Steven Harper's Blog, page 71
December 31, 2017
Not Quite New Year's
"So what are we doing for New Year's Eve?" Darwin asked me.
I gave him a hard look. "We can do whatever you want."
"Great! How about a poker tournament with pizza and--"
I held up a hand. "By 'whatever you want,' I mean, 'You do all the planning, cooking, setup, and cleaning.' I handled Christmas for 25 people over three days. I'm done! Done done done!"
Darwin has many, many wonderful qualities and talents, but planning parties isn't one of them. He tried, but everything fell through, leaving us alone on New Year's Eve. I was, frankly, relieved. The quiet was so nice!
We decided to go out for supper. (Max was at his mother's.) I plumped for a steak house, since this was the last day we'd be able to eat meat. But when we arrived at said steak house (at 4:30 in the afternoon, I might add), we found an hour's wait for a table. So we left. After some trial and error--and more error--we finally ended up at Johnny Carino's. They do serve steak, which is what I wanted. Darwin opted for chicken Marsala.
When I ordered a Coke to drink, the server informed me they were out of Coke. (!) I allotted that Cherry Coke would be an acceptable substitute. I ordered a New York strip, medium. The server returned to say they were out of that, too, but I could have a different cut with mushroom sauce. "Medium, please," I sighed.
The steak arrived. It was buried in an avalanche of Gorgonzola mushroom sauce. It was also so rare, it was mooing. I don't like rare steak, especially an low-quality cut, so I sent it back. This time the manager brought it out. The steak was fine, but by now the potatoes and vegetables had gone cold. Sigh.
Darwin and I had every reason to be upset with these continual stumbles, but we decided to laugh about them instead. "The whole point to me isn't the food anyway," Darwin said. "It's to come here, and sit with you, and watch the people."
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I gave him a hard look. "We can do whatever you want."
"Great! How about a poker tournament with pizza and--"
I held up a hand. "By 'whatever you want,' I mean, 'You do all the planning, cooking, setup, and cleaning.' I handled Christmas for 25 people over three days. I'm done! Done done done!"
Darwin has many, many wonderful qualities and talents, but planning parties isn't one of them. He tried, but everything fell through, leaving us alone on New Year's Eve. I was, frankly, relieved. The quiet was so nice!
We decided to go out for supper. (Max was at his mother's.) I plumped for a steak house, since this was the last day we'd be able to eat meat. But when we arrived at said steak house (at 4:30 in the afternoon, I might add), we found an hour's wait for a table. So we left. After some trial and error--and more error--we finally ended up at Johnny Carino's. They do serve steak, which is what I wanted. Darwin opted for chicken Marsala.
When I ordered a Coke to drink, the server informed me they were out of Coke. (!) I allotted that Cherry Coke would be an acceptable substitute. I ordered a New York strip, medium. The server returned to say they were out of that, too, but I could have a different cut with mushroom sauce. "Medium, please," I sighed.
The steak arrived. It was buried in an avalanche of Gorgonzola mushroom sauce. It was also so rare, it was mooing. I don't like rare steak, especially an low-quality cut, so I sent it back. This time the manager brought it out. The steak was fine, but by now the potatoes and vegetables had gone cold. Sigh.
Darwin and I had every reason to be upset with these continual stumbles, but we decided to laugh about them instead. "The whole point to me isn't the food anyway," Darwin said. "It's to come here, and sit with you, and watch the people."
In the end, I chanced dessert. I've come to enjoy dessert wine with a final treat, and was hoping for a glass of cherry or raspberry, but all they had was a Riesling made from peaches. I ordered it along with cannoli. This part of the meal, at least, was perfect. The creamy chocolate-ricotta of the cannoli complemented the peach wine to perfection.
Earlier that day, I'd created an order for our weekly groceries, so we stopped at the store to pick them up. (I love the "we shop for you" system.) It was our first load of veggie-based foods for the new diet!
The rest of the evening was spent quietly. At last, I pointed out to Darwin that it was five minutes to midnight. He opened a bottle of sparkling grape juice, and we toasted the incoming year with it, sealed with a kiss. Or three.
2017 was a dreadful year for me, and I'm glad to see it go. I'm hoping 2018 will be better!
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The Holiday Report, 2017
Back around Thanksgiving, my family and I were working out where we'd meet for Christmas. I said, "Our house." My and Darwin's house is specially built for entertaining, and I like having people over to use it just for that purpose. Darwin, with his tendency toward introversion, has to be coaxed or blackmailed into agreeing. Sometimes I just announce an event is happening, and Darwin can help, follow, or just get out of the way.
Some discussion as to the date arose, and we finally settled on Christmas Eve, a Sunday.
A bit later, I came across Darwin hanging up his phone. "My family is all set," he announced. "They'll be there on Christmas Eve."
Oops. I'd had it in mind that we'd have my family over on Christmas Eve and Darwin's on Christmas Day. But Darwin thought we were having EVERYONE over on Christmas Eve. The list came to 25 people!
Well, what are you going to do?
I did some counting with chairs and tables (including our small collection of folding tables) and realized we'd have exactly enough spots for everyone to have dinner. Whew!
For two days before Christmas Eve, I did nothing but food. One day was Shopping Day. I bought two hams! Twenty pounds of potatoes! Ten pounds of yams! A pound of carrots! Various other foods, I foisted off on guests--salad, rolls and butter, chips and dip, baked beans, and so on. The day before, I prepped potatoes and yams (peeling, washing, and putting into cold salted water overnight). I made gourmet macaroni and cheese. I hauled holiday dish sets out of the basement and washed them. I set up the buffet area. It was a whirlwind!
On the big day itself, I got the hams into the roaster and put the potatoes on to boil. The mac and cheese went into the oven to finish. I glazed the baby carrots. I oversaw the setup of tables and chairs (which involved moving some furniture into temporary storage in the office). People began to arrive from both sides of the family, and I put them to work with setup. Presents piled up under the tree. At last, dinner was done. ready for eating at 2:00 PM sharp, just as promised. ("How did you learn to do all this, Steven?" my mother asked. "I watched you when I was little," I said. "You're more organized than I ever was!" she replied.)
We had Darwin's sister Cindy and her husband Don and their grown children Nicholas and Brie (who each brought a girl/boyfriend). We had Darwin's son Shane and his girlfriend Marian and, of course, our grandson Noah. We had my brother Paul, his grandson Cody, my sister Bethany and her husband Bill. We had my mother Penny and her husband Gene. As a nice surprise, my ex in-laws Melva and Roger were able to come, and we were all happy to see them! Melva's health has kept her from hosting holidays, and often keeps her from participating at all, so it was a fine thing to have her there.
But Sasha and Aran weren't here.
Aran had to work Christmas Eve until 5:30, and ohhhh, he was upset at the news. There was no way out of it, either. Worse, he was bringing Sasha with him. I got him calmed down and told him that our family was used to this kind of thing. Nurses and medical technicians and doctors often have to work on holidays, and no one minded when someone was late. This mollified him.
And then came the blizzard. Just as we sat down to eat, the snow poured down from the sky. And not cheerful, happy snow. This was cold, driven, wipe-you-out-on-the-highway snow. You could hardly see through it. I called Aran and left a message on his voice mail to call me the moment he got out of work. He did.
"Hey, Dad!" he said before I could say anything. "I'm just leaving work and I'm going to get Sasha, and we'll come right up. I know to drive slowly and stay in the right-hand lane."
"Aran," I began.
"We're both looking forward to seeing everyone and eating lots of good food," he continued, twisting my chest. "And we have presents to bring, too. We're--"
"Buddy," I interrupted, "I need you to listen for a moment. A lot of people up here arrived really late because the roads are so bad. Uncle Paul was almost in an accident, and there's an accident just up the road from us right now. [This was true--we could see it from the front windows.] We don't want you to drive up in this weather. It's just too dangerous."
"Oh."
I felt awful. Aran had so much been looking forward to coming up and bringing Sasha, and I had to kill that for him.
"We'll get you up here tomorrow, after the roads clear a little. Mom and I will come down in my car, then she'll drive you and Sasha in your car up here, since you don't have much experience driving in snow. Okay?"
Silence. "Oh. Okay." He actually sounded a little relieved. "I'll wait until morning then."
The evening was a fine, fine party. My new recipe (I try one every year) was Snowball Punch, which is champagne, vanilla ice cream, seltzer water, and orange liqueur. It was fantastic! But its kick was disguised by the ice cream, so you had to drink carefully.
Many presents were exchanged. I gave my sister a number of horse-themed presents, including a delightful and touching abstract sculpture of a horse leaning over a woman's shoulder. Bethany loved it.
Eventually, the partiers left. Shane, Mary, and Noah stayed overnight--the roads were too awful for them to drive with the baby. Kala stayed as well.
In the morning, I made pancakes and ham for everyone, then drove with Kala down to Ypsilanti. We switched cars around and got the boys back up to our house, where there was more food and more presents. Everyone stayed so long, I realized we'd need dinner. I speed-thawed a pork loin from the freezer, rubbed it with spices, and roasted it whole in the oven with mashed potatoes, a fruit salad, and fresh bread.
And then the Epic Cleanup began. No matter how hard you try to clean as you go, at a huge function, you can't keep up. The work took two hours! But at last everything was cleaned up, and everyone had gone home.
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Some discussion as to the date arose, and we finally settled on Christmas Eve, a Sunday.
A bit later, I came across Darwin hanging up his phone. "My family is all set," he announced. "They'll be there on Christmas Eve."
Oops. I'd had it in mind that we'd have my family over on Christmas Eve and Darwin's on Christmas Day. But Darwin thought we were having EVERYONE over on Christmas Eve. The list came to 25 people!
Well, what are you going to do?
I did some counting with chairs and tables (including our small collection of folding tables) and realized we'd have exactly enough spots for everyone to have dinner. Whew!
For two days before Christmas Eve, I did nothing but food. One day was Shopping Day. I bought two hams! Twenty pounds of potatoes! Ten pounds of yams! A pound of carrots! Various other foods, I foisted off on guests--salad, rolls and butter, chips and dip, baked beans, and so on. The day before, I prepped potatoes and yams (peeling, washing, and putting into cold salted water overnight). I made gourmet macaroni and cheese. I hauled holiday dish sets out of the basement and washed them. I set up the buffet area. It was a whirlwind!
On the big day itself, I got the hams into the roaster and put the potatoes on to boil. The mac and cheese went into the oven to finish. I glazed the baby carrots. I oversaw the setup of tables and chairs (which involved moving some furniture into temporary storage in the office). People began to arrive from both sides of the family, and I put them to work with setup. Presents piled up under the tree. At last, dinner was done. ready for eating at 2:00 PM sharp, just as promised. ("How did you learn to do all this, Steven?" my mother asked. "I watched you when I was little," I said. "You're more organized than I ever was!" she replied.)
We had Darwin's sister Cindy and her husband Don and their grown children Nicholas and Brie (who each brought a girl/boyfriend). We had Darwin's son Shane and his girlfriend Marian and, of course, our grandson Noah. We had my brother Paul, his grandson Cody, my sister Bethany and her husband Bill. We had my mother Penny and her husband Gene. As a nice surprise, my ex in-laws Melva and Roger were able to come, and we were all happy to see them! Melva's health has kept her from hosting holidays, and often keeps her from participating at all, so it was a fine thing to have her there.
But Sasha and Aran weren't here.
Aran had to work Christmas Eve until 5:30, and ohhhh, he was upset at the news. There was no way out of it, either. Worse, he was bringing Sasha with him. I got him calmed down and told him that our family was used to this kind of thing. Nurses and medical technicians and doctors often have to work on holidays, and no one minded when someone was late. This mollified him.
And then came the blizzard. Just as we sat down to eat, the snow poured down from the sky. And not cheerful, happy snow. This was cold, driven, wipe-you-out-on-the-highway snow. You could hardly see through it. I called Aran and left a message on his voice mail to call me the moment he got out of work. He did.
"Hey, Dad!" he said before I could say anything. "I'm just leaving work and I'm going to get Sasha, and we'll come right up. I know to drive slowly and stay in the right-hand lane."
"Aran," I began.
"We're both looking forward to seeing everyone and eating lots of good food," he continued, twisting my chest. "And we have presents to bring, too. We're--"
"Buddy," I interrupted, "I need you to listen for a moment. A lot of people up here arrived really late because the roads are so bad. Uncle Paul was almost in an accident, and there's an accident just up the road from us right now. [This was true--we could see it from the front windows.] We don't want you to drive up in this weather. It's just too dangerous."
"Oh."
I felt awful. Aran had so much been looking forward to coming up and bringing Sasha, and I had to kill that for him.
"We'll get you up here tomorrow, after the roads clear a little. Mom and I will come down in my car, then she'll drive you and Sasha in your car up here, since you don't have much experience driving in snow. Okay?"
Silence. "Oh. Okay." He actually sounded a little relieved. "I'll wait until morning then."
The evening was a fine, fine party. My new recipe (I try one every year) was Snowball Punch, which is champagne, vanilla ice cream, seltzer water, and orange liqueur. It was fantastic! But its kick was disguised by the ice cream, so you had to drink carefully.
Many presents were exchanged. I gave my sister a number of horse-themed presents, including a delightful and touching abstract sculpture of a horse leaning over a woman's shoulder. Bethany loved it.
Eventually, the partiers left. Shane, Mary, and Noah stayed overnight--the roads were too awful for them to drive with the baby. Kala stayed as well.
In the morning, I made pancakes and ham for everyone, then drove with Kala down to Ypsilanti. We switched cars around and got the boys back up to our house, where there was more food and more presents. Everyone stayed so long, I realized we'd need dinner. I speed-thawed a pork loin from the freezer, rubbed it with spices, and roasted it whole in the oven with mashed potatoes, a fruit salad, and fresh bread.
And then the Epic Cleanup began. No matter how hard you try to clean as you go, at a huge function, you can't keep up. The work took two hours! But at last everything was cleaned up, and everyone had gone home.
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Lack of Blogging
I haven't blogged much in the last month. Partly it's the depression. Well, it's all the depression. It takes a great deal of energy just to keep the required stuff going. However, the depression is getting under control, freeing me to . . . well, take my life back. Some things I've done lately toward this end include:
--moving Corey upstairs into the dining room, which will allow me (get me) to play more often instead of weaving my way through the maze in our basement to a dark, damp room to play
--forcing myself to write some fiction, falling on my old adage, "write it even if it's crap, and fix it later"
--forcing myself to write every day, a habit I haven't had to invoke in years--I usually operate with a weekly word goal instead of a daily must write system because my habits are so ingrained, I can always get the prose done by deadline. Until the hospital took the words away. Pain, fear, and depression kept me away from the keyboard for months and months, and advanced habits died. Now I'm using old habits to get me going again.
--going on medications, including Zoloft and Xanax and another anxiety med that I can never remember the name for, except Zoloft . . . well, more about that in another blog
--forcing myself to run at least six days out of seven. A second goal is to run at speed for 20 minutes, and then I can quit or continue. Often I run for 30. I've been doing this pretty well, though it helps not to have a stent chewing up my insides.
--attending weekly sessions with a counselor. There's a lot more going on to this constant anxiety than fear of pain and doctors. I know what it is, and my counselor THINKS he knows what it is. Eventually, I'll get around to telling him the reality doesn't match the story I've led him to believe, but it'll take a while. I've tried saying the reality to myself aloud when I'm alone, and I can't quite do it. So when I know someone else is listening . . .
--changing my diet to cut out meat, which will help me lose weight and give me a greater feeling of control in my life
--blogging more often. My blog is half my personal diary and half my conversation with whoever wants to take part. I need to continue the contact.
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--moving Corey upstairs into the dining room, which will allow me (get me) to play more often instead of weaving my way through the maze in our basement to a dark, damp room to play
--forcing myself to write some fiction, falling on my old adage, "write it even if it's crap, and fix it later"
--forcing myself to write every day, a habit I haven't had to invoke in years--I usually operate with a weekly word goal instead of a daily must write system because my habits are so ingrained, I can always get the prose done by deadline. Until the hospital took the words away. Pain, fear, and depression kept me away from the keyboard for months and months, and advanced habits died. Now I'm using old habits to get me going again.
--going on medications, including Zoloft and Xanax and another anxiety med that I can never remember the name for, except Zoloft . . . well, more about that in another blog
--forcing myself to run at least six days out of seven. A second goal is to run at speed for 20 minutes, and then I can quit or continue. Often I run for 30. I've been doing this pretty well, though it helps not to have a stent chewing up my insides.
--attending weekly sessions with a counselor. There's a lot more going on to this constant anxiety than fear of pain and doctors. I know what it is, and my counselor THINKS he knows what it is. Eventually, I'll get around to telling him the reality doesn't match the story I've led him to believe, but it'll take a while. I've tried saying the reality to myself aloud when I'm alone, and I can't quite do it. So when I know someone else is listening . . .
--changing my diet to cut out meat, which will help me lose weight and give me a greater feeling of control in my life
--blogging more often. My blog is half my personal diary and half my conversation with whoever wants to take part. I need to continue the contact.
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December 17, 2017
Corey's Return
I haven't touched Corey since I went into the hospital last September. I just haven't had the wherewithal. Music takes energy and concentration, and I just haven't been there.
Today, I sat down and ran my fingers over Corey's strings. He was badly out of tune. I reset his strings, then tried a few easy songs. My fingers were stiff, and my reflexes were off--I couldn't find chords or runs by touch. I had to look at what I was doing. I forgot entire sections of songs I've played for years. My calluses have faded, so the strings cut at my fingertips. I was paying for my lack of practice.
But Corey was patient. He held his tuning and waited while I figured things out. I had to let my mind go and try to play on auto-pilot; if I thought about it, the song left me. The less I thought, the easier it became.
Over the course of an hour, more of it came back. I remembered how the chords went and managed to eke out a few tunes. When it was over, my hands were sore, but the songs rang in my ears. I have to make more time to play. My writing is all but gone--I can't afford to lose my harp as well.
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Today, I sat down and ran my fingers over Corey's strings. He was badly out of tune. I reset his strings, then tried a few easy songs. My fingers were stiff, and my reflexes were off--I couldn't find chords or runs by touch. I had to look at what I was doing. I forgot entire sections of songs I've played for years. My calluses have faded, so the strings cut at my fingertips. I was paying for my lack of practice.
But Corey was patient. He held his tuning and waited while I figured things out. I had to let my mind go and try to play on auto-pilot; if I thought about it, the song left me. The less I thought, the easier it became.
Over the course of an hour, more of it came back. I remembered how the chords went and managed to eke out a few tunes. When it was over, my hands were sore, but the songs rang in my ears. I have to make more time to play. My writing is all but gone--I can't afford to lose my harp as well.
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The Big Veggie Change
Today Darwin and I were talking about food, and out of nowhere, he said, "I think we should go vegetarian."
This sparked a lengthy discussion. Darwin's reasons for thinking this way were health-related. He's hoping that the diet change might help his blood sugar and perhaps even get him off insulin. It would also likely help me lose weight. Max already eats only tiny bits of meat, so he won't mind this kind of change. And a major change in diet is much easier if everyone in the household is eating the same way. In the end, we decided to do it.
First, we had to figure out what we meant by "vegetarian." Obviously we'd be eliminating meat (beef, pork, chicken, etc.). But would we also eliminate dairy? Eggs? What about stock or bouillon for soups? Did fish count? We aren't interested in going vegan, with no animal products at all. In the end, we decided we'd continue eating dairy and eggs, but no fish or shellfish.
The biggest impact will be on me, since I do the cooking and food shopping. It'll be a challenging learning process, especially since Darwin tends to be a picky eater. He and Max both have a habit of saying, "I won't eat that" to a new or recipe before they've even tried it, and this would be death to a new vegetarian diet--making up for the loss of meat will mean substituting or adding a lot of new foods. I told Darwin that if he we did this, he and Max both would have to agree to broaden their palates. If I'm going to take on the challenge of cooking in a new way, they have to eat in a new way!
I ordered a couple-three beginner vegetarian cookbooks to get us started. We're going to undergo the change after the holidays are over, when things are less busy.
So what are your favorite vegetarian recipes?
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December 13, 2017
Mega-Snow
When I get up, I always check the weather on my phone so I know how to dress. This morning, my weather app shouted, "Winter Storm Warning! Winter Weather Advisory! Only an idiot will go outside today! No, seriously--stay home!"
It went on to predict up to eight inches of snow, with near white-out conditions in some places. Yow!
I woke Darwin up to warn him. He muzzily declared he would work from home today and went back to sleep.
At school, the students were restless. Rumors abounded that the district would end school early and send everyone home. The trouble with this is always the elementary schools. When school is canceled, the staff has to get hold of a parent for every single student and verify that someone will be at home when the kid arrives on an unexpectedly early bus. Students with unreachable parents, or parents who say, "I won't be there," must stay at school until the regular end of the day. So the district hugely dislikes canceling early.
All the districts just north of us, however, had canceled school that morning. The districts to the east and south were sending kids home early.
My students buzzed and traded rumors. And then at the beginning of third hour, my freshmen burst into the room shouting, "School's out early!"
I hadn't heard anything yet, but the students all follow the superintendent's Twitter feed, and he always announces cancellations there before anywhere else, and they gleefully passed around his tweet announcing an early end to the day. A few minutes later, I got the official email. The high schools would close an hour early, the middle schools half an hour early, and the elementary schools would keep their regular schedule. No phone calls!
Darwin, meanwhile, ordered City Hall closed at noon.
Ohhh, it was difficult to get my freshmen to settle into class. (We still had third, fourth, and fifth hours to get through.) But I managed. My seniors in fourth hour behaved a little better. By now we had the news that instead of canceling sixth hour, we'd give a 30 minutes each to fifth and sixth. Both of these classes of mine are quieter by nature anyway, so they were manageable. I had to reschedule sixth hour's unit test through--not enough time to do it in 30 minutes!
After school, Max and I waited until all the traffic had cleared the parking lot. One of the hazards of my job is the cluster-fuck of traffic at the end of the day, a cluster-fuck filled with inexperienced drivers who try to blast their way out of the parking lot so they can get home 30 seconds earlier. The administrators and the police liaison officer went outside to supervise traffic to stop accidents before they happened.
Once the lot was clear, we drove carefully home. The snow continued to fall. And fall. And fall. By 7:00, it was shin-deep in the driveway. I was just thinking to myself, "There's no way we'll have school tomorrow" when Max rushed into the room waving yet another superintendent tweet. School is canceled.
We now have a good seven or eight inches in the yard. I'm glad I don't have to drive in it tomorrow!
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It went on to predict up to eight inches of snow, with near white-out conditions in some places. Yow!
I woke Darwin up to warn him. He muzzily declared he would work from home today and went back to sleep.
At school, the students were restless. Rumors abounded that the district would end school early and send everyone home. The trouble with this is always the elementary schools. When school is canceled, the staff has to get hold of a parent for every single student and verify that someone will be at home when the kid arrives on an unexpectedly early bus. Students with unreachable parents, or parents who say, "I won't be there," must stay at school until the regular end of the day. So the district hugely dislikes canceling early.
All the districts just north of us, however, had canceled school that morning. The districts to the east and south were sending kids home early.
My students buzzed and traded rumors. And then at the beginning of third hour, my freshmen burst into the room shouting, "School's out early!"
I hadn't heard anything yet, but the students all follow the superintendent's Twitter feed, and he always announces cancellations there before anywhere else, and they gleefully passed around his tweet announcing an early end to the day. A few minutes later, I got the official email. The high schools would close an hour early, the middle schools half an hour early, and the elementary schools would keep their regular schedule. No phone calls!
Darwin, meanwhile, ordered City Hall closed at noon.
Ohhh, it was difficult to get my freshmen to settle into class. (We still had third, fourth, and fifth hours to get through.) But I managed. My seniors in fourth hour behaved a little better. By now we had the news that instead of canceling sixth hour, we'd give a 30 minutes each to fifth and sixth. Both of these classes of mine are quieter by nature anyway, so they were manageable. I had to reschedule sixth hour's unit test through--not enough time to do it in 30 minutes!
After school, Max and I waited until all the traffic had cleared the parking lot. One of the hazards of my job is the cluster-fuck of traffic at the end of the day, a cluster-fuck filled with inexperienced drivers who try to blast their way out of the parking lot so they can get home 30 seconds earlier. The administrators and the police liaison officer went outside to supervise traffic to stop accidents before they happened.
Once the lot was clear, we drove carefully home. The snow continued to fall. And fall. And fall. By 7:00, it was shin-deep in the driveway. I was just thinking to myself, "There's no way we'll have school tomorrow" when Max rushed into the room waving yet another superintendent tweet. School is canceled.
We now have a good seven or eight inches in the yard. I'm glad I don't have to drive in it tomorrow!
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December 10, 2017
Thanksgiving: Moving Forward
A late report, but an important one.
Thanksgiving this year was up at my sister Bethany's. It was the usual lovely gathering with delicious food and nice family. Darwin, Max, and I stayed overnight, since Bethany lives three hours away from us. Late in the evening, Bethany and my mother cornered me on the living room couch.
The gist of the conversation that followed was that they were worried about me. They know, of course, about my unexpected multiple operations and the pain, trauma, and depression that followed--are still following, and they wanted to help.
A bit of background. My sister was a dentist for 20 years, then sold her practice in order to start a new career as a life coach who specializes in working with dentists. She uses horses as a kind of co-therapists: http://www.braveheartequinecoaching.com/ Bethany and I had talked on the phone more than once about what I've been going through, so she knew quite a lot about it, and she offered to take me through a session with the horses, if I wanted.
I thought a moment. It would be odd. When you see a therapist, you want to see an outsider or stranger because that kind of person isn't emotionally involved in the situation or the process. There are also things you can say to a stranger that are difficult or impossible to say to family. On the other hand, I was miserable in the extreme, and it felt like my counseling sessions with Lenny were helping only at a glacial pace. So I accepted the offer.
In the morning, Bethany went to the corral she uses for her coaching. Half is a sawdust-laden section for the horse, and the other half is set up like, well, a therapist's office. It made for an interesting contrast. Bethany acknowledged with me that parts of this would be strange because we're siblings, without the more normal counselor-client relationship. Then she led her horse Lewiston into the horse section, took me through her standard introduction to horse behavior for liability reasons (I'd grown up around the same horses she did and know what horses are about), and then we started in.
The session was part talk therapy, part Gestalt, and part horse. Bethany used Lewiston's reactions to what we were saying and doing as springboards for deepening the emotional impact and for reflecting my own emotions.
The parts of the session that I responded best to were the physical ones. When I was growing up, I didn't think of myself as a physical person. I spent a huge amount of my time with reading, writing, and music. But as I've gotten older, I've realized I'm a more physical person than I realized. Even when I was a child, I passed endless hours climbing trees, riding horses, biking, and playing an endless number of outdoor games. I just discounted it. With the perspective of years, I can see now that I didn't fully understand myself, and I was--am--far more physical than I knew.
All this means that the parts of the session that involved yelling, pounding, kicking, and reacting with Lewiston were the most powerful for me, and the intensity of it all surprised me.
We ended the session with me feeling tired and wrung out. I also felt like I'd made a jump forward in dealing with past trauma.
Since that session, I've had fewer anxiety attacks, and the continual sense of fear that was crushing my life dampened noticeably. During the period when I was dealing with the unexpected possibility that I would need yet another operation, the fear and anxiety came roaring back, but after the urologist assured me no operations were in my immediate future, the fear lifted again.
It's a strange place to be, finding wisdom in your younger sister. Of course, at our age, a year's difference is meaningless, but old thought patterns die hard. I know Bethany is an intelligent and wise person, though, and it was a powerful experience seeing it in action.
Thank you, sister!
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Thanksgiving this year was up at my sister Bethany's. It was the usual lovely gathering with delicious food and nice family. Darwin, Max, and I stayed overnight, since Bethany lives three hours away from us. Late in the evening, Bethany and my mother cornered me on the living room couch.
The gist of the conversation that followed was that they were worried about me. They know, of course, about my unexpected multiple operations and the pain, trauma, and depression that followed--are still following, and they wanted to help.
A bit of background. My sister was a dentist for 20 years, then sold her practice in order to start a new career as a life coach who specializes in working with dentists. She uses horses as a kind of co-therapists: http://www.braveheartequinecoaching.com/ Bethany and I had talked on the phone more than once about what I've been going through, so she knew quite a lot about it, and she offered to take me through a session with the horses, if I wanted.
I thought a moment. It would be odd. When you see a therapist, you want to see an outsider or stranger because that kind of person isn't emotionally involved in the situation or the process. There are also things you can say to a stranger that are difficult or impossible to say to family. On the other hand, I was miserable in the extreme, and it felt like my counseling sessions with Lenny were helping only at a glacial pace. So I accepted the offer.
In the morning, Bethany went to the corral she uses for her coaching. Half is a sawdust-laden section for the horse, and the other half is set up like, well, a therapist's office. It made for an interesting contrast. Bethany acknowledged with me that parts of this would be strange because we're siblings, without the more normal counselor-client relationship. Then she led her horse Lewiston into the horse section, took me through her standard introduction to horse behavior for liability reasons (I'd grown up around the same horses she did and know what horses are about), and then we started in.
The session was part talk therapy, part Gestalt, and part horse. Bethany used Lewiston's reactions to what we were saying and doing as springboards for deepening the emotional impact and for reflecting my own emotions.
The parts of the session that I responded best to were the physical ones. When I was growing up, I didn't think of myself as a physical person. I spent a huge amount of my time with reading, writing, and music. But as I've gotten older, I've realized I'm a more physical person than I realized. Even when I was a child, I passed endless hours climbing trees, riding horses, biking, and playing an endless number of outdoor games. I just discounted it. With the perspective of years, I can see now that I didn't fully understand myself, and I was--am--far more physical than I knew.
All this means that the parts of the session that involved yelling, pounding, kicking, and reacting with Lewiston were the most powerful for me, and the intensity of it all surprised me.
We ended the session with me feeling tired and wrung out. I also felt like I'd made a jump forward in dealing with past trauma.
Since that session, I've had fewer anxiety attacks, and the continual sense of fear that was crushing my life dampened noticeably. During the period when I was dealing with the unexpected possibility that I would need yet another operation, the fear and anxiety came roaring back, but after the urologist assured me no operations were in my immediate future, the fear lifted again.
It's a strange place to be, finding wisdom in your younger sister. Of course, at our age, a year's difference is meaningless, but old thought patterns die hard. I know Bethany is an intelligent and wise person, though, and it was a powerful experience seeing it in action.
Thank you, sister!
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Am I Done?
I think I'm done with all my holiday shopping. This year, I managed all of it on-line!
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The Whitney and Celtic Thunder
Quite some time ago, I came across a notice that the group Celtic Thunder was going to play at the Fox Theatre in Detroit. Celtic Thunder is the male counterpart to Celtic Women. It's a group of five Handsome Young Men who do a concert of Irish music. I showed this to Darwin, who became very enthusiastic about attending. He mentioned it at work, and his secretary Nan, who's Scots, immediately said she wanted to go. And so did Kim, another co-worker.
So I got a sudden demand from three people to secure tickets and plan an evening out that included supper. I said, "What about the Whitney?"
The Whitney is one of Detroit's most venerable upscale gourmet restaurants. It's in what used to be the Whitney family mansion and is a Detroit institution. Darwin and I have eaten there once before, and it was marvelous. The other loved this idea, and Darwin made reservations.
And so Darwin and I found ourselves in the interesting position of escorting two ladies to dinner and a concert.
We drove to the Whitney, let the valet whisk the car away, and settled ourselves at our table with the same server we had last time! She remembered us--or said she did.
An evening of delightful conversation followed over plates of perfectly-done Beef Wellington and lobster, with an amuse-bouche of chevre and fig. For dessert, we retired upstairs to the dessert bar, where I dove into a melt-on-your-tongue Chocolate Cartier of dark chocolate mousse and fresh strawberries. I had a glass of cherry dessert wine along with, the perfect accompaniment.
The four of us then headed to the Fox Theatre. There was a difficult moment of parking--the attendant required Darwin to back into a space that was, as Nan put it, "tighter than a fish's ass." But he pulled it off. We hustled to the theater, but the parking took so long that the concert started while we were being shown to our seats on the mezzanine. On the other hand, we didn't have to wait for the music to begin.
The concert was very enjoyable, and the Handsome Young Men were fun to look at. They performed with a symphony orchestra on the stage, and I spent more time than I should have looking for the harp. The music itself was performed with skill and showmanship, though it was all singing and no dancing (the Celtic groups don't dance, really). The only complaint I had was with their rendition of "Carol of the Bells," which was surprisingly dull and unimaginative. Everything else was very nice. At the end, they sang "Ireland's Call," which is sung at Irish football (soccer) games. All the Irish in the audience stood up, for some reason, and became tearfully enthusiastic.
And then it was over. I got us out of the scarily narrow parking lot and we drove home. It was a fine evening out!
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So I got a sudden demand from three people to secure tickets and plan an evening out that included supper. I said, "What about the Whitney?"
The Whitney is one of Detroit's most venerable upscale gourmet restaurants. It's in what used to be the Whitney family mansion and is a Detroit institution. Darwin and I have eaten there once before, and it was marvelous. The other loved this idea, and Darwin made reservations.
And so Darwin and I found ourselves in the interesting position of escorting two ladies to dinner and a concert.
We drove to the Whitney, let the valet whisk the car away, and settled ourselves at our table with the same server we had last time! She remembered us--or said she did.
An evening of delightful conversation followed over plates of perfectly-done Beef Wellington and lobster, with an amuse-bouche of chevre and fig. For dessert, we retired upstairs to the dessert bar, where I dove into a melt-on-your-tongue Chocolate Cartier of dark chocolate mousse and fresh strawberries. I had a glass of cherry dessert wine along with, the perfect accompaniment.
The four of us then headed to the Fox Theatre. There was a difficult moment of parking--the attendant required Darwin to back into a space that was, as Nan put it, "tighter than a fish's ass." But he pulled it off. We hustled to the theater, but the parking took so long that the concert started while we were being shown to our seats on the mezzanine. On the other hand, we didn't have to wait for the music to begin.
The concert was very enjoyable, and the Handsome Young Men were fun to look at. They performed with a symphony orchestra on the stage, and I spent more time than I should have looking for the harp. The music itself was performed with skill and showmanship, though it was all singing and no dancing (the Celtic groups don't dance, really). The only complaint I had was with their rendition of "Carol of the Bells," which was surprisingly dull and unimaginative. Everything else was very nice. At the end, they sang "Ireland's Call," which is sung at Irish football (soccer) games. All the Irish in the audience stood up, for some reason, and became tearfully enthusiastic.
And then it was over. I got us out of the scarily narrow parking lot and we drove home. It was a fine evening out!
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I Have a Stalker
Hey, LGBT peeps--I have my own Internet stalker! It's true. He's probably reading this right now.
What do you think of someone (and I'm not naming names--yet) who stands up at a community meeting to insult and denigrate LGBT citizens, but who seeks out and obsessively reads the blog and FB posts of a gay man (me) to winkle out personal life details? Does it sound to you like this person is repressing something?
I'm not afraid of this guy. He's a garden-variety piece of dog shit of the kind I regularly scrape off the bottom of my shoe. (Hi, dude! Keep those blog hits a-comin'!)
Even funnier, oh my LGBT peeps and supporters, is that this guy claims his community is going to hell because LGBT people can get married, but according to the public-access city web site, this anti-LGBT (and likely repressed) stalker guy hasn't paid his property taxes. So my husband and I are destroying the city because we got married, and never mind the fact the city is short of improvement funds because stalker-guy hasn't paid his property taxes.
I adore hypocrisy.
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