only perform Verdi's Requiem as the mezzo soloist
18. My siblings and I had a four-part, mixed quartet and used to sing quite a bit
19. I used to tag along with my father’s traveling high school choir when I was very small
20. I was a voice major when I started college
21. I was a merciless prankster in college
22. I detest raisins and figs
23. Watching people brush their teeth can make me gag
24. I’m overweight
25. I think ill of people who swear
26. I’m in a mixed race marriage (although no onlooker would think this, and I don’t think of this often)
27. I’m the only one of four siblings who has not been divorced
28. I’ve crocheted over 45 afghans and love doing it when I have time
29. I’d like to learn how to quilt
30. Cooking and entertaining are favorite activities of mine
31. I love to sing arias from La Bohéme in the shower
32. My husband and I like to sing duets from time to time
33. I often purposely sing a hair off-key when singing congregational hymns with my sister, just because she can’t control her horrified response and it renders her unable to sing because she cracks up.
34. I dream of being able to build furniture
35. I love to remodel old houses
36. I assembled all of my new office furniture myself
37. I consider myself to be quite shy
38. I often forget that I have an advanced degree
39. I’m a good therapist
40. I'd like to have my own television show about family life and relationships
41. I love to preach sermons
42. Laughter is one of life’s miracles
43. I’ve never been a graceful person
44. Being known as a gracious person is one of my life goals
45. I’ve sung for President Ford
46. I’m on a lifestyle-eating plan to trim down and be healthier
47. I’ve taught social workers, therapists, nurses and doctors
48. I used to be an RN
49. My favorite kind of music is renaissance voice music: motets and madrigals
50. I wish I played the double bass in an orchestra, and hope to some day
51. I got married when I was 44 years old
52. I sustained scalding burns over 40% of my body when I was 17 months old
53. I used to sew all my own clothes
54. I have a good eye for design
55. I’m a very good stick person artist
56. I’m in my third year as a stepmother to three teenage girls
57. Using the Meyers-Briggs Temperament Inventory measures, I am an I/ENFP/J
58. My ISFP husband and I are blissfully married most of the time
59. Writing is a relaxing and rewarding pastime
60. I’m intolerant of incompetent leadership
61. I’ve lived in eight states
62. I’ve traveled to Europe eight times
63. I used to dream of operating an orphanage in Mexico
64. I would like to kayak over the Lewis & Clark route West
65. It would be terrific to hike the Pacific Rim Trail from top to bottom
66. I’ve climbed San Bernardino, San Gorgonio, Mt. Baldy, San Jacinto, Half Dome, El Capitan, and Whitney (twice)
67. I’d like to learn how to be a better conversationalist
68. There have been two times in my life when during prayer, I was afraid to open my eyes because it felt like God was sitting on the edge of my bed right next to me
69. I have experienced miracle after miracle in my life
70. I would like to write a Gestalt Therapy textbook
71. I’ve written a book on domestic violence
72. I’m scared of working with electrical things (wiring)
73. I can’t tolerate the feel of fingernail polish
74. I’ve always had an affinity for all things Jewish
75. I like the shape of my nose
76. My idea of a very bad time is being forced to endure the entire playing of Wagner’s operas, prolonged exposure to Kletzmer or Mariachi bands.
77. When I started studying therapy I read every assigned reading plus every therapy book I could get my hands on, for three years.
78. I appear very confident, so people falsely assume I’m competent
79. I would love to be a concert pianist
80. I’m a good story teller
81. I’m fascinated by people from other lands, other cultures and backgrounds
82. I have no desire to travel in Asian countries
83. I almost adopted a child from another country
84. I wish I were closer to my brothers
85. I once heard a woman being raped in a van and was so naïve that I did nothing about it
86. As a nurse I have cared for two internationally known personalities
87. If I had my druthers, I would be independently wealthy and live the life of an eternal student, with private tutors here and abroad
88. I’ve never been able to stand on my head without feeling like I’d pop an aneurysm
89. Many people (particularly students) are intimidated by me before they get to know me
90. My cousin Linda, has been like a big sister to me
91. I’ve promised my nephew that we will kayak for a week in the Boundary Waters within the next couple years
92. I love people but being around them for prolonged periods of time makes me feel utterly exhausted
93. Sometimes I feel like I have Alzheimer’s because my memory is horrible
94. My mathematical skills are pathetic (I’m certain I have a math disability)
95. I have always felt very close to God, even as a very small child
96. I love to wash dishes by hand—and they smell so much better than if they’re washed in the dishwasher!
97. My trousers unexpectedly dropped clear to the ground once, as I stood at the edge of the freeway.
98. I have a wonderful network of friends
99. I've watched many, many people die
100.I never expected to be this happy in life
1. I’m 47 years old and feel like I’m 20.
2. I’m five years younger than my husband.
3. I’m 30 years younger than my mother.
4. I’m the third of four children.
5. I always wanted 10 siblings.
6. When in high school I told my mother I’d like to have 10 sons.
7. I’m a stepmother.
8. After watching “Sound of Music” I wanted to be a governess who turned into a stepmother.
9. I could have been a nun because I'm passionate about spirituality and service and I'm a hopeless introvert
10. I love being married.
11. I’ve lived in 25 different places (26 if you count college)
12. I dream of living in New England, in the country
13. Most of my young life was lived in the country
14. I took piano lessons for about three years
15. One piano recital was my first and last
16. I played French horn for six years in middle school and high school, and bass clarinet for a year in high school
17. I would be happy to lie down and die if I could only perform Verdi's Requiem as the mezzo soloist
18. My siblings and I had a four-part, mixed quartet and used to sing quite a bit
19. I used to tag along with my father’s traveling high school choir when I was very small
20. I was a voice major when I started college
21. I was a merciless prankster in college
22. I detest raisins and figs
23. Watching people brush their teeth can make me gag
24. I’m overweight
25. I think ill of people who swear
26. I’m in a mixed race marriage (although no onlooker would think this, and I don’t think of this often)
27. I’m the only one of four siblings who has not been divorced
28. I’ve crocheted over 45 afghans and love doing it when I have time
29. I’d like to learn how to quilt
30. Cooking and entertaining are favorite activities of mine
31. I love to sing arias from La Bohéme in the shower
32. My husband and I like to sing duets from time to time
33. I often purposely sing a hair off-key when singing congregational hymns with my sister, just because she can’t control her horrified response and it renders her unable to sing because she cracks up.
34. I dream of being able to build furniture
35. I love to remodel old houses
36. I assembled all of my new office furniture myself
37. I consider myself to be quite shy
38. I often forget that I have an advanced degree
39. I’m a good therapist
40. I'd like to have my own television show about family life and relationships
41. I love to preach sermons
42. Laughter is one of life’s miracles
43. I’ve never been a graceful person
44. Being known as a gracious person is one of my life goals
45. I’ve sung for President Ford
46. I’m on a lifestyle-eating plan to trim down and be healthier
47. I’ve taught social workers, therapists, nurses and doctors
48. I used to be an RN
49. My favorite kind of music is renaissance voice music: motets and madrigals
50. I wish I played the double bass in an orchestra, and hope to some day
51. I got married when I was 44 years old
52. I sustained scalding burns over 40% of my body when I was 17 months old
53. I used to sew all my own clothes
54. I have a good eye for design
55. I’m a very good stick person artist
56. I’m in my third year as a stepmother to three teenage girls
57. Using the Meyers-Briggs Temperament Inventory measures, I am an I/ENFP/J
58. My ISFP husband and I are blissfully married most of the time
59. Writing is a relaxing and rewarding pastime
60. I’m intolerant of incompetent leadership
61. I’ve lived in eight states
62. I’ve traveled to Europe eight times
63. I used to dream of operating an orphanage in Mexico
64. I would like to kayak over the Lewis & Clark route West
65. It would be terrific to hike the Pacific Rim Trail from top to bottom
66. I’ve climbed San Bernardino, San Gorgonio, Mt. Baldy, San Jacinto, Half Dome, El Capitan, and Whitney (twice)
67. I’d like to learn how to be a better conversationalist
68. There have been two times in my life when during prayer, I was afraid to open my eyes because it felt like God was sitting on the edge of my bed right next to me
69. I have experienced miracle after miracle in my life
70. I would like to write a Gestalt Therapy textbook
71. I’ve written a book on domestic violence
72. I’m scared of working with electrical things (wiring)
73. I can’t tolerate the feel of fingernail polish
74. I’ve always had an affinity for all things Jewish
75. I like the shape of my nose
76. My idea of a very bad time is being forced to endure the entire playing of Wagner’s operas, prolonged exposure to Kletzmer or Mariachi bands.
77. When I started studying therapy I read every assigned reading plus every therapy book I could get my hands on, for three years.
78. I appear very confident, so people falsely assume I’m competent
79. I would love to be a concert pianist
80. I’m a good story teller
81. I’m fascinated by people from other lands, other cultures and backgrounds
82. I have no desire to travel in Asian countries
83. I almost adopted a child from another country
84. I wish I were closer to my brothers
85. I once heard a woman being raped in a van and was so naïve that I did nothing about it
86. As a nurse I have cared for two internationally known personalities
87. If I had my druthers, I would be independently wealthy and live the life of an eternal student, with private tutors here and abroad
88. I’ve never been able to stand on my head without feeling like I’d pop an aneurysm
89. Many people (particularly students) are intimidated by me before they get to know me
90. My cousin Linda, has been like a big sister to me
91. I’ve promised my nephew that we will kayak for a week in the Boundary Waters within the next couple years
92. I love people but being around them for prolonged periods of time makes me feel utterly exhausted
93. Sometimes I feel like I have Alzheimer’s because my memory is horrible
94. My mathematical skills are pathetic (I’m certain I have a math disability)
95. I have always felt very close to God, even as a very small child
96. I love to wash dishes by hand—and they smell so much better than if they’re washed in the dishwasher!
97. My trousers unexpectedly dropped clear to the ground once, as I stood at the edge of the freeway.
98. I have a wonderful network of friends
99. I've watched many, many people die
100.I never expected to be this happy in life
September 7, 2006
Crass
( Onslow, from the BBC production, Keeping Up Appearances)Uncouth people drive me nuts. People without manners, or who are so oblivious to social convention that they stand out like a sore thumb--and when this is pointed out, no matter. There is something to be said for propriety, and I would like to say it. (Beware, here comes a harrangue!)
I recall eating lunch with someone a few years ago who continually belched loudly with his mouth open, looking straight at my face to get a response. He was in my home, at my table, eating a meal I had prepared for him. He was a weekly visitor--a relative who frequently found his way to my house because he had no other place to go. There he'd sit, smacking his greasy lips together, belching, laughing with his mouth so wide that one could see half-chewed food inside. He was soon not welcome.
Today I ate lunch with someone who asked if it was acceptable to each quiche with one's hands. I don't know where the parents were during the childrearing years of this child, that this information was somehow overlooked. I was horrified and shot a look like a dagger. I confess, I have no patience with poor table manners, particularly when poor manners are touted as preferable to acceptable etiquette.
(Jethro Bodeen from the "Beverly Hillbillies")
When I left home at the age of 21, I had a basic knowledge of proper table conduct: don't chew with your mouth open' wipe your lips on your napkin before you take a drink so you don't leave mouth prints on the glass; use the salad fork for the first course/salad; don't yawn at the table; cover your mouth if you laugh aloud; don't smack your lips; take your soup from the side of the bowl; don't swish your drink through your teeth to clean them; and don't dunk your bread in your milk. That was a good start for proper table manners in America, 1970.
Our family was given specific instructions in table manners by mother. Many were the agonized expressions we saw cross her face as we slurped our soup or played "Lookie, Lookie!" with our siblings. Elbows on the table were fair game for a jab from my father's fork. Belching was not permitted at the table unless, of course, if was my father's hiccup-type accidental burp (he has been heard belching entire words: "Wheeeeeeateeeena!" or, "Ripity-bip-de-bip!" that caused no end of mirth.)
Of particular concern was the way we interacted with hosts and hostesses when invited out to eat in the homes of other families. We were always to compliment the cook on something: the flavor of the greens, the crispness of the salad, the delicious entre. If the meal was a bust, we were taught to compliment the hostess on the attractiveness of the table, or the colorful meal. Anything--just don't fail to compliment the hosts.
We were once invited to have dinner with an older couple originally from the Ukraine. I don't recall recognizing one thing on my plate that day: bitter, unfamiliar foods do not bode well with children. But we had been taught to eat what was put before us, so we dutifully fell to. As if to add insult to injury, at the end of the meal we were served large mugs of tea, the flavor of which nearly made our lives pass before us. While the three older children grimaced and with watering eyes politely sipped this beverage, the youngest sibling charmed us all into looking out the window for some reason. As we turned in our chairs, he upended the sugar bowl into his tea and stirred vigorously. His tea became as thick as syrrup. The hostess was delighted to see him cheerfully drinking from his mug. It was the only bright spot in that meal, unfortunately.
I complimented our hostess on her beautiful table. My sister told her that she loved how our meal had been served in courses. That left my older brother with the "colorful meal" compliment. But the youngest brother had said nothing yet. We were keenly aware of this as we bundled up to leave the house later in the evening. We were hugged and kissed by these dear old folks as we started out the door. Then came baby brother. Our hostess placed both hands on his shoulders and looked sweetly down at him. He swallowed, and here came his requisite compliment: "Thank you for dinner. I liked the salt!" He said it in such a winsome way that she beamed at him. I don't know if she fully understood the import of what he was saying, but we certainly did. Mother winced and Daddy's eyes started to crinkle at the edges. We kids were mad that he could get away with that for a compliment!
"I like the salt" has become our family's code language to describe dishes or meals that we can hardly tolerate. We still eat everything put before us without complaint. My husband was taught the same thing in the same way. I think it was how things were to be done. So when I was faced with a meal of shrimp quesadillas and warm raisin salad, I turned off my brain and ate the quesadillas and dug around the raisins to eat most of the salad. It was miserable, but that's what propriety dictates.
Therefore, when I serve meals here and kids say things like, "Yuck! Can I have a PBJ?" or "I'm not going to eat this kind of food!" or "Whuffl tha psftch" (mouth too full to talk), I feel the hackles come up rather quickly. Perhaps I'm too close to the Great Depression generation, who impressed on us that we are fortunate to have a choice in what we put on the table. When manners were the only thing that distinguished a lady eating boiled potatoes from a common thug eating boiled potatoes.
I don't know exactly how to develop tolerance for crass behavior over the table. I suppose that I could admonish myself to think of that long table in Heaven at which we shall all dine and be served by the Lord, and not be slurping, burping and laughing with our mouths open. Meanwhile, I hope for grace to model and teach where possible (without becoming exasperated).
Do not kill fly on forehead of friend with ax. (Chinese Proverb)
September 5, 2006
Whole story
There are times in this life when we can only see a teeney piece of the whole of life. It can be maddening. When we see only a glimpse of what is really going on in a situation, we can make incorrect assumptions and base our approach to things in a faulty way.That's what happened to me a few weeks ago when I started my new job. I'd heard comments about a certain person (let's call him Gerard) from several sources--and they were remarks that were not positive. But I could easily see how they might be true. I 
trusted the people who told me things like, "Be careful how much you tell Gerard. He's something else!" and "Gerard has anger issues." Or, "Thank goodness you're here. Now you can fix the mess that Gerard made for the last several years." I was dumbstruck. I didn't even know Gerard and I already had a bad taste in my mouth.
I dutifully reported these remarks to my superior because these were trustworthy sources and I'd seen some of the behavior they indicated to me. I would be alarmed to give responsibilities to such individuals. It would not be a good thing, and other people could be harmed or our reputation as an institution could be undermined by his behavior. He is creative, warm, always out for the underdog, and as outspoken as the day is long. I feel as though I need to wear a helmet and seatbelt when I'm around him because I'm seldom prepared for what he'll say or do.
Well, I felt sorry for him. Imagine having the reputation he has! Every relationship he has is a mess. He will yell, threaten, villify, and turn friends into enemies. And he is clever, well-spoken, and a real genius when it comes to organizational know-how. But something was wrong and I wanted to know what was going on.
So I started to get acquainted with him. I invited him over to my office one afternoon just to chat. I spent two hours listening to him harrangue about everything from soup to nuts. He didn't like his job, he didn't like his car, he didn't like his shoes, he didn't like his staff, he didn't like my desk, he didn't like what people said to him, he didn't like how I combed my hair. I felt glued to my chair under the heat of his endless tirade. Then he launched into an exegesis about the biblical source of righteous indignation. He scarcely looked at me to see if I was listening. As I fought to keep my eyes from glazing over, I realized that my hands were balled up into fists. Deep breaths, relax. No one is dying here. And I watched his mouth move and his hands making emphatic movements while he leaned forward in his seat.
That was one eternal conversation. I couldn't get a word in edgewise, and I was all worked up just listening to him. Besides, he was talking of things about which I had considerable interest and there was no opportunity to weigh in on anything that was said.
That night I felt agitated and annoyed. What everyone said about Gerard is true. He's a pain in the neck. I've never felt so invisible in my life--talked at, not talked to. But I couldn't sleep. Even with all of his rantings, there was just enough hint of eagerness in his eyes that almost made me think that he wanted to connect with me in some way. So I decided to talk with him the next day about it--and to take over the conversation by storm if I had to, just to get air time.
I found him in the morning, standing by the drinking fountain in the office break room. He greeted me warmly and added, "It was good to talk with you yesterday."
"I wanted to talk to you about that." I saw him take a breath to reply, but if he got started again I knew I'd lose all opportunity to say anything for that conversation.
"I felt strange yesterday and I wanted to talk to you about it because I don't ever want to feel like I have to avoid you or not talk with you about things."
"Oh, no...I don't want that either. You see--"
"--so I just wanted to tell you that I really want to know what you think and I also need to have you hear me. I heard all about you and you never heard anything that I think about things--"
"--well, I--"
"--so," I interrupted, "I want to work something out so that you will listen to me and I will listen to you. It's not very even and it makes me resentful of you."
Gerard was quiet and looked down at his feet, embarassed. Then, like a little whisper, "Please don't be resentful."
"No, I don't want to be. That's why I'm talking to you about this right now. Gerard, I like you. I want to talk with you more. I want to know all about what you think because word on the street is that you have terrific ideas and are very smart about work things." He looked shocked. I continued, "In fact, you have some of the best interventions anyone around here has. But something happens so that it's hard to see those part of you. And I want to know more about that part of you." Gerard looked long and hard at me. I felt ridiculous all of a sudden. "Does that make sense?"
"Yes." His voice was low and he sighed. "There's stuff to tell you about that, but I don't know how to articulate it." He kicked at an imaginary ball on the floor and looked at me long and hard.
"I guess that....well....you see, I....." He sighed again. "I grew up in a family where my uncle and father debated politics all the time, especially on Saturday afternoons when they got together. It takes me awhile to get my thoughts together and I could never do it fast enough to add to their debates. So I stood by listening and looked like I didn't know anything. They used to tease me about being a say-nothing, know-nothing. And it really got to me. I hated that." His voice rose in pitch. "I may still be trying to join in their debates. So once I get going, I can't stop because I don't want to forget the things that I am thinking about. It comes out with an angry edge because I'm still stinging about what they said all those years."
The whole picture started to form in my mind. An outspoken man with an angry edge--still playing back to his uncle and father. Only, all of us had to pay for it now. "I want to hear what you say and I'm in no hurry. Just please, listen to me, too. I'm not your uncle."
"No," he laughed. "You're prettier." And he winked at me with very moist eyes.
It amazes me how many people spend years trying to right a wrong from the past, or repay someone from years ago by taking it out on their significant other(s). What we see--their unappealing behavior--is only a small piece of the puzzle. We can only see a slice of who they really are. Few of us have the luxury of finding out the whole story. When we do, so much more makes sense.
September 3, 2006
Striving
Have you ever read the law of retaliation in the Bible? It is one of those things that is easier to read about than to put into practice.
You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, do not resist one who is evil. ...I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you salute only your brethren, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:38, 39, 43-48).
We learned today that our former landlord skimmed hundreds of dollars off the top of our rental deposit refund and sent us back about half of the amount that had been agreed upon when we signed on with them. We could have quickly moved on, had they charged us $100 or so to replace mini-blinds or something. They cited all sorts of problems with the condition in which we left the house and they charged us for carpet cleaning services, when it was the last thing we did before we left. We are stunned. The deposit was to have been refunded within 14 days, not the 10 weeks it took to get it to us. Phone calls were not returned, our previous documentation of problems with the rental were not taken into account. When we finally did receive the letter and see the paltry sum returned to us with the corresponding explanation we were, quite frankly, outraged.
As I thought about our financial loss this evening, I ironed the kitchen curtains with a vengence. Sam sputtered angrily at the computer, looking over state law and trying to find some recourse. The deposit refund had been earmarked for something important, which will not materialize now. We live in another state and even if we were to take these people to small claims court, the monetary gain would be gobbled up in travel and attorney's expenses. I was beside myself.
I hate feeling like my hands are tied, especially when faced with something so unfair. But I kept thinking about Jesus' words about blessing those who curse you and doing good to those who "despitefully use you." If I feel hateful toward those who are unfair to me, how am I any better than those who makes no profession of following God?
It's not always clear where to draw the line between being a doormat and gently standing up for oneself. I have always been what I consider a strong advocate for myself and the things I've been working toward. So to entertain the idea that I shouldn't fight for what is rightfully mine is foreign to my thinking. Certainly, being victimized in an abusive relationship would be a reason to get out and stop the abuse. Protecting oneself in those situations and preventing the abuser from harming others is always appropriate. But what of my current situation?
There is no threat of physical danger here, nothing to do to protect myself either. It is merely one of those annoying instances in which one person takes advantage of another. It reminds me of the time we lived in the Midwest and Sam paid a homeless man $100 to remove bushes in our back lot. He made off with the money and we spent hours hacking the bushes out ourselves. But our sentiment was, Shame on us for being taken, and we weren't that put out.
A few deep breaths and several hours of reflection later, I'm beginning to remember that the principles of the Kingdom of Heaven are so unlike anything we have on earth.
1. Salvation is given to us and we aren't to wear ourselves out trying to obtain it. We call on the name of God and trust Him to fulfill His word to us.
2. The Sabbath is given to us so we can rest--we aren't to strive with life every single day. We are to obey God and trust that He will make us productive and useful, even as we rest and divert our attention from business for 24 hours.
3. We lose our life to save it. By giving up our plans and accepting God's direction for our lives, we save our souls. Seems backward, but it's in the Bible.
Now here's another opportunity to trust God and relax, knowing that once again He will take care of whatever needs attending to.
No, I don't anticipate that the Lord will send disturbing dreams to our former landlord until they fork the rest of the deposit over to us. But I do expect God to teach me to wait on Him and to leave the results for Him to manage. It is consistent with the Biblical principle of giving up my druthers in order to gain what is truly important in this life. Because in the end, amassing possessions is not a critical factor in a successful Christian life. There are worse things than losing money. Insisting on living the earthly way comes to mind.
You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, do not resist one who is evil. ...I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you salute only your brethren, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:38, 39, 43-48).
We learned today that our former landlord skimmed hundreds of dollars off the top of our rental deposit refund and sent us back about half of the amount that had been agreed upon when we signed on with them. We could have quickly moved on, had they charged us $100 or so to replace mini-blinds or something. They cited all sorts of problems with the condition in which we left the house and they charged us for carpet cleaning services, when it was the last thing we did before we left. We are stunned. The deposit was to have been refunded within 14 days, not the 10 weeks it took to get it to us. Phone calls were not returned, our previous documentation of problems with the rental were not taken into account. When we finally did receive the letter and see the paltry sum returned to us with the corresponding explanation we were, quite frankly, outraged.
As I thought about our financial loss this evening, I ironed the kitchen curtains with a vengence. Sam sputtered angrily at the computer, looking over state law and trying to find some recourse. The deposit refund had been earmarked for something important, which will not materialize now. We live in another state and even if we were to take these people to small claims court, the monetary gain would be gobbled up in travel and attorney's expenses. I was beside myself.
I hate feeling like my hands are tied, especially when faced with something so unfair. But I kept thinking about Jesus' words about blessing those who curse you and doing good to those who "despitefully use you." If I feel hateful toward those who are unfair to me, how am I any better than those who makes no profession of following God?
It's not always clear where to draw the line between being a doormat and gently standing up for oneself. I have always been what I consider a strong advocate for myself and the things I've been working toward. So to entertain the idea that I shouldn't fight for what is rightfully mine is foreign to my thinking. Certainly, being victimized in an abusive relationship would be a reason to get out and stop the abuse. Protecting oneself in those situations and preventing the abuser from harming others is always appropriate. But what of my current situation?
There is no threat of physical danger here, nothing to do to protect myself either. It is merely one of those annoying instances in which one person takes advantage of another. It reminds me of the time we lived in the Midwest and Sam paid a homeless man $100 to remove bushes in our back lot. He made off with the money and we spent hours hacking the bushes out ourselves. But our sentiment was, Shame on us for being taken, and we weren't that put out.
A few deep breaths and several hours of reflection later, I'm beginning to remember that the principles of the Kingdom of Heaven are so unlike anything we have on earth.
1. Salvation is given to us and we aren't to wear ourselves out trying to obtain it. We call on the name of God and trust Him to fulfill His word to us.
2. The Sabbath is given to us so we can rest--we aren't to strive with life every single day. We are to obey God and trust that He will make us productive and useful, even as we rest and divert our attention from business for 24 hours.
3. We lose our life to save it. By giving up our plans and accepting God's direction for our lives, we save our souls. Seems backward, but it's in the Bible.
Now here's another opportunity to trust God and relax, knowing that once again He will take care of whatever needs attending to.
No, I don't anticipate that the Lord will send disturbing dreams to our former landlord until they fork the rest of the deposit over to us. But I do expect God to teach me to wait on Him and to leave the results for Him to manage. It is consistent with the Biblical principle of giving up my druthers in order to gain what is truly important in this life. Because in the end, amassing possessions is not a critical factor in a successful Christian life. There are worse things than losing money. Insisting on living the earthly way comes to mind.
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