Is it Excitement or Certainty?

This is the epitome of fun unless it's prolonged and makes you sick

Know what you know, see what you see and believe what your guts are telling you.
Susan R. Grout

I always bring this phrase into counseling as early as possible with my clients. However, things get a bit wonky when it comes to choices in relationships. Sometimes excitement takes the place of certainty in people's lives. I have seen this over and over again with people who fall in love with the ones who are going to bring them heart ache and chaos. This, by any other name, is excitement and especially for those people who were raised in chaotic homes it feels semi comfortable or at least familiar. Best to give examples.

Years ago a young woman that I worked with "Rose"* lived with then married a man who not only frightened her but also had a drug problem. Her excuse was that when the relationship was good, "there is no better feeling in the world" he was everything that she desired, smart, sexy and sometimes fun to be with. However the question I posed to her, which I use to most of my couples in therapy, "by percentage how much of the time is this relationship warm, wonderful, comforting, sexy, loving, and safe." "Ah,"  she said, "maybe 20% of the time." "Explain to me what the 80% looks like and why that's OK." "Well, I've had other relationships and they were so dull by comparison, in him I never know what's going to happen day to day and it really keeps me on my toes." "And this is a good way to live?" I said. "Well, it's what keeps me coming back to him and I've been unable to leave him for over ten years."

In a nutshell Rose's relationship became based on fear--- not love and she kept desperately trying to turn the man into a kind, good, competent lover who she thought she was getting at the beginning of the relationships. Had she only put on her 'Lois Lane the reporter' outfit and interviewed all of his former lovers, family and friends, she would have indeed punctured his veneer as a 'great guy'. He was inept, especially around women and I believe he was misogynistic, not my favorite kind of man. Truly the way he held on to his women was to subtly at first, and later overtly, belittle and humiliate them make them doubt and distrust themselves. Then they believe that they are the lowest of the low and it's hard to stand up for yourself when you're reduced to crawling. In essence, this is the classic abusive pattern. When I pointed this out to Rose she said, "he's never so much as shoved me!" And I said, "yeah, but verbally he's been bashing you for years." [see the post of 6/10/12 "Now Spit, Songs from the Little Shop of Horrors."]

How on earth do sensible women [and a few good men] fall prey to this abuse and put up with it? It's all based on fear, insecurity and power. The bullies of this world have an addiction to being in control [in power] and a degree of narcissism ["if it's good for me it's good"]. Add to that mixture the bullies have an enormous fear their partner is going to leave them. Hence, they become more controlling still, striking fear into their loved ones hearts. In the macro climate these are the oppressive dictators of the world, in the micro climate these are the abusive beasties of households. Terrorists all. So in answer to the question as why do they stay, it's because of the 20% that's good and the lies that they tell their victims about how their lives will be ruined if they protest or leave. The women keep irrationally hoping that the dictators are telling the truth. They aren't.

Tonight I was listening to Terry Gross on the radio interviewing Carole King the famous musician. Carole confessed in her new book that she was in an abusive relationship with a man who occasionally hit her. She said, "I couldn't decide if I should put that in the book. My now husband said, 'just write it and see if it feels right.' I decided to leave it in because if just one woman reads about me who had money and everything going for me could be in an abusive relationship, they could too and they could get help and get out as I finally did."

Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.     Helen Keller

Some of the Roses that I worked with had the good fortune to make new friends and build a better support system and were able to move on. This was with a great deal of mourning: more for the relationship that might have been and for the loss of their dreams than the reality of the abusiveness they experienced. Then they had to forgive themselves for staying as long as they did with their untenable situations. Letting go is essential to getting on with life, always.

The sixteen points below are copied from my post of 6/10/12. Here is roughly what I see as essential to recovery from abuse or traumatic relationships for the Roses of my practice:

1. We work diligently toward the ability to respect, admire, love, trust and value yourself and spring forth from love in all of your dealings with yourself and others. [I wrote this for workshops I did in the late '80's.]
2. Go to someone that you feel safe with and start the process of telling what did happen to you. [Therapist, group, priest, rabbi, shaman...]
3. Give yourself enough time to see if that person [that you feel safe with] is trustworthy and then inch forward for deeper secrets from your past that make you feel imprisoned.
4. Educate yourself on the best methods of recovery including the 12 Step programs that have a remarkable history of success.
5. Establish a safe living environment, establish relationships that enhance you.
6. Let go of people who strike fear into your heart no matter how attracted you are to them.
7. Face your grief and sorrow over what happened in the past with the knowledge that this too shall pass.
8. Be willing to let go of repetitive destructive thoughts [the brain may want to return to these thoughts because it is an old habit].
9. Be willing to love without fear.
10. Be willing to challenge yourself.
11. Remember that life is a "cha-cha" and you will take a step backwards occasionally because you are human.
12. Forgive yourself, and do make amends to the ones that you have hurt.
13. The truth is no one is better than you and no one is worse than you.
14. Be judicious prior to being open with people.
15. Learn to value your opinions.
16. Never forget that the abuse/trauma happened but be willing to forgive. Even the Jews had to come to this conclusions about the Holocaust.

Another one of my dictum's about life is to find something amusing each day, and to commit to staying loving and open. None of us has to be victims of our pasts, life can be wide and open. Break away for the old tired refrains, be willing to live in the present and face the truth of your life don't go back to sleep.



*Rose is actually a compilation of many of the women I've seen in abusive relationships.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

The Mean Mrs. Grout

No one goes hungry around our house, some get more than their share...

This post is written to finally put an end to the nasty rumors that started over thirty years ago about me. Though incredibly tickled that I had become a threat used by mothers all over our small town I believe it is time to put the record straight.

Here's what really happened over thirty years ago. One night I had overcompensated for our usual humble dinners and made "Chicken a la Orange" with a fine sauce and a fussed over chicken. I proudly placed the meal on the table and one of my sons groaned and said, "oh, no, not this!" I started  to silently fume or do my usual: try to talk the uninterested into becoming willing. Then a thought struck me. I said, "hey, OK, you don't want to eat it and I don't want to cook it." My son put his head on the table and said, "I feel like I killed the world." My husband quickly added, "I love your cooking..." in response to our sons angst but by then I was kind but firm about my resolution. From that day forward I stopped cooking for my family.

Sounds drastic, right? Well in my defense it was June and there was an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables available. The kids were out for summer and none of us was particularly interested in laboriously prepared meals. So I stopped cooking. I made sure there was a wonderful and varied supply of breads and crackers, along with the fruits and veggies. Then I really stocked up on the cheeses--- pounds and pounds of cheese. Milk and OJ always available in the fridge. Cereal prominent in the cupboard and...that about covers it. I had a delightful summer, went boating with friends, had long leisurely picnics with my family, went out to eat a couple of times [we weren't exactly rolling in dough so only a couple of times] and declared it very good.

The summer wound down to fall and soon school was approaching. By this time I overheard several women say to their fussy off spring, "if you don't eat your food, I'll do what Mrs. Grout did..."  and it made me laugh every time I heard it. The truth is I started happily cooking again after the summer was over. In truth I missed it, I love to cook. But I have heard it said about "Mrs. Grout" that I stopped cooking for one year. Let the record show, it was barely two and a half months. I did like being used as a severe example though, I believe it gave me a certain pizzaz.

The outfall from the cooking strike? To this day I've never heard anything but gratitude and appreciation from either son and my husband when I, or anyone else for that matter, serves them  a meal. Goes to show ya.

We love to feed those we love and we all love good food.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

The Honeymoon Period

I love being married. I was single for a time and I just got so sick of finishing my own sentences.                                Brian Kiley

We sleep in separate rooms, we have dinner apart, we take separate vacations--we're doing everything we can to keep our marriage together.            Rodney Dangerfield

My husband retired after twenty years at a job that he loved. He traveled home each week end from another city and we relished the bits of time we had together. All of that changed two weeks ago when he arrived home looking for all the world like a homeless vagabond who lives out of his car--it was was filled to capacity.  The unpacking alone took the better part of that afternoon and evening. Boxes are still strewn all over the upstairs.

People frequently ask us in a disparaging tone of voice, "what are you two going to do with each other?" as if the dreaded "for better or for worse, but not for lunch," equation would ruin an otherwise ideal arrangement. I say, "Hey, we actually like each other and have been looking forward to this retirement for years."

A man's friends like him but leave him as he is: his wife loves him and is always trying to turn him into somebody else.                 G.K. Chesterton

However there are differences. I am a tidy, 'everything in it's place' person and he loves and is loyal to objects, especially paper, and he likes them out where he can see them. Stacks of paper, bills piled in no particular order, very discouraging to me. When we lived separately we agreed that I had to give him three days notice prior to my visits. And if I couldn't do that I had to take what I found at the house and shut up about it. Such a model of restraint I was! Funny, but he disagrees. One of my tiny flaws besides my impatience is my ability to get huffy over silly things. I know I'm doing it and it seems so right at the moment. One of my better qualities is the ability to admit when I'm dead wrong and apologize. I do, frequently. Both: I'm dead wrong and I do apologize.

So far, since he is busily getting my office ready in our guest house, I haven't bugged him too much about putting his things away. However I did offer, quite nicely I might add, to do it myself and surprisingly he declined. Hmmm, I wonder why? I am so full to the brim of ways he could live his life if he'd only take dictation...Melding these two opposing lifestyles is a challenge but frankly one I've been looking forward to for twenty years.

This is the end to many things. No more scrambling around to get him to the ferry each Sunday and picking him up on the week end. No more making a few extra meals to send with him [his idea of cooking is cheese and crackers]. No more sleeping alone during the week. No more doing virtually everything by myself. Now I have a buddy and a friend and it is really nice to have him home at last.

I have somethings to get used to as well. My pattern of more than twenty five years is to religiously check my messages at my office at least three times a day, morning, noon and night. Now that I've moved my office home I catch myself wanting to check those messages and then remember, "oh yeah, that phone is no more". It feels great though peculiar to be home as much as I am. My cat Rufus adores it. Granted I have been whittling the amount of time at my office for at least a couple of years. I worked four and a half days for most of my 25 years in private practice and it is only in the last few that I cut back to three days and now it's down to two days, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Feels good but weird. I feel like I'm getting away with something and someone is going to accuse me of being a slacker at any moment. Could be part of my 'fast twitch' personality or the fact that I've voluntarily and happily worked since I was fourteen years old.

If a man speaks in a forest and there is no woman around to hear him, is he still wrong?                  Jerry Dennis

Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight.                    Phyllis Diller

Ours is not a boring marriage. As I mentioned we are different in so many ways [tidiness, height, temperament, slow twitch muscles vs. fast twitch muscles] and similar in many more [love of family and friends, politics, ideas, ideals, dreams, activities, fiestiness, logic, do good-ism] . Seems to me that marriage is not a word, but a paragraph. In a good marriage there are a kaleidoscope of colorful views for each couple that they dance with and mostly meld. The most successful ones in my book still have their arguments but do so quickly and with exasperation rather than fury. We're just not going to agree on each detail of life and god, help us if we did, how boring would that be? We have all the same arguments, they're just quicker. I recommend this for the couples that I see. I also add, throw in humor whenever appropriate. It helps. Better to laugh and make fun rather than pout and withdraw.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

What Women Really Want

Three of my sisters and I singing my Mother into the grave

The greatest question...which I have not been able to answer, despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is "What does a woman want?"

Sigmund Freud

Freud's problem was that he thought there would be one answer to the above question and failed to listen [or believe] to the women around him. Did he even ask them what they wanted? I guess not. For me, it's quiet simply to have all the world's children safe, loved and cared for, especially all of the children in my extended family. I bet if you asked a bunch of mothers around you  they would say something similar. Ask a woman who's never had or wanted children and she may take quite a different approach like wanting to have all the homeless animals of the world cared for. So, it is much more complex question than Dr. Freud imagined, as are women much more complex than Dr, Freud imagined. Philistine.

As I write this, so many of the world's children are not loved, safe and cared for and in fact they are starving. If you keep your mind on this horrendous fact it's hard to do anything but despair. That's precisely why I write a good sized check to CARE because rather than just feeling bad about the state of the world's children, I act. [see my post on guilt, "Letting Go of the Guilt Machine", 11/7/11] Perhaps not perfect, I could be donating more money and even volunteering to go to an out post in a third world country, helping to feed the hungry. Keep also in mind "the perfect is the enemy of the good." [Voltair] So, honestly doing something is far better than doing nothing. Think: if everyone in our affluent country contributed just a portion of their extra dough and the corporations that control the food surpluses distrubted that food around the world, I sincerely doubt there would be starving children anywhere on the globe. Interestingly, the movie that's in town right now addresses that very subject in a wildly futuristic way: "The Hunger Games" which is about a governmental power of the future that is controling the food supply in the most repulsive, repressive way. Grim thought, but on the other hand, isn't this the effect that 'reality TV's' is having on our viewing population? I think it's hardening people's hearts to other's misfortunes? Shades of the Roman Empire and their idea of entertainment...

If you think that education is expensive, try ignorance.                        Derek Bok

We don't need no education...All and all it's just another brick in the wall.       Pink Floyd

I have this naive hope that if people were only educated they would do the right thing by other nations and especially the ones with the starving children. The children of the world are our future. Why, in heavens name, wouldn't we make the best possible future for these children? Almost every study you read about oppressive regimes [the Taliban, Idi Amin, etc.] states that they purposefully foster illiteracy and also purposely improverish their people so they have more control over them. Women are especially targeted in oppressive regimes, actively discouraged from any form of education, not allowed to go to any school. Ironically, the greatest advances made in these third world countries comes from educating women and allowing them to make a living. Happily, there are many organizations who are combatting this ridiculous practice of oppressing people by controlling the food and withholding schools. So there is a battle to help educate these people and build the schools in the third world countries, this is one battle that I am all for. Get out your checkbook.

It perplexes me greatly that the bunk of our chartible dollars are going to countries to fund their war machines. Face it: there are more than enough weapons in this world, and enough is enough. I ask the same question of our country's military and Pentagon budget. Why are we over funding the already affluent big brass, and grossly expensive weaponry, and underfunding the men and women who are fighting our wars? Am I preaching to the choir? I hope so, then join me in opposing this stupidity.

I have this niggling suspicion that more charitable dollars are collected for an animal's welfare than for children's. This is a chronic concern and complaint of mine. Now, remember, I don't want to fall into black and white thinking so collecting dollars for animals is not "bad" it's a good thing, I just wish it was better for the kids.

Each year I help with a fund raiser for 'The Family Umbrella Group' an organization in our town which gives scholarships to the families of preschoolers. Stunningly, over 97% of the money raised goes directly to the families for the children's preschool education. Fabulous. Monies spent on children especially in their earliest years gives back to the communities and society, ten fold. Early childhood education is truly priceless and  yet there is always a shortage of funds for this very worthy cause. Also, every year I ardently hope that we'll surpass the amount of money that's collected by the annual Animal Shelter's fund raiser. So far we only do about half of what the animals rake in. Sad but true.

So, I humbly ask you, what do you want? Hopefully the answer has something to do with making the world a better place for both children and animals and at the risk of sounding like a beauty pagent contestant, WORLD PEACE. 

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Nurturing in the hood: motherhood, fatherhood, sisterhood and brotherhood



Is there anything more dear than a Daddy feeding his one year old son Birthday cake?
Obviously our one year old granddaughter is thrilled by her chocolate cake.


I've been thinking about the importance of nurturing in our lives, of nurturing and being nurtured. The healthiest people that I see in my business have a clear sense of direction and a good connection to people, nature, community, and country. They nurture someone or something. The reason connection and nurturing is so very important to me is that it actually defines who I am: a mother, a Grandma, a citizen, a wife, a counselor, a woman, a writer, a warrior for a cause, an embracer of truth, joy, hope and love. [That is a fun little exercise, try it... defining who you are in less than twenty words.]

When I started working in the field of psychology [while still in college]I found to my utter dismay and shock that not every parent is nurturing. I worked in a children's hospital and there were the parents who wouldn't even visit their children. Incredibly sad, isn't it? But since I don't know the whole story it's really silly to speculate on their callous behavior. I was young, a "Play Therapist' who delivered toys, some caring attention and fun to these very sick children. One little boy, really not much more than a baby, was Arthur. One of the nurses took me aside and said, "you should spend some time with Arthur, he's really very sweet and no one visits him." "Of course I will" I said having no idea just how sick he was. So I set aside time to be with him each day that I worked. When I entered his room he'd sort of bounce and grunt when he saw me. He was darling with deep chocolate brown eyes and the most incredibly long curly eyelashes, a perfect mouth, tight curly dark brown hair and his unfortunate fluid filled Buddha body. He had a kidney disease that had profoundly affected him since birth. He was unable to speak or even crawl due to the abdominal girth but he was able to sit up and semi bounce and grunt when pleased. We'd read books and I would show him toys that he'd hold to his chest. I grew to love him, he was dear to me.

One day I went to work, it was about a month prior to our leaving Ohio for the northwest, and I waltzed up the stairs to my floor in the hospital. I took the toys around as usual finally getting to Arthur's room and his crib was empty. "I wasn't told they'd moved him" I thought, and went to inquire. "Hey, where's Arthur's new room?" "Oh, didn't anyone tell you, he died on Saturday," said the nurse quite casually. I clutched my chest, turned on my heel and ran down the stairs out to the parking lot, sobbing, sobbing. I was too young and it was my first brush with the death of a child, one I cared about. That was my last day at that hospital, I couldn't go back.

What this did give me, this little Arthur in my life, was the first inkling of how precious life can be. Another thing, it is always worth it to love someone even if the end of love is painful. I also hope that in writing the above that I have properly honored Arthur. I have no idea if there was a grief stricken family that I should have contacted. But I didn't ask and I can see now that was a shame. I claim youth and ignorance as my excuse. So here is my tribute to that little boy. Arthur, you are not forgotten, you are still loved.

Two very natural nurturers

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.                                           Leo Buscalgia 

To some, nurturing comes very naturally, they just ease into the warmth of another with joy and love. With others, it has to be taught. So what. So learn to be nurturing, get out there and start. The benefits are enormous and they spill over from the one giving the nurturing to the ones who get it. Pluses all around.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Poems Written to Amuse

Remember to duck after you make a smart remark

Poetry affords us a respite in which we may gather renewed strength for the old struggle to adapt ourselves to reality.           Robert Haven Schauffler

Political Thoughts on the Plight of Women
                                                          
respectfully submitted by Susan R. Grout 2012
 can be sung to John Prines' "Dear Abby" or any other song in that tempo...

Rush Limbaugh, Rush Limbaugh
oh, how you should blush
when speaking to women
your voice ought to hush
Instead of the lambast we've grown to expect,
try speaking more softly and show some respect.

Rush Limbaugh can't hear ya that much is clear
his forging prescriptions has wrecked both his ears
he says most women are bound to be sluts
as a convicted felon he should keep his mouth shut.

Rush Limbaugh, Rush Limbaugh
oh, how you should blush
when speaking to women
your voice ought to hush
Instead of the lambast we've grown to expect,
try speaking more softly and show some respect.

On his radio program he's usually yelling
please always remember he's a pill popping felon
now he's apologizing to every Barbara and Ellen
because all the ad men reject what he's selling
[and he makes as much sense as a casaba melon.]


Another Small Observation for Womankind

A little man caused a small sensation
Enraging women in this nation
Saying "girls, if you please
Prevent all babies with your  knees,
Squeeze 'em tight and then say freeze!"

I think you'll all agree with me
that this is just pure lunacy
and if procreation is the key
surely the aspirin between the knees
can't keeps you from the birds and bees.

Susan R. Grout   2012


susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Patience

Do not inflict your will, just give love. The soul will take that love and put it where it can best be used.                         Emmanuel

Rudeness is the weak man's imitation of strength.                   Eric Hoffer

Mr. G feigning exhaustion after the climb up from lighthouse

One of my teeny tiny small faults is that I am not a patient person. This feels like 'true confessions', but I have to admit this is true. In my defense I am oh, so patient with my clients, it's only with my poor beleaguered husband and rude strangers that I tend to loose it. Fume, fume. I'm working on it, OK?

Two favorite friends waiting for a ride to start

The other day was a perfect example, I told someone who was coming to see us, to explain a product, precisely where the house is. I told her six times at least. She ended up spending 1/2 hour at our neighbor's house wondering where we were. I finally rode my bike down the road to fetch her. Frustration for her you can well imagine. For me, sooooo tedious. She tried to weasel out of her error by claiming that the road that goes by our neighbor's barn looked like a path. It doesn't. Guess if I had not instructed her very specifically I wouldn't have been so annoyed but I did and I was. Do you hear all of the righteous indignation rising up out of me? That's how I was to her, impatient and not very understanding. Mr. G raised his eyebrows. Do I approve of my behaviour? No, I think I was being silly.

Instant gratification takes too long.                    Lily Thomlin

Isn't impatience almost always silly? There are divine causes to be impatient about: the rights of women, the rights of all people to vote; an accurate diagnosis to a medical problem; the length of pregnancy when you're over due [just thought I'd throw that one in], but you can see there really is not a huge long list of things to be impatient about. [I just asked the recently retired Mr. G what he thought worthy of being impatient and he said, "not right now." See?] I have this amazing ability to justify my every impatient moment. I'm a fast twitch muscle kind of person, a type A+ personality [happily not the enraged kind] and I move quickly. I believe that the only reason I have been successful with this blog is because it's written in short increments. I don't believe I'm capable of writing a book any other way. Piecemeal works best for me.

When I studied psychotherapy I embraced whole heartedly: "Brief Therapy; Solution Oriented Therapy; Cognitive Therapy; EMDR and TFT [see the previous post December 23, "On Recovering Quickly from Trauma" on these]. What the these therapies all have in common is an expedient way out of whatever problem you're facing, as fast as humanly possible. See, impatient. Another way of looking at this: I'm 'consumer rights' oriented in the therapy I deliver. I don't believe in dragging out therapy when someone is desperately searching for solutions. I know that's what I'd want if I were in the other chair.

God will provide--if only God would provide until he provides.         Yiddish proverb

The Saints are the Sinners who keep on trying.                                  Robert Louis Stevenson

So how do I apply all of this great knowledge of over thirty years in the counseling business to myself striving to be a less impatient person? I listen to the wisdom of others. By nature I am a cheerful person [though not patient] and surely some that cheerfulness could join forces with my inherent impatience and help me out. Frankly I'm going be impatient right now and cheat and copy the 12 guidelines that I wrote about anger [post of October 3] and apply it to impatience because, oddly enough, impatient people tend to be, duh, on the light side of angry. So here goes:

1. Be in touch with your body. Remember to check yourself: is my heart beating faster, my pulse racing along with my mind? How exactly am I feeling?
2. Make a game of  your emotions: see how quickly you can go from 10- furious, enraged to 1- calm and peaceful. One minute? Ten minutes? Half a day? The shorter the better. Set a goal, "it took me ten minutes to calm down, next time I'm going for 5..." with impatience make that seconds.
3. Breathe, deepen each exhale and let it be a couple of seconds longer than the inhale.
4. Talk to someone you trust about the feeling you are experiencing. Do you need to take an action? Do so after your talk and perhaps after you have calmed down a bit.
5. Do count to 10 and if that is not enough make that twenty five, if that's not enough, 100, before you make a rash or rude response.
6. Don't get too hungry, angry, lonely, tired. Think of that HALT acronym and then do the opposite, eat, breathe, talk to a friend and sleep.
7. Ask yourself, "will this matter in five years, or even tomorrow?" Try to see the future with you being a calm and peaceful participant.
8. Don't force solutions, if things are becoming too uncomfortable give yourself permission to take a break or try making a humble request.
9. Love does conquer everything. Make sure that you are being loving and treating others they way you want to be treated.
10. If necessary [and I believe if you've really lost it, it's always necessary] make amends to anyone who got your blast.
11. Use the energy of impatience and anger for creativity. Anger has fueled plays, movies, books, art, and song. Go for the full Monty. Enjoy the revving engine and fire that can fuel the creativity.
12. Everyone gets angry even the saints, so embrace your humanness, as for impatience, not every one is and we can diligently strive for sainthood. NOW.

Have patience in all things, but most of all in yourself. St. Francis de Sales

Ha-ha. Making fun of myself is enormously helpful to me to curb my natural inclination to drum my fingers and tap my toes. So, throw humor into the mix and it can ease just about any situation, even those of us chomping at the bit.
susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Waiting

The amount of satisfaction you get from life depends largely on your own ingenuity, self-sufficiency and resourcefulness.  People who wait around for life to supply their satifaction usually find boredom instead.                         Dr. William Menniger

At the rehearsal dinner prior to our son and daughter-in-law's wedding in 2002

Most of my marriage I have been in the semi unique position of waiting. Waiting for Mr. G to arrive home, waiting for the week end when he would return. I'm not prone to feeling sorry for myself and I was the last little girl at girl scout camp to be home sick so this waiting was truly not as bad as it sounds. Technically if it was exactly half it would be 22 years that I was waiting, it's been less than half of the marriage only 20 years. However, technicalities aside, I have been waiting a long time for him to be at home with me. 

It all started they way these separations usually do, for a job. Lo those twenty years ago at my encouragement, Mr. G applied for and successfully got a job at the state level. Prestigious. Even though he got this job at my suggestion and encouragement, when he actually started to pack up I said to him: "you bastard you're leaving me." I am not always the pinnacle of rationality. The thought of his working away from home loomed large and I was fearful of all kinds of things: that he'd get hurt in the commute, that he'd find a greater world out there than the small one we had here and want to make the time away permanent, that there were gloriously beautiful other women and he'd stray, and all of the other crazy things that I could stuff into my brain. I had truly mastered the art of worrying and that occupied me for the first several weeks. So, he worked in another city and came home only for the week ends. Then I got to like being by myself.

I'm sure I mentioned in previous posts that I am one of six kids. When I went to college I alway had a roommate or five. We got married right out of college and so started our life as two soon to be joined two years later by the first son and two years after that the second son. I'd always wanted a houseful of kids, at least four, but it was not meant to be. Our home was filled with kids and their friends and their parents and my siblings visiting. I treasured all of it, the jumble of people and personalities. Then, whamo things drastically changed in 1992.

Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience 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

In 1992 it didn't help that my oldest son had graduated from college and my younger son wasn't coming home for the summer. I was completely alone for the first time in my life. For this shock of the new, I acquired a new kitten, Leo who though darling and funny wasn't exactly heaven for my old faithful cat Mr. Boo. After patiently coaxing them, Boo adjusted. So too did I adjust to my semi single existence. Gradually I learned to relish my time alone and as opposed to feeling lonely I eventually I felt filled with possiblites. The creativity started with painting. Don't think in terms of fine art, no, not fine art.  I repainted one wall in each room a different color, then I elaborated on that. One wall in the kitchen was a modern art snow storm, another wall faux marble poor done but pleasing to my eye [see the post on Kitchen].
What had been an off white house became a more colorful home.

Granted I had to make do and started to go everywhere in our small town by myself: lectures, movies, pot lucks, writing group, hiking and biking. I thrived in waking alone during the week and I'd make a pot of tea, bring it up to my bed, call my Mom [sigh, I still miss her] and maybe even read a magazine. The house was always tidy because there was just me to tend to. All this definitely had its benefits despite the truth of missing my husband and wishing we lived together.

I think we did an excellent job of staying as close as a couple can while living sixty miles apart. We were on the phone every night while apart and sometimes talked several times a day  just checking in with each other. Our conversations could be mundane, "so, what did you have for dinner?" but we also had a chance to debrief, to talk about family news or even politics, books, movies, our work and, of course, our plans for the week end. Then when he did come home it was always celebratory. Almost always there was a fine meal to greet him and some time to relish being in each other's company.

Of course there is down side. Because of our bifricated life we were soon nearly forgotten about as a couple and the invitations for dinners with friends dwindled down to a few friends. This happens all the time to the suddenly single through divorce or death and to a small extent it happened to us too. The up side was he was so happy in his job and I love mine and didn't want to move.

I asked one old friend of mine who's wife retired after years of them doing the same thing we did, "what's it like now that she's home all the time?" He said after a pause, "well, Fridays aren't as exciting but overall it's great." That's what I expect for us.

When people hear that my husband is retiring and coming to live full time at home they kiddingly say, "oh, what are you going to do with each other..." as if we were so clueless we hadn't thought of this possibility of being together all the time. For one thing, and this should be obvious, I like him as well as love him. We love being together and now I will have a pal to do things with. I am going to be working part time in our guest house and he, well see, I have this list...

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout  all rights reserved

Rhapsody in Grey - Part Two

A glorious sunset

To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent -- that is to triumph over old age.                                                             Thomas Bailey Aldrich

When Rob arrived at Pat's apartment he quickly assessed the situation: chaise lounge?, no. So, he decided sensibly he couldn't sleep there. Because they were both vets, Rob said, "we can get a free hotel room on the military base." Sounds like a sane, rational plan right? The military base was Great Lakes, more than 100 miles from Chicago. They called a cab. I can only imagine the cabbie's face when they stated where they wanted to go and then imagine what that cost!

Meanwhile from California Mike, Rob's son, was gathering up his gear to come to the aid of his Dad. It was to be a rush job and because it was summer, he grabbed a suitcase, threw in surfer togs, a couple of extra sneakers, a few tank tops and grabbed the first plane he could catch. He flew all night, arriving at Uncle Pat's groggy and grumpy. No one was home and the apartment was locked up. His Dad and his uncle were probably just leaving Great Lakes. So Mike did what any sensible Californian would do - he went to hang out at the beach.

Our best guess is that the military base whisked the two brother into a cab as dawn broke the next day. All we know for sure is when sister Sal and husband Dirk returned to Pat's apartment the old men had returned from their adventure.

An hour or so later Mike returned to Pat's and reasonably asked his Dad, "Hey, where's your luggage?" "In the rental car." "Where is the rental car, Dad?" "In front of the fire station." "Which fire station?" "The fire station!"  Knowing that this conversation was getting him nowhere, Mike set out with the two elderly men to find the rental car with his father's clothes in the trunk.

Mike asked us later, "Do you have any idea how many fire stations there are in Chicago?" The task ahead was daunting and had they known which fire station it would have been so much easier. 

Mike called the Police and told them the story and they weren't terribly helpful. "It sounds like it's somewhere in Chicago, probably legally parked..." they said. Not helpful at all. Hoping that it would spark his father's memory, Mike set off with the two elderly gentlemen in tow to try to find the missing rental car.  After traipsing around for many hours, Mike took them to a McDonalds.

After eating, feeling less discouraged, he talked his father and uncle into going up to the party. Because his father's luggage was in the back of the misssing rental car Mike had to dress the two men in what was in his suitcase.

And so they arrived at the party in grand style, Mike's rental car: a big Lincoln Continental. Out from the car emerged, very slowly but with great dignity, our uncles Rob and Pat--- in surfer togs. Real surfer dudes, stooped with the years and shuffling but obviously glad to be with all of us.

We were thrilled to see our Uncles and Mike, and now we were able to entertain and feed them. We sang show tunes from the 30's and 40's for their enjoyment and lavished them with food and attention. We danced to our own music, drank and made very merry. We roared with laughter as we heard the three different versions of the Uncles' adventure from Sally, Dirk and Mike's perspective. Mike smiled sadly and seemed tired though delighted to be with all of us.

Finally exhausted, Mike rose and announced that he had to get some sleep. He'd booked tickets and was flying home with his Dad the next day. He was not looking forward to the trip back to Chicago or to the next day, anticipating more blank stares from his Dad and Uncle Pat regarding the rental car. Nor was he pleased about having to make more laborious official inquiries over where the car was and what to do about it.

Sunset over the ocean

After we gave them many hugs and kisses, Mike gently herded these two old men into that whale of a car. Before he wearily climbed in himself our sister Trisha said to him, "Mike you really should write this adventure of Rob and Pat as a short story." Mike looked at my sister and with a heavy sigh and a slow smile replied, "No, Trish, I plan to take two Quaaludes and forget the whole thing as soon as possible."

susansmagicfeather 2012 copyright Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Rhapsody in Grey- Part One

Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at eighty and gradually approach eighteen.                                                                   Mark Twain

It is not the years in your life but the life in your years that counts.        Adlai Stevenson

Because my mother remarried at the age of seventy five, and because she decided to relocate to Milwaukee where her new husband resided, she and her new husband wanted to celebrate this auspicious occasion by throwing a huge party. The wedding reception was to be in the back yard of Mom and Tom's new house.

Mom 2007 at a niece's wedding

Naturally, many relatives were asked to come to the Barbeque and to her surprise her two remaining brothers [there had been four ] called and RSVP'ed. Mom was touched and amazed. Patrick, age 73 was practically a hermit in Chicago and Robert, age 80 lived in California and seldom had contact with either his brother or sister. They said they were going to join forces and come to the reception together.

Let me diverge to describe these men as they were, before I tell you what happen at the party. These men were very handsome in their day, with strongly etched faces, large distinguished noses, red hair, freckles, piercing sky blue eyes, soft voices, and a kind and calm demeanor. Robert, the second oldest of five, was brainy and very directed in his youth. He headed out to California after the war, married and had eight children. Patrick, the baby of the family was according to my Mom "always trailing behind me trying to catch up." He was a risk taker and occassionally would rise to a dare. My Mom once challenged him to learn "Rhapsody in Blue" [Gershwin] which was a new piece and one he greatly admired. Though only twenty and unable to read music, he learned to play the entire score by ear. Grit and determination marked his life from the competitiveness in the family.

Pat and Rob were the brave men of the 40's who served in WWII. Pat chose to stay first in Paris and ultimately to live many years in Mexico city. In the nearly twenty years that he lived in Mexico he became a book publisher, owned and ran a bakery, wrote A Short History of Mexico, married and became a widower. Rob married directly after the war, had the big family and worked in the aerospace industry.

Mexico lost it's appeal for Pat after his wife died and when his mother, our beloved GG, became ill so he moved back to his roots, Chicago. He worked for the state lottery system in Illinois settled into his small apartment, frequented museums, joined a choir and lead almost a monastic existance. On occassion I would join him at the Art Institute and was always so impressed with his depth of knowledge on art through the ages. He had tried his hand at art in his youth until he found out to his consternation that he was color blind.

Rob, long retired had remained in California after his wife died and lived near his kids.

Both of these men were such gentlemen, intelligent and knowledgable, able and talented, the kind of men you would seek out to ask directions if lost. In a crowd theirs was the safe face that would invite questions. In their old age these were not the sort of men who themselves would easily ask directions.

A couple of nights prior to Rob's arrival my sister and her husband were at a Cub's game and since it was near Patrick's apartment, they stopped by to check on him. Sally was shocked at the monastic quality of Pat's life: the apartment resembled an almost bare cell,  with few pieces of furniture, only a couple of books, absolutely no frivolities. Because Sal and Dirk knew that Rob would be there in a couple of days she asked, "Pat, where is Rob going to sleep?" "Over there on the cot." said Pat. "What cot?" said Sal. He motioned to a closet and Sal opened to see a chaise lounge [lawn furniture]. "Pat you don't mean this?" "Yes".

Pat then announced that he wanted to get ready for bed but wouldn't with Sally in the apartment, so she had to go out in the hall. [Sally said, "this wasn't in the finest of neighborhoods, and I felt sure that I'd be assaulted by drug dealers."] Pat was never known for his speediness but Sal said, "I kept thinking, what are they doing in there?" Dirk later reported that, "first we had to find his pajamas, then with glacial speed, Pat would pull one arm out of his shirt and then he'd stare; and this repeated itself with the the pajamas." Sal kept checking, "Are you ready?" "Not yet"...ten more minutes, "Yet?" "No not yet." One half hour to change into pajamas. And there was Sal whistling Dixie with the drug lords. They finally bedded him down and vowed to return to check on him in a day or two.

For the event, Rob insisted on flying alone to Chicago from California. He landed at O'Hare two days prior to the celebration so he could spend some time with Pat. Some fool at the rental car agency, without hesitation or questioning, gave Rob a car though he must have noticed that Rob was disoriented. [In fairness, it might have been that Rob was putting on a good show.] For the next several hours [!] Rob drove in circles in the parking garage unable to find the exit. [Clue #1 only pieced together much later.] "O,my goodness, here comes that same car around again..." is what I imagine the parking attendant thought when he finallly showed Rob the exit.

Undeterred by the endless parking lot Rob managed, we now believe by prestidigitation, to drive into and around Chicago unscathed [miracle #1]. In his attempt to find his brother Pat, he stopped at a fire station to ask directions. The firemen who were not as thick as the rental agent or the parking attendant brought Rob immediately to the Police station. The Police then wisely took Rob's keys and license and called Pat to come and get his brother. Pat arrived, [miracle #2] and waited around for Rob to leave. Apparently Pat got bored and left! The Police then did two intelligent things: they called Rob's son Mike in California to rescue his Dad and then they dropped Rob off at Pat's apartment.


End of part one, see tomorrow's post for part two in which the adventure concludes.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Happiest of Blogs Anniversaries to Me

She/he who kisses the joy as it flies, lives in eternity's sunrise.                 William Blake

Yes folks, unbelievably it's been one year exactly since I started this blog. To all of you who have read my humble writings, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. My goal is to reach as many of you as possible with therapy tips and lessons I have learned from the almost forty years of being in the field of psychology [for free!]. 

My career started at nineteen working with the developmentaly disabled, then a hospital with children, next the Community Alcohol Center and now I've had twenty five years in private practice. It is my priviledge to be working with the most marvelous people and I am truly blessed.

I would like to ask any of you if you would be willing to indulge me: Could you select one or two of your favorite blogs? Someone asked me to enter a blog contest and I thought, "not without some feedback as to what's the favorite of the blogs." I would appreciate it deeply.

Another of my goals was to give my family a chance to see/read "exactly what is it that you do-do?" [a favorite quote of mine, said by Madeline Kahn to Terri Garr in "Young Frankenstein".]  I have attempted for the last year to put down some of the techniques and the thinking behind why I use those techniques in counseling. Frankly there is an alchemical reaction that happens between me and the client, [or clients] that creates an 'other'. Probably it's just simple old love, but definitely something happens that is more than just me and whoever shows up. That is as close as I get to the whoo-whoo element in therapy.

Big changes are coming in my counseling practice, namely with the event of my husband's retirement, I am moving my practice home [April 1]. We have a small guest house and I will see clients there. Same delicious ingredience, just in a different oven.

So continue to tell the truth and run, be aware and amused, kind in all your dealings, diligent and loving. Kiss, kiss, kiss, hug, hug, hug. The world needs your positive energy.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Thanksgiving in 1986

Our sons were teens and we had to coax and cajole them to set off on a Thanksgiving trip to my sister Sally and brother-in-law Dirk's house on the Olympic peninsula. We further enticed my older son,  Zach, sixteen at the time, by allowing him to drive our brand new car. Hot stuff!

This car, for all of us but especially for Zach, was an incredible improvement from our 1970 pumpkin orange Datsun station wagon which he'd inherited. Talk about uncool! But Z was OK just to have access to wheels, finally. That Datsun was the car I'd driven all the way through graduate school. One lousy feature of that car was I had to fill the radiator ever fifty miles, big deal right? Well the metal bar that was designed to hold up the hood had snapped off and so I had to prop up the hood on my head to fill the radiator. Remember this was through two winters in the Seattle area:  rain, sleet and more rain, fog and a couple of snowstorms while I was attempting this feat.

We thought our son was a new driver and we worried, trying hard not to be back seat drivers. He was surprisingly adept. Years later Zach confessed to us that he'd been driving on the country roads since he was twelve. Then when he was fifteen, he got busted. One of his friend's fathers said, "Hey, Zach, I saw your orange Datsun driving itself down the road!" Zach was embarrassed and should have been. "I knew that wasn't possible, so..." Turns out our son would drive into town and duck whenever a car was coming the other way. Not the best strategy for an illegal driver.

So we let him drive and the trip was going well, we made the ferry with seconds to spare and drove on to the Olympic Peninsula as it proceeded to get colder and colder. Then, with the gently falling snow we stopped, amidst protest from Zach, and Mr. G took the wheel. Snow on top of snow on top of snow ensued and we drove slower and slower noticing fewer and fewer cars on the road. Having done this trip dozens of times we knew that what was coming was the biggest challenge: Lake Cresent with the ten mile long twisty road, complete with zigzag switch backs and logging trucks either hurling by at dizzying speeds or on your butt coaxing you forward.

"Honey, don't you think we should stop and see if it lets up?" I said. "No," he said, "I really think we need to get there as soon as possible. It could get much worse and it's getting dark." So onward down the road, closer and closer to Lake Cresent we drove. We beheld trees bowing down with the great weight of the wet snow, bending into the road. We hardly spoke or even breathed at the sight, the stillness, all of the white contrasting with the dark green visible tree limbs in the forest. Although it was close to sunset, it was dazzling bright with the snow, illuminating the drive. Had I not been so frightened it would have been enchanting. I kept picturing getting hopelessly stuck or hit by an insecure driver. "This is great!" said our younger son Josh from the back seat, clearly not sharing my nervousness. "I still don't see why I couldn't drive" said Zach, as though we were the most unreasonable people on earth.

We made it, I almost kissed the snow covered ground and fell into my sister's house with gratitude. Usually the four of us slept on the floor of one of our nieces' bedrooms but this Thanksgiving one of their neighbors allowed us to stay in their house just down the road.  We entered their tidy little house and as we unpacked the Zach and Josh said, "hey, no TV, what's up with that?" and "there's nothing to do here, oh, wait a minute Josh said, "there's a chess board." "OK," said Josh, "you're on, let's find the chess pieces and I'll pound you." "No way," said Zach "I'll kick your butt." The testosterone levels frequently dictated this level of banter about not only chess but anything that might be construed as a contest. In the fifth grade both of our boys had Mr. Westphalen who taught all of his students to play chess, bless him. So suddenly things were less grim even though the board was miniscule they were newly enthused and I was relieved. Alas, search though the might, there were no chess pieces in the house. "Surely your Uncle will have chess pieces, let's trudge over there and get them, " I said.

It turned out that their Uncle had no chess game either and told them "the girls were not  interested so I never pursued chess with them." This was very disappointing to the boys. Instead the girls, all four of them were eager to play games with their cousins. Our boys were just as eager to brag about the music they knew testing to see if their older cousins found this too cool also. The little girls, only six and seven years old, attempting to fit in offered their grade school music. Games did take place, Bogle and Scrabble, Parchessi, along with the hot competition on who's music was the coolest.

With no chess pieces to be found I thought that would be the end of it. Not so. Zach and Josh determined to have their match, laboriously made their tiny King, Queen, knights, and pawns out of pieces of card board. Game after game was played. I can't remember who was declared the winner, but this gave new meaning to the phrase, "where there's a will, there's a way." I wonder if those small moments of determination, camaraderie and creativity mean as much to my sons as they did/do to me.

This was only one of the memorable Thanksgivings, we went back and forth, the Milici's and the Grouts sharing this holiday from the early 70's until early in the 2000's when all of the girl nieces were married and our guys also. Then with the advent of grandchildren our families just got too big to be in one household.

Sometime I fantasize about renting a huge cabin or lodge and inviting the entire clan for one last huge wonderful, joyful Thanksgiving. There would be games and singing...
Love you all.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

A La Famille



2007 Thanksgiving hilarity

When we truly care for ourselves, it becomes possible to care far more profoundly about other people.  The more alert and sensitive we are to our own needs, the more loving and generous we can be toward others.                    Eda LeShan


To be honest, to be kind---to earn a little and to spend a little less, to make upon the whole family happier for your presence... to keep friends with yourself---here is a task for all...                                                Robert Louis Stevenson

2009 some of the kids

We have learned that the most treasured, wonderful times that we have is our time with our family. It's a big family that one of my sisters refers to as the U.N. because it is so varied by race, religion, sexual preference, age, marital status and belief.

I am of the persuasion: 'the more the merrier' and love it when we can gather as many of the clan as we can get together. The height of this was in 1997 when we decided to paint our house and wanted to hire our brother-in-law Steve from the mid-west to do the job. Naturally my sister Kathleen would accompany him and since Flynn was a teen still at home, he would come to help as well. Then another sister, Trisha heard that they were coming and decided that it would be fun if she and Caroline and Julia could join us. Well, my mother heard about that  got her ticket. The two other sisters, Florence and Sally who lived relatively close came and... I think you're getting my drift.

2010 same kids one year later
A marvelous things we do every year is have a reunion.

 With the addition of surprise guests and friends we ended up with twenty seven for dinner one night. Did I mention that it was a very hot July and all of the windows were sealed with plastic? Or mention when we had to go in and out of the house each time we had to remove some of the tape and then carefully restore it? Somehow we not only got the house painted but everyone got fed splendidly.

Was it chaotic? Yes, but worth it. So worth it, as a matter of fact, that my Mom painted a picture of fifteen of us dining outside our lawn on the very picnic tables that you see above and below. The painting is quite charming. I have it hanging in my kitchen to remember for all times. Food, family a la fresco in July of '97.

One of the key ingredients in having a successful reunion is that the hosts have to make sure this is something they really want to do [I did, Mr. G, not so much] and also take impeccable care of yourself while you are doing it. I took time off work, crucial for me, and made sure everyone was fed and having fun. I also am very protective of my sleep and tried my best to get at least seven hours even at the most stressful times. Perhaps these things are obvious but looking back I can see that no one wants to be around a crabby, disorganized, very tense host so I made sure I wasn't.

The family left in dribs and drabs and the last to stand were the painters themselves: my brother-in-law, my sis and her son. To show our appreciation we treated them and ourselves to a kayak trip around one of the outer islands.  It felt so incredible to be out on the water after all that hard work of the painting and the reunion. In the kayaks I was with Mr. G, my sister was with my brother-in-law, and one of our sons was with the teen. All of us were aglow with excitement and the beautiful weather and the calm waters before us. My heart was so full.

2017 summer

As were completing our trip, rounding the last island, I looked up and in the distance spotted a pod of Orcas. "Oh, my God, are you all lucky. They're coming right for us!" We stopped paddling and sure enough onward they came. "You're not going to believe this," I said, "but there, from the north comes another pod!" I  hardly could containing my excitement. Even though we also had the obnoxious Whale watch boats at our backs, we were pulsing with joy. The pods converged, spy hopping, breaching, all around us, the feeling of being in the middle of that was incredible. But the best, and I had never heard of this before, were the two young male Orcas who breached right in front of us with six foot long hard-ons on display. "Oh, MY," said a female voice from one of the tour boats. "They did that for you" I said to my sister. We started laughing and couldn't stop. Finally after  the Orcas swam on by and the teen Orcas took their genitilia and left, we paddled to shore and then went out to a grand dinner to celebrate that rare and precious day. Twice blessed in more ways than one.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Kitchen Business

It seem to me that our three basic needs for food, and security and love are so entwined that we cannot think of one without the other.  M.F.K. Fisher

The place I like best in the world is the kitchen. No matter where it is, no matter what kind, if it's a kitchen, if it's a place where they make food it's fine with me.                                                           Banana Yoshimoto

I'm reading a book called simply Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto written more than twenty years ago and it's charming. After the main character's Grandmother dies, her last living relative, "I pulled my futon into the deathly silent, gleaming kitchen...I slept. The hum of the refrigerator kept me from thinking of my loneliness." This reminded me that in 1985 when I was about to finish graduate school I had a less serious but similar experience.

I decided to go to graduate school in 1983 and had many anxious thoughts about going. I was anxious that I would be the oldest student in the class. That proved to be untrue. I was anxious about the long commute, I'm not sure that my 90 mile commute was even the most difficult one of our class. I was anxious to leave my husband and sons. My husband and I were raising teenagers [!] and I was working part time at our local community alcohol center, not easy all the way around. Then, unfortunately for me the school was not all that kean on "at a distance" students so I had to continually buck their system and fight for every class I had to take. "I'll be there taking this course on Thursday," I'd say, "but Ms. Grout, we're sorry that class is full," they'd say. "Thursday is the only day I can take classes and I will be there." Knowing full well there were students that had no constraints on them and much more flexible schudules and could take the class at another time. Rather than continually fight me [perhaps I even had a tear of frustration in my eye] they relented and let me take the classes I needed on Thursday and Friday morning. So, although I had limited resources and limited time, I pursued a master's degree in Psychology with all kinds of energy some of it, of course, nervous energy.

Then, as I was entering my last semester, in what only can be described as a fit of insanity, we decided to re do our floors and carpet the upstairs.We couldn't afford to go to a hotel , so as ridiculous as it sounds, we all had to choose where to sleep. I can't remember where our sons slept but Mr. G and I choose to sleep next to the fridge. Rescued from the closets, above our heads, were all of our clothes strung across the kitchen. I wouldn't go so far as to claim it was cozy, but the 'hum from the refridgerator' did quiet my whirling brain enough for me to sleep. My cat Rufus frequently sleeps there now--- probably for the same reasons, minus the whirling brain, his brain is the soul of calm.

[Our insanity did not abate, years later we had a family reunion while we were painting our  house, but I leave that for another post.]

We must gather at the table, alone or with friends or with lots of friends or with one friend and eat a meal together. We know that without food we would die. Without fellowship life is not worth living.                                                   Laurie Colwin

The kitchen is the hub of my little house, a bright and sunny place. I painted it in cheerful colors that don't exactly match but pleases me enormously. Everyone hangs out in my kitchen and I'm one of those cooks that actually loves it when people offer to help or are just willing to talk to me while I prepare a meal. One of our friends who is an excellent cook* has her husband read to her while she cooks. They have gone through the entire series of Horation Hornblower and other adventure stories while she stirs various pots. I love that. I listen to the radio or music while I cook and as I've said in a previous post, use recipes only as jumping off points. Food to me is associated with good times and people, probably because I'm from a restaurant family. I love to serve good food and find the best conversations are centered around a fine meal. When asked, our son's friends said what they liked best about our house were the dinners. This is heart warming to me. Food prepared with love is life giving.

My greatest food enthusiast and fan

*Why is it that all the good cooks you know [except my brother and nephew-in-law] are all women but the "famous chefs" are predominately male?? Speculate wildly.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved