In the Midst of Winter

 “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there's something stronger – something better, pushing right back.” ― Albert Camus.

As I sit to write today, it is still winter in my new home in upper New York.  In some ways, it feels as though it has been winter for months now.  It is, in fact, almost a year to the day when, at that time still in UT, it became obvious to me and my friends that we should cancel gatherings and practice stay at home strategies to protect ourselves and each other from the corona virus.  In fact, as a friend just reminded me, March 10, 2020 was the last time we gathered to celebrate another friend's birthday.

One year, and here I am.  Looking out across the remnants of several snowfalls, out to a bank of evergreens.  Looking out across a new living space, in an apartment for the first time in over 40 years, typing in a stillness broken only by the sound of of my breathing, the hum of one of the several space heaters employed to break the chill I cannot seem to otherwise dispel, or the creaking of the footsteps of upstairs' neighbors I've yet to meet.  

The boxes of belongings have all been opened, though piles exist in almost every room, waiting for my final decision - do I keep or do I let go?  For I have brought more than I need, more than I can use, and, increasingly, more than I want.  

Rufus has adjusted well, perhaps even more quickly than I did.  He has learned to climb the stairs that I bought for him when I could hear myself question how long I would be able to lift him into bed.  He sleeps there now as I type.  He has become attached to my sister, the main reason I decided to move this past fall.  And no, he doesn't like the snow which is a good thing.  As small as he is and as high as the snow drifts have been, I would have had to dig him out had he gone romping into it.

I would be remiss if I did not admit that this move has been harder than I expected.  For almost two months my belongings remained in Utah while the search for a van driver went unheeded.  For almost two months we lived with my sister and brother-in-law who were generous, loving and supportive.  But for someone who has been independent for over 40 years, these were a long two months.  And for someone who has lived in a house for over 40 years, apartment living has been a challenge to my creativity and an adjustment that is only getting easier now.  

And then there was my birthday, my 80th birthday.  The birthday John and I had talked about in recent years as an occasion to host a big party as we had done for my 50th.  Followed the same week by Valentine's Day.  Alone.  With too much time and space to dwell on past birthdays and Valentine's Days with him, taking the entire week to celebrate, to read the beautiful cards he would send, cards I came upon opening the last box.

Then, yesterday, a message from someone I hope will become a new friend calling me amazing for having the courage to move across country, by myself, at this stage of my life.  So, I took pause to let that in.  To write in my personal journal this morning all that I have accomplished since moving in.  All the boxes unpacked, all the services I have found, the hard decisions I have made, the many ways I've reached out to stay connected, the new ways I am using technology, the environment I am creating to sustain and nourish myself and my little Rufus.

I also took time to acknowledge all the help I've received - from  the staff in the leasing office and the young handymen who put together shelf upon shelf and took apart box after box, to new insurance agents and clerks in the grocery and hardware stores, and strangers who, hearing I am new to the area, have been warm and welcoming.  Mostly, to my sister and brother-in-law who have welcomed me with open arms and generous hearts and to all my friends who call and Skype and Zoom and send notes to remind me that I really am not alone.

So, amazing?  I'm not sure.  But strong, yes.  Courageous, yes.  Creative, yes.  Determined, yes.  Optimistic, yes.  And certainly, blessed.

On This Thanksgiving

 

"Optimism is really rooted in gratitude."

~ Michael J. Fox 

As this third Thanksgiving since John died approaches, I find myself with a sense of optimism I have not felt for many months.  Surprisingly so, considering this past year filled with a global pandemic, isolation, political unrest, and the rampant fear, anxiety, and anger that resulted.  But reading this quote by the actor, Michael J. Fox, makes so much sense to me because in spite of daily upsets and conspiracy theories, in spite of constant "the sky is falling" and threats and recriminations, I have managed somehow to record 3-5 statements of gratitude every night.  On only one occasion were the statements a repeat of "I made it through the day."  And though not always optimistic, I know the practice kept me from despair.

Were John alive, we would have engaged with a Thanksgiving ritual of taking turns expressing what we were grateful for over the past year.  This year, I will initiate the ritual with my sister and brother-in-law with whom I am staying while I await the availability of my own apartment in the rolling hills of central NY.  For, this, in itself, is certainly one of the most important items on my year's list of gratitudes.  

I offer my list in the hope that it will trigger yours, initiate the possibility that you will adopt this ritual, and conclude with a feeling of optimism for the coming year.

This year I am grateful for:

• having made it without contracting the virus
• having friends who were as careful as I was, thus never endangering me
• the technology that made it, and will make it, possible for us to stay in contact, possibly the silver lining in this mess
• the e-mails and jokes that brought moments of laughter and respite from the steady stream of vitriol on the airwaves and social media
• my circle of "sisters" - you know who you are - who message every morning and every evening to stay in touch, just in case
• dessert sunsets in Utah
• autumn colors in NY
• the constant companionship of my sweet rescue dog, Rufus
• having sold my home in UT in 2 days
• the incredible efforts of support from friends who were there when I most needed them and helped to make the move a success in a very short time
• the kind notes and e-mails that acknowledged the contributions I tried to make to my little Utah community and the many friendships I forged in the process;  the notes and e-mails from old friends to encourage and cheer me on
• a safe automobile journey across the country, thanks to the chauffeuring of a young friend and the absence of snow
• her continued help in tying up loose ends; I never could have pulled this off without her
• the care and generosity of my sister and brother-in-law, especially his wonderful cooking and both of their patience and tutelage as I learn my way around newer technology and newer environs
• getting to know them at a different level, growing to love and appreciate them even more
• chocolate covered blueberries and glasses of chilled white wine
• finding an apartment that meets all of my criteria 
• the unexpected kindnesses of strangers, strangers who are willing to wear masks
• the prospect of seeing old friends I haven't seen in years and family I have yet to meet
• being with my sister on the second anniversary of John's death, she who was with us that night
• warm memories that bring smiles now instead of tears
• being in the position to explore the area, make new friends, strengthen family ties, indulge in hobbies - how fortunate am I?
• and last, but most certainly not least, the e-mail from an old friend on the day I was questioning my decision to move, wondering what lies ahead of me, filled with doubts and misgivings.  Her kind assurance that John would surely say, "that's my Angie", was the perfect boost. I, too, know he would. 

With so much to be grateful for, how could I not be optimistic?  

.

 

 

Just When I Think.....

"Future shock is the shattering stress and disorientation that we induce in individuals by subjecting them to too much change in too short a time. "
and
"The illiterate of the future will not be the person who cannot read. It will be the person who does not know how to learn." 
~Alvin Toffler  

Typically, I would choose only one quote to launch a post, but these are not typical times. They are, in fact, the times that Alvin Toffler, the futurist, first described in 1970 in Future Shock, a future time of unprecedented change at an unprecedented acceleration. 

I was privileged to hear Toffler speak at a convention where he described the future of change not only in the United States but globally.   What I remember most vividly is the first question that was asked in the Q and A period following his presentation, and his response.  Question:  "When will this slow down?"  Response:  A smile and then, "I'm smiling because yours is the first question I always get and my reply is the one I always give, not in your lifetime."

I went back to Toffler after reading my personal journal entries from April and May and recognizing how much had changed in the outer world reported in the news and my inner world recorded in my journals in only these past two months.  After I could see how much I felt like a ping pong ball bouncing from player to player to player to player.  After seeing how I could vacillate between the throes of frustration, outrage, and self-doubt one day and the reassurance that my coping skills were more than adequate and then back again, sometimes within one day. Yup, stress and disorientation.

So, I have chosen to reflect on what I am learning, what I may have forgotten that could be helpful, and maybe most important, on evidence that I am learning from this.

• Just when I think I've recovered a modicum sense of equilibrium, something happens to throw me back into free fall.  I come across conflicting information or distressing national news, I forget or lose or break something, I learn of a friend with a serious health challenge.  Sometimes all within one day.  Change does seem to be happening at warp speed.
• Data and information are not enough.  I own the responsibility to seek out the appropriate experts and check the veracity of the information.  (Taking the medical advice of a politician is akin to asking my auto mechanic to clean my teeth!)  
• I need occasional breaks from outside information for my mental and emotional health.  I woke up yesterday to the news and images of protests springing up across the US, to some of the violence that was occurring, to the inflammatory responses being reported from people who could and should offer otherwise.  I could feel the sorrow and outrage bubbling up, so I chose to turn off the TV and clean a closet.
• Taking care of my mental and emotional health is as important as taking care of my physical health.
• An occasional escape from the harsh realities we can now see 24/7 in technicolor is respite rather than denial, healthy respite.
• I'm recognizing sooner the things I find stressful.  Too much negative news at one time.  Generalizations, attack, hatred, denial, although understandable, don't help in the long run.  Maybe at the moment, but not in the long run. Including, and especially, my own even if silently expressed.  Sharing worries and anger, frustrations, vitriol, and fears, although helpful for awhile, indulged too long only seem to exacerbate them.
• I'm also learning to recognize the signs of disorientation soon enough to reorganize - waking in the middle of the night and being unable to return to sleep, becoming clumsy or unusually forgetful, talking faster, feeling irritable or blue for no apparent reason, leaving simple tasks unfinished.  These are my signs.
• Three things help me adjust more gracefully to the next change - staying as conscious and present to the immediate moment, paying attention to what is positive and works for me (rather than worrying about what's "right" or what others think I should do) and looking for creative solutions to the problems I can control.  I'm far from mastering any of this.  I wish I were more agile, but I guess I'm a work in progress.
• It is more helpful to me to challenge my own thinking than the thinking of everyone else.  More satisfying, more possible, and more effective.
• I am more of an introvert than I ever would have suspected.  But I also need to connect with someone every day, and seeing that person, if only on Zoom or Skype, is a pleasure.  I love my little rescue dog, Rufus.  I find myself talking to him a lot, but beyond wagging his tail and rolling over on his belly to be scratched, he can't answer me.  He can't ask the question that helps me slow down my inner dialogue or evoke some laughter when I most need it.
• There is something exhilarating about solving my own problems.  You'd think I had conquered Mt. Kilamanjaro whenever I solve a computer issue on my own.
• Nevertheless, I am still learning when to ask for help.
• To quote Sheldon Kopp, "The world is not necessarily just.  Being good often does not pay off and there is no compensation for misfortune.  You have a responsibility to do your best nonetheless."
• Either/or thinking at best limits possibilities, at worst, it's creating havoc in our public life.  I am striving to remain vigilant when I fall into that trap. 
• It helps to focus on the possibilities inherent in all this change, as much as the breakdowns and problems that present themselves.  I appreciate my home more.  I relish my time with friends.  Having learned that I can weather the depths of my grief over John's passing, I know I can weather the grief of my current disappointment and disillusion in my country.  Eventually, if not now.  I have a much neater home and I'm even learning to enjoy cooking and playing around with technology.    
• The little things.  Thank heaven for a bumper crop of roses, a stranger who offers help, a breeze when it's hot and air conditioning (!), the desert sky at dusk, a friend who calls just to check in, a good piece of chocolate or a glass of homemade lemonade, a happy memory, the quote that helps me make sense of what I'm seeing or feeling or thinking, and always, my sweet little Rufus.  The little things that are always available, just waiting to be noticed and appreciated.  The little things that I am noticing and appreciating more than ever.

Well, I can at least take some comfort in knowing I can't be called illiterate!

My Hero

"You must bear losses like a soldier, a voice told me, bravely and without complaint, and just when the day seems lost, grab your shield for another stand, another thrust forward.  That is the juncture that separates heroes from the merely strong."

~ Margaret George, The Memoirs of Cleopatra

I admit it, I'm addicted to quotes.  I can spend hours trolling quote sites whenever I get interested in a topic, but especially when preparing to blog.  And I did so when I decided to post this week on the topic of loss.  Because loss is ever present in our lives these days.  Not just the constant presence of the Ghost of Christmas Future, but the onslaught of loss that John has been experiencing of late.  

I set out to find a quote that might capture the feelings I have experienced as I watch him. My concern as I see him walk more slowly, tire more easily, require still another transfusion.  The sorrow I felt when he recently divested himself of his business, his "baby" that he nurtured for almost 30 years.  The heartbreak of watching him sell his car, accepting that the progression of his macular degeneration necessitates my chauffering.  The loss of stamina and energy, the loss of a piece of his identity, the loss of freedom and independence.  Loss upon loss.  I hate this for him.

And then I came upon the above quote and literally, in the moment, realized that this is how John thinks about loss and that the feelings I need to hold onto are my profound respect and gratitude for how he is managing his.  For he doesn't complain, doesn't even see complaining as a choice.  He takes life a day at a time, reorganizes quickly, and moves forward as best he can with amazing agility and dignity.  

I have often described my husband as resilient or persistent.  Strong.  But now, heroic.  My hero - and he will never lose that.

 

One Part Reflection, One Part Rant, One Part Resolution

I cannot recall a time when I was unaware of the power of words.  Living with my mother and brother in her parents' home, with a young uncle, an aunt and an aunt by marriage, at the end of World War II, offered a primer in the use of language to convey hurt, worry, anger, resentment and fear.  A primer in the use of language to cajole, ingratiate, belittle, manipulate, and, conversely and thankfully, occasionally to soothe, comfort, console, and reassure.  Unfortunately, too much of the former, too little of the latter.  

Every male of fighting age in our extended family was enlisted and many engaged in combat duty.  Most of the families in Milwaukee's blue collar neighborhoods, probably throughout the country, were in the same boat, coping with the same stress levels, with the same insufficient training and experience to deal with it.

So I learned quickly to pay attention to tone of voice, to sense when emotions were high and arguments were likely to escalate.  I came to recognize the words and phrases that could trigger a volley of insults and accusations, name-calling and laying blame..you never, you always, you need to, why can't you...etc., etc.  I waited for apologies that never came.   I remember the clenching of my jaw, the twisting in my stomach, the tears I struggled to hide. I remember wondering how someone could be so sure of what someone else really meant. But most of all, I remember the bewilderment I felt when people whom I believed loved each other and needed each other's protection could be so deliberately hurtful.   I remember feeling very unsafe.

Those years were the impetus for my lifelong interest in communication - what constitutes effective communication?  What forces impede communication?  What limits our ability to discuss differences?  How much responsibility do I own for how you hear me?  How much responsibility do you own for how I hear you? Each answer leading to more questions.

I now look back on those early years with some understanding and compassion.  People were so fearful, so unprepared.  We lived in isolated neighborhoods, with limited information trickling in via newspapers, news reels, the radio.  We didn't know what we didn't know.  Our perceptions were shaped by rigid cultural norms, strong religious influences and carefully crafted political propaganda.  Our behaviors by history and habit.  Yet, somehow we managed, eventually, to move forward, certainly with some scars, but together.

These past months, however, I find myself grinding my teeth at night, frequently feeling my stomach in knots, fighting back tears of frustration, cursing at the TV, shaking my head in disbelief at what I see and hear in the news, in threads of conversations and shares on Facebook.  Language to convey hurt, worry, outrage, resentment and fear.  Language to cajole, ingratiate, humiliate, threaten, belittle, manipulate.  Language designed to distort, distract, deny.   Perceptions shaped by rigid cultural norms, strong religious influences and carefully crafted political propaganda.  Our behaviors defended by history and habit.  Emotion and belief superseding thinking and reason.  Negotiation and compromise becoming dirty words. And the result - more divisiveness, a rise in bullying and hate crimes, cynicism and distrust.  Lying called fake news.  Threats called bluffing.  All exacerbated by our sheer numbers, the speed with which information - true, false or mixed - can be spread to a population too often unable or unwilling to sort it out.  

What's a person to do?  Well, this is what this person is doing, for what it's worth.  Because I have no idea if we, as a country, will weather this toxicity, but I suspect I won't unless I -

• limit my time on Facebook and with the news,
• confine my energy and attention to a few FB sites I trust, preferably those with moderators who help to insure a modicum of civility,
• subscribe to Snopes daily debrief to help sort the wheat from the chaff,
• insert a question or comment where I think it might make a difference, but only where it might,
• call and write my Congressmen to voice my opinions and concerns,
• monitor my own language, particularly when I'm angry or afraid,
• make sure I find a way to laugh in the morning and record gratitudes before I go to bed,
• spend some enjoyable time with John and connect with a friend every day,
• learn more about how to discuss issues more effectively across the chasms of religious and political differences, and
• populate my world with others who want to help bridge these chasms rather than widen them.

For, what else is a person to do? 

Soul Searching

"I didn't do enough."

~ Oskar Schindler, "Schindler's List"

The more I do to voice my displeasure and dismay with this political regime, the more I realize that I didn't do enough to help prevent it in the first place. 

I had thought I'd done enough.  I voted, as I have every presidential election since I cast my first vote for JFK.  I consider voting a privilege as well as a responsibility.  I am, relatively speaking, informed.   I've read the Constitution, not only in high school, but as recently as two years ago.  I continue to read a variety of material across a wide spectrum of political belief.  I've never been reluctant to talk about politics nor unwilling to listen to others' points of view.  

But I left the heavy lifting to others, even when I sensed, as early as a year ago, that he could win.  Even though, I believed he would do exactly what he is trying to do.  Even though I called him narcissistic and unwell from the get go.  I know I could excuse my sitting on the sidelines with "what can one person do" or "my vote won't count anyway as I live in a red state" or "John needs me more."  I could fall back on believing what the media was predicting (I didn't).  I could blame everyone else, and heaven knows, there's plenty of folks to blame.

I don't excuse myself.  However, I also do not mean to chastise myself, but rather to let this awareness fuel taking action.  I am beyond feeling guilty, but am committed to look for ways to encourage others to take action and to support those who do.  I've been calling my (theoretical) representatives, almost daily. I've e-mailed and continue to engage with staff as long as they stay open to alternative points of view. I've signed so many petitions that I suspect I've signed some more than once.  I've spent hours on FB, probably too many, but strive to interject a call to action wherever I can.  I take time to acknowledge the efforts of others who are marching, deciding to run for public office, moderating groups (what a job!), offering new ideas, standing up in their own party, etc.  

And, yet, I continue to ask myself, "What else can I do? Tonight, I'll read the next chapter in Don't Think of an Elephant by George Lakoff and keep recommending it. Tomorrow, I'll send another check to ACLU - they have the lawyers, they have the grit.  Next week, show up to the nearby coffee shop to help write postcards of appreciation as well as postcards of protest.  I'll post this.  What else? What works?  What could work?

If, as you read this, especially to those of you in France who are learning from our mistakes, you have other ideas for effective resistance and change, I would be delighted and ever so grateful to receive them.  I will pass them on wherever I can.  I will do whatever I can. 

A Work in Progress

"Routine, which I used to scorn as next door to incarceration, holds new appeal for me."
~ Carolyn G. Heilbrun
The Last Gift of Time

First, before I go any further, a few words as to my short hiatus from posting.  Given John's illness, I want to reassure anyone following the blog for some time now, we are fine.  Just have been busy fending off the imps of technology.  First, the printer, then the computer, and even my Kindle acted up.  But, and I say this with some pride, I handled it all and did so with patience, a modicum of grace, and success. (And yes, with the help of some patient, competent technicians.)  Not bad for someone who not long ago was afraid that I would break the computer if I hit the wrong key.

Now, for the Heilbrun quote.  I've been reading The Last Gift of Time for a few days now - one of my new habits, reading inspirational material as part of my morning routine.  Among the many sentences that caught my attention for its clarity and significance, this one captured an awareness I have had for some time now, but could not express with such eloquence or brevity.  

Like Heilbrun, I have a long history of resisting routine, seeing it as impeding my sense of freedom.  Lacking creativity and spontaneity, "next door to incarceration."  A psychologist might suggest this was a normal reaction to being raised by strict disciplinarians and taught by even stricter Catholic nuns.  I told myself that I needed more choice. I loved the individualized teaching methods of the 70's and 80's, no fixed curriculum for me.  And when I led my own training courses, I took pains to be sure no one course ever looked like another.  I could redecorate every month and have had to work, really work, at not starting yet another project, pursuing another hobby.

Upon retiring, however, habits and routines  took on a new meaning. The most obvious reason I began to concentrate on developing habits was to compensate for my " normal aging brain," as my doctor labeled it.  You know - where did I put my keys? What's her name, what's that word?  Why did I come into this room?  Surprisingly, it didn't take very long, well longer than 21 days, to recognize that habits and routines could actually increase my sense of freedom rather than confine it.  Freedom from worry and anxiety, freedom from stress, freedom to put my attention on something other than retrieval.  

So, I started with the obvious, the same place for my keys and sunglasses.  Grouping items by function and always, always returning them to their home.  Making lists and checking them twice.  Keeping one master calendar.  Developing schedules to address my needs rather than someone else's.  The behaviors organized, disciplined folks develop at a much younger age.

Last fall, when John was diagnosed and our lives took on chemo treatments, doctors' visits, medications, a state of hyper vigilance, these habits sustained me even as new habits and routines were demanded.  Sterilizing surfaces and materials often, communicating with friends and family more consistently, checking for potential obstacles, asking for help, etc., John's physical health and my mental health depend on them. They keep us grounded and provide a sense of stability and normalcy when any day can present a new and unexpected challenge.  They keep me tethered to today rather than floating away in sea of future uncertainty.  A computer glitch is just that, a glitch, not the cause of a meltdown.

Have I become a creature of habit?  Hardly.  Not after decades of denial and outright resistance.  But I can see the fruits of my labor.  I can feel the shift in my thinking.  Do I wish I had learned this sooner, well, maybe.  For now, let's just say I'm a work in progress.

Keep It Simple Sweetheart

"Life is simple, but we insist on making it complex."

~Confucius

I think most people would understand were we to choose not to decorate for the holidays this year.  Coming off a rough month for both of us, we are weary.  But having had to forego our Thanksgiving tradition with friends, and having spent so much time last year organizing decorations for an easier holiday this year, we decided to go ahead, albeit more simply.  

So, our Christmas tree, a bit smaller than last year's, is up, decorated and topped with our traditional angel.  The mantel, with fewer ornaments than last year, is lovely nonetheless.  A few of our other decorations rest in their usual spots - not ready yet to give up my Santa collection or the large bowls of beautiful ornaments.  But several items are destined now for other homes and newer memories.  Simpler, not abandoned.

The effort has been well worth it.  First, decorating together is just plain fun and it was rewarding to see that my efforts last year were worth it.  Not only fun, but easier than usual. Second, we both love the look and feel of our home at the holidays and would have missed it. Third, while almost everyday brings new information, new challenges, a new normal, this is a cherished piece of the old normal.  Fourth, when there is so much out of our control, decorating, (and deciding what to let go), is something we can control.  

Most valuable, however, has been the recognition that not only do we need to simplify our home for easier maintenance and a calmer environment, but we would benefit from simplifying our efforts, our habits and routines as well. This is a project to do together and one that will keep us on focused on the here and now, rather than worry and fret over a future we can't control.

So, we've started, not just to be better organized or reduce clutter (a goal I've been working on ever since we merged two homes into one), but to simplify, to make easier to manage, to reduce maintenance and effort, to reduce the complexities. A different set of criteria. 

After only one week, we have made a small dent, and it's already clear that this will take a different way of thinking.  We will do well to remember why we are doing this.  We will have to focus on what we are gaining rather than what we are letting go.  We will have to pace ourselves, to keep our approach and strategies simple, too.  One collection, one box, one cupboard, one drawer, one pile of papers.  Our mantra...keep it simple sweetheart.

I Digress...

"In any society where the mores are strong, laws are not needed.  In any society where the mores are not strong, laws are not enough."

~ unknown

I have searched for the origin of this quote, one I have referenced for the last couple decades.  The closest I have found is "When mores are sufficient, laws are unnecessary; when mores are insufficient, laws are unenforceable."       ~ Emile Durkheim, 19th Century French sociologist.   

Mores, as defined in my Oxford American Dictionary, are the "essential or characteristic customs and conventions of a community."  And this is why I digress from sharing about our personal challenge, for I see a much larger challenge in the months and years ahead.  The threads of compassionate and generous mores that I thought I could see developing over my lifetime have unraveled in mere months.  The venom and hatred, the legitimizing of White Supremacy horror is something I fear will not and cannot be repaired in the rest of my lifetime.  

When did it become all right to mock a handicapped person, to call any woman, let alone a public figure a b...ch...., a c...t, a sk...k?  I cannot bear to print the entire words. When did it become ok to openly and gleefully threaten revenge?  When did it become ok to even hint that someone should be beaten up for opposing you?  It seems like an eternity ago when Senator McCain had the decency to stop hateful comments about Barack Obama, and those comments pale in comparison to what we heard these past months.  Yet many people were willing to overlook all of this and put the man who said these things in the position to elevate this to a new norm.  I am beyond confused.

I am of the generation that remembers when we sent brothers and fathers and sons and husbands to battle Fascism.  I remember when the swaztika was feared and hated, not painted in our public places.  I remember when we grieved over the assassination of a president.  I remember when families were torn apart over differences of political belief.  I remember the Chicago Seven, and Kent State.  I remember a time when the support of a Russian dictator would have sent chills up one's spine.  I remember a president forced to resign for political shenanigans that seem like child's play compared to what has transpired over this past campaign.

Now, these new demonstrations.  Again, anger and fear and frustration unleashed.  And the very people who were so willing to overlook the constant and inappropriate display of anger these past months, even rationalized it as understandable (or applauded it), are now upset with this reaction. I can only imagine what they would have done had their candidate lost.  

I am not condoning either.  But I am also appalled by the hypocrisy.  People who are now asking me and others to suck it up and respect the office of the president are among those who blatantly disrespected it when this sitting president occupied it.  I am appalled by the hypocrisy.  Or is it merely that hypocrisy is another new norm that we are being asked to accept.

I recognize that people with whom my distress will register are most likely singing the same tune.  Others may dismiss my and others' distress as mere whining and being poor losers. To these folks I would say, I am indeed a poor loser.  But not because a Republican won. What I fear is that what we are losing is the underlying belief that we are and should be a decent and responsible people.  That we see education as the gateway to opportunity, that we value hard work and welcome the "tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to be free."  

In his commentary in the New York Times on Wednesday, David Brooks said it much better than I can..."This campaign has been an education in how societies come apart.  The Trump campaign has been like a flash flood that sweeps away the topsoil and both reveals and widens the chasms, crevices and cracks below."  And the man who led the attack now will sit in the White House.

I can only hope that "this too shall pass."  That the silver lining in these clouds is that a new commitment to a caring and compassionate country is also coalescing. I am sorry that my only contribution will be in writing and in encouraging others who will take, and  already are taking, up the fight to protect the gains we have made in the past.  I have other priorities that, as my sister wisely reminded me, must occupy my mind and heart, my energy and commitments.  Best wishes to all of us.

One Day at a Time

"It is not the strongest of the species, nor the most intelligent that survives.  It is the one that is most adaptable to change."

~ Charles Darwin

I have thought of myself as a survivor for some time now, secure in my knowledge, skills, and attitudes toward change.  I studied the work of William Bridges, an 'expert' on the topic of transition, and worked for years with organizations and individuals in the midst of change, as a corporate trainer and executive coach.  And heaven knows, I've had plenty of opportunity to practice what I preached. 

So, when some folks said, "You can handle this, you've done it before", I said thanks and set out to 'handle' it. I researched, made lists, put out the word, tossed inappropriate food, resigned from large group obligations, made more lists, cleaned and sterilized, gathered low salt and low sugar recipes - (and I don't even enjoy cooking), made yet more lists, etc., etc. The little engine that could.

This engine came to a screeching halt one morning this past week as I caught myself writing in my personal journal, overwhelmed, "I can't keep up with this pace.  I'll get sick and then what!!"   

It took that pause to recognize that I haven't done THIS before.  The last time John was ill, we lived near the hospital in Houston for 3 1/2 months. When he was in most danger, he received 24/7 care from professionals - for weeks on end.  I stayed in a hotel room not far from him where the suite was cleaned, by someone else, every day. We were never told his cancer was incurable. And we were 11 years younger.

I realized that morning that we are being called on to adapt our thinking, our attitudes, and our behavior almost daily, sometimes hourly.  Each new piece of information - from our research, from friends and family, from our health care team, and most importantly, from our bodies and behavior - can call for a new decision.  I took a deep breath and began to consider ways to be more gracefully and consciously adaptable every day.  One day at a time.

So, today, I'm still in my nightshirt.  I've found a good new mystery to read after catching up with some favorite TV shows.  John is enjoying his respite from chemo and is engrossed in a sportscast marathon.  The lists will wait until tomorrow.