Small Town Therapist on Death of a Very Dear Uncle

Patrick and sister Jane in @ 1960

As the future rolls by into the past, we all long to know what lies ahead, what we can expect. Ironically, the future can be known...by sagaciously studying the past.                                 J. Patrick McHenry from his book  A Short History of  Mexico

Uncle Patrick @ 1982

We all adored our Uncle Patrick, our mother's youngest brother. He was handsome, sophisticated, kind, multitalented and exotic to us his young nephew and nieces. We didn't get to see him very often as he lived in Mexico in the 1950's until the 1970's. He worked as a free lance artist, a bookseller and manager of Libreria Britanica. He was a soldier in WWll as an Air Corps radio man. Patrick taught at the American Institute of Cultural Relations in Mexico City.

The reason that I feel compelled to tell his story is I came across an old journal and I'd written a prose/ poem about Pat when we visited him in the assisted living facility in 1998.

Meet Patrick McHenry

All jutting bones, blue skin, stubble and a cut lip, blood on his finger tip---unaware of his hurt.

We come slowly into focus: four singing sisters, his nieces, bringing a piece of his past, we hope to jolt the Swiss Cheese that's become his brain.

So tentatively he rises up and engages each of us with his sad blueberry eyes.

Now lost in those eyes glimmered a man who:

studied at the Sorbonne, graduated in science from Northwestern University, taught himself piano and travelled extensively in Europe. 

He became an ex-patriot in Mexico:

 painted murals, met the president and wrote A Short History of Mexico, travelled all over Mexico with the American Book company. 

Pat loved what he did and who he was in Mexico, but his mother, our grandmother, fell ill, he felt compelled to return to Chicago. 

Pat lived on his own in a small apartment in Chicago:

studied Gurjieff, Buddism, returned to the Catholic Church and sang in the choir. 

In 1996 our mother remarried and moved to the Milwaukee area. Mom threw a big celebratory party and invited all the relatives from many states, old friends from Chicago area and all our cousins and us kids. 

Pat, along with his brother our Uncle Rob were planning to come to Mom's house for the celebration. Rob had flown in from California and then proceeded to lose his rental car somewhere in Chicago. Ultimately his son Mike had to fly out from California to salvage the trip and to drive his father and his Uncle to Mom's party. It was then we all noticed how drastically Pat and Rob had declined.

The march itself was like one long dreadful nightmare from which no one could awake.                                                                                                                      J Patrick McHenry from his book on Mexico about the Cortes March in 1524

There was no question, Patrick was no longer capable of living by himself. Fortuitously my mother stepped up and helped her failing brother and put Patrick in an assistant living facility in Milwaukee near to where she lived. For us, the sisters this was great because when we visited Mom we were lucky enough to have some time with Pat as well.  At the time we visited Uncle Pat, we had to remind him who we were---he almost knew. 

We picked up his stick arms and shuffle with him down the hallway as fragments of sentences would come to him. At last sister Kathleen took hold of his bony hand in hers, then haze clears and Uncle Patrick looks up and says, " the best days are hand holding days".  Tenderly we help him into the urine soaked chair in his room and bid him goodbye. As we're leaving a beautiful young Hispanic nurse comes to tend him. She smiles and says, "Mr. McHenry responds best when I speak to him in Spanish." We should have known. 

Dementia robbed him of his mind but not his kind heart or his gentlemanly demeanor. 

Our heels click on the floors like castanets as we waltz down the halls in our healthy bodies. 

That was the last time I saw him, it turned out to be the last year of his life. Soon after our visit it wasn't long before he died.

We of the vibrant minds, healthy bodies and the quickened pace, rarely brave the study of  the care worn face.

Cowards in the day time, we block off their pain--- omitting their confusion as we go on our way again. Forgetting life's frailty, back to our tentative stability, reality--- afraid to ask 'who's next'?

Patrick and sister Jane in Mexico 1960

Remember:

The best days are hand holding days.                     J. Patrick McHenry

As the future rolls by into the past, we all long to know what lies ahead, what we can expect. Ironically, the future can be known...by sagaciously studying the past.                                 J. Patrick McHenry

susansmagicfeather 2022 Susan R. Grout 

Small Town Therapist on Patience

Have patience with all things, but chiefly with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them---every day begin the task anew.             St. Francis de Sales

Embarrassing to admit but I am not known for a wealth of patience outside of my office. My poor long suffering husband! With my clients, I'm most often calm, attentive, and steadfast in my devotion to listening, not reacting. Deliberate in my comments, reflective in any suggestions I might have, I hold still and allow the thoughts and feelings of the person before me to gel prior to interruption. Don't I wish that this was true of me all the time when I'm with people in various settings and meetings. 

When I'm in a meeting with any organization, eg. Democrats, community groups working on a levy, or on a volunteer board, I become impatient if the meeting is being needlessly drawn out. Sometimes in a group meeting, people will not only belabor a point but will veer off topic and bogart the room with something that we were never supposed to be talking about. Stick to the topic people! I mutter under my breath. Then if this verbal rambling goes on too long I will interrupt and suggest we get back to the points at hand not in the kindest of words.  As I see it, the solution is readily at hand. To sum up: I become impatient and outspoken. Sigh.

victim in Pompei

One of the origins of my impatience was my profession. As a psychotherapist I not only valued my time, but the client's time as well. If someone was going over and over the same problem [which therapists referred to as 'looping'] I'd gently suggest that time was 'a-wasting'. I'd remind the client that I said at the start our working together in therapy,  I'd intervene if I thought it could be helpful. Let me just add that I rarely interrupted someone who was grieving or people who'd been abused or the ones suffering from trauma.

 

This is a flaw I've been working on for most of my adult life. Mr. G  who loves me says, "if you look up impatience in the dictionary, there's your picture". Ugh. I sadly, must admit...there is truth to that rumor. Breathe in, breathe out.

Since I've retired, what methods have I employed to help me becoming more patient person? I'm quick on my feet literally. I move quickly and accomplish tasks quickly and read quickly. Because of all the quickly, I have to stop in my tracks. First of all [when I remember to] I caution myself to breathe. I've also learned to meditate most days, This sadly, isn't a very long list of tackling a difficult subject--- I'm very much a work in progress, I have to be patient with myself.  Aren't we all works in progress? I do laugh at myself on a daily, sometimes hourly basis that helps. Why am I in such a rush out of the clinical setting even at home? Let's blame someone, [not me, please].

I was raised in a large, loving, Catholic family where there was always hurry and insistence that we do things immediately if not sooner. I, as a little girl was always a dreamy kid, the kind who looked at her shoes while walking to school. I was frequently distracted by exciting phenomena like--- puddles! I could peer at bugs in the water and rejoice in clouds above reflecting on the watery surface. This did not help me gaining ground on the awaiting school. Late! Punishments, yikes.  Being one of six kids in a family and my mother needed help, pronto. Then I worked at the family restaurant, first in the kitchen where the chef was on you if you weren't working at warp speed. Waitresses have my utmost respect as they are required by nature of their profession to hurry and then be pleasant.  I could do that as a waitress. Then I had babies who, let's face it, are not the most patient of people when they're hungry or need a diaper changed. I answered the call in spades. I believed I was supposed to. It was stunning to me that some of the mothers I knew had a more lackadaisical approach and their babies were fine without the rushing and fussing that was my style. 

Currently I have all the time in the world to be that dreamy kid but there's this underlying emphasis inside me that fears I'm going to be late! for what?  Sometimes I secretly believe that I'm not doing enough, the yearning for peace from the war within...those insecurities and anxieties that run riot in my head when things are not going smoothly. Most fortunately for me, my life is mostly calm, peaceful and hopeful.

So I'll lean on St. Francis de Sales and start each day anew with the desire to be patient with anyone I'm around, including my sometimes foolish self.

susansmagicfeather 2022 Susan R. Grout 

Small Town Therapist on Aging Well

You're only young once but you can be immature forever.            Germaine Greer

There are no old people any more, you are either wonderful for your age or dead.    Mary Poole 

It's no secret that I've aged, I live in a small town and everyone I used to consider old is now dead. Years ago at a New Year's eve party a bunch of us in our 30's and 40's were lamenting that some of the 'old timers' [who I just realized were only in their mid sixties or early seventies] were starting to die off. These people in my town were salt of the earth, kind, good people and real amusing characters. 

One of my favorite characters, Marge, was from a family that lived in our town for generations. Then, due to age, her sons and daughter moved her into a nursing home nearer to them, sadly, quite a ways away. This older woman Marge was glorious. She used to set out a chaise longue in front our local drug store, where she worked part time, adorned with her ruby red lipstick, her seasonal clothes and earrings ["it must be Christmas time if Marge has on her bells and holly"]. Marge routinely would greet everyone in town. She could play at parties a vigorous honky-tonk piano and held her nose when she laughed. Marge reminded me so much of my Grandma Florence who was fun, fun, fun. Both these gorgeous women were portly and seemingly unconcerned about the extra padding they'd acquired over the years. That just wasn't in their radar. 

Sadly most women I know are overly focused on their bodies, size, shape and limitations. Take me for example. This morning I woke up convinced I'd gained several pounds since Thanksgiving and I was stewing about it. With trepidation I hopped on the scale only to see that my weight was exactly what it always is and I hopped off smirking at my silliness. Now, if I had gained these fictious pounds I honestly would have been perturbed and a bit discouraged. Foolish but true. Would Marge or Grandma Florence ever, in their wildest dreams, be so overly concerned about a few pounds? Not on their lives. And they lived  good long lives.

Most of  the people in my generation are appalled that we have limitations with aging. When we get together we discuss these pesky aches and pains as if we deserve a refund. No! Let's sue! Rarely does the talk of gratitude enter into our discussion of being alive--- surprised we've lived so well this long.

I'm listening to Becca Levy's book Breaking the Aging Code, her research is all about how negative perceptions about aging seriously affect how we age. Ask yourself what are the first five words that come to you about aging? Are they all negative words and views? If so better change your attitude, it can definitely affect how you age. 

All those years ago the old timers didn't have the quality of life we have now and they definitely weren't obsessed with fitness. They were working too hard on making a living: farming, logging, running a business. They laughed heartily at joggers, ate mostly unprocessed food and tended to walk everywhere. The expected to age and to have fun along the way, at least most of them did.

I was surprised when I started getting old. I always thought it was one of those things that happened to someone else.  George Carlin

Imagine my surprise when I realized that the physical limitations in my case were not going to vanish without surgery. I have arthritis and it is certainly a limitation but thankfully it's not fatal. Because of it I had my first hip replaced ten years ago and that was a dandy decision. Recently I had to have my other hip replaced with hardware because it was cranky, keeping me from hiking and causing me abundant pain. Then the mirror is starting to bug and insult me. Where is that portrait of Doriana Gray now that I could use it? I'm joking because as a grandmother of four young adults how ridiculous would it be for me to obsess about lovely youthfulness when I'm surrounded by lovely youthfulness.

My pledge is to let go of that mirror that portrays me as a "citizen senior" as grandma Florence used to call herself.  A New Year's resolution is to embrace all that my future holds for the time I've got left with gratitude, hoping to grow in wisdom, generosity and kindness.

susansmagicfeather 2022 Susan R. Grout

Small Town Therapist on Keeping Secrets

What they don't know would make a library anyone would be proud of. Graffiti

History is a set of lies agreed upon by the victor.  Graffiti

Tell the truth and duck.  Finnish proverb

Being a psychotherapist in a small town led to some revelations that, of course, I couldn't reveal or react to. I'd seen a prominent wife of a man who was well regarded and respected in his church and in the community. This wife was telling me the back story--- what she and her husband were attempting to hide. This woman was in her seventies and this was her second marriage, one she'd been in for almost forty years. She brought a daughter a preteen into that marriage. They then proceeded to have several additional children. The daughter, his step child, came to her mother when she was in her twenties and confessed that the step dad had been sexually abusing her for years. The shock was profound, but she had all these other children by this man, boys as it turns out. He was supposedly a very religious man, a pillar in his church. Now, many, many years later she was still so enraged, justifiably, and needed to make a decision about whether to divorce him or wait it out. She'd been diagnosed with cancer and her time was limited. Why did she not act years and years ago? "It was because of the children" she said.  One of the decisions she was debating was whether to confide this awful truth to one of her sons. This son also lived in the community and always had contempt for her. The son regarded her as cold and uncaring, especially to his father. What a decision. She was literally eating herself up over the latest diagnosis and her desire to let go of the rage. Now at least she'd confided to another living person outside of the family. Me. So I knew, the daughter knew, and my client knew what he'd done--- the community would remain clueless. The son? 

This was not the only case I've had like that. I still hold these secrets. Have to. My client's  daughter was grown and I couldn't press charges to the authorities. I had to let go of the disgust I felt towards this man.  I'd see him in the grocery store, the library and around town and basically did my best to avoid him. Ironically he died before his wife and I don't know if she chose to tell her son of the abuse. My client died shortly thereafter. I contend that the abuse her daughter suffered had made her suffer too, year after year.

In the fundamentalist churches, not just the Catholic church, there's plenty of abuse: verbal, mental, sexual and emotional of girls and boys too. Until very recently the Mormon church was actually sponsoring and supporting abusers who had multiple wives and scads of children who were subjected to all kinds of abuse. Recently. These cases were reported to the higher ups in the Mormon church to no avail. The higher ups chose to only "counsel" the abusive fathers. Fat lot of good that did. The abuse didn't stop until the police got involved thanks to one of the brave daughters.

 One excellent film, "Spotlight" a movie presented in 2015, illustrates the facts of abuse in churches.  Although not a documentary, Spotlight is based on fact. It's about the investigative reporters who uncovered rampant pedophilia in the Catholic church in Boston by priests.  In fact the church hierarchy knew this, they had many accusations from parents. Sadly, their method of "stopping" the abuse was to transfer these offending priests to another parish. You can guess what happened in these other parishes, how many many children were the victims of the abusive priests.

Abuse doesn't stop if the abuser is informed of repercussions for his actions. There is a stunning lack of empathy the abuser has for the child victim. This is true for the male abusers, as it is resoundingly the men doing the abuse. In the almost 40 years of my work in my field of counseling, only once did I have a female perpetrator of sexual abuse of her child. Once. According to several articles I read, sadly this abuse by a female perpetrator is becoming more common. Now, 14 to 25 % of sexual abuse cases were caused by women. Is it because I couldn't see it all those years ago? I'm not sure. 

These were the most difficult secrets that I held but only a small sampling. The number of people having affairs was astonishing to me when I was starting out my counseling practice in the eighties. When I started counseling, I took a married person as a client and she dropped the bomb that she was having an affair. She innocently asked if she could bring her partner in for couples counseling. Naively I said sure, as I loved doing marriage counseling. More naively I assumed she'd inform her mate of the affair and was coming for reparation. No so! Uncomfortably I was in the untenable position of knowing about the affair that the mate knew nothing about. That happened exactly once. Then I established the rule upon first seeing a client that if they were married and wanted to do couple's counseling I wouldn't withhold secrets from the marital partner. I'd gladly keep them on if they confessed to an affair but hustle them off to couple counseling elsewhere if they were unwilling to confess. This clarification made things so much easier for me, many clients chose not to tell. So be it. I'd see them as an individual.

I also learned that people must make up their own minds about divulging their secrets. Several couples that I see around the town, who I know have had affairs---with no true confessions--- have sustained long marriages. You never know who can keep secrets and ultimately be fine with them. Also, there are some who did confess and the partner was forgiving. Not my decision. I had to let go of the dictum, "secrets will make you sick" because bless their hearts, for some individuals it's not always true. 

susansmagicfeather 2022 Susan R. Grout

 

Small Town Therapist on Death of a Sister, a Father--the Aftermath

 My life goes on in endless ways

above the real life griefs

I see the endless turns of fate

as a condition of those proofs.

Life as we all know can turn on a dime, from ordinary incidences, on an ordinary day to an atrocious, overwhelming moment when time seems to stop. 

This happened several times in my life [and I'm sure in yours too] when you get that call on the phone or the knock on the door to tell you that someone you love dearly has died. This was true when many years ago, my father dropped dead in January of 1986, after a round of golf,  and then, more stunningly, when his daughter, my sister Kathleen, dropped dead in 2019, after a car trip to see one of her sons. Both Kathleen and Dad at the time of their deaths were 67 years old, both born on December 27th. In that year of Kathleen's death, 2019, my Dad would have been 100 years old. The ironic part is Kathleen took fairly good care of herself while my father's health wasn't nearly as closely cared for, still she died at 67. 

four of the five sisters Kathleen on the right

My reaction to both of these deaths were quite similar: shock, screaming NO into the night, falling to the ground in disbelief. The contrast was huge in that when my Dad died I had two teenage sons at home, the loving support of my husband and friends at hand to help me grieve. I had to be protective and not frighten my sons with the terrible grief  I felt.  Yes, they witnessed me sobbing but no I didn't rant and wail for hours, I was a mother.

Dad at 26 Navy WWll

When I got the call from my brother on April 28, 2019 spring was lovely and all was calm and tranquil in my life. Bob simply said, "Kathleen died today of an apparent heart attack." Lord knows she had been under a lot to stress for a couple of years and also she had an aversion to the medical profession that added to the health problems. She, like our father, dropped dead of a heart attack. Even writing that sentence makes me cringe then breathe deeply and pine for the loss of feisty, fierce, mighty little woman who I loved. 

The tendency by practically everyone when somebody dies is to over emphasize the virtues of the deceased and over look their human foibles and failings. You want to cherish and hold fast to the good times, the memories and ignore or minimize the frustrations you might have experienced with the loved one. I'm not sure that is the best of ideas. Were they really almost saints? Of course not. In my father's case, he had a drinking problem which never concerned him as it did our mother and me. I had been working in the field of drug and alcoholism for 10 years by that time and had many a talk with my Dad about my concerns about his drinking.  I told him, "Dad, what they describe in the literature is you are heavy steady drinker". In other words someone who maintains a certain percentage of alcohol in his system most days.  Sincerely, I rarely saw him drunk, he was always a pleasant  and enthusiastic drinker, never angry or obnoxious. Because he owned a successful restaurant he had to keep his wits about him, be a gracious host, and a kind and efficient boss. Yet, Dad knew he had a heart condition, after all he'd had a triple coronary bi-pass at age 60.  Probably no one commanded him to stop drinking but certainly he must have been cautioned to cut back. He didn't. Too much alcohol  puts a strain on the heart.

But dear lord that man was charismatic and so much fun. Everybody wanted to be around Bob. He, in turn, treasured his retirement and liked having a quieter life style than his raucous business days. Prior to his retirement at the restaurant, most of the time he worked 12 to 14 hour days. That too is not recommended for heart health.      

at Mom's memorial Kathleen is next to me in the red blouse

Kathleen was extraordinarily talented: an artist as well as a ceramicist; musician and song writer and charismatic performer. My sisters and I still sing her songs, always appreciated and always lovely.

In all honesty I handled Kathleen's death better than I did my Dad's. Somehow despite his misbehavior with drinking I was able to ignore that as one of the causes of  death. But the grief lingered on and on. With Kathleen, I was also grief stricken but also was so angry that she ignored the warning by a doctor she reluctantly saw in order to get a job at a preschool. He cautioned her that she had high blood pressure and needed medication. Her response, "I'll take care of that with diet and exercise." She forever was exercising, walking, kayaking, swimming and decided on the KETO diet. She died on the keto diet, neglected to get medication to lower her BP. 

Being furious for awhile I think actually helped me with my grief. I readily acknowledged that she was being bullheaded and it helped cause her heart attack. I and all my four remaining siblings went immediately to our doctors and, yes we all had high BP and are all dutifully on medication.  Ignoring my anger that my dear Dad won't or couldn't stop his heavy drinking I believe prolonged my grieving. My therapist friend once suggested to me that perhaps I was slightly angry with my father. She said, 'wouldn't you like to punch him in his jelly belly?' and I burst into racking tears. Hmmm.

What to make of all of this? Keep honest with yourself about your feelings about a loved one's death. Oh and if you happen to have matured and aged I think that helps too. All of us have to face death, our own or our loved ones. Doing so with candor and bravery helps, so does forgiveness of yourself and of the deceased. 

susansmagicfeather 2022 Susan R. Grout 

Our Youths Are Not Wasting Being Young

two very admirable youths with their height challenged Grandma

 They say that youth is wasted on the young, well that was certainly not the case in the midterm elections. 68% of people under thirty voted Democratic.  I believe that sets some kind of record and is certainly cause for cheering. Number one that they voted and number that they basically saved a woman's right to choose and also, gee wiz, our democracy. That is impressive.

I heard via the late night comics that the Fox news response to these figures is that the voting age should be raised and also, because in great numbers single women voted Blue, they encouraged men to marry these troublemakers. Do you love that logic?

I believe I made a good case for women being grossly underestimated as a force for change. But also we have to count the youth vote that put the democracy on the ballot. They came, they voted and they deserve credit for helping this country to turn away from all the big lies.

Although some Republican are trying to portray us Democrats as so uber liberal and elite we cannot connect to the average citizen. This is laughably untrue and in our state of Washington we just successfully elected Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, a young mother with a small child who owns a car repair shop with her husband.  Marie successfully fought off her Republican opponent---Joe Kent. Maybe you know about Joe, the election denier, frequently appeared on Fox news and other right wing outlets. Joe is the one who has a member of the Proud Boys on his payroll and is staunchly against a woman's right to choose for any circumstance.  It is so satisfying to have the many learned Republicans join us in this fight to save democracy they recognized the extremes and voted for Marie. Aren't we all sick of extremists.

susansmagicfeather  2022 Susan R. Grout 

When the Secret Sauce Appears

A very curious situation happened in this country, the press and the pundits under estimated the power of a certain group of people.  These people are responsible, ---- very responsible--- for most of the important decisions for many human beings. These people often carry heavy burdens, sometimes even physically for groups of our citizens. Yet they are scorned by many, have even had their rights taken away from them. 

Well guess what. These people can vote and can speak their displeasure to the politicans who frequently minimize their outrage and ignore their plights.  They showed up at the polls in very great numbers.

 

Just a few of the people who show up

How gratifying it is to be ignored or underestimated. I was dreading the midterm elections and even considered staying home watching a romantic comedy instead gathering with friends to watch the results of the elections. I had a terrible nights sleep the night before, worried about democracy and was so weary, expecting what the national pundits were telling us that it was going to be a "red wave".  Goodbye democracy, the rights of women and minority groups, hello to stupidity. But that did not occur,  they were wrong. 

Of course I realize a minority of  the women bought the big lie and actually believe that a woman, their sisters, should not have the right to choose what happens to their bodies. My humble opinion is their numbers are dwindling especially as they think about their daughters, granddaughters, nieces and friends. The Supreme Court took away the right for women to make a private decision with their doctor about what happens to their body and their future. If the rolls were reversed and the Supremes were taking men's fundamental right to have a private decision with their doctor, say choosing a vasectomy, gone... no more choice for you except in certain states.  Ha! do you actually think that decision would stand for even a minute?  Of course not. Men are granted special lee way, why they are not even being arrested in Texas for impregnating the women who are having to go to another state for an abortion due to rape or incest. Oh yes and there is a bounty on these women's heads.

Now that the midterms are finally over and it was not as some Republicans wished for a semi fascist country with fewer rights for women and continual gerrymandering.  We now have a chance to get back to the democracy we all need.

It is my hope for the end of racism, misogynistic thinking, hateful campaigns..."you might say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one". Join us in my absurd wish for kindness and courtesy in politics and in life.

Families do best with sunshine and music

 

 

The Brave Women of Iran: Protesting the Morality Police

Women friends are free to enjoy  
each other and yet...  

I'm a fan of the women in Iran who are literally risking their lives to protest the 'morality police' who arrested and then killed a 22 year old woman Mahsa Amini for uncovering her head. This is preposterous, first that there would even be a "morality police" and secondly, murder for a mild protest. Right? How primitive these Iranian men are. Oh, wait, how about the men in Idaho and Texas who have placed a bounty on any woman who asserts the right to control her own body. Think gentle people, think.

The big question today, as it has been for centuries: what's happened to women in all religions of the world? Why is it almost every major religion's policy is to exclude women from all the important functions of their churches and allow misogyny to reign supreme? How can any level headed female today participate in a church which, for all practical purposes, shuns them because of their sex? From Muslims, to Jews, to Catholics to Baptists to Mormons, to name just a few, the treatment of women in their teachings and rules is frankly humiliating and in my mind, non-sensible. But things have started to turn from laughable to oppressive then to lethal. There I said it. Women as cattle.

Until very recently no woman was allowed on the altar in the Catholic churches, no altar girls. This has changed but priests are still not allowed to marry--- as if being intimate with a woman somehow makes the priest unclean. My own sainted Mother used to say, "if they allowed priests to marry they'd fill all those empty pews." She was right. Listen to his: the Episcopalians have allowed women ministers for over two decades, and married clergy, and not surprisingly, they've not come to ruin. 

My conclusion is that all the men in charge of these ridiculous rules are afraid of women. Why are there  'morality police' not only in Iran, the Taliban and even in the Supreme Court of the US? In this country there is supposed to be separation of Church and State. It says just that in our Constitution. Does this even count anymore? Who is violating the Constitution right now by taking away women's rights to privacy with their physicians.

Why are these men [and some deluded women] so afraid of the rights of women being equal to men? Would a man stand for having women decide when and if a man could be  ordered to have a vasectomy or refused one?  Or is it more simplistic; that women will bleed on their altar, or they will decide when and if they want to have a baby? Are they afraid that women will be unwilling to follow the unspoken rules that fosters misogyny and lets females be treated as second class citizens? Getting closer to the truth: could it be that they are desperately afraid of our power, to love, nurture, create and rule?

What is not laughable is one sad statistic: 99% of the pedophilia in the churches is caused by men. I know that the Catholic church has gotten all of the publicity and lawsuits about the pedophiles, but truth be told, there are an equal number of pedophiles in all major religions, [see the list above] especially the ones that are fundamentalist and oppressive in their attitudes towards women. What all of the sexual predators in these hierarchies of the churches have in common is their sex: male. So remind me, why aren't women playing a bigger part in the hierarchy of these churches?

I realize that even though it is purported that the churches are all about spiritual values in fact they are also about power and money. This fact cries out for overseers. There is a movement afoot to tax the churches who are religiously preaching party politics [fundamentalist "Christians"]  in their vast arenas.  Oh, the cries of anguish but there are consequences---they should be taxed.

It is important for us to be electing more women in our country. Women tend to be more sympathetic to people. How many men in Congress wanted to give themselves and all the billionaires tax breaks and yet were unwilling to raise minimum wages? 

We also should be actively recruiting women as watchdogs in our churches. If these men want to keep the power in churches, they need to have check and balances. A good check for the males in power is to have someone of the opposite sex that can keep tabs on the emotional well being of their church members. This I realize is a grand fantasy on my part, but hey it's my blog.

As for the women of Iran, I salute your bravery, compassion and fierceness to defy the egregious acts of the 'morality police'. I for one believe that bullies [which include Mr Trump and Mr. Putin] are the height of immorality. Here's to Mahsa Amini, long may she be an inspiration to all of us.

Dante Gabriel Rossitti's St. Joan of Arc

 

susansmagicfeather copyright 2022 Susan R. Grout 

Sex and Women: An American Dilemma

           

 In shallow shoals, English soles do it,                                                                                Gold fish in the privacy of bowels do it,                                                                          Let's do it, let's fall in love.                     Cole Porter

Falling in love is easy, staying in love with a worthy opponent is difficult as our divorce rates prove. Some of this incompatibility is due to mates having wildly different interest in sex, affection, attention and respect.

remember the fig leaves

Let's look at some of the influences to our views of sex through the ages. Timothy Egan, who walked across Europe, points out the revelation he had on his journey:

As saturated as this walkway is with the artistic and spiritual glories of Christianity, it is also thick with evidence of a confused and conflicted view of sexuality.                                                                                 Timothy Egan   A Pilgrim to Eternity

Amazing, isn't it, that we even have to wonder about other people's sex lives. Humans are a curious sort and comparisons are odious but still there is this buzz about "am I normal"? Part of this is due to our upbringing, our religion or lack thereof, our parents, our lovers, and our view of ourselves.  I'm putting the focus on this country because this nation has some rather strange notions about sex, sexuality, ageism, body image, women and human interactions. 

It's only Premarital sex if you're going to get married.   Anonymous

I was raised Catholic and told to believe that sins could render me ruined in "thought, word and deed" if I thought about sex, requested it and then did it. Three with one blow! So like many a girl before me I had confused notions about my body and sex. It was certainly not presented to me as good, natural, comforting and down right fun. It was especially scary and dangerous for young women.

My mom as a baby

This is brought home to us right now because of the horrible restrictions approved by the Supreme Court. Sadly, many states are restricting a woman's right to privacy with her doctor, and a woman's right to choose if she is willing or not, or even able to carry a fetus to term. Of course one of the reasons for these restrictions of women's rights is that many churches became overly involved with the pressure to control women's bodies, They definitely wanted many babies--- but only from a married woman.  Back in the 50's some of our neighbors were encouraged by the Catholic Church to use the 'rhythm method'. My mother often said, "I had six beautiful children by the rhythm method".  In other words, a fairly useless method of birth control.  In our neighborhood many women gave birth to as many as 12 children. Rarely do owners let horses propagate that often. Puppy mills use this form of torture on these poor female dogs. Guess they wanted the same for these women. No concern to their mental or physical well being. This cruelty ruined many lives and basically led to poverty. However, one baby after another  means more people in the church equals more revenue. The Mormons are supremely guilty of this way to thinking if not more so: women as brood mares, cattle are better treated in the many wives, sister wives, etc.  Also, birth control was forbidden which is as nutty as it comes for a young woman or any woman. The emphasis was on destroying choice of whether or not to have a child was their mission from on high and Planned Parenthood became enemy #1. Just know this isn't about love of women and children, in fact if you think about it, quite the opposite.

When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities.      Matt Groening

Imagine if we reversed that statement and men could have babies and no birth control allowed, no privacy from their doctors.  Do you honestly believe there would such restrictions in place for the men? Would they put up with a baby each year? 

I think on-stage nudity is disgusting, shameful and damaging to all things American. But if I were twenty-two with a great body, it would be artistic, tasteful, patriotic and a progressive religious experience.                            Shelley Winters

I believe there's a link from our warped perception of what we consider is OK for visuals about human bodies. Think about it, in the U.S, our movies will allow all kinds of horrific graphic violence, torture, murder, blood and gore to be widely shown to the viewing public--- and will only acquire a PG 13 rating. But, God forbid, if a breast, pubic hair, or a penis is on the screen even for seconds, then that movie automatically gets a "R" restricted rating. Don't want our children exposed to the human body.  As a parent I always said I wanted our boys restricted from the most putrid and graphic violence, however [I still think] naked bodies were fine and educational for them to view. This is apparently down right un-American. 

When a man gives his opinion, he's a man. When a woman gives her opinion, she's a bitch.                                                               Bette Davis

In the good old US of A there are places in this country that won't allow a mother birth control or to breast feed her baby in public. Think: a baby nourishing herself from her mother's breast is one of the sweetest expression of love we can see. Yet, bottle feeding in public is not restricted, therefore it has to be the bare breast.  I remember the contortions I'd go through while breast feeding: throwing the blanket over the other shoulder and hoping I could avoid the frowns of disgust from the [mostly men] who couldn't let their eyes be sullied by my lactating breast.  How does this honor women and babies? 

Here's from a song I wrote called 

Be a Lady                                                                 Susan R. Grout 2022 all rights reserved

A lady never wrinkles, a lady never farts        

A lady never has grey hair or dresses up like tarts

She’s never bawdy, never rowdy, raunchy or rough

She never swears, snorts, burps or appears tough

These results so boring, I soon was snoring

But that’s the price to pay to be a lady. 

Could someone, anyone, give me an example of rules and restrictions we currently have for men that are even somewhat equivalent to the restrictions we have for women? I'm as eager as the next person to have a bounty of $20,000 on the men who rape, impregnate women, batter women, children and babies and fail to step to their responsibilities or suffer any consequences. How about it, we even these things out. Bounties on men, starting now. Fair is fair. Oh and they might have to drive to other states to escape this, poor dears.

susansmagicfeather 2022 Susan R. Grout 

The Endurance Contest

 

Marriage is an endurance contest.             Robert L. Ricketts

Marriage requires commitment. So does insanity. Groucho Marx

My father Bob Ricketts was a very funny, and a very kind man. He was also an excellent husband and adored my mother from the time he first met her in his early twenties. When asked about his lovely wife and happy marriage he'd always quip,  "marriage is an endurance contest." 

Jane, our mother,  was a beautiful, talented, sophisticated young woman who, when she met him, at first was amused by Bob Ricketts, this funny man. Initially she dismissed him repeatedly with "you drink too much" or "I'm not sure I should go out with you." Ultimately he won her over with his charm, humor and dogged persistence. We, his children and all of Jane's family, were so grateful that she did relent.  Bob became a kindhearted successful businessman, and was beloved by all who knew him. He had employees that stayed with him for over 25 years that he owned the Ricketts restaurant saying he was the  best boss they ever had. 

Behind that rich sense of  humor was a man who was not just rough around the edges but someone who was recovering from a childhood fraught with neglect, grief and numerous problems. Humor can work to deflect a boatload of pain. He used it buoy up himself and all those around him.

When I met my husband I also was somewhat dismissive of him as well. I was dating up a storm in college and he was one of the many young men I went out with. But he persisted and soon I was impressed by how bright, charming and caring he was. Readers I married him.  

Here are the secrets to a long and happy marriage, simply and succinctly.

First: choose well. 

I did. We started our friendship in college at the tender age of 19. He lived down the street from me so we'd run into each other and we also enjoyed many mutual friends. Most importantly he could make me laugh and he, in turn, got my jokes. So it was always fun and stimulating to be with him and his friends who tended to challenge us intellectually. As we grew closer, I began to admire many qualities about my husband that I now know are imperative in a good mate. He was forthright, very competent, honest, funny, clever, hard working, bright, handsome and kind. These qualities help a marriage survive and then thrive.

Second: be a good pal. I tell young couples, "be the kind of pal that you would like to have". Added to the attributes of my husband I add: be attentive, interesting, spontaneous, generous and humorous. I often say to clients, "be aware and amused every day and then tell me the funny stories". This is a seemingly silly request, but sharing joy and amusement with the ones you love each day is of critical importance.

Third, be kind.  I say "remember that kindness doesn't cost a cent and it pays enormous dividends."

Fourth, tell the truth...and duck! Love, respect and trust require honesty to flourish. Nothing is as destructive to a relationship as dishonesty. Your partner may not like to hear your truth but do tell the truth anyway. This may lead to arguments and you will argue, accept that. [Since we have been married for so many, many years our arguments, even if passionate, are incredibly quick.] However realize there is an art to arguing. Please use your business skills and negotiate fairly, disagree respectfully, compromise when you know that you should. It's OK to agree to disagree and if things get too tense--- take a time out. Every court of law allows for a recess.

Fifth, treasure each other. When I almost died at age 24 [a near death experience which I wrote about at almost the beginning of this blog:  http://susansmagicfeather.blogspot.com/2011/03/nde-near-death-experience-and-carrying.html, it rattled us to our core and we have never, not once since that day, have taken each other for granted. We are in each other's heart. The close call has kept death on our shoulders and that is a good reminder to "carpe them diems" as my sister would say. [If the blog post of my Near Death doesn't appear, I'll send it up again.]

Sixth, age well like fine wine. Since we have grown up together, we are history to each other and both of us appreciate good history, so we try to create it every day. We make sure we talk in a loving manner [mostly] and we are interested in our dreams and desires. We strive to bring something fresh and new into our lives even if it's just a good book, an interesting observation, a walk or bike ride.

from 20 years ago

Now we are aging together. My hearing needs volume, his knee needs regeneration, I'm shrinking and he's balding. We hold each other in high esteem and we hold each other up. Our lives are so intertwined our roots link---yet we are separate trees. He's the long to my short, the width to my depth, the question to all my answers, my duct tape and my pal. We give each other an enormous sense of being right with the world, forever and ever as long as we both shall live, amen.

susansmagicfeather 2022 Susan R. Grout

 

The Shock of Aging

Growing old is like being increasingly punished for a crime you didn't commit.                                                           Anthony Powell   

  The Incredible Shrinking Woman

As some of you know I'm kind of a shrimp.  It's always a surprise to me when I'm in a photo pictured beside my husband, sons and/or grandkids. Well, the situation has deteriorated further, I've lost and inch and a half in height in the last decade. Totally unfair to those of us who are physically challenged. Sadly this is not unusual for women of a certain age. It is definitely not your imagination that your grandmother gets smaller every year. Soon I figure I'll be able to fit into the front a shopping cart. Oh the indignity.

The Semi Bionic Woman

 I'm taller than the 10 and 6 years old
 great nephews

Besides shrinking there are other unwelcome surprises,  for example aches and pains. Aging can hurt. I had a hip replacement which was no fun, then currently I have a pinched nerve in my neck. When I complained to my physical therapist, "this has never happened to me before!" she answered "how often have you been in your mid seventies?" 

Energy Level Stagnation

Of which brings up an unpopular topic: tiredness. Hate to admit it but I was of the near ADD category and could out sprint people half my age. But with the occasional mad dash for an almost missed ferry [see the last post] I rarely run unless forced to. This is concerning because before my normal gate was a semi trot. Don't want to any more. 

You're only young once but you can be immature forever.                                                              Germaine Greer

Fashion Challenged 

Some bikers tend to go for the Harley look, sporting a pony tail, beer belly, chains, tats, logos, and jean jackets. Sometimes those of us of a certain age can sport a jean packet too, minus the beer belly, chains and the tats.  Fashions change but somethings are too good to give up. Jeans and jean jackets, ah.

                                                                                                                   

All Caucasian Women Look Alike

One of my friends is Japanese and years ago she pointed this out to me and I heartily chuckled. Darn if she isn't mostly correct.  White or grey hair, pale, pale skin and a uniform of clothes to try to capture some youthful look. This is an observation, not a criticism. While I have retained my blondish hair, the truth is it's mostly grey.

Wait, Weight

Though I am within a few pounds of what I always weigh, I have  the figure of a toddler without the enormous thighs: a small pot belly, folds in my skin, and an inability to run as swiftly as I used to. I believed women who had pot bellies had let themselves go, over indulgences etc. Guess what, except for the people who have various surgeries to retain an hour glass figure the aging process includes fat accumulation in the midsection. Yes and I'm active! I walk at least 7 or 8 miles a week. Is it my fault that I have a bigger waist? Only the scam artists believe so and want to guilt trip you into buying their products. The science is not behind it. Still, it's not a thrilling prospect to resemble a toddler.

Skin Deep

I vividly remember my mother saying to me after I complained about my wrinkles when I was in my fifties, "go look in the mirror", I went to the nearest mirror, came back on the phone and said, "okay, what?" Mom answered, "it's all downhill from here." Funny. But she was correct, the wrinkles plotted against me. So I tried every anti wrinkle product on this continent to no avail. Useless and now  the wrinkles are planning another take over. Will I do corrective surgery? The truth is I'm violently opposed to voluntary pain, hence no surgery that's not necessary for me. Ouch with elective plastic surgery and why? To look younger? Really, why bother. I haven't noticed any paparazzi hanging about and no one is arranging a photo shoot for me. As my blessed grandmother used to say, "I earned every one of these wrinkles." Indeed, so have I.

Day Dream Believer

One of the things I never intend to give up is being a day and night dreamer. I'm also one who records those dreams. In all of my dreams I'm looking about 45 years old, spunky, fierce and out spoken. Then I awaken and reality hits and I look in the mirror. Oh, oh--- no more delusion. Starting me back is a small blondish older woman who has quite an attitude and looks very much like her mother. This is the shock of  aging. One day you're looking at your hand being concerned about a bit of arthritis and then it seems like in no time you're seeing that same hand that incredibly resembles your long dead grandmother's hands. Then my nose is bigger and as is my waist. I don't lie about my age or weight but I do about my height. It's such a shock that one shrinks as we age. Who knew? Everyone apparently. I was the oblivious one. Everyone who has an elderly relative might notice in pictures from the past that the relative then was taller. I'm amazed when I see pictures of myself with my family that I'm now the smallest member. So what.  Napoleon was a shrimp. 

susansmagicfeather 2022 Susan R. Grout