Social Isolation in the Time of Covid 19

     Up until last week I was a quite busy retired Senior Citizen.  I not only babysat one of my granddaughters four days a week while her Mommy worked, but I taught a Creative Writing class every week, and a Journaling and Conscious Aging Class once a month at our local Senior Center. I also taught a Creative Writing Class at a retreat center once a month.   I still had time to enjoy my friends and read and watch tv and do all of those other kinds of normal things.  But then came the non-normal times that sent panic and fear through populations and a unity to quell the rising tide of an unknown virus.  And, I find I have a lot more free time.

    I am at least three parts that can move my focus as I choose to socially isolate because I am of that certain age.    I value history and the unique perspective of people who live it.  Documenting history from my view may be helpful further on down the line, or perhaps, even today.  Who knows?  Secondly, I am a writer.  In teaching all of these classes and watching my granddaughter (which is joyful), I have moved away from understanding that.  Thirdly, I have various backgrounds in therapy and education which inform me.  All of these parts might coalesce and offer universal themes.  I'll test it out.

        Writing will be helpful to me in this time of uniqueness and hopefully, helpful to others.  Perhaps we can start a discussion that is apolitical and kind as well as thought provoking.  We may be isolated in person, but not in a created community.

Because of a seeming divide in our country, I’m hopeful that our all being in this time together to fight the spread of a disease,  may push a reset button on this division.   There are entrenched concepts on both sides, unwillingness to move along a spectrum.  Everyone speaks as if they are an ‘expert' from their point of view.  Some of us know more than others in certain areas,  but disallowing opinions and a desire to figure out how to build a bridge over any chasm, causing everyone to shout to be heard, is not likely the endless loop that is beneficial to all.  

   And so my thought that perhaps these attitudes that have us on opposite sides of a chasm may allow us to narrow it to the benefit of all as we work together to stop the spread of this virus.    Once we tackle this, we will not likely kumbaya away, but perhaps have a start at exploring our differences in ways that move us forward. This is my hope.

Sunlight and Shadow

              Over the bridge above troubled water, out of the darkness into the light.  The steady clip clop of the horses echo in the covered bridge, built in 1896. Around us the sturdy beams and braces of wood protect us from the heat of the day.  The churning water below sends cooling mist through the slats.  We bump and sway with the rhythm of the carriage.
          I ponder how life is like the carriage ride, pulled by two sturdy and sure footed horses, along the dusty heat infused trail, on the precipice above the banks of the raging river, through the well-constructed bridge, into the sunlight from the shadows.
          I ponder.
          It is.
          Yes.

And, I did it! : )

     It's out in the world now rather than occupying space in a drawer or in the cloud or on my desktop.  The very act of finally announcing its printed existence has energized my writer self.  So, here I am writing.  I'd forgotten for a while, weighed down by both worry and ultimately joy, that I am a writer.  So much interferes with that realization.  Life, mainly, and the choices I make to do this instead of that.  Responsibilities, sometimes, for what I've said I will do and believe that I must.  That inner critic gnawing at my self confidence.  The psychological black hole of being and nothingness where what's it all about abuts who cares, in the end causing inertia. 
     And yet, here I am.  Proud, not boastful.  I wish you would read it, I hope you will read it, it's a good story if you like those kinds of stories.  If you take a chance, I hope you will enjoy it.  I've researched it, followed the characters where they led, made a few subtle points regarding prejudice, family, women's abilities, war.  But, even if you do not read it, it is now out in the world, a culminating act of bravery and hope on my part.  I am a writer after all, and that's what we do.  We write.   It's not about acceptance necessarily, but possibility.  Although, I'll also take acceptance. : )

What a Month!

      We've all had those "what a months!".  Times when things were so far out of our control that we understood how little control we have over life.  We don't like to reflect on that usually as we go about our days thinking, "I've got this".  And, to the best of what we know, we do.  At least we believe we do.  But then there are those months that tug on our understanding of life.  Such was this past four week period, a month in time, if not a particular month.
     My daughter was in her 33rd week of pregnancy and had just decided to stop working.  She had not been feeling well for some time and her carriage was such that she was in the final week of pregnancy.  She developed gestational hypertension, her feet and hands were swollen, she lumbered.  On one trip to the doctor for normal monitoring of herself and the baby, she also decided to make another appointment to check out her swelling.  (So confusing why she needed to go to an internist for this, but that's the system).  The internist, in consultation with an obstetrician decided she needed to go to Triage.  Thus began the week, began the month that was.  While she was sent home that day to monitor her blood pressure and urine, she was back in the hospital in a couple of days for an 8 day stay they ended in an emergency c-section when they could not get her blood pressure under control.
    Piper Terese was born on November 2 and spent the next six days in the NICU.  Before Piper went home my daughter was sent home and then back into the hospital because of her blood pressure.  Both she and Piper finally went home together just a week ago.  Since then it's been my joy to dispense TLC and Mom and Grandma hugs.  My mother used to say "a bad beginning is a good ending".  My mother had lots of sayings, but this one applies here. 
    I've been pondering the why of these happenings to my daughter.  I know she will take a while to process all that has gone on.  In that processing I'm guessing she may turn the events on herself in some way, as if she could have done something differently.  She could not.  Lesser women would have caved at all of the challenges she's been through in these later stages of her pregnancy and mostly in the past month of her hospitalization, major surgery, coming home to care for her newborn daughter.  She amazes me with her strength and resolve.  She is an incredible woman and an awesome mother.  Piper is so lucky to be her daughter.  I am so fortunate to be her Mother.
  I had five pregnancies, four live births and a miscarriage.  I tripped through them without a hitch other than some queasiness and tiredness.  I rue my daughter's experience in so far as she did not have the great good joyful time of the normalcy of pregnancy.  I am grateful that I did not experience the challenges she faced, and overcame. 
  I realized the seriousness of what she was going through more than she did (thankfully).  Thank heavens for the competent doctors who knew what to do in the emergency situation.  Because of them, and my daughter's resolve, I did not lose my most precious daughter.  She has been my joy and I know that Piper will be hers. 
  Thanksgiving is next week and I am so thankful for many things, not the least of which is my understanding of how fiercely I love and how little I can control in life. Being reminded of this over the past short time period and living in the moment to moment has been both stressful and stress free. As I process and navigate what was, I live in what is.  My hope, my daughter, my granddaughter, life.  I've got this!

Shelter from the Storm

    Shelters have structures.  The story of the three little pigs and the big bad wolf offers us a metaphorical glimpse into the kind of structure that keeps us safe.  As a person, the structure that keeps me safe is my solid self, who oversees my internal family system.  Knowing who I am, what I am capable of, what my frailties are, as well as my place and space in the universe contribute to this solid self and allow me to function.  As a leader, whether as a parent, a friend, a teacher, a writer, or a therapist, coming from this solid grounding allows me help others in both expected and unanticipated ways.  I can both model and help in demonstrating how structure (boundaries) can lead to feelings of safety which in turn becomes security, a shelter.
    For the shelter of society,  structure is often found in institutions, including government.  The government must mirror a solid self, knowing who it is, what it is capable of, its frailties, and space and place in the universe to connect to its individual members.  In our society, government currently is not operating from a solid sense of self, at least the executive branch.  That branch is lead by me, me, me, it's all about me mentality.  One could, I suppose argue, that at least the tweeter in chief knows who he is.  But does he? He is the man who is called the President of the United States, not the man who shouts "you're fired" on tv.  He does not have absolute authority to do whatever he wants in the government as he does in the corporations that he owns.  We citizens are not his employees.  We are his employer.  The President works for the people of America, all of us, each of us, regardless if we voted for him or not.  He is our representative to the world at large in this time and this space and this place and he is an embarrassment in that regard.  His tweets are ludicrous and self-serving and often peppered with incorrect information.  He fires the seeds of dissent through an automatic weapon, dividing us as a nation.  I am incredulous, and have been since Inauguration Day 2017.
    When I am having a difficult time understanding my own self I know I need the help of another mind to work through the issues I have that are preventing that.  But first, I must come to that knowledge.  For institutions and their leaders, I think that is a Herculean task.  Yet, the introspective life is especially important for the elected leaders who allegedly speak for us.  Some do, some don't, and whether they do or not is how closely they are in touch with the understanding that to provide shelter for society, they must think of all of its members, not only themselves.

Amendments

      In the wake of yet another school shooting, this time in Florida, seventeen dead, others injured, I feel compelled to write.  Writing is talking and action is needed but with the writing comes the reading and putting into the universe the energy for the action.  Writing is a step from the thoughts and prayers that while another intentional step in the universe, is less put-it-out-there.  Although, when the event happened, when I watched the aftermath, especially the video of the mother yelling at Trump that he could do something, I cried and I did offer thoughts and prayers.  A first step.  I watched the NY Times GOP Guide to Mass Shootings and shook my head.  A second step.  I thought about past shootings and even potential shootings and wondered how I could help.  What could I say? A third step.  I'll know what I say, because I now will say it.
     I never have owned a gun, although I have shot a bb gun and some kind of pistol when my neighbor took me to the shooting range.  When my husband worked for the police department in the 70's and he brought his gun home, I made sure he stored it high, in a secret turn around book shelf we had, well out of reach of our sons.  I didn't let my sons have toy guns, except in the summer in the form of water pistols.  I figured they had an index finger and thumb if they wanted to play shoot. When I was a child I did play war with a friend up the block who had all of the play things from toy guns to helmets to backpacks.  In my imagination I lobbed grenades and shot up enemy lines. So, I have some familiarity with guns.  Some.
     I understand people have guns for protection (who are they kidding?) as well as hobbies.  Some like to shoot at the range, others to shoot for sport and, like fishermen, dress and eat the animals they shoot.  I have no negative thoughts about people who have guns and use them (or potentially use them) for those reasons.  It's just not for me.  But neither is skydiving or windsurfing or welding or running marathons.  Not that there are too many comparisons across these not-for-me's.
    I believe in the first amendment even though I don't always agree with what people say.  Still, I defend the right to say it.  No brainer.  I don't have to agree to understand the right.  I believe in the second amendment, even though I don't own guns.  Although, and here's a big difference, way back when a gun was a one shot item, often not accurate.  But I'll not debate that.  Let's suspend belief and think the intention was you have a right to own a gun, no matter the potential for killing.  As time evolves, perhaps owning even a nuclear gun will be legitimatized. Ridiculous or foreshadowing? What is the limit?  And now we have the problem to address.  Not do you have a right to own a gun, but what type of gun do you have a right to own?
    For me, weapons of mass destruction in the gun sense are guns that no individual should be permitted to own, nor have access to privately.  You want to take target practice?  Pistol or rifle? No automatic weapon.  No.automatic.weapon.  Oh, you have to reload to often? Whoopsie.  Zen target practice.  You want to hunt? No.automatic.weapon.  You want to be able to eat the animal, not pulverize it.  No.automatic.weapon.  Try a bow to show your real skill.
   Even without automatic weapons changes are still needed to keep guns off the streets, out of the hands of children, out of the hands of mentally ill.  So much need to restore our society to a society not rooted in fear and terror.  We will lose the opportunity to come together as a nation to mourn another school shooting when we lose easy access to all types of weapons and automatic weapons are banned.  Thoughts and prayers are an empty check written on a failed bank.  Our lawmakers must step away from the gun lobby as an addict steps away from drug of choice and enact real gun control laws.  Not blaming shootings on mental health issues, which are separate.  Mental health needs must be addressed.  Gun control issues must be addressed.  Our society deserves better.  Our children deserve a safe place to be every day in school.  EVERY DAY.

Stuff

      Rainy day yesterday.  My plans early on were to go to the movies, but as the day progressed, the movies were not in my thoughts.  I spent some time going through one of the overstuffed closets as a precursor to getting rid of stuff.  I have a lot of stuff.  Stuff I collected with my husband before he died.  Stuff my husband collected.  Stuff I've collected since.  Under the umbrella of stuff there is good stuff, interesting stuff, useful stuff, and then just plain crap.  Why am I keeping this kind of  crap.  I came across some stuff that is salable but I'm not sure how to sell it, nor if it will sell.
    I took pictures of some of the stuff I think I might sell.   The dead body decanter, for example.  Maybe get $20 for it if I can find the correct place to post it.  Then there's the sports cups collected over the years.  Not really post on ebay types, but maybe a garage sale will net me 50 cents each? In any event, stuff needs to go.
    This doesn't even include the books I have.  Books and books and books.  I think I'll try to sell the first editions in case anyone wants them, but what to do with the rest?  Donate them for library sales, perhaps?  Maybe leave them around town with a note inside...pass it on...
    Thing is, when it comes to books, or really, any of the stuff, well, most of the stuff, it's hard to say goodbye.  These are part of my life, things I've enjoyed or we've enjoyed.  Things that were going to make us some money in our retirement years.  Now, I don't see that happening.  Should have invested in gold.
     I look at all of this stuff and see dollar signs, frivolous purchases.  I mean, they weren't at the time, but now when understanding the difference between stuff and money, I judge my younger self.  I could have had a lot more actual cash.  To do what with though?  How much money do I really need?  I'm comfortable in so many more ways than so many people.  I am entirely grateful to what I do have--roof over my head, food to eat, a means of transportation.  So why am I concerned?  I'm putting something on the stuff and selling/getting rid of  the stuff that is more than about money and opportunities lost to be like Scrooge McDuck and swim in my pool full of money.  What is it?
     Where once happiness and pride of ownership enveloped the stuff, now it drips with memories of what was once.  Each book, each collectible has its own story, and it is the story that I do not want to lose.  But, how can I?  Memories randomly enter my mind frequently, uninvited, but welcomed.  I know the memories that the stuff holds can revisit as well in the pool of memories.
      To keep in some way so that I can recall at will, I can always take pictures.  So, the solution to the holding of memories is a fairly easy one.  There is something deeper, something more I need to ponder.  Perhaps as I come to understand it, I will also find it easier to divest myself of the stuff.   I'll let you know : )