When I Am Not a Nice Person

"Do the best you can, whatever arises."
Helen Nearing

"I recommend weeding out desires, leaving only the holy hungers, so that you can live most agreeably in a world that most increasingly is full of disagreeable surprises."
MFK Fisher

Folklore has it that one should always be kind, especially to one's mate. Notice that I am throwing around the word 'one' this usually means that I am not going to follow the rules. Mr. G knows this and even had Sherman Alexie inscribe the dictum "Susan, always be nice to your husband" with his autographed copy of Alexies'  book. I find 'one should do this, and one should do that", is so tiresome a way of escaping consequences and responsibilities for "ones" actions.

The night before it all happened, James, our five year old grandson, awoke in the middle of the night, crying. Not wanting to disturb us, his darling nine year old sister, Lauren came to his bed and told him "think happy thoughts and you'll go back to sleep". It didn't work and she finally came in to get me, gently tapping me on the shoulder. These are dear children, so kind and sensitive. I got up and James and Lauren were there to describe why he was crying and I told him "Mommy and Daddy are right next door and we will see them in the morning."  It wasn't difficult to quiet him, I got in bed with him and hummed "Tender Shepherd" until he told me to stop. The next day I asked James, "why didn't you come get me?" He said, "I didn't want to bother you". His Mom, Anne said "it is unlike him to be awake in the middle of the night" and this should have been a good tip off to all of us that he was coming down with something.

We had a grand day, starting out with a brunch listening to my story being read on the radio with some friends. Then we ate lunch on the deck and decided to go to the beach since it was sunny and almost 60 degrees. We stayed for hours, tossing balls, examining tide pools,  playing baseball, climbing rocks, altogether a glorious time. We came home sandy and hungry. Enroute James complained of a headache but only once and then was quiet although he was holding his stomach.

Zach, our son, asked if he and Anne, could go out for a well deserved night on our little town. We happily agreed and stayed home with Lauren and James always delighting in having their company. They are at perfect ages and so funny and bright, a real joy to us. Except,  that night poor little James was complaining of a stomach ache. When we asked Zach about it he said, "no problem, he's probably just hungry." We thought that was reasonable and sent them on their way.

After he threw up the first time, James said, "I think I could eat a hot dog now" but happily good sense prevailed and I countered with, "how about some yogurt."  Well, he had two bites and moments later threw up again. No more food for him. By this time my husband gathered a bucket, newspapers and blankets so James could remain on the couch in the living room where we could keep an eye on him. We let Lauren go into the TV room with the movie "Babe" and James finally roused himself enough to join her a half hour later. I breathed a sign of relief, clean up a bit and went into the TV room to cuddle with James. Lauren kept looking over at him with a worried expression.

Since they'd already had baths, bed time was a snap. Lauren is quite a good reader and settled in bed with her book. I read Bartholomew and the Oobleck  to James, which I admit, was a questionable choice by any one's standards. He was falling asleep and so light's out, kiss and tuck and I repaired downstairs to watch part of a dreadful movie Mr. G selected. I went back upstairs, read and fell asleep, tired from the day at the beach, walking, food prep and grandchildren tending.

A repeated touch on my shoulder woke me at 2 AM. It was dear James, very solemn and for very good reason. He had thrown up in his bed. The sheets were a mess, also the comforter, the mattress pad, and even the mattress was damp.

Let me divert for a minute. Years ago [35?]  our two boys ages, 6 and 4 managed, with no difficulty at all, to acquire the stomach flu at precisely the same moment. It was probably the same witching hour, 2AM. I awoke to crying and Josh calling, "Mom!" I stumbled into their room and turned on the light. Unfortunately they had both violently thrown up. Did I mention that they were in bunk beds? Did I mention that Zach was in the top bunk and he turned to the wall to heave? It looked like a scene from a battle, vomit cascading down the side of the wall, and Josh puking over the bed and on to the floor. And the smell? As dear James said, "I don't like the smell of throw up." Gee, neither do I.  At this point my sleepy husband entered the horror scene took one look at it, smelled it and at least had the courtesy  to go throw up in the toilet. Well,  not every drop. He moaned, had the decency to apologize and went back to bed. This is where I get to feel very sorry for myself. I cleaned and soothed the miserable boys for a couple of hours and then got to bed and, you guessed it, someone threw up again.  At least this time I had remembered a trick from my Mom which she used for these auspicious occasions, I had put a towel on the pillow and under the boy. Would that I had remembered this tip before 2 AM Easter Sunday morning.

So, back to Sunday with James, shaking, though stoic,  and now naked having stripped from his now soaked PJs. I gathered the works in my arms and was heading for the door when who should appear but Mr. G fumbling with his glasses. This is the part when I am not so nice. I snarled, "get out of my way," and imperiously marched downstairs to throw the mess into the washing machine. To his credit he said nothing, and also to his credit and maturation, he stayed, made James another bed with couch cushions while I sponged off the mattress. James fell asleep immediately as only children can.  I, however,  lay awake staring at the ceiling wondering how on earth I could have been so: 1.optimistic; 2.stupid to think that the last bout of urping was the last; and 3.foolish not to have remembered the towel trick. Then I really started worrying: 1.that this could be the start of a more serious illness; 2.that Lauren was going awake with the same flu; and 3.that I was running out of  sheets. 'One should never get one's self in a frenzy after a  trauma'. Ha! That went out the window and I was as big a mess as the sheets. The "one shoulds" guidelines flew from my head. Finally, I got a grip and I remembered all of my anti anxiety tips. I lulled myself back to sleep with happier thoughts of our grand day as I snuggled against Mr. G's back.

I guess you could say that all of this was a "disagreeable surprise" and you could also say that I did the best I could, but snapping at a loved one at a time of tension is something I am going to have to work on. Perhaps 2 AM is not the best time to start.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Be Careful What You Ask For

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR              
 
                                                                                Susan R.   Grout                                                                                                                                 

                                                                                  

You never know the importance of your words and what just might be taken seriously.  I learned this lesson from a good buddy of mine, a cat named, Boo Boo. Not an ordinary cat but a huge one. I have a tradition of huge cats but Boo Boo was the champ, weighing in at a hardy 20 lbs. At nearly 18 years of age he was still a magnificent grey tabby with regal bearing, Jack Nicholson eyes and an enormous head. He had developed arthritis which bowed his front legs and made him trundle when he walked. He also began having seizures of increasing intensity and, sadly, lost his meow altogether. He took to purring loudly when he wanted to communicate, or would open his mouth and make a rasping sound in pantomime of a meow. He was my buddy and my shadow, following me as I gardened and was always next to me in the house. In his last year the seizures increased but he didn’t seem to be suffering, despite all of his maladies. He was always so affectionate and I could not bear to ‘put him down’.

I kept waiting for a sign that enough was too much. His last seizure was in August out on our deck.  After his whirling and jerking stopped, I knelt to comfort him and while petting him said, “You’ve got to help me out here, buddy; I don’t know what to do about you.”

After a few minutes he seemed fine, shook himself off and went to drink out of the plant water. I went upstairs and hopped into the shower. While in the bathroom I heard a truck, but paid it no attention. Josh, my then 25 year old son, had come racing home to gather some tools from our shop. In his haste he jumped out of the truck, left the motor running and bolted into the shop. Tools in hand he leaped back into the truck, put it in gear, took off and immediately hit something. All I heard from above was “Oh my God, NO”! Then, as I was drying myself off, I heard the tires squeal as he roared off. Later I learned that Boo Boo laid down in front of the rear wheel on the passenger side of Josh’s truck and Josh never saw him. Boo Boo was badly  injured, so Josh whipped off his tee shirt and carried the now struggling, clawing animal to the cab of his truck and raced to the vet with the cat in his lap.

At the clinic, Josh gently gathered Boo Boo in his arms and raced into the building. He rushed in shirtless, his chest scratched and bleeding. In a strangled voice, sobbing Josh said to Terry the receptionist, “You’ve got to save him, I ran over him.” The staff at the clinic had known Boo Boo for years. But this was different.  Terry in tears herself said, “Oh Josh, I’m so sorry, the cat is dead.”  Then news crushed Josh. The entire staff gathered around him and the dead cat, so touched to see this strapping young man weeping that they were also tearful.

Josh brought him home to me still wrapped in his bloody tee shirt. Boo Boo looked asleep and peaceful and, remarkably, was still warm to the touch. We laid him on the grass on the front lawn, both of us petting him and crying.

 Josh had two close friends die in separate accidents in that past year so I knew that this accident carried extra freight for him. I told Josh the whole story about Boo Boo’s last seizure and how I asked him to “help me out because I didn’t know what to do with him.” ”Josh”, I said “I ‘m convinced that he did help me out by lying under your truck.”

 In truth I wanted to fall on the grass and sob into the earth. Josh’s pain and the look in his eyes put a stop to any thought of I had of self indulgence. Instead we cried together and eulogized Boo Boo until my husband came home and we buried our buddy.  Josh made a stout wooden cross that I can still see from my front window.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Mini Amnesia and Recurrent Deja Vu, I Repeat

"Right now I'm having amnesia and deja vu at the same time. I think I've forgotten this before."
Steven Wright

Nothing can make me feel stupider than misplacing something. I spent the better part of today trying to find my cell phone, that tiny, slippery little red bullet that is supposed to be in my wallet or purse. It wasn't. All kinds of dreadful thoughts occured to me as to where I could possibly have left it. I was petulant to my poor husband who was only trying to help me with suggestions. The primary rule about a situation like this is to retrace your steps, and in my mind I remembered all the stores I was in that day: grocery, toy store, library and thought I better check with all of them. Then I went through all of the pockets of the jackets that I had worn in the past couple of days, nothing. Then I searched my truck, under the seats, in the grocery bags, you get the picture. Nothing. I gave up and went for a bike ride to town, the going on my usual route to the library and grocery shopping, maybe peek into the Toy store. The lost and found at the library had the predictable kids hats, sweaters, gloves, sunglasses but no cell phone. Nancy at the Toy store said, "Nope, no cell phone here." I bought a couple more chics laying 'eggs' [gum] for the grandkids Easter baskets.  I checked everywhere I'd been and should have felt somewhat resolved. But even still, could I leave it alone? No, my friends I couldn't. The worst part: I pride myself in my organizational skills. 'A place for everything' has served me well and I have strict rules on where I can put things like my keys and my purse and wallet. So, what happened? Why the amnesia now?

Last week a dear person that I cared for died, a sudden and shocking death and our entire town has been reeling. To say the least, I have been saddened and distracted. Distraction is one of the hallmarks of grieving and in many ways I am in a daze. So, I forget what I'm doing, I'll walk into a room and not know why. "Why did I come in here and for what?" Hence the mislaid cell phone, the frustration and the irresistable obsession with where the thing can be.

"Here is a way the over-fifty can easily kill off a good half hour:

1. place your car keys in your right hand.
2. with your left hand, call a friend and confirm a lunch date,
3. hang up the phone
4. now look for your car keys.

Steve Martin

The above trick can be played by putting your reading or sunglasses on your head.

Another example of this phenomena happened to a good friend of mine. One day she  was in the market and casually shopping, going up and down the aisles when she stopped to talk to a friend.  She turned to move her cart and discovered it was missing. "Worse,"  she said "my wallet was in the cart and I felt like the world's biggest dope". Blushing, she called security and reported "someone has stolen my cart and wallet along with it!". The sheriff was called in and as she was walking back to the front of the store with the sheriff,  "I saw that I  was passing my cart. I had left it in another aisle, and there was my wallet prominently displayed." Ah, she felt the fool, but when you look at it she was also in a daze. One of her siblings had died and she was the responsible one in the family who had to take care of the mess left behind. Disquieting to know that when we are at our most vulnerable we are most apt to have accidents, or lose things, even our temper.

By now you are absolutely riveted to the screen dying to know, for God's sake, did she find her cell phone? The tension must be unbearable. I pedaled home pleased that my outing had performed some of the desired result, I didn't care as much if I found it. If the truth be told I also muttered this silly prayer one of my clients taught me:
"Little Tony look around, what is lost must be found." [The modern prayer to St. Anthony? I believe he is still a saint and hasn't gotten demoted like St. Christopher.] Embarrassing but true, once  I said it I was able to let go a bit.

I arrived home went into the house and went to put the toy chics away with the others I had bought and lo, and behold, my cell phone happily nestled in with the chics. I walked out into the woods to tell my husband and, with my head hanging down, apologize for being petulant. I was really a bit humbled by it all.

"Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatsoever."
Isak Dinesen

We can never say adieu to grief, it will always be in our lives until we die. But we can make an effort to be more philosophical and graceful when we literally lose it.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Small town Therapist on Forgiveness

"He who cannot forgive others destroys the bridge over which he himself must pass."
George Herbert

"Don't find fault, find a remedy."
Henry Ford

"Nothing on earth consumes a man more completely than the passion of resentment."
Friedrich Nietzsche


Many years ago I was in a dance troupe, dancing for a charity event. Into this event walked an older man who was quite inebriated. He was the partner of an elderly woman I was seeing in counseling. After we'd finished our dance routine and came out to circulate with the crowd, he came up to me and said, "I want you to leave Mary* alone."

I tried to ignore him, hoping he would go away. He didn't and said, "If you won't I'm going to do something about it."

I was furious but it looked like he was leaving so I turned my attention to my friends. Moments later he came back into the hall with a shotgun. He yelled, "Leave her alone!"

His friends grabbed him and took the gun away, yet he was still ranting and raving. They hustled him out of the hall and we called the sheriff.

I should have been afraid but instead I was ready to go 10 rounds with him. My faithful husband at my side calmed me. It was only later, as I lay sleepless and shaking in bed that it struck me how potentially dangerous that was. He was an old drunk and I was threatening to get his lady friend sober. Bad combo: an angry drunk with a gun. I shutter to think about the reality today. With all the assault weapons now brandished and used I would have probably been killed.

Unsure what to do we went to see a lawyer friend who told us that since he had not touched me we could only really have a "Peace Bond" attached to him. I wisely suggested to the lawyer, "this might only draw attention to his anger and he may have even been in a black out". Fortunately some part of that was true and he never did threaten me again. I however was internally seething for quite sometime. I was attending Al Anon at the time and decided to stop fretting, put my program into action and turn my attention to my little boys who were in grade school at the time. 

We had a wonderful summer and then toward the end of the summer I got invited to visit my sister's family. I was taking the boys with me, leaving my poor husband to his work. I was excited to see my sister and fussing with all the last minute details involved with going on a trip.  As I was driving through our town, I waving to everyone, about to pick up my boys from the  school playground. I turned one corner in the car and smiled and waved at an elderly gentleman. Yes, it was that man. Granted it was accidental, but I really laughed. Months ago he was ready to kill me and I was ready to punch his lights out, but time had passed and so had my resentment. I let it go when I realized he didn't matter at all to my happy trip or my life for that matter. I could only control myself and my attitude, not him.  It was a good lesson I learned that year.

In my long career of counseling, I knew the two most difficult positions that a persons can adopt in their life is being paranoid and holding grudges. The true paranoid person rarely comes into counseling, mostly they are forced in by the court system or by some unfortunate partner who is saddled with them. More typically, the person before me is wrapped up in some form of resentment.  My method of letting go of resentments and anger toward someone who has wronged them are many and varied. I chose one of the many methods for a favorite client who had a bothersome resentment. From her story, her ex husband was clearly an alcoholic and I sent her forthwith to the Al Anon program. She gained so many skills through the program and was progressing nicely except in her dealings with her former husband. Back she came to counseling. She was enraged and resentful for all the times he destroyed what could have been wonderful times, the times he disappointed his children, the money he wasted, his lack of responsibility, etc. etc. Good reasons, every single one, to be resentful. But the cost! This resentment was eating her up and consuming her days and nights with the obsessive and repetitive thoughts. 

We worked on "gratitude can change your attitude", let go and let God, let go of other people's feelings, and one day at a time. Nothing could seemingly shake loose her righteous indignation of the wrongs done to her and her children and this was a year after she divorced. New ideas were clearly needed so I did what I always do when I am stumped--- bibliotherapy. I recommend that she read Frederick Luskin's book, Forgive for Good. I went off on vacation and I didn't see her for a month after that last session, and when I did she said, "I am so much happier, I can sleep at night and I'm getting along well with my ex."

Wow, one little book produced all of this!  Here is the essence from the book on what Luskin calls the nine steps and I will summarize:

 Nine Steps

1. Know how you feel about the incident [s] and what was wrong. Tell  several safe people what happened.
2. Make a strong commitment to yourself to do whatever it is to feel better. 
3. Reconciliation may not be possible [especially with someone who was abusive]. Luskin says, "forgiveness can be defined as the peace of understanding...taking the life experience less personally and changing your grievance story."
4. Your primary upset is coming from the thoughts, [often obsessive] hurt feelings and physical involvement that is intruding on your life now. "Forgiveness helps to heal those hurt feelings."
5. Learn how to use relaxation techniques to soothe yourself when upset.
6. "Give up expecting things from other people that they do not choose to give you." Let go of other people's feelings and take care of yourself religiously.
7. Focus on getting your positive goals met rather than endlessly focusing on what has hurt you. Can you use this hurt experience for good?
8. "Forgiveness is about personal power." Empower the positive gifts in your life, "Learn to look for love, beauty and kindness around you."
9. "Amend your grievance story to remind you of the heroic choice to forgive."*  *

One of the many important lessons that we are learning from brain research is that the brain will keep on metaphorically tearing open a scab because it believes this is what we want it to do. When you obsess it literally makes a groove in the brain. This fact is also true with people who have repetitive pain long past the time that they should have healed. The brain will even recruit other parts of the brain to jump in on the hurt, physical or emotional. It is important to know that the only way to get over something, especially that which is being obsessed about it, is to interject something wholly new. Give the brain a chance to get out of the rut it has made and on to a new path. Complexity for flexibility and liberality of the mind. Viva! More information on this subject is explained in depth in the tome, The Brain that Heals Itself by Norman Doidge. I repeat, bibliotherapy is a great way to enable people to change the way they are thinking and behaving.

I never dreamed I was making a 'Heroic choice' to forgive, I just knew it felt a hell of a lot better not to have that old drunk in my head.

* Mary is a not her real name

** are Stephen Luskin quotes

susansmagicfeather 2023 Susan R. Grout 

On Silence in a Machine Age

"and silence, like a poultice, comes to heal the blows of sound."
Oliver Wendell Holmes

"Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that with out listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure."
Henri Nouwen

In the last 30 years society has been seduced and indoctrinated with sound from machines. An alarm clock wakes us up, the TV or radio is on, the ipod goes into the ear and fills our heads with endless sounds. We fire up the computer and off we go on another machine. Then the kids are beyond plugged in: video games, phones and the constant texting, more TV and movies. Whew just writing it is exhausting and also kind of laughable, here I am on a machine, it is 8 PM and I should be getting ready for bed.

Almost everyone that I see, except for the retired folks, wants to have more hours in their day. Presto, chango, can do! Take a vow of limiting the machine time and viola! more hours magically appear in the day. Once I was working with a couple and the wife complained

"We rarely have heart to heart conversations anymore."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"He comes home from work and goes directly to the workshop where he has a radio and a TV and then he comes in to have dinner and watches TV until he goes to bed."

"Let's call in your husband for the next session" and we did. When he came in I had her repeat what she told me.

He said, "I think she is grossly exaggerating, it's not that bad."

"Fine," I said, "why don't you record how many hours a week you are watching TV."

The following week he came in and announced, "seems like I am watching TV over 40 hours a week." Then he laughed and I laughed.

"I have a full time job and another full time job watching TV."

Most people are fairly unconscious about their viewing and listening habits, it is only when asked to track those habits that awareness dawns.  The same is true about other habits like eating, exercising and drinking, etc. Change is only possible when someone really wants to change. Getting someone motivated to change is the interesting part. Change can only come about if the person starts believing what is to be changed is going to be good for them or necessary for their marriage or health. If they don't buy it, nothing will change.

My humble opinion is that  many adults and children are unconscious much of the time, captivated by machines. So, how do we motivate people away from their machines and allow the silence to be heard? Curiously, there is an 'off' switch on all of the machines and that is the first step to freedom from constant external sound. This is simple but for most people conditioned by machines--- perversely frightening.

I double dog triple dare you to have a "Silence is Golden" day once a week. Could you? The benefits are enormous and you have much to gain: several serene hours a day.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.