My 100th Post [!] and My Favorite Topic

There's something in me that's joyous. I don't hate hardly ever and when I love, I love for miles and miles, a love so big it should either be outlawed or it should have a capital and it's own currency.                     Carrie Fisher

All that is necessary to make this world a better place to live is to love---to love as Christ loved as Buddha loved.              Isadora Duncan

To be loved is fabulous, rich and wonderful. However, the greater pleasure far and away, if there was a contest, is to be loving. Being loving increases your joy twelvefold. I have this on the best of authorities: me.

Dear readers,

If I had the privilege to live ten lifetimes I am not sure I could properly thank all of the people in my life it has been my honor to love. This includes you. They bring me joy continuously, and I couldn't feel any luckier or happier. I have so many people that I love.

One of the keys to my own happiness [and I urge in my clients to do the same] is to stick closely to my/their internal wisdom. A personal example I give is in 1992 when my husband got a new job and moved ninety miles away, I didn't. Back then it was not as common for couples to live separately and I had many a person come up to me and say "when are you moving?" When I'd say, "I'm not." They would then add, "oh, no! Are you divorcing?" "No," I'd say, "I just don't think I should move." Kind of a whimpy response but there was something in me that just knew that I belonged here, in our small town with my practice. Turns out, through no fault of his own, there were budget cuts and he lost that job after only nine months. That would have decimated my practice, and I'd have to move back home to pick up the pieces. Oh, the money and heartache that would have cost me. So, the end result is I'm truly grateful that my gut came through for me.

Different strokes for different folks.            Sly and the Family Stone

The gut and internal wisdom also came through for Mr. G, he could have given up and moved home too but something in him enabled him to weather that storm, find eventually the perfect job in another small town. He was closer to home and came home every week end. He was fulfilled in his very busy and important work as I was in mine.

There are so many tomes written about love and I am not sure I'm adding anything much to them except this: be on the outlook for how you can love. Be on the outlook to increase someone else's joy. Be on the outlook to be aware and not let your own life pass you by. Be on the outlook for amusement, it's a great way to go through life. Then please share that joy, love and amusement with others. If you get loved in return, well hot damn that's just a plus. Time's a wasting...

Much love, Susan

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Asking for Help

Only in the last year of her life did Mom allowed us to push her around the Art Museum

One of my teeny tiny flaws is the inability to ask for help in a timely fashion. I usually wait until I am struggling, red in the face with exertion and completely frustrated before I'll finally ask for help. Then and only then, will I call out to Mr. G for assistance with a weed wacker that won't wack or start for that matter. Most recently this has surfaced because I can barely walk due to my wonky hip and finally agreed to see a surgeon. The hip replacement is inevitable and I'm not pleased but resigned to the obvious. So, I'm stubborn in my independence and not surprisingly this is a rather large club I belong to. In my work I've found many people who are also members. Since in humans this insistance on "I want to do it myself!" starts at age two, I believe it's not one of my finer qualities. Here's an example of someone else who is a proud member of the "I should be able do this myself" club.

I worked with an older gentleman, I'll call him Billy Bob*, several years ago. At the time BB was in his late sixties and he came to me with a complaint about his nearly ninety year old mother, "Priscilla*". BB had to put her in a local nursing home, as she was starting to lose her balance. "Priscilla's been the bain of my existence," he said. "Listen to this: I was at the nursing home, bending over to tie my shoe and she tried to correct how I was doing it! I was just fuming."  I said my usual, "tell me more," and BB fleshed out his tale. "I grew up as an only child with this critical, demanding 'Southern belle' and my father was a pious preacher."  BB still resented his upbringing and especially his Mother each day, even all of the days and years they live apart. I said, "what a pile of energy you've put into this resentment! Let's get busy letting go of that." Now that BB was attending to Priscilla on a daily basis, BB was going to have to learn some new strategies ASAP.

"You've come to the right place," I said, "my Mother was a critical person also and I believe I have a strategy that could work for you. First of all, you're on the right track, asking for help will enable you to broaden your options for responding to your Mom." Frankly he looked almost ashamed that he was asking for help and that seemed hauntingly familiar to me. "Secondly, the key word here is responding, you've spent a lifetime reacting. So, tell me what do you and Mom do together?" A spark of recognition flashed in his eyes, and he said, "I realize though I love the many women, the only one I don't have any fun with is my mother."

I learned early on with my Mom that I had to address the criticism in a lighthearted but firm manner. Then the rest was easy for the two of us, we forged an indelible bond over Scrabble and books. At my encouragement, Billy Bob devised a new plan and very soon became one of those people who only late in life grows to appreciate the mothers that they got.

My strategy for him was simplistically obvious: I said, "Be aware of how amusing southern belles can be and then report all of the amusing stories to me and your friends." Needless to say, her behavior was over the top, one of the best descriptions of comedy. Since this man had a wicked sense of humor, what happened next was really fun.

Billy Bob began squiring his mother all around our small town. Priscilla proceeded to run at the mouth with her outrageous demands, observation and requests. Guess what? People were delighted by her. "Here she is almost 90, and she's flirtatious and treats everyone as if they're about to do her bidding." He was laughing as he told me this. Shopkeepers, waitresses, his friends, his neighbors, joined in the fun and really enjoyed her. This also unleashed a joyous appreciation in my client. In the end, Billy Bob was dear, kind and tickled to be with Priscilla, an attitude he kept for the last four years of her life. Priscilla died happy and Billy Bob was touched and proud of those last years. He learned to let go of who he imagined she was [a bitchy demanding crank who was purposefully trying to piss him off] and learned to appreciated her finer qualities: love, loyalty, the sharp mind, the biting sense of humor and yes, the adoration of a son who she kept trying to 'tweak' to perfection until her last breath. Amen.

I am so grateful that I learned to find my mother amusing and  I also was joyous in her company to boot.

The moral of this story for all of the Billy Bobs out there: it is so worth it to ask for help, it's expeditious.

Amuch loved and appreciated Mother who could be over the top sometimes

*Obviously these are pseudonyms and I mixed up some of the facts of this case with others.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

They'll Have Nun of It

All religions are the same: basically guilt, with different holidays.          Cathy Ladman

As the church sinks slowly...

To all things clergic, I am allergic.             Alexander Woollcott

Well, they've done it again, made me laugh at the news. The Vatican seems to have a talent for the absurd. The Vatican is directing the Catholic clergy to again attack the nuns, this time for writing a book. The biggest irony: it's a book on sexual ethics. What's so funny about that, you say? The Vatican has wimped out from the problems of sexual ethics and grossly mishandled thousands of cases of sexual abuse by the clergy for decades. Then they turn around and pounce on a Catholic nun, Sister Margaret A. Farley, who is trying to bring the church into the 21st century. Her book [which I hope will now make it into the bestseller list] is Just Love: A Framework for Sexual Ethics. She modestly states, "It was not to be a book about the current official teachings of Catholic church." No, it's more loving than what is currently being taught by the Vatican. It embraces all people, women, men, gay, bi, etc. In my humble opinion, it is imperative to remember that the criticism leveled at her is the voice of old, mostly Italian men and definitely not God. Let me also add: these are supposedly asexual men [one can only hope]. Remember Jesus dictum was, love one another. Does this sound like love to you?

Before I go on, so as not to repeat myself, please read my post of May 21, 2012 on "A Great Danger to the Church." This focusing on the good Sisters and the Girl Scouts and the Hippies [!] is all such a colossal waste of time and energy when the church could be doing so much good around the world. The world needs help. But they are poor little lambs who have lost their way, baa, baa, baa. They are in need of a good shepherdess to guide them and I think Sister Margaret A. Farley with her bravery and forthrightness is just the one to do the job. All in favor, say Aye! All those opposed--- well you've already had your say, even if it was just keeping silent in the face of intolerable behavior towards gays, women,  and the poor.


No surprise that the Church has become big business, this has been happening for centuries. To be fair that is true of all of the major religions and I believe  it's time to start hitting the most egregious of the intolerant churches in their pocket books. This may be the only way to allow our voices be heard in protest.

The Catholic Church has a tradition of being a business

Let's all join in and at least make fun of the pious people populating the Papacy who are pooping on women predominantly.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Engulfed and Embraced by a Book

Magazines all too frequently lead to books and should be regarded by the prudent as the heavy petting of literature.                                              Fran Lebowitz

I just got out of the hospital. I was in a speed-reading accident. I hit a bookmark.             Steven  Wright

I actually feel sorry for people who don't like to read. As my own sainted mother used to say, "I don't know what I'd do with out my books," and I quite agree. She loved a good book more than just about anything and when she read a book she particularly loved she often would start it all over again after she finished the first time. I know she did this with Charles Frazier's  Cold Mountain, so I forced myself to read the entire book even though it was grim, grimmer and grimmest. Happily my son gave me Charles Frazier's Nightwoods  and it was excellent. Dark but not grim. I hate unrelenting grim. I've been caught up in a good string of books lately. I know that with some in put this can continue. So, I want to know your four favorite books and why they are your favorites. OK, two favorites...

She is too fond of books, it has turned her brain.     Louisa May Alcott

I have this rule about books that I might have shared before: if I've read around 100 pages and believe if I lost the book that I wouldn't care, I won't finish it. I abhor being trapped between the pages of a book whose characters I can't admire in some way. Why have the thoughts of awful people in your head? For me, there has to be an element of love or respect, or again, why bother. These characters in my books may even have grotesque flaws-- like the ones in the last book I finished, Heft  by Liz Moore. One of the main characters was almost agoraphobic and grossly obese, the other was a teenager stuck with an alcoholic mother. I grew to loved them and Liz Moore's writing. I actually missed the characters when the book ended, gold standard for me of a good book.

Am I simplistic in my thinking that if everyone read good literature we'd have a smarter, more compassionate world? I know that there's lots of trash out there but at least people would be thinking if they were reading. At this point most households are viewing and not living their lives, or worse they're living other's lives. Isn't that the fascination with "reality TV?" What a marvellous scam! First of all they don't even pay the participants and then somehow they con huge numbers of people to view this nonsenses...

When all the while, hidden in the recesses of libraries [thank you, thank you Andrew Carnegie] and bookstores all over this land are treasures waiting to be discovered. Batteries not necessary, electricity need only after sunset. As Tex said, "sober, bored and thirsty, are three of my biggest fears," if he had the right books he would never suffer from boredom. One fear solved forever.

Speaking of never suffering from boredom, once when I was visiting Mom in Milwaukee, we went into a bookstore and there on display were books that had been marked down. Among the books was a trilogy by Mom's favorite author, Robertson Davies, the price slashed by two thirds. Mom said, "look at that! That marvellous author being marked down like that!" and she went over and raised a fuss with the owner---"how dare you do that, this is one of our best living authors today!" she said. I was laughing though somewhat embarrassed and hustled her out of there fast. But it still tickles me to think of Mom doing battle with a bookstore owner for Robertson Davies' honor. It's got to be what's bred in the bone...

In the Aerie, a favorite chair, a treasured book.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Swept Away! It Wasn't My Fault!

The biggest excuse makers and whiners that I have dealt with in my practice are the men who have been arrested for domestic violence. Here is a typical, worst case scenario: when men who've lost control of their tempers are confronted about this in therapy, they usually blame their wife or children.  He'd say, "She started it, she asked me about my job when I got home from work and she knows that I don't like that."  I'd say, "So you hit her, in front of the children?" "Yeah, but I wouldn't have if she'd only shut up and leave me alone about the job." "Not so fast buddy, your feelings are your slaves," I'd say despite his murderous look my way. Sometimes counseling is not for the faint of heart. But as you know, my vow is to "tell the truth and run."

In the 1980's I was doing l lot of work with the domestic violent offenders and their families and also I was doing workshops with my therapist pal Laurie. We wanted solutions, not just talk and so we'd delight the participants with many therapy tips. The title of the workshops was "Self Parenting" and our purpose was to help the participants do just that, parent themselves in a loving, mature fashion. The participants at this workshop needed to recover from their childhoods or other traumas and face life wisely. Laurie and I found that often many of these people were so stunted from their childhoods, that they'd embrace the roles they fell into as children and stay hopelessly stuck. [See the post on these roles "The Road To Well Is Paved Wit Good Intentions" of  May 6, 2012] We had many remedies for breaking free from old stuck patterns. We loved watching our participants make the great "ah-ha" connections in a mere week end. Of the many tips we gave them, the one tip that elicited the most discussion and controversy was--"your feelings are your slaves." "Huh?" they'd say, "what does that mean?"

Many of us were raised in households where feelings either weren't permitted or they lorded over the house causing all kinds of fear and chaos. "Your feelings are your slaves" means precisely that you can choose how you're going to respond to whatever life hands you, not just react. [Or more truthfully, overreact] To many this was an eye opener and an entirely new concept, respond? not react? We were my no means urging people to suppress all feelings, nor were we suggesting that they were to indulge every last feeling. Instead it's a studied and practiced method, to size up the situation in seconds, take a deep breath and respond in a genuine helpful manner.

Responding to whatever life dishes out, of course,varies wildly to the circumstances. If you've just heard that a loved one has died, you might indulge your grief and throw yourself on the ground and wail like a baby. However, if your children are in the room you might not have the luxury of doing this since it would scare the pants off of them. The mature response is to be there for the child and do your grieving in a more measured way. It truly sucks, but that's life. [I give myself as an example of this, with the post on "Be Careful What You Ask For" of 4/19/11.]

There is not a more romantic notion than being "swept away," a veritable slave to one's feelings. I am here to report that many, many clients have used this notion to justify having an affair. The very unglamorous answer to this very human attraction is to first level with your partner [more, "tell the truth and run" therapy]. Then examine your conscience and decide if the ugly truth is that there's something is wrong in your life or the marriage.

There isn't a more blissful escape from reality than falling in love. [Most of the time it's really falling in lust.] Granted, there are a few exceptions, but most of the people who are having affairs are trying to change their lives. What do they choose to do? They start by blowing it up.  Too bad, and unfortunately too common, there are people in their wake, and they too are "swept away" in the explosion.

Desire and fear hold us in bondage to time, and detachment breaks the bond.                  Simone Weil

Once a long time ago I saw a greeting card that had an enormous foot on its cover. I opened it up and all it said was, "it's bigger than the both of us." Sometimes this is true, someone has married the wrong person, both are miserable or unsuited to each other. Then, someone appears on the horizon who is seemingly perfect, someone who will solve all their problems, and this feels---well, bigger than the both of you. The tendency is to immediately give into being swept away. Ah, swept away with all of those fabulous endorphins racing your through your brain, bliss. STOP, this is when, in my humble opinion, counseling comes in handy. Instead of reacting and acting foolishly,  you need to respond to this attraction as if it's a crisis. Talk to someone you trust and sort out the good, the bad and the ugly. Take a time out and take the time to take responsibility for all of your feelings and make your decisions based on love, kindness and loyalty. Stay awake and aware, know what you know and see what you see, then come to a decision with consciousness.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you,

Don't go back to sleep.

You can ask for what you really want

Don't go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill

where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and opened,

Don't go back to sleep.

Rumi     13th century

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

A Different Kind of Parenting

Fathers should neither be seen nor heard. That is the only proper basis for family life.    Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband, 1895

My Dad's method of parenting was almost opaque, you couldn't see much of it. He was a benevolent presence but mostly absent due to his job. His style of parenting was to quickly give the information about your crime and leave the scene ASAP. For example, I'm not sure what my transgression was but something I did infuriated my Mom. Normally she handled it herself, with swift repercussions or a reprimand and it was over. But she was on a kick to get Dad more involved with the parenting and she must have said something to him. When he came home, he walked through the room where I was doing my home work and said, "you're punished." That was it. I looked up quizzically. For all I know I'm still punished because there was never any consequences. But think, I'm still puzzled, so it did strike a chord. Granted the chord was amusement as I aged, but still...

In a way, it's really sad. Dad really didn't know what to do with us kids. There is no question that he loved all of us, but he was clueless. This was probably because he was the baby of his record breaking dysfunctional family. [for proof see the post "Anxiety as Energy" of 3/25/11] He had no guidelines and certainly no mentors that were admirable. Happily for all of us he was a good, kind, remarkably intelligent and funny man who did rise to the occasion as we all aged.

We owned what became a very popular restaurant in the Chicago area and the reason that it was popular was not just because the food was good. It was him. He worked insane hours, 14 hour days were usual, and greeted everyone who walked through that front door like they were long lost friends. People adored him and kept coming back for more. Due to the work load, he was rarely home except an occasional Sunday and always Monday nights. He truly made the most of his time off, and crazy though it seems, Mom and Dad frequently let people from the restaurant follow them home on Sunday night and have a party. I'm still laughing about them waking sister Trisha up to play the piano. She says about those parties "I loved it, I'd fling the rollers out of my hair and go downstairs and play for hours." On a School night! I don't think you'll find this recommended in the parenting books.

What else you won't find recommended in the parenting books is my Dad's driving methods. He learned to drive vehicles that should never have been on the road, held together by string and tape. This was the mid 1930's and these were the kind of cars and trucks that you had to 'double clutch' to change gears. He never developed a natural response to an 'automatic' transmission and drove with both feet, one on the gas, the other on the brake. "Do as I say, not as I do, Sue" he frequently said, as he drove this way at a blistering pace. Most absurdly he drove like this to the race track to place his bets in between lunch and dinner at the restaurant.

Another of his tiny flaws was his drinking: lots of it. Part of it was the era, people back in the 40' through the 60's to my recollection drank a gross amount of booze. However, this could just be me, what I was witness to. But this was another in the series of 'do what I say, not as I do' school of parenting. Happily for us he was a fun loving drinker. This was problematic in that it caused no end of confusion for those of us who went out in the world and had to deal with obnoxious, and worse, even violent drunks.

A woman drove me to drink and I never even had the courtesy to thank her.    W.C. Fields

When the relatives would come over on Sundays, both sets of Grandparents, and of course the 'Betty-will-bring-the-beans' Hewitts, they would drink beer and have a BBQ in our back yard. The Grandpa's would give us quarters [a fortune in those days] to fetch the beers and joked with us which we loved. The Grandma's, but really my Mom, would be fixing the food. When the party really got rolling they'd pitch the empty cans into a cardboard box for points. See what I mean? Not exactly the picture most families have of excessive drinking. For our excessive drinkers it was mostly singing and beer can pitching. If there was anything more serious I certainly wasn't aware of it.

Dad's best parenting skills involved the restaurant. He was a good boss, "the best!" said many of his old employees who came to his funeral. And everyone of us kids got to work with him at the restaurant. I did from the age of fourteen through twenty, and at that restaurant got to be parented. He gave directions and wanted everything to be lovely, or as he said, "simple and elegant" and strived for that in all of the operations of the restaurant. He was gentle in his instruction and frequently made fun of our gaffes. The time I walked out of the kitchen with a full tray of dinners and inadvertently sprayed french fries all over the floor. I was so embarrassed I kept walking right back into the kitchen. I was also laughing really hard but then so was he. The time I made a customer fish the silverware out of my apron pocket [when he told that story he always claimed it was the dinner rolls but, as God as my witness, he said that just for a bigger laugh], he found out about it and roared. Remember, I was in my teens... Anyway you get my drift.

Dad was never harsh but fair. The bartender who was nipping extra tips out of the cash drawer was fired promptly though graciously, the married bartender who was having an affair with a young waitress also was let go with no explosion. He kept Bruno, our main bartender, who I'm quite sure never once voluntarily smiled at a customer because as Dad said, "he came with the place, he was the Blum's brother, and honest as the day was long."  Fair, appropriate, good business skills and gracious, these are excellent traits to pass on to one's children.

He had his blind spots and kept the waitress, Ciel and Rose, who also "came with the place." They worked lunches. Ciel was harsh and very old [I'm smirking, as they were probably about my age now which isn't old at all to me] but an efficient waitress and made excellent coleslaw. He kept Rose who had mild B.O. but would laugh uproariously with the customers and adored my Dad. Anyone else, especially in this day and age would have summarily fired them. He kept them on and they rewarded him with incredible loyalty and devotion. [Are there any big companies in America left who value their employees like this?]

So, unlike Oscar Wilde's admonition Dad did become a more visible presence, especially after his bi-pass surgery and he soon decided to retire. He was only sixty and those of us who witnessed how diligently he worked feared that he would be bored out of his skull in retirement. Quite the opposite! He relished the time away with no oppressive obligations and eventhough he was 'the host with the most' he truly was basically more introverted than any of us realized.

We, and Mom, got to enjoy seven more years of him, all wishing to the depths of our souls that it could have been more. I treasure those visits and the grand reunions which were all delightful celebrations. I wish he was around to see the family now: twenty great grandchildren and counting, he would have embraced and loved each one. I miss him still.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Valuing Other Mothers

Grace fills empty spaces, but it can only enter where there is a void to receive it, and it is grace itself which makes this void.                             Simone Weil

I'm one of those people who believes that we are mothered [and fathered, but that will be the next post] by many women in our lives, not just our biological mother. There is no planning this, there is grace and serendipity about the "other mothers" who show up in our lives. They can be co workers, therapists, next door neighbors, teachers, members of our church, cousins, aunts, grandparents or shop keepers. The connection is sometimes only recognized in retrospect, and sometimes, for a very lucky few it is immediate: you know that you are being nurtured and loved and you come back, repeatedly, for more.

My own mother had six kids under the age of ten and you can imagine that she might have been short on time and attention for all of us. That's where the grandparents came in handy. My Gramma Florence, who in later years called herself "GG" after the first grandchild was born [she gave us a choice between that or "Grandma Twosie", no contest] was available on an irregular basis. The three oldest got to have sleepovers at her house. This was thrilling but less than ideal in that we slept in their attic especially it seems on hot summer nights. [It's a miracle we didn't all perish from heat stroke. There was no air conditioning and during the day it often reached 100, heat rises...] Grampa was stern and strict but Gramma was really fun and funny. Fun in that she rarely interfered with what we were doing and also she rarely disciplined us. Then she was, to my child's mind, an excellent cook. No rules to speak of and great food, a child's idea of perfection.

The perfection didn't stop there, she not only loved us, she was incredibly lovable. I loved the way Grama would pinch her nose when she laughed which she did frequently. I loved her softness and her melodious voice. [My Grandparents argued constantly and Grampa said, "Florence if I say 'white' you say 'black." She also was pleasingly plump and Grampa used to say, "Florence, if you get to 200 lbs., I'm divorcing you."]

To my knowledge she never 'played' with us, or taught us much of anything. But she let us hang with her in the kitchen while she made biscuits, cookies or dumplings. [Does anyone make dumplings for chicken stew anymore? It's heavenly.] Actually the entire experience was heavenly: eating her delicious food, talking into the night with my sisters in the attic, walking over the pungent smelling creeping Charlie to go play in their 'barn'. The barn was old, built long before the subdivision and my grandparents house which was a Craftsman, built in the 1920's. That barn housed junk and old newspapers that my grandparents saved for the newspaper drives held by the schools. Most likely it probably was filthy but we didn't care and treated it like our fort.  At the time, Gramma was in her sixties [which to us was ancient] and she must have been exhausted by us but still she let us come.

So when I said "she never taught us much of anything", I mean like scholarly things because she did teach us many other things, like kindness, freedom, caring, love, cooking and humor. In her seventies, after my Grandpa died she would come to all of Mom and Dad's parties, drink her Scotch on the rocks [one] and when the music was really rolling she'd dance the hula with her arms only. I know that this embarrassed my mother but to us it was dear, charming and beautiful.

GG Up in Arms

True heaven was playing with the fat
dangling off GG's upper arms.
GG would obligingly hold her arms out
and we'd gently swat the fat back and forth.
The skin felt like satin, velvet, love,
smelled like Merle Norman and lavender.

It's the memory of those arms I treasure:
Arms that are cloud light yet mountain solid,
Arms that could encircle children, dreams, the world,
Arms that wove a hula, graceful as a breeze,
Arms that gave more than they received.

If our Catholic fairy tale of heaven is true
GG's there in heaven's kitchen
wearing her apron, weaving a hula--
fat merrily waving on those glorious arms.
Susan R. Grout 2001

A nurturing Auntie

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

On A Great Danger to the Church

Be afraid, be very, very afraid. You may have unwittingly had dealings with two dangerous groups recently targeted by the Catholic Church: the US Nuns and the Girls Scouts of America.

As I see it, those old white guys in Rome got together and decided there was a crisis on American shores with those pesky Nuns who help the sick and the poor and the Girl Scouts who sell cookies and help girls become women. The crisis is--- these women are not obeying them. The objectionable behavior of the Nuns is not spending enough energy combating a woman's right to govern her own body and these same Nuns are loving and caring for all people, poor, rich, gay, straight. Such sins! The Girl Scout's crime is they are affiliated with Doctors without Borders and Oxfam who support, are you ready?, family planning. Wow, really evil. Hmm, this might have something to do with women, wouldn't you say?

What is evil is hatred against any group of people [women, gays, transsexuals come to mind] and withholding help from people when help is available. Specifically, I'm talking about not allowing condomns for the Catholic men in South American and Africa where the men are inadvertently killing their wives by infecting them with AIDS. One simple little piece of rubber could curb this misery and destruction of human life.  Hey, isn't that indirectly murder? However, rubbers would interfer with the Church's philosophy: "we must make more babies", desired or not. What sense does that make? I am positive Jesus Christ never dictated how a woman should manage her body. I believe his only dictum is "love one another".

Honoring Mary

 And all of this so called crisis ignores the real problems our world is facing: starvation; people dying of AIDS; sexual, and/or physical abuse of children; greed running amok; climate change...Where is the Church on these serious and important issues? Listen to the silence.

As far as I know these Nuns have committed no crimes against humanity. They have served and waited on the whims of the Church, always the underlings. How have they been rewarded for their devotion and their diligence? They have no pensions and they weren't allowed to pay into Social Security so in essence they are like the lilies of the field, they have nothing and they have been improverished. Now they are being censured.

Impoverishment is certainly not true for the priests. They have pensions and places to live until they die. They have Social Security. Interestingly and by contrast, a few of them have almost successfully bankrupt certain parishes throughout the United States with the lawsuits over their pedofilia. And, I might add, all of this was routinely covered up by the hierarchy of the Church. That is a crisis.

Sincerely, if you thought long and hard on a subject that was sure to ignite indignation among the female population of the Catholic Church you couldn't pick two better subjects than the Nuns and the Scouts. I bet Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert could have a ball with this. Perhaps that is precisely what the Church is doing. They want to piss off the women. They saw how successfully the Republican Party has been with it's woman hating campaign and they decided, "what the heck, if it's good enough for Rush, it's good enough for us."

Go to confession oh holy fathers! It is not too late to redeem yourselves and apologize to these good women, make amends! Or like with the misogynist Rush, we won't buy your wares and we will cancel all of your advertizing. Because you know, deep down, the greatest danger to the church is--- to have a church that no one comes to.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Summer Time of Life



2009 Summer Groutfest


                                                                      

                                                                                           

2010 Groutfest

Summer time and the livin' is easy.
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high.
Oh, your Daddy's rich and your Mammy's
good lookin', So hush little baby, don't you cry.
                                                                                One of these mornin's you're gonna rise up singin'
then you'll spread your wings and you'll take to the sky
until that mornin', there is nothing to harm you
with Daddy and Mammy standin by.
George Gershwin/ Ira Gershwin

I guess there are probably people who don't love summer. They're probably living in climates like Texas, where the temperatures hit the triple digits and stay there for weeks or even months on end. I would hate that too, so I count my lucky stars that I live in a climate that is drizzly and grey for many months but blissfully beautiful for most of the summer.

2011 summer Groutfest

My sister Sally starts in May with the refrain, "I'm gonna hit the deck" meaning that she moves most of her more important possessions outside to her covered deck with the chaise lounge. There she encamps with her books, radio and drinks, spending the best time gazing into the sky. I do the same. I love my deck and watching the birds dive and whirl in the air catching bugs and building their nests.

We had an unusually cool spring so these last few days of sun and warmth has put me in mind that everyone needs to have a summer. Summer is full of hope and celebration.

In my work that is exactly what we create for the clients who come in mostly with a winter mindset. They desparately need some hope and celebration in their lives. The clients drag themselves bravely through the door and await the opening, the ray of sunshine that can come into their life through change. Many of these clients are facing the storms of life: betrayal, divorce, illness, death, abandonment, abuse, fear, uncertainty and boredom. While I have no magic wand, I prefer to pretend that I do. Hope can be magical and can expand their world and mindset, bringing a welcome change into their world.

When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high                            and don't be afraid of the dark.                                                                                                                 At the end of the storm is a gentle rain                                                   and the sweet silver song of the lark.

Rogers and Hammerstein

This is not to suggest that I'm all Mary Poppins about people's lives, far from it. I realize that first we have to slug through the slush, the winds, the rain and the tears before peering into the sunrise. "Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart, and you'll never walk alone." So to those brave souls that come into counseling I make sure that they are not walking alone.

I just read two books that really underline this philosophy that were wildly different in their premise and style. The first by Anne Tyler, The Beginners Good Bye, explores the life of a man whose wife has died. We follow his ruminations of the perfection of that marriage which keeps him clinging to some false assumptions. He is unwilling to let go and have anything or anyone new come into his life. There is a gradual awakening and a willingness to change that is delightful in the telling. The second book is by Anne Patchett, State of Wonder, in which a youngish woman is sent into the Amazon to find her old professor. She is grieving for a colleague who has died there and encouraged by this wife to try to find his body. The wife never loses faith, the youngish woman loses faith and finds it, and along the way regains a sense of self and a new way of looking at life. Both novels explore change and hope. Both are excellent in their own ways.

The reason I'm thinking about hope and the wonders of looking forward is it's so easy to be in the summer of life. This, needless to say is when everything is going well. It is so difficult when internally you have the storms of life crashing all around you.

The truth about life is the situation is hopeless: we're all going to die. However, the circumstances can be hopeful. This was sadly illustrated in the movie, "Life Is Beautiful", where a Dad tries to makes the most horrific of circumstances [Ausweitz] into a comedy for his son. Tragic yet funny. Quite an effort, but I contend well worth it. You can always sing, hum and laugh each day of your life.

That is one reason that we have Groutfest every year, we want to celebrate all being together and there are no better celebrants that children--- lots and lots of children. My mother's nineteen and twentieth great grandchildren were just born, my youngest grands are turning seven, our 44th anniversary is this month, everyone's turning a year older--- see there are plenty of reasons to celebrate. So why wait? Celebrate the summers of our lives.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Gratitude Dude

Gratitude can change your attitude.             Al Anon

Blessed is she who expects no gratitude, for she shall not be disappointed.                W.C. Bennett

A grand light bulb moment came to me years ago sitting in the car of with a friend while on the ferry. She was going on and on in an unpleasant way about something [her ex?] and I, very dutifully, was listening, listening, listening. Sinking ever lower in my seat I turned my head and looked out the window. The water was sparkling, the sun shining, the earth moving and I turned back to her and said, "excuse me, I'll be back in a bit." I went up on the deck of the ferry and the only one talking to me were the seagulls wheeling over head. It was a defining moment for me because I realized that I didn't have to endlessly listen to someone go on and on about the same old complaint. I could exit stage left and open up to the world.

In my practice I get paid to listen. I have always assumed that was only half of the equation. I also get paid to come up with inventive, interesting and sometimes even effective solutions to the problems that the clients bring to me. I don't let anyone go on and on with the same complaint because, for one thing, it is bad business for the brain to ruminate. So I gently interrupt and insert an idea or merely point out that we talked about the exact same thing fifteen minutes ago. I'd want someone to treat me this way, do unto others and all...

Ridiculous as it seems, all those years ago I firmly believed I was supposed to not only listen, but to solve problem of those I'd listened to--whenever, where ever. Silly, I know so when I figured out, "just step outside and take a breather" it opened up a whole new world for me.

Last post I talked about the roles that most of us played in our family of origin. A good clue as to whether we are being driven by a role [and not being authentic] is to listen to our bodies. As I said, my body was sagging and I was feeling heavier and heavier in that car seat. Happily I had been to a meeting recently and heard the phrase, "gratitude can change your attitude." Knowing that I was feeling anything but grateful to be where I was, I left. The day was waiting for me. Now I also realize that I had the freedom to do this and this isn't always the case. Sometimes all of us get stuck with a sick kid or a crabby person who we have to tend to in our lives. We have to stay, but still, we can take breathers. And speaking of breathers, one of the first things that happens when someone is under stress is they start breathing from the top part of their lungs. So taking several deep cleansing breaths is essential to maintaining your equilibrium. It clears the head, gives oxygen to the brain and rejuvenates the entire body. Simple and effective and essential to remember when under duress.

The sick kid is not going to be grateful to you nor is the crabby older person you're taking care of, let it go. Once I was driving down our road, out onto the road into town when I came upon papers strewn all across the highway, some of it looked like money. I pulled off and started to gather the papers and the money and noticed all of it was from a wallet that was laying in the middle of the road. After about twenty minutes, as I was finishing picking everything up and placing it back in the wallet, I noticed it was one of our neighbors down the road know for his eccentricities. I was holding the wallet thinking about trying to find him when up he drives, grabs the wallet out of my hand and says, "thanks' and zoomed off. Dude! Made me laugh really hard and has made an excellent story ever since.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

The Road to Well Is Paved with Good Intentions

In a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart.                                        Louise Bogan

No pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new heaven to the human spirit.                               Helen Keller

I started doing workshops with a dear therapist friend in 1985. Both of us were weary of people relishing their victim hood and languishing in the land of the 'unwell'. They almost took it as a badge of honor that they had been abused and so therefore did not have to strive to get well. How could they when they were living their past each day and driving a groove the size of a Hummer into their consciousness by constant verbal and mental repetition. [see post on brain wiring 11/7/11 ] Getting well is incredibly difficult for some, but it is possible to achieve with a certain amount of determination and luck. I added the 'luck' because some of these clients ended up having dread diseases which exacerbated their despair and others had literally been in wars and suffered a degree of brain damage. No fault there.

In the workshops we stressed recovery and resiliency. Our formula went something like this:

1. Articulate the trauma that was in your life.
2. Feel the feelings that you have about the event or situations.
3. Express to another person what that was like for you.
4. Write down what you want to get rid of.
5. Do a formal ceremony of letting go of the events.
6. Let them go with love. The past is gone forever.

To say the least I am over simplifying what took us an entire weekend to accomplish but you get my drift. We educated the participants on what contributed to their getting stuck and labeled it 'family roles'. We reduced the roles to four: "The Star"; "The Rebel"; "The Dreamer"; and "The Class Clown".

If you were the Star, you'd probably be the oldest child and an overachiever in your family of origin. You probably got a lot of kudos from, not only the family but also the outside world. So it's not easy with all of the reinforcement to stop being hyper responsible, sometimes to a ridiculous degree. These are the people I always want to hire. They tend to be perfectionists and put in 150% for any job they do. Sounds ducky unless you are the one who's keeping yourself awake at night worrying about not getting everything done in a timely fashion, possibly pissing off your boss. You see? Sounds great but can have lousy repercussions.

Next is the Rebel--- sometime with good cause. This is usually the second or third oldest child who wants no part of the goody-goody role of the first child. This child acts up and rebels. So off they go on a pursuit of fun, failure and fanfare. The rewards are the fun, excitment and rubbing the authorities' nose in it. Carried into adulthood it many numerous downsides most of which are the failures that come with constantly reacting in an angry fashion to the world.  Living in constant anger takes a toll on a person and on those who love them.

The Dreamer tries to stay under the radar  in the family and keep the low profile by being mostly in their own world. They might have a hard time connecting with people because they are so guarded and a real down side is that they tend to absorb much of the pain of the family dynamic. Ouch.

Everybody loves the Class Clown, the life of the party, the diffuser of all tense situations, the distractor of potential problems with their keen sense of humor. Seemingly an impeccable role unless it  means that no one really knows you and your relationships are all superficial. The belief that the clown acquires is "I must be amusing to be" ... truly a set up for loneliness 101.

The Way Out

Just as roles can be rigid and narrow, so can the descriptions of the roles be rigid and narrow. People are more complex and complicated than mere stereotypes. These are just handy generizations we cobbled together for our clients to help them recognize part of themselves, and how being stuck in a family role can be destructive in their lives today.

If you find yourself in one the roles, it is important to break free of the patterned behavior that goes with it.  Most of us came from less than perfect homes and have a couple of these roles in us. In times of stress, we tend to fall back on the least helpful roles. This is preventable if we are aware of our internal mechanisms and have taken pains to correct the rigidity of the roles. Losing the rigidity and gaining the awareness and fluidity, enables you to choose how you respond to life rather than reacting. Recognition is key to recovery from the old roles and breaking free of them is crucial to leading a happier life. Victim hood is being endlessly stuck and responding the same way with an emphasis on pity for yourself rather than love. It is an unfortunate trap and a prison.

Why do people stay stuck in roles that cause them heartache? They either don't know any other way to be or they are defeated before they begin the difficult road to change. A familiar refrain is "I've always been this way." Being stuck, like the women who are in abusive relationships, in an odd way feels familiar even though it isn't exactly comfortable. It's the known, change is the unknown. Fear keeps you stuck in that place, love can set you free.

Many of the women I have worked with over the years have said, "I pick the same type of man over and over again." What we do is dissect their role in their family of origin and see if we can find a pattern that has come with them from childhood [their role in their family] and let her, with her new awareness respond differently to the men in her life.  Fascinating and it works well.

The picture of the turquoise water and the hole in the rock wall, is illustrative of what lies beyond---- the mountains blocking your way to a new life. But look, there is light in the cave. What else? You say to yourself, "This could be dangerous--if the way out looks frightening, perhaps it is". So the first order of business: you have make the leap into the water. Then you have to know how to swim.  However, if you have an excellent guide/teacher who has swum through the hole in the mountain and come out on the other side unscathed, dive in. Swimming through just might be exhilarating...

This picture was taken in Capri and our guide, Guido, was a native and had swum all over the Isle of Capri-- we were lucky to have him as our guide. We got to dive off the boat  into that gorgeous, warm water and swim through that hole in the mountain. I must admit, I had some trepidation as I saw we were about to swim through a cave. When we did swim through that cave and came out on the other side, there was the most lovely little beach. A delightful surprise. Ah, refreshing, invigorating swim then to a tranquil, warm, sunny beach--everything you want in a beach, and life for that matter. I felt sad for the few who opted to stay on the boat, they were fearful of the water.

Risk getting well, and risk being optimistic. You have to do this on purpose. I am attempting to give back to the world a piece of its broken heart, one client and family at a time. It is never easy work but the rewards are like diving into that turquoise water...

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Why I'm Not Allowed to Write a Cookbook

Eating is best when surrounded by family

The reasonable woman adapts herself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to herself. Therefore all progress depends upon the unreasonable woman.                                                 George Bernard Shaw

You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.                    Colette

Cooking is a daring adventure each time I enter the kitchen. It is, I am quite sure, less exciting an undertaking for those who cook by actually following a recipe. Cowards! My way is to create, with enthusiasm, with whatever I have on hand. Rarely to never do I drive to town for an ingredient, I simply don't make that dish or wait until the next day. My family is use to my oft used phrase, "eat up because I'm not sure I can create this again." I want to defend my right to cook this way and to acknowledge that I should be ashamed of myself for having so little discipline. It's just that things turn out so well most of the time and that it keeps me flamboyant in the kitchen. I figure I know better, faster and with fewer steps than Cook's Illustrated.  How conceited can you get! 

He/she was bold that first ate an oyster.                                             Jonathan Swift

Although I grew up in a restaurant family it was, after all the 1950's and bland was the model of the day. Everyone was all excited about instant meals a la TV dinners and instant mashed potatoes. Chop Suey was exotic although technically isn't even Chinese. The first time I ever even tasted pizza was at a neighbor's house and I disgraced myself reaching for a fourth piece. They all laughed but I couldn't help it. It was so unusual and delicious. That day a gourmand was born and a curiosity about foods from other countries.

Although America was having a love affair with the mediocre, the incredible contrast were the meals brought home from our restaurant-- always exquisite. It was not unusual to have an entire slab of filet Mignon in the fridge and you could just slice off a hunk and have a delightful sandwich. Oh, to have it now.

When Mom was in the mood, in between slaving away on the six kids, she really was an excellent cook. Pot roasts, chili concarne, stews--- okay, it was a bit heavy on the beef, but no complaints here, it was great. She knew how to make a flavorful, perfect gravy that still has no parallel.

As for me lately, my greatest triumphs tend to be sweet: cookies, cakes and pies. In fact at the pot luck group it was decreed that I wasn't allowed to bring anything but dessert. They all grumble when I'm not there and haven't called ahead to warn them of the missing treat.

Here is the disclosure as to why I am not allowed to write a cookbook: it is because I carelessly fling ingredients into the bowl.  Then, worse, I always taste the raw batter and wing it from there. Does it seem dry? Is it too sweet? Does it lack pizazz? Then I re fling more ingredients to make the taste just right. Obviously this doesn't work too well with instructions. Some might say that's silly, I could quantify, but call me unreasonable but I'm not going to stop and scrupulously measure each little thing that goes into my recipe. After all, wasn't it Julia Child who showed us that the cupped palm of your hand held about one teaspoon? I not only follow that advice but I take it to the next level, a pinch of herbs, some extra chocolate, several more tablespoons of butter--- you see, hopeless.

My granddaughter and I with the homemade treats for the soccer team

I have a ridiculous number of cookbooks [35? 50?] and have tried unsuccessfully to weed them down. I'm thinking of putting stickers on them and if I haven't used them in one year, out they go. Now, you're probably wondering "why on earth does she need cookbooks if she's disobedient about following their instructions?" The answer: I get inspiration from them and read them like they're novels. So if in the future of this blog I do write down any recipes, remember they are subject to tasting and adjusting. And if you can't bear to taste raw dough, well I do find that reasonable or sensible but I'll think you lack guts.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Earth Day in Our Little Corner of the World

The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.                             Ralph Waldo Emerson

Snowflakes are one of natures' most fragile things, but just look what they can do when they stick together.                                                         Vesta M. Kelly

With some gal pals

Earth day. I made an effort to eat left-overs and ride my bike instead of drive my truck. Big deal. That's my first thought. My second thought is this: wonder if everyone did that just for today. Better mathematicians than I could come up with a nifty statistic on how much gas and fuel was saved by biking and eliminating an elaborate meal. In my humble opinion, some action toward helping the planet is better than no action at all.

Years ago I read a book by Margaret Meade's daughter [Mary Catherine Bateman] that said in essence, "we should take care of our earth as a good parent takes care of a home and family, with loving devotion." So to my way of thinking, it's the old standards like: a place for everything and everything in it's place, no poisonous substances to harm anyone, if you make a mess take responsibility and clean it up. Doesn't sound too wild does it? So why is it OK for large corporations [who are apparently people too] to pollute, mess up and poison us and not be held responsible?

Right now in the NW we are waging a battle with a coal company who wants to transport, by open rail car, an egregious amount of coal up to Cherry Point, Wa. Did I mention this would be in open box cars with the coal dust flying all over the northwest and oh, yes it for China, not even for the people of this country? Silliness.

Getting our priorities straight is the responsibility of all good citizens of this beautiful earth. We are only here for a relatively short amount of time and while we are we need to pull together to make things better even if it is just our small corner of the world. I can't think of a better way to expend energy than to make sure that future generations have this lush green earth for their children's children.
So and again this is all about love, LOVE YOUR MOTHER! and this case it is mother earth. Go outside and explore, walk gently and look for beauty all around.

susansmagicfeather copyright Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Undies Designed by Misogynists

My idea of comfort

I expect to pass through this world but once.  Any good therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to my fellow-creatures, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.            Stephen Grellet

I had the unhappy experience recently of having to buy new bras. Never a fun proposition especially as you are fitted in a room the size of a small closet by a young woman who wears a size 0. Those days are long gone from me to say nothing to the fact that I was never a size 0 and flatter myself to think I was curvy instead. I'm still curvy but sadly it's because some of the curves come from drooping flesh on my back. Those three way mirrors hide nothing. So I submitted to the measuring due to the fact I had read in a popular magazine that 70% of women are wearing the wrong size bra.

With my instructions, "I don't want any bras that are going to be uncomfortable and I hate under wire," the saleswoman brought in half a dozen of the lovely lacy undergarments. The first one fit fine and I thought, "Wow maybe I have been wearing the wrong size and this is going to work!" So daringly I said, "what the heck, throw an under wire into the mix, I"ll give it a try." I left the store with a mission accomplished grin and drove home.

The next day I decided to wear that first bra I tried on, it had good support was lovely and no under wire. It was my new size which had a smaller band and bigger cup size. Frankly, I noticed not one iota of difference from my old bra as I pulled on my turtle neck top. "Who cares, I'm now wearing the right size bra," I thought to myself feeling smug in my new purchase.

We had to travel quite a distance to get back home and so I was wearing the bra for the entire day, or so I thought. When we arrived home, one of my friends asked me to come to her house for a Scrabble game and I drove over for a rousing game. By this time I'd had the bra on for 10 hours and I sincerely felt like I was having a heart attack, my breathing was labored and my chest was tight. Hmm, tight? What the...! I undid that sucker, finished the game and went home.

When I got home I said to Mr. G "your underwear shouldn't hurt and try to strangle you!" This is so not OK. Then I got to thinking, who designed the first bra? And ladies, the answer is ---Howard Hughes, who had OCD and was a certified nut case. He wanted the breasts to have the shape of  torpedoes. Doesn't this strike you as cruel?

The ouch factor

Years ago Steve Martin wrote a humorous book entitled "Cruel Shoes" and from the number of women who I see parading down the street with 5" heels he underestimated the degree of pain women are willing to endure for fashion. My own Grandma Gert used to say, "beauty knows no pain," and we'd laugh. The joke is on us now and in every department store women are encouraged to cope with discomfort for the sake of style.

I'm wearing one of my old bras today, one that is supposedly the wrong size and guess what, I'm not in pain.

In deference to the saleswoman perhaps I need to lose five pounds and then the bras wouldn't be so uncomfortable, it could be my fault. Once I said this to my Mom, "I'm thinking about losing five or ten pounds" and she said, "don't bother it will just hang." I thought that was unkind but now I realize the truth in that statement. The new curvy for the over sixty crowd appears to be droopy. That is just sad.

I have no fabulous conclusion to this article. I have to wear a bra and I always notice when women aren't wearing one, it does screw up the look of your clothing unless you are incredibly flat chested. So I am returning two of the three bras that I bought, I'll keep the one and hope that either it or I get better with age. Not likely in either case but what the ...I'm nothing if not optimistic.

susansmagicfeather 2012 copyright Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

The Unlucky Unforgiven Figures It Out

Many years ago went I was in college I had the most marvellous experience. In our school they were trying something new, they were matching roommates based on a questionnaire that they sent to all incoming freshman. I diligently answered all the questions to the best of my abilities and voila, got a roommate who exactly match my questionnaire. I was excited. We corresponded all through the summer and on the day my parents were driving me to the University got a letter from the "perfect fit" that said she'd decided to go to another college. O, no, I thought.

By temperment [and perhaps with a dash of geneology thrown in] I tend to be an anxious person, especially at the tender age of eighteen. This news was not good to me and I only imagined disasterous outcomes. Included in the same mail was the name of my new roommate who was from Ohio. At least I had a name of the girl I was to room with. We arrived at the University a couple of days prior to classes starting. Back in the day [everyone seems to use this sentence...] there was no glad handing students and there was skimpy welcoming committees, but to have my little sister, and my parents present [who ordinarily never went to any of my events] was thrilling to me. They got to meet A. She had changed her mind about the roommate she was given and we two were the "odd woman out" and got each other. After we met her all of us agreed she was indeed a good match for me.

This proved to be more than true. To this day there are very few people who can make me belly laugh they way A could. We had the most wonderful time together and she was up for anything and had such a good spirit. Her story telling was fabulous and I counted myself as so lucky. Our pacing was perfect, neither one of us minded going alone to classes, dances, study halls etc., the relationship had all the best aspects to it, it was so good. Interestingly, most the women in the dorm who had been computer matched had terrible times and ended up changing roommates. Ha!

Ours was such a successful pairing that we roomed together after we moved out, Sophomore year, into college housing with several of the other great women we'd met on the floor of our dorm. These are to this day wonderful women and I am in touch with two out of the five happily. Unhappily not the one that was my roommate.

Through the years, I have thought endlessly about what happened to that friendship. 'A' claimed that it "was a waste of time to continue corresponding when she was living on the East coast and I the West". I frankly don't believe it. Something I said or did infuriated her and she abruptly cut me off. I was sad and reeled from this for quite sometime, never could figure out what the hell I did to destroy this very good friendship. I would have bought the "were on other coasts and will probably never see each other again" except she is in constant contact with one of the other roommates. So it is/was me. Me, all about me.

Part of me laughs at this. I have made dozens of other good friends, I have overcome most of the anxiety in my temperment, I have a rich and great relationship with my husband and thankfully, gratefully, treasure my entire family. So that this sticks in my mind every so often feels, well, odd. Odd woman out.

Fredrick Luskin, in his book Forgive for Good, address almost an identical problem that he had with a very close friend cutting him off. It does leave you stunned and bewildered. My dear therapist Lorie Dwinell calls this "emotional cut-off". Of course it is ten times worse if the person cutting you off is one you're married to but that can be apples and oranges. So at the risk of repeating myself from the post of 4/4/11, I will include what has helped me  and my clients when this kind of thing happens.

Here is the essence from the book on what Luskin calls the nine steps and I will summarize:

 Nine Steps

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

When all is said and done I not only forgive A but I do forgive myself. I wish that I had the perspacity to suss out what I needed to say or do to make it OK. I wish I could have said: "I thank you most sincerely for all the great laughs and good times we had together and so my friend, I am, at your request saying good bye."

susanmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved