Small Town Therapist on the Art of Listening

 

There is an art to psychotherapy and the privilege of listening.  I find that today more and more people have trouble listening. One of the causes is the constant interference of cell phones in our culture. People are allowing themselves to be constantly distracted. 

A good listener helps the speaker clarify--and often correct--his ideas in the course of expressing them. The young become good communicators if they have parents or relatives or teachers who are good listeners.                                                       S.I. Hayakawa

Listening is a great hobby. This is a hobby I picked up living in a big boisterous family. I know in many large families everyone talks at once and in some families there are even shouting matches to see who can dominate the conversation. Although it wasn't like that in our family, someone has to defer with everyone talking at once. At certain times, that someone was me. Always? No, I can be quite the chatter box, but I like to listen. I find people fascinating. For some reason this isn't only soothing to me but when listening sometimes I come up with interesting insights that can spark new ideas and thoughts. This is very good because that's how, in my career, I made the big bucks: listening and responding with pertinent suggestions to my beloved clients.

"Come  in, welcome, sit and tell me everything, I want to hear every word." This I said to every client, at first as a joke, and then I realized I sincerely meant that.

The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place but to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.                                                                Dorothy Nevill

As a practicing psychotherapist, I made a living out of listening. This was a privilege that I enjoyed. The people who I was honored to see, came in and revealed things to me that perhaps they hadn't divulged to another human being. Many times this was just a series of current topical problems or perhaps more serious: the death of a loved one; torment from  childhood; physical, emotional or sexual abuse. Sometimes it was current abuse from a lover or friend. I'd my utmost to be keenly aware of what they were saying, how they were saying it and how long they'd held it inside. Especially with past abuse, this wasn't always a linear process. The unfolding could be circuitous or serpentine and take weeks or months in the recitation. Knowing when to interject is the art form. Too soon and you could shut someone down, not soon enough and you were unwittingly propping up the bad habit of their holding on, too long, to something that needed to be set free.

So you sit and it begins:
Is it a trance I'm in
when you come in
with your own dance,
the steps and the stance
marking your life?

As you talk,
Is it a meditation
as I sit still for your recitation
of all that is ill in your quadrille
and I focus on your life?
Susan R. Grout  unpublished 2011

Know something about something. Don't just present your wonderful self to the world. Constantly amass knowledge and offer it around.                                                                                       Richard Holbrook

I believe in giving feedback when appropriate and at the right moment. For example, I was listening to one half of a couple telling me the sad tale of the estrangement she felt from her workaholic husband. I listened and listened and finally said, "what are the children experiencing with his continual absence?" She cried and said, "I don't know I've been so focused on my own despair that I've hardly noticed if this is affecting them." What this woman is doing, besides emotionally neglecting her children, is an example of a human error called repetitive, or circular thinking. Another example, I often heard: "my husband is an alcoholic, workaholic, gambler,  how can I get him to stop?" The really bad news is you can't make someone do something if they aren't willing. Witness toilet training on an unwilling child, or encouraging someone to get sober or go to treatment who doesn't believe they have a problem. However you can coax someone to be more willing like: offering the child exciting Bat Man underpants, using bribes, rewards, praise, more pleasant experiences if they do cooperate! Or the reverse, like consequences for adults if they don't/can't or aren't willing to stop destructive behavior.

I learned one of the great teachers of consequences was from the Al Anon program. In Al Anon you learn to focus on your own behavior first, tell that person in as direct, clear and measured a manner as possible what you want from them then--- surprise, surprise--- let go. Grown adults mature quickly when the negative reactions are withdrawn, the consequences clearly laid out and are followed through. No idle threats in other words. All bets are off for the teenagers who are addicted to drugs. Some teens need to be thrown into counseling or treatment against their wishes and will.

One of the great impediments to listening is when the "listener" truly isn't paying attention. They are merely waiting for a pause in the conversation so they can make their own brilliant observations. If I was the one making the egregious offense, I usually and candidly admitted it. "Sorry, I drifted a minute ago, could you repeat that?" Or if I really need to interject a comment I usually do ask: "I need to add something, is this OK with you?" Mostly it was OK,  but sometimes they'd blurt, "let me finish." And humbled, I'd take their advice and let them finish. Happily for me, the vast majority of people that I listened to were really interesting, easy to listen and pay attention to. It was fine to sit and nod and encourage them to continue.

The exceptions, the ones difficult to pay attention to, were the ones who were incredibly tangential. One person that I'm thinking about was a dear but while talking she'd manically go off on several tangents:  her hair cut; people I've never met with no explanation as to why she was bringing them up; then her approach on dieting--- all in the same paragraph, and sometimes in the same breath. Mostly I'd just steer the conversation back to her reason for being in counseling--- her problems and issues. However if it was a friend or relative who was tangential, I'd distract them to a topic we both enjoy perhaps books, music or movies. Most times this worked well--- or at least was more interesting.

But do to the frustration of monologues, I would like to introduce "The Grout Five Minute Rule." If you love your friends, relatives, clients sometimes we just have to accept that everyone is not built the way we are. "Tangentials" of the world unite! Go and talk in tangents to each other, endlessly. Most of us are not tangential and seemingly this could drive one mad. However, I have a handy formula for this slight character flaw, and it is: "The Grout Five Minute Rule." Simply employed and executed, you tell the chatty and rambling, repetitive individual, "go ahead and stick to your topic, and I will agree not interrupt you for 5 minutes." The talker, who always loves a tangent, has to agree to this. Then the blitzkrieg begins. I must confess that this works brilliantly. I must also shamefully confess that some times I cheat and say "time's up!" after only 3 1/2 minutes---or I know I will start screaming. Not a good thing in a friend or psychotherapist. However, it does put the 'psycho' in psychotherapist.

One of the things taught in psychology classes is reflective listening. This was made famous by Carl Rogers who swiped this idea from good parents everywhere. Reflective listening is repeating back what someone just said to encourage them to continue. This is most naturally observed when a baby coos, to respond in this manner. I did this when my granddaughter, at only seven months old said, "Nana" as she looked right at me.  Elated, I repeated the phrase to make sure she directing this at me and naming me. "Nana" she said again as I was changing her diaper. Not a more heartwarming naming in all the world. My whole body  glowed with delight as that baby articulated that name, my new name, to herself and me.

My life's work has been to study, listen and then help people with ideas, insights and suggestion to the clients who came to me. There was constantly so much to learn. The field of psychology is not only fascinating but also exciting in its discoveries of what works best for most people. I am/was constant learning and it was a privilege to share in that wealth of knowledge. It all started with intently listening to their stories.

Most of us long for this: to be really heard and some of us never get that. It was/is indeed my privilege and my pleasure to listen and let the music of other's lives fill my head, my heart and my room.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2026 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Thanksgiving 1986 and the contrast of now 2022

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 Zach 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.

On Thanksgiving this year we, many of us, met at niece Vail and Jonathan's house. It was a splendid feast and absolutely the best--- only five miles away for us. One family traveled from L.A. by car, (!) the others walked on the ferry traveling from Seattle. Like so many of you we hadn't seen the LA family since 2019. Hard to be apart for that long time. Everyone has grown and all of us have aged but the spirit of joy at being together in one place was so very dear and overall really fun and funny. We roared with laughter over some of the pictures that we taken, blessedly not shared here. We played games like gin rummy and then Yatzee which I swear I haven't played for more than 40 years. Very loud exclamations and/or some swearing involved. Someone even got us to start singing Christmas carols although the early date raised a few eyebrows.

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 many games, horsing around, great food and singing...
Love you all.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012/2022 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Can You Fight Voter Apathy?

Obviously for this, and every single election, we need to get out the vote. I address this plea especially to the young, to women, to the disenfranchised and to all the people who care about the rights we have fought so hard to have and preserve. 


A Voting Plea

We don't vote, they simply say
and in a whirl there is grey smoke rising up
I see costumed men dumping tea in Boston harbor
defying a mad King in their quest for independence.

We don't vote, they simply say
and then I envision very young men, some brothers,
dead on the fields strewn with fresh blood
who fought for the rights that all men be treated equally
in this very young country.

We don't vote, they simply say
and around a bend comes
long lines of women marching, placards pleading:
'votes for women!',  
some having endured beatings, jail for years, 
still marching, defiant yet persistent
 and hopeful.

We don't vote, they simply say
and before me appears a weary Rosa Parks
bravely and defiantly taking her seat
on the front of the bus, starting the
Montgomery March.

Mom [born the year Women's Voting Rights approved]
 and I urge you to vote 

We don't vote, they simply say

and I hear jubilant people, in foreign lands,
hands clapping, tears streaming down their faces,

voting for the first time in their lives.

"My feet are tired but my soul is rested."

We don't vote, they simply say 
with that remark negating 
our hard fought history for our ordinary citizen's
right to:
life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

I stand watching in perplexity as the non voters

take their rights and their liberties and simply

turn on their phones
and walk into the closest Walmart.

Susan R. Grout  written in 2000 and revised in 2012 and revised in 2018

susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

On the Value of Neighborliness

The Peace of Wild Things

By  Wendell Berry 

When despair for the world grows in me 

and I wake in the night at the least sound 

in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, 

I go and lie down where the wood drake 

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things 

who do not tax their lives with forethought 

of grief. I come into the presence of still water. 

And I feel above me the day-blind stars 

waiting with their light. For a time 

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry, "The Peace of Wild Things" from The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry. Copyright © 1998


I have always been amazed and then saddened about people being unwilling to perceive a problem when it's staring them in the face. I too, like Wendell Berry, have used nature as my solace and comfort but instead of just passively lying down I choose to act as well when "the despair for the world grows in me." Instead of despair, it turns into a growl and anger propels me to get active.

I've been watching the differences between people who have a lot of money and people who have a little or nothing—that gap grows and grows. Any student of history knows that you can’t have a viable society if you organize the economy of a country that way. Depriving people of basic healthcare, education,  housing or any of the social goods from our wealthy country and you are going to have a heap of problems. Someone wiser than me said that it comes down to neighborliness. If you do not have a practice of neighborliness, society becomes unfair and unlivable.

Let's focus on neighborliness. This focus allows all of our issues to become much clearer. This will require a generosity of heart and thought. There are those who are literally afraid of neighborliness, they are red hot to label this thinking as socialist or communist instead of what it is, commonsense kindness. Please ignore the meanspiritedness that runs amok in the world. Instead let's focus on what happens when there is a natural disaster. 

In Houston, in Puerto Rico, in Florida, in New Orleans during and then after the flooding there were so many stories of ordinary citizens rescuing their fellow neighbors, humans and animals alike. Some risked their lives for these others by treating all of them as their neighbors. So that's the personal level, expand it to our government and that's how we could treat our country's citizens with the same courage and neighborliness. We could turn things around. 

There are many ways to practice neighborliness — of course the personal but also it requires the private sector, the corporations, the government, the church all being involved. When everybody has a stake in maintaining a viable community [starting with our country caring at a deeper level],then this would bring an emotional maturity that is sorely lacking with the current GOP administration.  Arresting asylum seeking immigrants and throwing them in jail, and worse, separating families and bringing children as young as two into court. Make sense of this for me. 

Neighborliness is key. Getting caught up in an abstract discussion with labels takes energy away from what our real concerns ought to be: a prosperous, respectful, successful nation filled with healthy, educated citizens. 

We are all one under the skin. That is evident when someone dies and there lies the inert body, who then is better or worse? Or imagine, go to any hospital nursery and see the row of babies just born laying in all their new born glory before you, who is better and who's worse? These are new born people and they have certain inalienable rights. To sort them out in terms of who's deserving of those rights and who's the most qualified and who's not... is imposing a judgment on our human reality. That simply can't and must not be.

I read an article  in Newsweek magazine a couple of years ago which sums up the nuttiness of people  who call  themselves  religious yet hate their neighbors. 

"religious extremists wave their Bibles at passersby, screaming their condemnations of homosexuals, they fall on their knees, worshiping at the base of granite monuments to the Ten Commandments while demanding prayer in school, they appeal to God to save America from their political opponents, mostly Democrats. They gather in football stadiums by the thousands to pray for the country’s salvation and yet they regularly support immoral men who are cons, serial abusers, intemperate, and some who are thrice married with children from three different wives. Make sense of this for me.

They are God’s frauds, cafeteria Christians who pick and choose which Bible verses they heed with less care than they exercise in selecting side orders for lunch. "

I did monkey with the quote above throwing in the part about the recent nonsense from the far right but please  understand this is all about being a good neighbor whether you are religious or not. Act with love towards your fellow citizens. We can build a better world one kindly act after another.  This is my  hope and plea. 

Susansmagicfeather 2018 copyright Susan R. Grout all rights reserved 

Cruise Control

I couldn't wait for success, so I went ahead without it.                                                   Jonathan Winters

I am a woman not known for her slowness. I tend to speed through life, I smell the roses at a clip. Yet I am also not one who jogs, swims or bikes at top speed. I move quickly but not frenetically. 

Knowing this about me, my friends were amazed when I confessed that I drive almost everywhere on cruise control. Why? Years ago I discovered that having the constant pressure on the pedal below my right foot was not only an effort, but I found I naturally tended to push myself past the speed limit. Hence I resorted to cruise control. So this is a discipline via a machine, to switch into cruise, set at the speed limit and relax. I even set the cruise if that limit is only 25 MPH. 

How does this apply to my life? I am not by nature a meditative, mindful, calm, serene person. I have had to discipline myself to become all of that and more. Each morning, especially as these days are increasingly dark and rainy, I stay in bed for at least 20 minutes and meditate. Things, events, dreams float through my mind and I am the ambassador of good will, letting things drift away as the next thought wafts through. This is meditation in the most primitive of settings: a bed, covers, a pillow and me. 

Any job worth doing is worth doing badly.                     G.K. Chesterton

How does the cruise control attitude extend to my other dealing in life? Perhaps this is peculiar to me but when I'm about to start a huge task that is going to require a Herculean effort I say to myself, "I'll just start and go at a slow pace and see how much I can get done." The first example that comes to mind is rolling huge logs out of our woods to split and then stacking the split wood. I strain with effort and keep thinking, "well, I'll just keep going..." Eventually the job gets done because I'm on automatic pilot, cruise control if you will. It works for me.

Writing is easy; all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead.     Gene Fowler

Sadly, this also applies to my writing, getting started is usually the hardest part. One of my sisters says this blog is my 'Senior Project'. This project consists of me attempting to give away [at the low cost of nothing]--- many of my therapy tips. I've selected the ones that have helped my clients [and me] throughout my long years in practice. But to even give those tips away, I must write in either an amusing, engaging or understandable fashion. This requires discipline, effort, and thought to relay my insights, common sense and truth. Is it work? Yes. Is it a joy?Yes. Is it guilt producing if I abandon my project for too long? Big yes. The cruise control method let's me just start, go at a low speed if I like and put one word down after another. Simple, right? Well, no but the rewards are there if you're willing to start and cruise control will get you there.

susansmagicfeather 2018 copyright Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

      

Secrets of a Small Town Psychotherapist

           

 Have you ever wondered what goes on in the mind of a marriage and family therapist? How do they regard their clients and come up with reasonable suggestions for changes? I certainly can't speak for all therapists but I can describe my internal process when I was in my private practice as a psychotherapist.

Simply put, let's say you came to my office for counseling. I am like the host in a restaurant and I want you to be comfortable and feel safe. Additionally, for me to really understand you as my client, I found I must learn your own particular dance of life. I would pay close, very close, attention and respect the steps, the hesitations and the stances you'd take. I'd realize that I'd never seen you or this dance before. This was the dance of your life, how you moved from one experience to another and it was your dance alone.  I'd sit still for the recitation of all that is not quite right in your quadrille, your waltz or tango and what is displeasing, tragic or discordant. After all, this is what brought you to me. I'd make a pact with you to help change what you wanted to see different.

Life has given you either a puzzle or an unexpected outcome and it was my job as therapist to assist you on your way to find the most satisfactory answers to your dilemmas possible. Hence a new dilemma for me: yes, by definition to be helpful...but to also allow you, the client to think of your own solutions as well as the ones I'd throw out as suggestions. I always considered counseling to be a collaborative effort. You as a client may just be looking  for a quick answer and this is honored with my comments and suggestions, but sometimes the quick answers aren't enough.  

Slow down, you move too fast. You've got to make the moment last..                                                                          Paul Simon

Once, more than 30 years ago, in a workshop I gave with my co therapist , Laurie Armstrong,  one of our group attendees said "give us a chance to comprehend all of this." I was rushing, trying to stuff their heads with gobs of insights. There is such a thing as pacing and I was busily up pacing the clients. You as a client can get overwhelmed and so...I learned to take deep breaths and move more thoughtfully. Perhaps not as slow as a waltz but certainly not a jitterbug. Hoagie Carmichael said, "slow motion gets you there faster," so true with clients and in life. That said, you as the client are paying me good money for my long years of experience. To not short change you, I'd stop you if you were looping [meaning being repetitive] or if you were being frankly boring [meaning probably avoiding something painful] or spouting something incomprehensible.  I'd always add my two cents if I'd hear something that's off. God knows I'd like someone to tell me if I was being repetitive or boring... 

Speaking of being repetitive I have a confession to make. When I'd have a client who was constantly revisiting old stories sometimes I'd drift mentally.  Though paying attention, my busy mind would start doing "make overs". Ever since I was a young girl I've loved the magazine moment that takes a dull or drab room and turns it into something pleasing, before and after. Or another example, the a magazine would have an entire issue focused on Make-Overs. They would invite a person who'd neglected their appearance and a team of beauticians and assistants would miraculously transform that person. The magazine would show the "before and after".  The assistants would have done a keen trick with a sharp haircut and a dab of makeup and voila! a spiffy change for the better. Sadly, if you or another client was doing what we'd  call "looping" [and I've heard the story several times]...make-overs would invariably pop up. "How about if they cut their hair, wore different clothes, smiled more often..." I'd think.  I'd  know this was a failing so I snap to in seconds and interrupt their reverie and alert them that they'd already told me that. "From what you told me when we started counseling, you'd like to see some things changed in your life. That time is now, now is the time to change, to find a lesson, and forge ahead with new thoughts. How would you rather be, feel, think, act?"  I'd ask. Invariably the in depth work would begin: resolving problems and finding solutions.

You gain strength , courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.  You are able to say to yourself, "I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." You must do the thing you think you cannot do.               Eleanor Roosevelt

I noticed in my more than thirty years as a psychotherapist that the people who made a difference in their lives and in other's lives were the ones who have a degree of fierceness and determination. This can be coaxed and encouraged in a person. If you came to counseling with me I would clue into a wonderful world that awaits you--- if you'd be brave enough to tackle issues you care about. When and if that happy combination of fierceness and determination comes along coupled with a passion to do good in the world, watch out, things are going to happen. 

I loved my clients and I loved my work. The passion to do good in this world never stops and neither should you stop.

susansmagicfeather  2018 copyright Susan R. Grout all rights reserved

Travelogue for Anyone Who is Less than Perfect

Hi to all, 

Excuse the group email,  this is the easiest way to reach all of you in one fell swoop. 

We left the beautiful town of Spokane. We had a one night visit with a work friend of D's who I loved because he laughed at everything  I said. I realize for most of you that would not be a ringing endorsement but, hey.... the picture below is taken of Spokane with Canada geese flying by.

Today we traveled across the panhandle of Idaho,( that was quick,) and landed here in Kalispel after driving thru breath taking scenery and unbelievably  strong squalls. Rain so profound it was like a hose on the windshield. Being somewhat  oblivious we forgot the time change and ended up having lunch around three and had to race to find a hotel. We like old downtowns  and are in a hotel that is more than 100 years old. Dinner was down the street in an Italian restaurant, cioppino baked with a lid of pizza dough. Sounds silly was delightful. 

Going to bed. Will send pictures of the rainbow from our hotel but for now, a good night to all. Stay warm and dry.

X0,  S

On Sun, Sep 16, 2018 

We so looked forward to Glacier national park and hurried out of Kalispell  to get there especially  looking  forward to the "Going to the Sun Road". Alas, the fires prevented that adventure and so we skipped the West side of Glacier and had to drive over to the east entrance at St. Mary's. What could have been a 44 mile trip through Glacier national park was not possible.  Instead we had to take the long haul. More than 2 hours later,  we went through first a gorgeous  highway  2  a very pleasant and lovely drive.  That ended and then we had to drive on to highway  #49  a nightmare of smokey, foggy, twisty turny experience.  We finally  arrived at St. Mary's entrance. I was not at my best.

What  was worth the price of inconvenience and hairpin turns was being able to drive the Going to the Sun road from the east side St. Mary's to Logan point. So beautiful,  at 6,000 ft.  definitely the Alps in our own country.  I was so enamored of the views that I took many pictures.  Unfortunately I had taken the first as a selfie, and as many of you know, I am without qualification the worst at selfies. So I forgot to turn the camera around and took many pictures of the top of my head. For your enjoyment  I included one of my idiot shots,  the rest deleted.

Because we weren't the only ones coming from the West side of the park, no rooms were available at the lodge. So the Mom and Pop "Red Eagle" got us and we reveled in its mediocrity. 

Next day we travelled to Helena, only getting lost once.  And oh those wheat fields do go on for miles and miles. I didn't realize how slow a MPH of 70 can feel when everyone else is going 80 plus. My excitement was stopping in Bynum, pop. 30, to see the dinosaur museum.  Did you know Montana  is rich in dinosaur bones? Great finds since the 70's. Loved it. D, tolerant and kind at my exuberance. 

Got to stay 2 nights in Helena, good food and great hiking trails.

Below is a Helena mural,  the view of a glacier and the idiot selfie.  

X0 to all. S

Someone once said, "it's so great to be imperfect, it brings such joy to others."  

I've had some blond, imperfect moments on this trip.  We were approaching Yellowstone and I said to D, "there's a bunch of white smoke, I think we should  report a fire..." and then driving into the park, "I smell sulphur! "  Needless to say he merely rolled his eyes  and didn't point out this is the land of geysers and hot springs.

He has had his moments also. We were in the hot spot of Salmon , Idaho (see small plaque  below) when in a diner these two elderly hunters walked in and sat down at a table across  from us. D remarked to them, "I see you did your shopping  at the same time", they had identical camouflage jackets and were not amused by the comment. I rolled my eyes heavenward.

Not much to report in Salmon...

Rolled  on to Missoula. As we were driving I read about  a marvelous Carousel that was given to the city of Missoula with the understanding that it was to be in continuous use for all of the children  and people. The entire town got involved with the craftsman and dedicated 100K hours to finishing it. It so delighted us it was our first stop in the city. Ornate, lovingly carved horses, dragons and gargoyles graced the beautiful carousel.  Of course riding it was much more fun than just viewing so we plunked down our $1.50 and hopped aboard our steeds.

We loved Missoula and had 2 splendid meals there. Today we had the itch to go home so we drove first to Coeur d'Alene and after we got lost (I wish that was an unusual occurrence) we had a small lunch in a lovely park on the lake.  

Now we are in Ellensburg after a delicious meal at the Yellow Church cafe. We are in bed early and returning home a week early. Why? Our clothes are dirty and we can smell the barn. We will be trotting home after another vision check for D on Thursday. He has yet another surgery mid October. 

Goodbye to the mountains and hello to the Sound. Good night good night. 

X0 to you all.  S

On Fri, Sep 28, 2018 

We ended up going as far as Ellensburg on our last day of our trip. What a surprising delightful little city. Ate at The Yellow Church cafe and walked into town but it was dark so I wrangled a promise from  D that we could mosey around the next morning. 

The morning was cold but beautiful and after breakfast we went on our Ellensburg walkabout.  My favorite part of the walk was the house of a couple who have allowed artists  to put eccentric sculptures all over the yard around their house, a collection started 40 years ago. Below are a some of the statues and decorations. When I wrote in their guest book I urged them to come to SJI to see Kevin Roth's creations. Also included is D being captured unawares as I took a picture  of him sipping coffee in front of a lovely  old Ellensburg building. 

And on our last day of our travels,  I thought I'd impart a valuable travel tip. I believe I mentioned we stayed in a very inexpensive motel near the downtown of Missoula which was a plus, since we love walking everywhere in small cities. Got back to our motel, both of us full from an excellent meal but oh so tired.

 We like to sleep with the window at least cracked open, and so we did that, then read and went to sleep. At 2 am a train whistle sounded so that, deaf as I am, I was jarred awake, concerned the train was going to hit the motel. Back to sleep....then the 3am another train sounded it's horn..blasting away.  Did I mention I wasn't wearing  my hearing aids?  Poor Mr. D, who has good hearing said when he did sleep it was fitfully. No kidding. 

The hot tip is : check your surroundings and if train tracks  are within a block of your motel, reconsider. Or if you do decide to go ahead just realize that the train is one reason the cute motel is very inexpensive. Oh and I did finally figure out to close the damn window.

Good night to all and hope your sleep is peaceful. 

X0 to you all,  S

The Aura of Stupefaction: Grief

      

Von  Max 1867

When You Lose a Child

I was literally exhausted, I couldn't sleep for more than a few hours before I'd awake with a fresh bout of tears. I had two young boys: ages two and five years old and a husband who was my strength and hope. All I could do was cry. I had just returned from giving birth to a baby girl that was beautiful, full term and dead. A still born. We named her Sarah Emily.

Nothing in my life of 28 years had prepared me for this death. I had miscarriages prior to this but carrying a baby girl, a very wanted baby girl, full term and have her born dead was indescribably more painful. 

Many have walked this path, most commonly in foreign third world countries. I hadn't encountered anyone until after March 1975. Then the women and a few men came forward to share their sorrows about the losses of  their children. This is a club that you do not ever want to be included in. However, I welcomed the people who were brave enough to greet and stand by me and my husband in our pain. 

Some friends could not, would not acknowledge us. This is a hurtful puzzle to all of you who are experiencing the death of a child. All these years later, I understand there are a variety of reasons people, including some of your friends, will avoid you, the actively grieving person. The most common reason is their own discomfort or the awareness that they don't have a clue what to say. As unfortunate as this was, worse there were the poor misguided ones who brushed this tragedy aside as no more painful than the loss of a pet. Then there were the ones who suggested "you can always have more children". You decide, I can't. Which is worse: being blown off or completely shunned.

Anyone's death always releases something like an aura of stupefaction so difficult is it to grasp this irruption of nothingness and to believe that it has actually taken place.                                   
Gustave Flaubert

I, through a good deal of counseling, was able to come to forgive the ones who were unknowingly unkind to me after the stillborn.  Because I pride myself on being kind and forgiving I was taxed to the limit. Grief is always a trial and tribulation and the hardest thing for me to face...was my own grief. It hit like a tidal wave and up came: all of my fears, my actively obsessive brain and discovering my temper that I never knew I had. Trials, tribulations and stupefaction. Grief.

I owe a great deal of gratitude to the ones who never quit me, who showed up when I was not at my best, who just showed up. The one I am most grateful to is my husband. The statistic on surviving marriage to those who have lost a child to death is not promising, in fact most couples split up. I can believe that because my behavior was less than impeccable. I lost my temper, lost my hope and would have despaired completely had it not been for my husband, the darlings boys, my loving family and my friends. Throughout all of the ordeals my husband had been through: losing a beloved daughter and having a wife that years later he confided to a friend: "I thought I was going to have to live with a crazy woman" he never gave up. He held fast and held me fast. That is love, honor and devotion in it's highest and purest form. 


I was able, with encouragement by all friends, family, doctors and husband to go on and have another pregnancy. Sadly and horribly, that pregnancy was unsuccessful. The baby boy died in utero at about 4 months. At least, a small consolation, we found out what  caused the death of Sarah Emily. My husband and I have a blood incompatibility, similar to RH---the Kell factor.  

Carrying around a dead baby was excruciatingly painful mostly psychologically. Fortunately I had the choice, with no hassle or guilt trip imposed, to have an induced abortion. I could also have chosen to carry the baby until it was expelled by my womb.  I thank all that is good and holy that I was able to have that induced abortion so my body could let go of that baby and I could get on with my life. 

As the years past, I learned so much about grief and grieving due to these experiences. The years passed and I eventually developed my own counseling practice. I was able to help many others go down this difficult road and honor their experience. Not all of the clients were as fortunate as I to have the loving, supportive people all around. This required me to be part of the emotional support system and help them find supportive people in their life. Eventually one friend urged me to go to the Compassionate Friends which is an organization devoted to aiding people who have lost a child to death, miscarriage etc. We started a group in our small town and to my knowledge it is still viable. 

I/we were not able to replace those babies but now we have almost incomprehensible joy at having the great sons and daughter in laws, four beautiful, wonderful grandchildren and a wealth of fabulous nieces and nephews and all of their children to love. Life is indeed very rich. 

Years ago I wrote a poem about this baby, though personal, I share this willingly with you, faithful readers of this intermittent blog. I will go to my death being forever grateful to my husband, our sons, family and friends that buoyed me up during my great grief. Please do this unto others. 

Fine Bones 

The finest bones in all the world,
I've held next to my heart.
The longest walk I ever took
was with those bones.
The lightest package I ever carried
 weighed the most: snow encased in lead.
Up a mossy knoll I trudged with my true love
 and that tiny package filled with cremated dreams.

Down to the cold water's edge we crawled
 to throw a piece of our life away,
 on the tide
 we tossed all that remained
 of our beloved baby still-born
 yet borne still in our hearts.

We believed inside that box -- a powder, a talc
 so fine it would swirl like smoke into the heavens.
Instead we encountered sad orange chunks-
 bones amidst the ash.
We decided she was made of sterner stuff,
 Joan d'Arc
 who resisted the flame.
I writhed, sobbed and shook
 so human in my rejection
 of this noble philosophy.

Even now, can she hear my sorrow
 that gathers on the dark side of my heart?
After all these years, in my mind
 those perfect fingers and toes
 still glow, rosy round.
You have such fine bones, Sarah Emily.

Weighing in on Racism and Prejudice

Love 

That's the first step---you demonize people and pretty soon they're not people anymore, they're meant to be despised. It's exactly what happened in Nazi Germany.                Peter Mathiessen

In 2014 when I started to write about racism, I realized that it was being encouraged by social media. For example: I'd get posts on Facebook supporting some aspect of the President Obama's desires for a policy change, something as innocent as the minimum wage issue and I'd read about that. Then I'd go into the comments section and there I'd be subjected to other people's reprehensible statements, filled with hatred and mean spirited remarks about Obama himself. All of these remarks were untrue and sadly, some of these racists would hide behind anonymous posts, we now know some were Russian trolls and sling dung. This was childish at best and hate mongering or criminal at worst [eg. threats, duplicity]. The vitriol was repulsive, and with all of the gun nuts out there, frankly scary.  Was this just because our politics descended to a new low or was this truly raw racism rearing its ugly head? In retrospect, both. Hatred breeds hatred folks. One of the outcomes was the election of a racist, misogynistic President who currently holds the highest office in our country.

Another warning sign: the ridiculous racist rants of Donald Sterling against Magic Johnson and then the now defunct sheriff in New Hampshire who slammed President Obama[not once but twice] made me, and I had hoped all of us, think about how prevalent racism is in our country. Perhaps both of these old white men were suffering from senility. It's true, some people become more fearful and paranoid with a case of dementia. So I was trying to be understanding. 

I tried with the second term of the Reagan's presidency to be understanding. He clearly had dementia and yet no one openly denigrated him, bullied him or called him names publicly. Proof of this: he finally died of his Alzheimer's disease years later, but the signs were all there that he had Alzheimer's while in office.

Lord knows Reagan should have been removed from office when he was stating that he was in battles in WWII [fact: he never was in the war] or when he'd forget where he was or what he was speaking about and Nancy would shout from the sidelines "tell them we're doing the best we can". But no one attacked him viciously. If anything he was deified.  It was all polite concern but no one mentioned an impeachment process, no one issued embarrassing press attacks [Fox wasn't even born then] it was all respectful concern. 

There were daily, relentless attacks against President Obama, by Fox news and on the FB pages, most of them with veiled and not so veiled racism. To deflect their racism the people who used these hateful remarks labeled any opposition to their racism as  'using the race card' as though they were innocent. They obviously were not innocent and we needed to call it as we saw and heard it. 

Be the light of the world, not the darkness

Something that still baffles me is that many of the hate mongers are so called "religious" types. They demonize and even urge killing anyone who is not of their faith or belief. How is this possible? One of my relatives who is gay and has suffered at the hands of gross prejudice aimed at him for over fifty years and he puts it this way: "they spew hatred and encourage their children in their disgusting misguided notions of us [gays, people of color etc.] and then they go to church!!!!" I'm with him, how is it possible to be religious/spiritual and to be so filled with hate toward people? The obvious answer is they are missing the common theme of the best of religions, "honor God and love your neighbor as yourself." Perhaps they weren't taught to be reasonable, kind and loving? Do they so hate themselves? Perhaps they weren't taught to do unto others?  

To turn yourself away and ignore the remarks when hatred is being directed at someone is an act of cowardice--- pure and simple. This happened with President Obama and now look what we have as our supposed leader: a person who conned his way to office, spews hatred every day, separates families, refused to support world wide breast feeding, is a continual name caller and groped his way around women. Why is he supported? My guess is that he's supported by people who apparently are morally, ethically bankrupt. People who are told they should be terrified by liberals. Read the dictionary folks. A liberal is________________________. 

The resolution to all of the hate out there is to go forth and be loving and when you see or hear a wrong, confront it. It not only feels great and good---it is much easier to live your life that way.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2018 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved