Elizabeth A. Havey's Blog, page 20
May 5, 2019
LOVE IN THE TIME OF TRUMP
My mother (Jinni) always told us the truth. Widowed in her 30’s with three kids under six, she had to do it all—teach, discipline, love, guide. We learned to honor every word she said. We trusted her.
But what about Santa Claus? We believed in him because Jinni believed in magic. Was that lying? No. She was simply allowing us to live some dreams—the tooth fairy, Santa. But because we trusted her, knew she would never abandon us—this childhood magic was logical. IT FELT RIGHT.
And consider this: the three of us knew about death. It lived with us in the form of a photo of our father—ever-present in our living room. Friends, cousins—they all had fathers. We did not. But we had Jinni.
If she got angry or cried ( she was human) or revealed that yes she was the tooth fairy—we accepted that. Jinni was home, life, security. Jinni was truth.
THE WORLD OF THE STORY…
And we did walk out our front door to encounter the world: how our friends and neighbors lived, that they had fathers, dogs, newer cars; that some had country club memberships and took vacations. WE READ. We read non-fiction and fiction. Reading provided a pathway to learn about the world. Snug in the corner of the couch, I could explore places beyond my house on Wood Street.
So a question: have you, READER, and many others been gob-smacked by learning how others lived: in an apartment in New York City with a nanny to care for them, their parents spending months abroad; in a trailer in South Dakota where food is scare and education the only way to get away; on a farm in Iowa or Alabama where even in the 60’s, 70’s, outhouses were plumbing and going to school meant getting farm chores done between 5 and 6 before a long school bus ride; or in a large home on Lake Michigan in Lake Forest, Illinois, with a chauffeur who drove you to school.
We weren’t all raised on Elm Street or Main Street. But because of READING, and often because of excellent elementary and secondary teachers, our world opened up. How did that affect me, my brothers, all of us? Back to Jinni.
WHAT’S GOING ON AT HOME, AT SCHOOL
Because of Jinni and extended family: teachers, the neighborhood—we knew we were being given real, actual truthful information. We saw that we were fortunate, that we were BLESSED even though we didn’t have some things that others had.
Michelle Obama in her recent biography BECOMING writes fervently that she grew to understand the world outside of South Shore (in Chicago) because truth was always spoken within the walls of her home. Some of her cousins didn’t open their arms as freely to that world as Michelle, whose mother always inspired her to move forward, to believe in herself, to aspire to whatever she wanted to be despite the negatives she did encounter. How to BECOME? Seek goals, work hard, open mind and soul to LIFE IN THIS WORLD.
BELIEVE IN: the truth will set you free, which can have a major basis in society. Because when someone lies to you, doesn’t tell you the STRAIGHT STORY, confusion will reign. You will begin to mistrust, to feel hurt.
How many of you have had an employer promise you a raise or better position only to skip over you; or a coach making you believe you’ll be shortstop when you find yourself on the bench.
Of course, the worst scenario we have seen in recent years is the innocent boy or girl student who trusts an adult teacher, leader or priest only to have that person sexually abuse them. THERE IS NO TRUTH IN THAT. Children and young adults have been made to distrust EVERYONE after such an experience. They are then chained. They are not set free.
The latter did not happen to me. I was again fortunate. All of us have had some disappointments that stem from beliefs that we will rise to the top. That’s part of life. But it should not be all of life in our free society. I believe in continuing to have goals and to always believe in MY BECOMING.
WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW…
It’s when SOCIETY accepts the liar, promotes the liar, the abuser, the cheater, that little by little we all lose hope. It’s like JINNI (truth) has abandoned us, run off with some guy. left us alone, tipped our world upside down.
Okay, now I’m using JINNI as a metaphor. But what I’m saying is that in our country today we are being LIED TO, and many of our dreams are being messed with. Little by little we are being abandoned by our government. DON’T LIE TO ME. DON’T CHEAT ON ME. DON’T TAKE AWAY WHAT I HAD: healthcare, my voting rights, my right to own a home, to have a steady income that can feed my family. DON’T LIE TO ME.
ABHOR LIES AND SEEK THE TRUTH
So if your life reflects some of these changes, what do we do?
The only cure is love and empathy.
It’s recapturing basic values and trust.
It’s pulling in those you love in a tight embrace.
It’s telling the truth and teaching that truth to your children and grandchildren.
It’s having close conversations with your friends, with your neighbors.
And if those neighbors have sought the other side, if they’ve bought into the lies and are still clinging to the purveyor of those lies, it’s giving even more of your own kindness. MAKING THAT YOUR TRUTH.
FINAL THOUGHTS…I’m not messing around here. These are critical times. My husband and I agree, thank God, on what is happening. We are in love. Yet each one of us needs to spread that love to others, reclaim a time when we were not so divided, when good things like education, libraries, Special Olympics and healthcare were not taken away or diminished and only allowed to a few.
WE CAN ALWAYS DO BETTER.
WE CAN ALWAYS GO TO KINDNESS AND EMPATHY.
I know I say this over and over, but when on Twitter some other crazy is yelling and swearing at a minority “Just for fun”–that has to stop. Elm Street might be more diversified, but it’s still the place I want to live. RIGHT NOW!
Thanks to PINTEREST Katie Slaby Artwork
April 28, 2019
Pride and Prejudice Is My Final Choice
We are painting our kitchen cabinets. Today is the second day of that enterprise. Everything that was once IN THE CABINETS is now all over the dining and living rooms, laundry room etc. BUT, as I promised my husband, it will be wonderful when it’s done. And he is doing much of the work.
CHOOSING A TOPIC
So because of this chaos, I have a small window for my post today. But I did consider these topics:
TIGER WOODS: How by winning the Masters, Woods gifted his children. Thus writes Scott Jennings, and Jennings is not talking about financial giving– Tiger Woods reminded every parent what it means to show our children the virtue of fighting back, and of the powerful lesson that no matter what mistakes we make today, we always wake up tomorrow with a clean scorecard and a chance to be great in their eyes.
SINGLE WOMEN AND SAFETY I read a piece by Catharine Hamm concerning this, especially when traveling. After a woman was kidnapped and murdered thinking she was in a Lyft car–this stood out for me. Hamm: Women should not stop traveling (alone) because of fear, but should be prepared to take action and speak up if there’s a problem. TIP: both Uber and Lyft have a help button if your diver is driving erratically or being abusive. If your driver isn’t using the correct route (one you know or have checked out ahead of time,) use the help button and remember, the ride share company is tracking your route. You can also call 911–or do both.
And finally, writer Robin Abcarian and I BEG YOU TO HAVE YOUR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN VACCINATED. When a parent says: my kid isn’t sick and doesn’t need to be vaccinated–there’s an answer for that. Abcarian writes: But that’s the thing. You are healthy UNTIL YOU ARE NOT. If a child is not vaccinated and comes in contact with someone who has measles or chickenpox or another preventable disease, that kid may get sick. …and transmit the disease to someone else’s child who cannot be vaccinated because he or she has cancer, takes immunosuppressant drugs or is severely allergic to vaccines . (MY HUSBAND IS IMMUNO-COMPROMISED, and I’m an RN. Please vaccinate your children. The falsehood perpetrated by Dr. Andrew Wakefield has been proclaimed WRONG WRONG, over and over again.
IN THE END, MY TOPIC FOR TODAY…PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
There are so many choices on TV and with streaming. So what to watch after your husband has worked all day with a partner painting your kitchen? SOMETHING ROMANTIC? Yes, it was the right choice. !
I CHOSE JANE AUSTEN’S PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, the version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. After a day of hard work, my and husband and I luxuriated in more of this Masterpiece series of Jane Austen’s best novel. If you need some romantic moments, these are the best. (We rented it from Netflix). Search your streaming services.
As Jane Austen writes, this being the first line in the novel: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
ANOTHER TRUTH, romance works. We all need romance in our lives. Especially after a long day of honey-dos. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BoGe2z35rv4
April 20, 2019
The Feminine Side of Easter
Many people, Christian and non-Christian, have heard of Mary Magdalene. She appears in the Bible at prominent places in Christ’s life—two being at Easter: she was with the women who discovered Jesus had risen from the dead. And in another reading, she comes upon Jesus in the garden adjacent to the tomb. She mistakes him for a gardener. Such a lovely story to awaken deeper Easter meanings–this woman was highly regarded and blessed–a new idea for that time.
THE EARTH IS OUR MOTHER AND IN SPRING SHE IS REBORN
Easter is spring and rebirth and invites us always to look at our lives and to grasp new ideas, live our lives differently, make our lives better. Spring holds so many symbols of rebirth and rethinking. Even the plethora of chicks and bunnies says that on a small level. But the birth of new ideas is what we need to focus on. And what better way than to teach children, the coming generations, equality for everyone–male and female.
THE COUNTRY BUNNY and THE LITTLE GOLD SHOES
Maybe that’s why DuBose Heyward, a southern author who is best known for his novel Porgy that was the basis for Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess, wrote The Country Bunny and The Little Gold Shoes. The title page states: as told to Jenifer, his daughter, who needed to know that her sex didn’t have to hold her back from becoming anything she wanted to be.
This heart-felt story cherished by many families during the Easter season, tells the tale of a simple mother bunny and how she became one of the five Easter Bunnies who travel the world bringing baskets of colored eggs and candy to children. With a copyright of 1939, it’s a tale ahead of its time.
FEMALE AS HERO
The storyteller describes his heroine as: “a little country girl bunny with a brown skin and a little cotton-ball of a tail.” Her dream was to grow up and become one of the Easter Bunnies. “You wait and see!” she would say. But the Jack Rabbits with long legs and the big white bunnies who lived in fine houses scoffed at her and put her down.
After Cottontail grows up and has twenty-one Cottontail babies, these same Jacks and big rabbits really laugh at her. “What did we tell you! Only a country rabbit would go and have all those babies. Now take care of them and leave Easter eggs to great big men bunnies like us.” Heyward writes that “they went away liking themselves very much.” Note that Heyward’s editor wanted Cottontail to have a husband, but in the end she is a single mom. I LOVE THAT!
COTTONTAIL IS TESTED
The Grandfather Easter Bunny who is wise and kind, lives in the Palace of the Easter Eggs. In the story he must select a fifth bunny. This is Cottontail’s chance. She brings all of her 21 children to the tryouts where the Grandfather cannot help but notice her.
He tests her to see if she is as wise and kind as he is. But she must also be swift. When she scatters her 21 children and in seconds is able to round them up again, the Grandfather is convinced. She will be his fifth Easter Bunny. The writer tells us that when Cottontail arrives at the Palace of the Easter Eggs for this amazing duty, the other four Easter Bunnies do not laugh at her—“for they were wise and kind and knew better.”
Cottontail meets her challenges during this charming tale, her deep desire and loving heart capturing every reader and providing a sunny Easter morning finish.
A STORY THAT HAS EVEN MORE MEANING TODAY
Anita Silvey on her website A Book-A-Day-Almanac writes: The story stresses the importance of hope, determination, and courage. Not only was the book a feminist statement in a time when this perspective was rarely shown, it also celebrates the achievements of a brown bunny rather than a white one. Yet at no point does the reader ever feel as if they are being given a polemic—Heyward has created a totally satisfying world.
The copy I own is a First Printing, copyright 1939, paper edition. It is well-worn and well-loved. It might even be the one my mother read to me. But I know it’s the one I read to my three children. For anyone wanting to celebrate spring, rebirth and ideas that are meaningful–this simple story is powerful and yet gentle at the same time. And there are many writers out there who agree with me. Enjoy.
For more ideas on this interpretation go here.
Thanks to Istock Photos. Thanks to Washington Post photos.
Thanks to my mom for saving my copy of this book.
April 14, 2019
Insulin: A Precious Gift
We hear a lot about insulin. With the constant presence of drug ads on television and the internet, the word fades into the background and becomes noise.
It shouldn’t. Dr. Roxanne Sokol, Medical Director of the Cleveland Clinic Wellness Enterprise, writes a blog, YOUR HEALTH IS ON YOUR PLATE, and gives TED TALKS, her goal to give us all a better understanding of the relationship between our health and our eating habits. Insulin is a critical part of that.
INSULIN: A natural hormone made by the pancreas that controls the level of the sugar (glucose) in the blood. Insulin permits your cells to use glucose for energy. Your cells CANNOT USE GLUCOSE without INSULIN.
That’s why insulin is so important to us. Dr. Sokol explains:
Have you ever considered that the amount of insulin you are capable of making over your lifetime is limited?
Maybe your pancreas can make (let’s just call it) 1000 pounds worth of insulin, and after that it starts to have trouble keeping up with the demand.
What would happen if you used up most of your supply by the time you were 40 or 50?
Your blood sugars would probably start to rise dramatically, and you would need to start taking medicine, whether to make your remaining insulin work more efficiently, to get your pancreas to make more, or to augment your existing supplies.
DR. SOKOL knows her stuff. She is board certified in Internal Medicine and has practiced medicine since 1998. She holds an MS in Environmental Science. Her side passion is nutrition and eating the right foods.
DR. SOKOL’S FACTS ABOUT INSULIN, JUST THE FACTS…
Insulin plays many roles in your body–one it acts as a fat-storage hormone.
Sokol writes: When I first meet a new patient, I can tell if their insulin levels are elevated just by looking at them.
People with high insulin levels have extra pounds around their middle (even if the rest of them is relatively slender), swelling around the eyes, prominent cheeks (called buccal fat pads) and a double chin.
In other words, people with high insulin levels look like babies.
That’s because babies have naturally high insulin levels.
Babies are supposed to have high insulin levels because insulin is a growth hormone, and babies are growing.
Babies’ insulin levels begin to fall around the time they start to walk, and that’s why a 2- or 3-year-old no longer looks like a baby.
Insulin is like a valet service that escorts blood sugar from your blood to all your cells. If you don’t have enough, your sugars start to rise.
It’s a fact–that even though you need insulin to live, it is not your friend. You want to use as little as possible. You want the levels of insulin in your bloodstream to stay as low as possible.
VARIETY: THE SPICE OF LIFE, BUT…
All of us are different genetically. All of us come into the world with strengths and weaknesses. Some are math geniuses, others are athletes that win gold medals; some need little sleep, some need ten hours to function. Dr. Sokol reminds us that: some people are endowed with greater insulin-making capacity than others.
But that really doesn’t matter. Sokol stresses that we live in what she calls: a “diabetogenic” environment. In other words, we live in an environment that actually causes diabetes. And she won’t let you argue that fact. She says it’s that black and white. HERE ARE HER REASONS:
50 percent of Medicare recipients (individuals over 65) can be expected to carry a diagnosis of diabetes.
Approximately one-third of current 15-year-olds are expected to become diabetic in their lifetimes.
If you want to avoid becoming one of them, you need to begin to conserve your insulin.
Why? Because we are wasting insulin by the bucketful;
Large numbers of people are starting to run out.
At this point, so many people are unable to make sufficient insulin to meet their needs that you can no longer say it’s because of their genetics.
Insulin spikes (which means you are using a lot of insulin) occur when you eat foods that are absorbed VERY QUICKLY; they break down in your body very fast. Examples: ORANGE JUICE, WHITE FLOUR, SUGAR, CORN SYRUP, CORN STARCH and WHITE RICE.
Foods that you can shift to, because your body will absorb them slowly and not cause insulin spikes are: VEGETABLES, BEANS, HIGH-QUALITY PROTEIN, NOURISHING FATS like AVOCADO, OLIVE OIL, NUTS, SEEDS and FATTY FISH.
MY PERSONAL STORY
As a young mother with a four-year-old and new baby with digestive problems, I got little sleep. I also didn’t realize that I could cut back on house cleaning. TRUE STORY: my lamaze teacher called to check on me when I was probably about six-months postpartum. The four-year-old was at a friend’s house. My baby was sleeping. What was I doing? Painting a closet. Actually, the correct answer would be: losing my mind.
What was I thinking? Not well–not setting aside time to rest. And to keep going I gravitated to sugar and caffeine. WRONG. I truly got sick and after a while saw a doctor who told me that I had triggered my pancreas to put out TOO MUCH INSULIN. When that happened, I was depleting my cells of energy. I was dragging my body around. I had reactive hypoglycemia. Only through a strict diet–none of the fun foods like cakes, pies, candy etc–was I able to get my glucose levels back to normal, allow my body to put out the right amount of glucose so that I had energy after eating. No more using sugar to start the non-starter cycle that made me feel sick all day long.
NOW WHERE AM I?
But the problem of having experienced many years of hypoglycemia when my body PUT OUT TOO MUCH INSULIN, now results in my not having ENOUGH INSULIN. I am on the verge of being pre-diabetic.
So I encourage all my readers to consider their own diets. A piece of cake at a birthday party is one thing. Eating sweets every day is another. INSULIN IS A PRECIOUS GIFT.
watch your weight
walk, get exercise
avoid foods that cause an insulin spike
and follow Dr. Sokol’s blog YOUR HEALTH IS ON YOUR PLATE.
And as always, thanks for reading. You might also enjoy: 6 Diabetes Care Strategies You May Be Missing;
ART CREDIT: American Still Life with Fruit; John Edward Hollen (American1814-1881)
April 7, 2019
Are You Vulnerable? Do You Search for Hope?
I opened the door.
I watch the news and when I do feelings spark—many feelings—and on a wide spectrum.
I begin to read a book, and often what I am reading brings out my emotions. When that happens, I know I will read to the end. Because that emotional experience highlights that I am reading something human, something that speaks to me. I will empathize with the characters either real or fictional.
Every day I read blog posts. Sometimes the title reels me in. Sometimes it’s the accompanying photo that touches me—and often (and this is the best part) it’s the first paragraph alerting me to something that I want to know, should know. My empathy meter is on high alert. I read. I share. And the best part is when what I read gives me hope.
But now more often than just the usual HOPE, I also need truth, uplifting truth. Because I often feel vulnerable, the callowness of my youth, when everything was wonderful, when the sky was the limit, when things would always get better, well, it’s disappearing, limping. Maybe it’s even totally gone.
So, I’m going to flashback and share a story with you.
A MAN RANG MY DOORBELL
I can remember it as if it was yesterday, and it’s decades ago. I was a new mother whose child awakened frequently, crying, needing to eat, needing to feel close to me. I slept when she slept.
This particular morning the doorbell rang. We lived in a brand-new community, far out from a business center. Not all the homes on my cul-de-sac were sold or occupied. Our house was at the very end of the cul-de-sac, and the people on both sides of us worked. I was alone.
I stumbled from bed, threw on a bathrobe and hurried to the front door. I didn’t look out. I just opened it. A man stood on my porch, told me he was from the phone company and had to check some wires.
I LET HIM IN.
In retrospect everything I did was wrong. I was not sleeping well and not thinking well. I don’t remember all the details. I think he went into the kitchen to check the wall phone while I ran down the hallway and instinctively grabbed my daughter from her crib. Maybe she was crying and that’s why I went to her. But in moments I was back in my hallway, with my baby in my arms facing this man, who didn’t act like he really had a reason to be there, in my house, on a bright morning with quiet surrounding us.
I remember he said something about the phone. I know that in those moments that then and even now felt too long, he knew I was vulnerable. If he did check something legitimately, something that his job called for, I can’t remember. Whatever it was has been clouded over by my vulnerability, my bad choices.
Maybe when we stood facing each other for those moments, he wanted to warn me to be more careful. Maybe if he had something evil in mind, he realized he might lose his job. But he said nothing. That was the frightening part. Maybe for those long seconds he yearned for what I had…a new baby, a new house. I will never know.
Finally, he turned and walked to the front door. He opened it and he left.
My heart was pounding. I hugged my child, not really knowing what had just happened. And I will never know.
I didn’t check his truck as he drove away. Was he really from the phone company?
LESSONS LEARNED
I was more careful after that. Before that incident, I had invited in a neighbor I did not know well, a man, who I discovered had been drinking. All I could do was call my husband and suggest that maybe he should take an earlier train home. It took him two hours while I talked to this man and kept my head.
Another time, a woman was at the door. She was selling her religion. Why I invited her IN I will never know, because it became evident early on that we were on opposite ends when it came to beliefs. I had to ask her to leave.
BUT DID I REALLY LEARN? Final Thoughts
When living in Iowa, I often opened the door to people selling things. I even let one woman use my bathroom. My husband was astounded by that action. But I want to believe that people are good. And when I let that woman in, I felt in control of the situation.
But maybe we never totally are. And even now I walk a fine line between wanting to embrace folks and being cautious. And I know that through the years of working as a teacher, helping my students through a race riot–and then being an RN helping vulnerable women have their babies–that I will always want to OPEN A DOOR. I am more cautious, yes, but I want to believe in the goodness of people.
I can’t tell you how many times when people hear that I was born and raised in Chicago, they are rather horrified. They picture that beautiful city as gun-ridden and totally dangerous. It’s not. Every city has its problems. We have a gun problem in this country. But again, it’s so damn complicated.
So I will wish safety for you. That all of us will use our heads–AND OUR HEARTS.
That we will often be able to OPEN DOORS to others and to TRUTH.
And that we will only be vulnerable to our own feelings, our awareness of the goodness in people that we need to support, whenever we can.
I was vulnerable but fortunate. Being open and vulnerable isn’t wrong, it requires goodness on the part every human we meet. Hoping for that.
Photo Credit: pull up a chair, always an open door THANK YOU
March 30, 2019
OPRAH AND A TWO-YEAR-OLD SHARE A MESSAGE: “Let’s Talk.”
If someone asked you what the purpose of conversation was—what would you answer. Mine would be connection.
Humans are blessed with language, a powerful tool that enables us to approach another human and discover what they’re about. The ancient Tower of Babel story is poignant and makes an important point: when humans don’t share a language, understanding is absent, fear sets in, opposition begins and can rule. Instead of forging bonds, humans become enemies.
Luckily, we’re way past those early beginnings of communication, but it doesn’t hurt to stop and consider how we relate to strangers, people we work with, and even our closest friends and relatives.
THE QUEEN OF TALK
In her latest book, The Path Made Clear, Discovering Your Life’s Direction and Purpose, Oprah Winfrey reminds us of the importance of communication. Growing up black in segregated Mississippi must have made many conversations a struggle. But from within came her ability to know herself, to express her needs and thus the Queen of conversation and TALK SHOWS gives us a new book, a testament to communication. Winfrey presents her ideas through what she labels adages:
The Whispers: Your life is always speaking to you.
The Clouds: For every dream there is automatically going to be resistance.
She also relates that even she, someone used to public speaking, experienced fear when asked to give Harvard’s commencement address. Her OWN television station was not doing well and she had to ask herself: “What can I teach about success when I’ve stopped succeeding?” Her answer—push through fear, show up for the address, use your voice. TALK.
SPEECH IS POWER
Having our first child and watching her learn how to talk provided us with amazing parenting moments. But it also underlined the power of speech. After all, speech in many ways becomes our ability to control our environment. My husband and I were amazed when our first child, Carrie, who couldn’t have been more than two, found that power and would approach us and others saying, “Let’s talk.” The more she did that, the more she discovered the value of conversation and connection. After all, a two-year-old wants to control her world and Carrie was really good at it. “I say no to beans.”
SO HOW ARE WE USING THIS POWER?
Are we really listening to the needy friend, the bragging acquaintance, the lonely relative? Each one has needs. Are we skilled enough to fill that need? Sometimes? Always? My personal answer would be, not always. When someone is out and out bragging, I go quiet. When someone is very needy, I parse my words, try to help, but never want to promise the moon. When sitting with a lonely relative or friend, I listen. There are times we all need an audience. Being a good listener is like giving a gift. It’s when we relinquish the power of our speech and give it over to someone else. WE TRULY HEAR THEM.
TO ANSWER OR NOT TO ANSWER
We’ve all had days when the phone rings or dings and we don’t want to engage, would prefer that the caller leave a message. We’re human. Sometimes we don’t want to be ON. But often we do. That’s the drug of connection, and often the drug of approbation. We love it when someone “loves” us back.
But the other side of that is loneliness. To cure it, conversation is important, meaningful—it’s so HUMAN. You can say goodbye to a person you’ve talked to feeling uplifted but also so low your day is ruined. AGAIN, that’s reality. Someone hurts. We hurt. Someone feels joy—their sharing that joy can be contagious.
THERE IS ALWAYS STORY
We’ve all experienced the fear of engaging in conversation. Reasons? Shyness. Uncertainty. Guilt. Anger. Or infatuation that works against openness and calm. “Breaking the ice” can loom, become a task so difficult that we yearn to walk away. But more often the opportunity for connection is positive and we figure out ways to hang in there; breakthroughs are rewarding.
CREATIVITY IN CONVERSATION “I’m a Ballerina”
A friend once told me that at a typical holiday party she had to attend with her husband, predictably, he disappeared, left her to wander through the crowd. She finally engaged with a man she had never met. When they began a CONVERSATION and he asked her what she did in her life, she found herself answering, “I’m a ballerina.”
“It just came out,” she told me. “And why not. I knew no one and they didn’t know me. So, I decided to have some fun, to slip into another life.”
She knew enough about ballet to create a background for herself, but was careful not to create something so BIG that she would trip herself up. He found her fascinating and she enjoyed the charade. She made a connection. But it was innocent.
TAKING THIS TALENT TOO FAR…
If you are skilled in conversing, protect that gift, but use it honestly. Elizabeth Holmes, heroine or jailbird, told her father when she was a child, that she wanted to “invent something new, something that no one had previously believed possible.” Ms. Holmes is now the creator of one of the biggest scams in recent history. A con artist to the max, Holmes convinced investors and scientists that she had created a way to diagnose disease using only a drop of blood that’s been inserted into a high tech machine that she had invented. I read about it. I believed it and Holmes in conversation with investors was able to con them and get them to believe her too. She made a connection.
But Mary McNamara reports in the LA times, that while Holmes was using CONVERSATION to con investors, John Carreyrou of the Wall Street Journal started to dig. Maybe he would have believed that my friend was a ballerina, but he did not believe that a young woman who had dropped out of college after two semesters had the ability to magically change the medical industry. His research took Holmes down and now nothing she can create in conversation will keep her from paying for her lies.
DOES CONVERSATION COME TO YOU EASILY?
DO YOU ENJOY MEETING AND ENGAGING WITH NEW PEOPLE? LET’S TALK.
PHOTO CREDIT: Parents Want to Know 101
March 23, 2019
Give Your Children a Gift–LET THEM MESS UP
My husband and I let all of our children mess-up, make a big mistake that they would have to rescue themselves from—and every mistake had to do with driving a car. That makes perfect sense to me—getting into a car and driving away from house and home alone is the ultimate cutting of the cord.
THE MESS-UPS
Daughter Number One’s driver’s education teacher called to say he would pass her–but suggested we not let her drive. That was the puzzle message, the back-on-itself message. I hung up, gradually figuring it out–she would drive many more hours with her parents holding our breath–either because we were with her in the car, or letting her traverse a few blocks near home.
It worked and after college, she became the primary driver of my husband’s car, because her first job took her many miles from home. No accidents, no tickets, except misjudging the space between a garage wall and the car which took out his side mirror! She helped pay for it.
Daughter Number Two hit a tree driving a friend’s car. She babysat like crazy to be able to pay for the repairs. And all of these occurred under our radar. Okay. She was being responsible.
And then our youngest, our son, alone, driving to visit friends at the university got a major ticket, one that required losing his license for a while. A long story. But again, you mess up, and you truly learn.
THE GIFT OF FAILURE by Jessica Lahey
Jessica Lahey has worked with many teenagers as an English, Latin, and writing teacher in middle and high school for over a decade. That gives her plenty of material for her latest book: THE GIFT OF FAILURE. And what she has to say is kind of a P.S. to my previous post about parents who go way beyond anything that is normal to protect their kids, lie for their kids, LIVE THEIR KID’S LIVES.
One reviewer of THE GIFT OF FAILURE, captures it this way and allows me to continue the DRIVING METAPHOR: …in Lahey’s book a picture emerges of childhood today unfolding the way a young person learns to drive, except the car is the kind with controls on both sides and the parent riding shotgun is quick to take the wheel outright rather than letting the kid figure it out. Together they arrive at the destination — college, the workplace or simply chronological adulthood — but the child was really just along for the ride.
With years of teaching experience behind her, Lahey concludes that parents rush in to prove and applaud their parenting skills. She writes: It’s a parent’s ego trip, but children pay the price. When parents try to engineer failure out of kids’ lives, kids feel incompetent, incapable, unworthy of trust and utterly dependent. They are unprepared when failures that happen out there, in the real world, carry far higher stakes.
As one reviewer wrote, in THE GIFT OF FAILURE, Lahey is acting as a whistleblower for kids and young adults. Except that it’s the parents who will probably read the book and ignore the message. Which is this–get out of the way.
Lahey writes about a student whose mother meets with Lahey not to discuss her very satisfactory performance, but to state that she feels her daughter has lost her passion for learning. As a former teacher, I can picture Lahey as she looks at this parent, wondering how she can tell her, yet not make a scene that SHE IS THE ROOT OF THE PROBLEM. The mother has taken on the work of her daughter’s education. She has removed the challenge, the mystery, the anxiety that we all need to become a success. Lahey writes that she takes a big breath and tells the mother the truth.
WHAT COMES AFTER THE FAILURES AND DOUBTS? GROWTH
I believe that the mishaps, the poor judgements, the flash of adrenaline that is needed to move forward when you are scared and confused–all of that is the nurturing stuff, like water to a plant, that allows us and our children to grow. THINK BACK: how did you learn to drive or apply for a job or take care of a child or be responsible for another human? Did you mess up? I did and I learned. I hit the accelerator instead of the brake! Luckily there was no car in front of me. Enough said.
OUR THREE ADULTS TODAY
As a final comment, I sat down and wrote this last night, wrote that I believe I understand what my children are in love with in their lives today. And I’m not talking about a spouse. I’m talking about how they have saved themselves, their passions and beliefs–so that a part of them is moving forward into time.
One draws and creates green worlds that are sustainable as well as beautiful.
One writes from her very spirit, providing inspiration and a personal peace to others.
And one creates music, the pulse of a melody, his first impulse when work is done.
THE PRACTICAL AND THE MYSTERIOUS
As parents, we will never know all of our children’s thoughts, worries, decisions, regrets. It’s their lives. FINAL THOUGHT: the sooner we learn to let them LIVE THEIR LIVES, the better. And that means letting them MESS UP.
You might have to hold your breath now and again. I know I did. But in the end, THEY’RE GOOD!!
P.S. I found this in a previous blog. Thanks to Sara: The other lesson I’ve learned is that you can’t change what you don’t own – meaning, if you blame others – people or circumstances – for your situation, you can’t change it because you’re saying it’s not within your control. Once I learned that, life really changed for the better.
P.P.S. HOUSEWORK– THANKS, I want to thank my readers for hanging in there with me while BOOMER HIGHWAY has undergone changes. It is now coming to you from MAIL CHIMP. A few things:
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ARTWORK: OPEN ROAD ILLUSTRATION PINTEREST
March 16, 2019
Privilege: What’s Your Definition?
First, family history: my two brothers and I were raised by my mom, who after my father died leaving three kids under six, did everything she could to raise us, help us make good lives.
FACTS:
My older brother John is a professor at Georgetown University in Washington D.C.Yes, the Georgetown. My younger brother Bill is a successful musician who since his early 20s has been in the music business doing producing, promoting and composing. Me? I have had three fulfilling careers: secondary school teacher of English; registered nurse in L&D and a major health department—and being a mom.
John’s high school work earned him a National Merit Scholarship. He applied to Georgetown and was immediately accepted, room, board, tuition covered. Bill caddied at a local country club through high school and with good grades won an Evans Scholarship to the University of Illinois, Champagne-Urbana. He lived in the Evans House, sponsored by the Western Golf Association.
I had three academic scholarships when I entered Mundelein College in Chicago, now part of Loyola University. Because of my economic status, I was accepted into the government’s Work-Study program to cover the rest of my tuition, room and board.
GOOD FORTUNE? YES.
We were fortunate, even privileged. My mother was ecstatic, but she also expected this of us. She sent us to good high schools, provided us with the time and ability to study, stay on track. She encouraged us. But in the end: WE DID IT.
Did anyone pull strings for us, take our high school counselors or admittance counselors out to dinner? Did my mother ever beg or suggest that someone else take our ACT test or write a scholarly essay for us? No. And though those offences are bad, they are nothing in the wake of what we know has been happening in California—some of the schemes that the wealthy followed to get their kids into USC, Georgetown etc or on the crew team or the swim team when the student had not even pursued such sports in high school. WOW, I guess during the summer before starting crew or water polo, they could watch some movies or read a book about the sport. How embarrassing for a teen starting on the road to adulthood. How demeaning.
TAKING THE TEST
I will always remember the day my mother drove me to Central Campus in Chicago, part of the University of Illinois system, where she dropped me off to take my ACT. I was kind of terrified. Big campus, my sharpened pencils, my beating heart. No one with me. The proctors walking up and down the aisles as you try to get your brain to focus on one question and then the next and the next…And my score? It garnered me an Illinois State Scholarship. I also took the SAT and for that my scores were, as I remember, okay.
And when it was time for our children to follow suit, they too won scholarships, our oldest daughter also earning a full ride to Cornell University for her Master’s Degree.
DAMAGES and FALLOUT
No parent is perfect. When you are raising children and running a household and maybe working part time, you can mess up. You can forget to encourage your daughter to keep dancing or playing the piano. But your basic instinct is: LET THAT CHILD DECIDE. You don’t force.
Yes, my mother encouraged us to get good grades because she knew good grades meant scholarships and college, the only way it would happen for us. And I am certain that if one of us didn’t get that scholarship right off, we would have attended community college and worked toward that goal. An excellent goal, a way to build toward a future THAT WE EARNED, that no one handed to us. That’s the way to start a life.
Here is what writer Robin Abcarian asks in the LA TIMES, of these parents who paved the pathway. “Did you not have faith in your children? And…How could you gaslight your kids like this? Why weren’t your children’s own efforts enough for you? Why couldn’t you accept that your child wasn’t Yale material?”
Mental health counselors’ phones must be ringing and ringing as these kids try to deal with parents who basically were saying YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH. One executive submitted an essay for his daughter about her nonexistent soccer career. Another created a story about his son being on the water polo team. The subtext: my child is a failure.
The gotcha: school counselors. Yes, they actually sat in their offices and read through these applications, feeling their heads explode: one school didn’t even have a water polo team–and yet there they were attached to the application: images of the student playing the sport–photoshopped by the parents. LIES, frightening, LIES.
WHERE ARE WE NOW?
I know I still live in a world where I cheer on my adult children as they succeed in their lives—no matter what they do. I am proud of each of them. I support their decisions and their dreams. And I am already doing the same for my grandchildren.
But I need to have some major hope for the generations to come—that this scandal will teach a lesson. NO ONE SHOULD EVER BE ALLOWED TO OPERATE AWAY FROM THE LAW. OR THE TRUTH. Unfortunately, we encounter lies every day on social media. Truth has to exist in a free society.
No one should be able to scam an accepted process because they have fame, money and the guts to disregard morality and do WHATEVER THEY DAMN PLEASE.
I wasn’t raised that way and neither were my children. And thanks to my husband for being the honest person he has always been.
LIES ARE OKAY, KIDDO
Apparently in some households that’s what being taught. It is perfectly fine to lie to your children, lie to the government, bribe a tennis coach or have someone take a test for your kid. Chutzpah? You bet. Abcarian ends her column with this quote from one of those cheating parents:
“The more I think about this, it is outrageous! They have no business or legal right considering all the students privacy issues to be calling and challenging/questioning my son’s application.”
Hey, Man, you should have thought of that in the first place. Now it’s coming back to haunt you.
For more about how this scandal is affecting our society read: A Syllabus for the Ethically Challenged LA TIMES. March 17, 2019
Photo Credit: ABC Radio Nation
March 10, 2019
Game-Changer: My Nursing Rotation at Oak Forest
It was early morning at the county hospital. I was in my first patient’s bathroom, measuring his urine output. He was a comatose patient, part of his head blown away by a gunshot, his body curled in upon itself with contractures, as bodies do when they no longer work in the world. They seek a smaller space, hunger for the womb.
My body was tense, moving quickly, though not always deftly, to care for this man who breathed with the aid of a machine, a man among many in the ventilator unit at the county facility–Oak Forest Hospital, in Illinois. Caring for these patients and others would be my job for this six week rotation. I was in nursing school. Everything I experienced would have consequences.
GETTING OUT THE DOOR…
My stomach cramped each morning as I pulled on white pants, shirt and my student smock. I arrived at my son’s sitter early—a reflex I couldn’t explain. Maybe this rotation held echoes of those fear-filled dreams when your legs won’t work and you can’t run up a hill or walk down a street. Because when I parked my car each day for this six week period, I wasn’t sure I would make it into the building.
OAK FOREST HAD A HISTORY
The maze of hallways and equally confusing basement corridors revealed the hospital’s original purpose as a U.S. Army Base, and later a place to house the poor and mentally ill of Chicago. Health care in those early years was custodial at best–and many of the patients ended their stay in a monument-free potter’s field behind the thick-walled buildings. Now it was a county medical facility whose reputation had changed, I hoped, for the better.
AND I HAD A HISTORY WITH OAK FOREST
In high school I joined an organization whose Sunday project was to wheel Oak Forest patients to the chapel. I knew little of hospitals, but I signed on. I was sixteen and in the end a complete failure.
The hallways echoed with footfalls and the cries of people in pain or people just needing to cast their voices into the air–hoping for something—a few words from another human who would come to their lonely rooms. That one morning that I went, a feeble woman collapsed against me, her cane clattering to the floor. I grabbed at her, feeling her boney arms and chest. She wore the same blue and green floral bathrobe that hung in my closet. I never went back. I wrote about the visit in Creative Writing class and for an hour my reaction, which was not a good one, was discussed.
NOW I WAS BACK
In my patient’s bathroom, I looked up and saw my face in the mirror above the sink. My forty-five year old face. Pale skin, hair disheveled, my eyes staring. I said aloud, What am I doing here? Why had I chosen this as a second career? I loved nursing school. But this? Maybe I wanted an answer that would allow me to wash my hands and walk out of the room. I could escape to my car where with windows down, I would drive out of the endless parking lot, blast my radio, look up at the budding trees in the true-blue sky. Really, what was I doing here?
AND WHY BECOME A NURSE?
I rinsed the bedpan. At that time, I had two amazing daughters, one in high school, the other in college. I had a loving husband who worked long hours for us in an office in the city. And I had my son, born when I was 42, a longed-for child. Why was I leaving him with a sitter to plunge myself into the intricacies of anatomy and physiology, to memorize the Krebs cycle and the bones in the body, to understand the workings of each human organ? Would I truly remember the myriad pathologies I was being exposed to and the medications and protocols used to cure them?
I must. Medicine had become an obsession which had its roots in my father’s death, the most logical explanation I could find. He died of a myocardial infarction, better known as a heart attack, when I was three. As I grew, I plagued my mother with questions trying to understand why he left me.
Coronary artery disease brought on by genetics, stress and a high cholesterol diet—eventually those were my conclusions. Some logic entered my life when the pieces of such an overpowering puzzle began to fit. But it wasn’t enough. Something pushed from inside me—a yearning that might also help me care for the greatest gift each of us possesses—our own human body.
For me it was always more than brush your teeth if you want to keep them; eat carrots to help your eyes; wear sun block. A psychologist might analyze my present career choice and accuse me of trying to trade the sorrow of my father’s loss for some control over my own life. That person might be on track.
COULD I MEASURE UP?
But in that patient bathroom my goals were illusive and shaky–because there was a square of sunshine falling on the wooden floor in my family room. I could almost feel its warmth, see my garden beyond, the daffodils shaking their bright heads, the grass welcoming us as my son and I ran through the yard laughing about lunch under the apple tree.
Did my patient in the next room still have some amazing pictures of his past life floating around? A woman he had loved, her hair dancing around her face. Maybe a stream where he fished with a friend. Could that portion of his brain that still made his heart pump and his blood perfuse his organs, could it give him something besides unconsciousness and contractures and a look on his face that wasn’t about peace yet wasn’t about anger either?
DYING ALONE AT OAK FOREST
You don’t learn about death in nursing school. Surely you’re able to list the things that cause the human body to give up—fluid filling the lungs, heart muscle dying. Merely words.
In the hospital, at Oak Forest, I came face to face with death, saw its relentless grip. On a different day, I was assigned to an elderly woman whose chart predicted she could die on my shift. I monitored her vitals and breathing. I knew what to do if she did die, physical things—wash the body, wrap it. I remembered lectures about the importance of kindness toward family members as they witness a loved one die. But this woman had no one. And death hovered.
THEN I MET RONNIE
On another day, Ronnie was my patient. His chart read: Twenty-two year old black male, gunshot wound to C-2, quadriplegia. When I stood by his bedside he was groggy from a drugged sleep. Then he opened his eyes, looked at me and something like a jolting pain momentarily flashed across his face. It wasn’t physical pain but the pain of awareness and remembering on awakening. He could only move his head.
He forced a smile, then fought the ventilator tube, riding breaths to get his message out— “Nice, nice. They like me here, see. They send you. Ronnie gets what he wants.” Snappy and cool, setting the limits the way he saw them. Giving him some control, because he had none over any other part of his life experience.
WHAT RONNIE TAUGHT ME
I fumbled for the notes in my pocket—the report given to me by my nursing teacher when my shift started. Those few scribbled words described my patient, the man, the life I was caring for.
He had me. But again, as far as I knew as I stood there and smiled at him–that was all he had. I had a family. I had power over my arms and legs. I could enter nursing school in my forties and learn about the filtering capabilities of the kidney, the powerful functions of the brain. I could plant a garden, make love to my husband, enjoy a glass of wine. I could turn from my tired face in the mirror and complete my duties for this man—bathe him, push nutrients through his stomach tube, talk to him.
NURSING IS ABOUT PEOPLE MORE THAN MEDICINE
During that rotation on the ventilator unit at Oak Forest Hospital, I learned about living. Because of those few hours of caring for Ronnie and and others at Oak Forest, and the years beyond when I would continue to love and help people as a nurse and as a person living in the world, my life moved forward not backward.
I came to realize that I’d graduated from running away at 16, to embracing during those difficult days, a life that would make me a better mother to my baby son–a better person overall. You could call it a landmark experience that would color and affect all the others. For I was able to undo a past failure, to steady and tighten a loose bolt in the foundation of my character. Each of us has such a day in our living. We only need to search for it and hold on to it.
I no longer looked in the bathroom mirrors at the hospital and questioned myself. I came to know what I was doing there. My patients had me and I had them. They relied on me and I stayed and helped them and in doing so, I helped myself.
Thanks for reading. For some of you, this has appeared on Boomer Highway before.
PHOTO CREDIT: Geri-Pal
March 6, 2019
WORKING MY TIDY-UP GENE
Marie Kondo has nothing on me, except two best-selling books about TIDYING UP, some great ideas AND a ton of money. But the solid, basic urge to tidy and keep things in order—well I’ll fight her out for that honor.
MY MANTRA—or, How I Get Things Done
From the very beginning, Mom said I would toddle around our house, bend over with my butt in the air—to straighten her area rugs. Then in high school, I became our house cleaner. My mom worked full time and after a while things got a little un-tidy, not her fault. My TIDY-UP GENE went into overdrive and I created my list. It’s simple and has been expanded over the years. I’d love to know what Marie Kondo would say about it.
MY LIST reminds me to do certain things EVERY DAY, and it reminds me to do other things when needed. Here it is:
Loads of wash, linens—includes making beds and tidying bedrooms;
Ironing, odds and ends—not much to iron, this category has morphed into checking items in the guest bedroom: clothing we no longer wear; shopping items that need to be returned; gifts to wrap; it’s a catchall for things I need to make a decision about—”that throw rug that really doesn’t work.” Marie Kondo might say it’s the room for things that no longer “spark joy.”
Grocery shopping—ongoing whether it’s a major order or a gallon of milk. Preparing meals goes here, but my husband now does most of the cooking. I cleanup.
Cleaning—my husband helps, but I’m the duster, the tidier, the * see more below.
Yard work, plants. When I lived in Iowa and Chicago this could be forgotten for many months!
Correspondence and projects—this last is where I am now. When the above five have been mentally checked off or completed, I spend the rest of my day here. At the moment I’m writing this blog post; then I’ll take up other writing projects.
HOW I USE MY LIST…
I run through the list twice a day—once to see where I am, and at the end of the day to satisfy that I’ve accomplished something. Of course, life intrudes, the list goes away when we have visitors or travel or the general chaos of life takes over. But I can always start fresh the next day or whenever my days are more normal. And I always strive to catch up. That blessing is called peace and calm and I wish it for everyone.
KONDO’S FOCUS: What to Keep Not What to Throw Out
Psychologist Emily Deans, MD, read Kondo’s book and was impressed with her method that states that we should PURGE FIRST. Deans stresses that it’s much better to focus on what to keep, instead of what to throw out. She writes:
By building her method around that simple decision with the goal of having a house filled with only those things that bring you joy, all the sudden you are purging very large and meaningful amounts… it puts into place a whole new life philosophy about getting more stuff. Unless you *love* it, don’t bring it into the house. I’m hopeful the children (of our society) will pick this up so they don’t fall into the trap of clutter, and that they appreciate having a few well-loved items rather than lots of whatever. I hope they spend their money (in general) on experience, not things.
CHECK OUT MY LEAD-IN PHOTO
I love the quote from William Morris, a famous English designer, and discovered I have used that quote before! He founded the business of Morris, Marshall & Faulkner in 1864, a business dedicated to the decorative arts. Morris created and designed tapestries, wallpaper, fabrics, stained glass windows and furniture. His designs would often crowd a given space with undulating lines, colors of all hues and flora and fauna. Below is a wallpaper he designed which he named: Strawberry Thief.
But again, his quote is one that Marie Kondo might have been thinking about when she created her SPARK JOY concept.
Have nothing in your houses which you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful. William Morris
MOVING, DOWNSIZING and the ROLE of ENHANCER *
My husband and I have moved six times. Our first home was a small townhouse that we rented and filled with second-hand furniture. Then we purchased a track home. When my mother moved out of our family home, she generously gave us a piano, book cases and helped us purchase a dining room set from an old friend. Bottom line, what we have always surrounded ourselves with are old and used, treasured and sturdy—they have to be. They are very useful and they SPARK JOY.
MOVING AND YOUR “STUFF”
I find it fulfilling to be able to realize that I no longer need a thing and that someone else may need it. That supports my tidy-up gene and after the fires in our area, we donated bags of clothing and kitchen items.
My bottom line might now live in the words of William Morris. The last move we made from Iowa to California demanded we give away probably a third or more of what filled our large home. Sometimes I realize that I gave away something I wish I’d kept. My husband likes to say IT’S JUST STUFF.
Yes, there’s truth in that, and having people in your life to love is truly what counts. But like Marie Kondo, I believe if we are able to have and to keep some things in our rooms our homes that Spark Joy, we should. As Keats wrote in his poem, Endymion: A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
I’ll hold close the words of William Morris when trying to decide what to give away. If an object does not possess beauty or usefulness to me, it just might offer that to someone else.
Photo credit: Real Simple Magazine and William Morris site.
