Small Town Therapist on The Lady Vanishes - Please Leave Your Mark

It is necessary to try to surpass one's self always; this occupation ought to last as long as life.
Queen Christina

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas


I was visiting my son and daughter in law let me in on the world of genealogy through ancestry.com. She had done extensive research of our families. Some of it was profoundly moving, like finding that both of our families had relatives named Silas in the distant past.  We never knew this when they named my first grandson Silas. There is a thrill to read about long ago relatives and their triumphs and achievements. Then she said something that has stuck with me, "and some of our relatives have just vanished, like smoke, only their birth and death are recorded, nothing in between." I have been chewing on this ever since. We talked for awhile and finally I said, "I guess that's why I've felt compelled to do a blog and write not only memories but some therapy tricks that I've wanted to share from being in the business for 40 years."  She nodded and said, "yeah, everyone needs to leave their mark." I agreed.

This is not the only time that I have felt compelled to reach out to the world and leave a mark. Several years ago I realized that I always joked about my guitar playing saying, "I've played for more 40 years and have never improved." Finally I thought, "well I should do something about that" and signed up for a short series of guitar lessons. My teacher, Scott had a blessedly fabulous sense of humor and was kind and generous in his teaching methods. He met me where I was [boringly predictable, folk guitar]  and challenged me to go beyond.  I said, "I love old jazz standards" and he showed me about a dozen different chords told me to pick about a dozen songs and I was off.

'Humbling' is the best word I can think of to describe my early attempts at jazz. I am not one to take that lying down and so I practiced at least an hour a day and by God I improved. He seemed pleased and I as usual need to have a goal instead of endlessly practicing for nothing I thought it might be time to perform in public. At the time, my sisters Sally, Chinmayo and I had a trio called "Sibling Revelry" and had given many performances over a ten year period. Sally had been contacted by a group to do a benefit concert for the victims of Hurricane Katrina [late 2005] and she said "we'd be happy to perform." So I whipped myself into shape to do "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans," fitting for the occasion. Mind you, this was a song with a difficult singing range and certainly not easy chords, but what the heck, the venue was to be in a church. My thought was "great acoustics in a small church" which could help maximize my newly learned skills, masking any insecurities I might have about the event. I blithely prepared for the concert.

In my imagination we were to perform in a tiny country church, nestled in the woods, with a cheerful crowd of thirty five. We arrived at night on Bainbridge Island to a grand cathedral like building and, oh-oh, I instantly started to lose my bravado. Hundreds of people showed up, packing the church to a standing room only crowd. We were scheduled first on the program, and much worse, my number was to open the show. "Why did I agree to do this?" was the sole thought careening around my head. I cast a worried look at my sisters.  Sally said, "this is not about you, it's for the victims of the hurricane..." "Right you are," I said and took a deep breath, and by my little myself went out on stage and played. I would love to tell you that I brought down the house. That would be a gross exaggeration, but I was OK and I made no mistakes. A friend who was there said I was very "poised" which is a nice way of saying "adequate". Guess that was better than what happened to Sally. She had put new strings on her guitar and tried to play it but the guitar kept going flat. We survived because as sisters we have 'genetically engineered voices' and do rockin' harmonies and sang old songs and the crowd loved that and us. So altogether, not bad.

Thank goodness we went first. We gratefully waltzed off the stage with the profound relief that we did OK, and went to enjoy the rest of the show. The people who performed after us were all very polished mostly professional musicians and I would have been ill, and put my head down and wept if we had to go last.

To attain happiness in another world we need only to believe something, while to secure it in this world, we must do something.
Charlotte Perkins Gilman

I am from a family of very accomplished people, among us are successful restaurateurs, artists, authors, teachers, musicians, and writers. Almost everyone has left their mark: books, paintings, installations, songs, Cd's, poems etc. To date I have several accomplishments of which I am inordinately fond. The first is my story that was read on NPR. 'The Vinyl Cafe' read my story titled it "Boo Boo the Cat". [My title for the story was "Be Careful What You Ask For"]  When we heard my name and then the story read for our entire country and Canada to hear, we all cheered, it was quite a thrill for me.  The second was a lecture that I gave in Victoria along with my pal Laurie Strong to 250 people at a convention about how to successfully recover from difficulties. The third was singing with my sisters [the above mentioned Sibling Revelry] and also singing with all five sisters at the San Juan Co. fair in 1997. This has been a joy and I relish the fun we've had singing for many years. Sibling Revelry went back and forth from Forks to Friday Harbor many times. We even did a "Y2K Farewell Tour" twice. We would probably do another if our public demanded it.

The fourth is something very few people know about and if you know nothing else about me, you should know this. In 1958 I was crowned "Queen of All Parks" in Evanston, Il.  I had to compete for that title, I was eleven years old. Those of you who do know me might find it hard to believe that I would subject myself to a beauty contest and you would be right, it was a talent contest. I was small and skinny but at the audition I came roaring out on stage in a cowgirl outfit twirling a lariat over my head, but that's not all. I did cartwheels while twirling [one handed] and back bends too! Sally said, "you made the cover of the Evanston Review" an honor. I was also on the Chandler Park float for the 4th of July parade in Evanston which was a smokin' big deal in those days. So there. Talk about accomplished! The beauty of being only 11 was that I wasn't one bit nervous, my Mother was, but not I. How times have changed. I do get a bit hyped prior to a performance now, but once it starts I truly love it- like the 11 year old inside of me.

Do Not Go Gentle in that Good Night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

Marking life is, I believe, imperative for dozens of reasons, most importantly it can bring you joy and then it is good to have a storehouse of great memories to draw upon in darker moments. Since all of life is energy, we know that from physics, using your allotted energy for the good of others and the world is truly a worthwhile endeavor. Whether your legacy is writing, children, words, deeds, music or donations, do it now, don't put it off and do it with enthusiasm.

I realize that some of you are doing all you can just to raise those children, do your jobs and find time for relaxation. But I also know that machines [cell phones, TV] are sucking the life out of many of us and robbing people of their creative energy. This does feel a bit ironic as I sit here at the computer. Stop laughing.

Wild women who caught and sang the sun in flight,
and learn, too late, they grieve it on its way... how bright their frail deeds
might have danced in a green bay.
Dylan Thomas with apologies

Did I mention that no one gets out of this world alive? While we are here why not make this as pleasant and meaningful a journey as possible. Dancing, preferably with a lariat over your head while singing, seems like as good an endeavor as I can think of.   Add to that constantly finding amusement and laughter each day, and you have a pretty good set up for happiness.

For now, when I see you, I don't expect a gift or a crown, but you may bow or curtsy to the Queen of all Parks.
susansmagicfeather 2023 Susan R. Grout

singing at mom's memorial

sisters plus sister in law

Biking for Mental Health and Happiness

A Typical Tuesday

Sunbathing cats languidly glance up,

birds fly away as I hop on my bike and pedal

past barking dogs,

past cavorting lambs ,

past lush fields of daffodils.

I tease a clump of cows with a startling aria,

laughing when two raise their liquid eyes my way.

These sturdy wheels and legs

carry me to work.

I wonder why the road is not clogged with bicyclists.

I remember Holland,

well dressed business people biked to their jobs:

women in high heels, men in suits.

In Africa they carry truck tires,

entire families on their bikes.

I just enjoy the ride

thinking as I pedal about this circle of life.                   Susan Grout 2011

---

I just had the opportunity to go on the "Tour de Lopez", a 31 mile journey around the little island to the east of our island. Several friends and I met up on the ferry and told funny stories en route to the ride. The day that was grey and cloudy was becoming sunny outside and inside that ferry. Nothing like the harmony of a good group of friends to bring on the sunshine.

"You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm."
Collette

Biking has been part of my life since I was five years old. Always a dare devil child I learned to ride early and to my Mother's consternation I rode with daring. To her horror she watched as I rode down our small hill one foot balanced on the seat, hands holding on to the handle bars, while I did an arabesque-- leg extended behind me. Pay back time came when I raised two sons like myself, Josh  at 2 years old rode his trike down a flight of stairs and then at seven his bike off a deck. Zach at eleven was performing tricks and feats down a rocky slope, crashed and bleeding rode himself to the medical center. I shake my head now when I think about our adventures and thank God that we all had the good fortune to survive and never even lose consciousness.

The exhilaration and the freedom I felt when I learned to ride at five continues to this day, and is without parallel. What a clever device a bicycle is: a self propelled unit that can take you almost anywhere you want to go. Amazing. Then the additional benefits, no gas guzzling, no emissions, splendid exercise, and an excellent chance to think with no machines to interrupt you. I realize this is not for everyone, but I pity those who cannot join in the fun of bicycling.

The Tour for the young ones is a rather quick experience, our group took our time, some did the entire 31 miles and others for various reasons chose the shorter 17 mile route. All reported an excellent day even those of us who should have trained more and had a very sore butt as a consequence of under training. So I comforted myself with overeating and Aleve when I got home.

Biking gave me my first taste of independence, and I have never looked back. In the 50's in Evanston, under parenting ruled and we went everywhere on bikes, school, beaches, the stores. I am grateful for those days of 'no helmet' abandon. Then biking saved my bacon in graduate school. I used those wheels as a metaphor for life, cranking away at my studies. I did some of my best thinking while pedaling furiously. Tension, worry, and the aggravation of being an "at a distant student" [when that was a new concept], fell away as I tore down the roads of our town. It centered me, focused my thoughts.

However, this was not always the case. Once time after grad school I was preparing for a talk that I was giving in Victoria. As usual I hopped on my bike to go over all the important points in my head. Well, I started fooling around, not paying close enough attention and I wasn't wearing a helmet. Next thing I knew, my wheel went into the soft gravel and when I fell I smacked my chin on the pavement.  Naturally, my chin split open and like Zachary before me, despite the gushing blood, I had to ride myself to the medical center. No stitches they glued me, but the lesson was learned. I looked a sight and to my embarrassment I had to tell that story to 250 people at the conference. Paying attention while biking is as important as the attention needed for driving a car.

Today I am more safety oriented and much more attentive. I always wear a helmet, I dress to be noticed, looking like a carnival. I have a bell, a mirror, padded pants [that really do feel like wearing diapers], padded gloves and carry a spare tire. But the best news is I haven't done an arabesque in years. Mother would be so relieved.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

When I Am Not a Nice Person

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Be Careful What You Ask For

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR              
 
                                                                                                                                                                                                                

                                                                                  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Mini Amnesia and Recurrent Deja Vu, I Repeat

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

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

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

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

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

Steve Martin

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

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

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

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

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

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

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Small town Therapist on Forgiveness

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Nine Steps

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

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

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

* Mary is a not her real name

** are Stephen Luskin quotes

susansmagicfeather 2023 Susan R. Grout 

On Silence in a Machine Age

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

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

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

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

"We rarely have heart to heart conversations anymore."

"Why is that?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Having Fun with Phobias

"A lot of people are afraid of heights, not me, I'm afraid of widths."
Stephen Wright


About 15 years ago I became very interested in therapy methods designed to shorten other's suffering. I read everything I could get my hands on which I presumed would be a refresher of the Brief Therapy model that I studied in graduate school. But no, it seemed that the new methods were using the body as well as the mind to enhance recovery from a host of problems. I was hoping that this would be a quicker therapy than laboriously searching  through past history and walking through the broken glass of horrible experiences to change trauma. So, I decided to go to a workshop that promised these shortcuts. One eyebrow raised and a "prove it" attitude went along with me.

Interestingly, the workshop was sponsored by a very enlightened group of people I worked with who were in the behavioral health section of an insurance company. They actually encouraged us to study new techniques to expand our competency and in their best interest enable us to hasten people's recovery. Win/win: quicker time in counseling [good for the client] and also less out flow of cash for the insurance company. The only problem was I was inherently skeptical of "quick fixes", nonetheless I ventured forth.

At the workshop the leader told about the process and how it was based on acupuncture points which corresponded to the Chinese meridian points discovered thousands of years ago. Hum mm, I thought, let's see if this is just talk with no substantiation. First off he asked for volunteers, asking for someone who had something that they were afraid of, something they wanted to change. Ha, I thought, I don't have anything like that. The first volunteer was a young woman who bravely stood up before all of us and said, "I have a terrible fear of heights." O, that fear, and I inwardly cringed.

A couple of years prior I was at my son's graduation from college. My husband and two sons and I wanted to see some sights and my son suggested  we go out to a see a particularly lovely gorge in near his college.  With great enthusiasm all of us walked around the entrance to the gorge which was cordoned off with a fence for safety's sake. My two boys walked right up to the fence, my husband right behind them, glancing down at the incredible view below.  I thought I was going to throw up. I couldn't look and a was a mess, cautioning them to "step away from that fence!" They laughed and started to dangle parts of themselves over the fence until I was almost in tears. Seems as if I had hidden my fear of heights rather well, they thought I was kidding. The point - I was terrified.

The leader  first attended to the young therapist, having her explain her fear of heights and asking how many years it had been present in her life and how it had adversely affected her. She candidly described how she couldn't even climb a ladder. Then he instructed her to do a series of taps on herself, all the while thinking of what she was afraid of. This took possibly ten minutes. Next, he brought a step stool and asked her if she would consider standing on it. "Sure!" she said, and proceeded to do just that. Wow, I thought, I wonder if she was planted, to con us.

We were then given the manual which instructed us in the very simple technique. We then paired off with another therapist, having one person act as the client and the other as the therapist trying the new technique we just witnessed.

I went first and as the client had to describe the fear in great detail. Mine was fairly easy to root out, it happened when I was 12 years old. My mother had always taken all six of us to the same dentist, Dr. Leishmer. He was kind and good and we did like him. Well, sadly he developed cancer of the jaw. This was fifty years ago and the treatments at that time for cancer were Draconian, somewhat like today's treatments, but far less effective. So, Dr. Leishmer came in to greet us and he was wearing a surgical mask over his lower face. That was bad enough but bless his heart, he smelled like rotting fish. Sally, as oldest went first. I took the time to walk out into the hallway, down the hallway to a door that lead out to the fire escape. This office was on the 12th floor of the building and it was a beautiful spring day. Since it was 1958, no safety measures were in place, nothing to stop me and I blithely waltzed out on the fire escape and looked all around Chicago and then looked down. Whoosh. 12 stories down. I fell to my knees and had to crawl back inside the building, shaking and nauseous. My turn was soon next and I had to go in there with poor Dr. Leishmer who, despite his cancer was working.

Years later I asked my Mom, "why did you takes us to him, that was awful." She said, "I felt incredibly sorry for him. As soon as most people heard that he had cancer they canceled their appointments and I just couldn't do that to him. He had a family to feed." How I wish she had prepared us for this experience and for her generosity in being loyal to him. Not her way. Anyway the dilemma for me was an internal one: I was sickened by this man but I didn't want to cause a scene and refuse to go in. Hence the perfect set up for a phobia, internal conflict and fear.

After my partner lead me through the series of taps, humming, counting I was to rate my discomfort level. I went from a '9' [ uncomfortable] to a '2' [comfortable], zero being the most comfortable. I still had some skepticism, was going to work in the real world? Cut to the chase here, I tried it out in many forms and was successful. My biggest triumph was going to the Empire State building several years ago, really enjoying the view, heading back to the down the elevator and saying to my husband, "remember when I used to be afraid of heights?" He answered  "I almost forgot about that", and I said, "Yeah, so did I".

"You can't do anything about the length of your life, but you can do something about its width and depth." H.L.Menken


What I want to leave you with is this: if you have an irrational fear and you want it gone, there are fast and effective methods out there to chase them away. I am not going to advocate for any brand name in particular but do go banish the fear. Find someone [psychotherapist, hypnotherapist] who is recommended. What is marvellous is the cure. It is so worth it: you can see all over Chicago, New York, any gorge and look and see what is way down below because you feel safe and you will enjoy it and be proud of yourself.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Anxiety as Energy- Dad and How He Humored Himself Around Life

Robert L. Ricketts 

Wit as Gentle Humor

How easy it is for one to laugh,
When lines aren't punched,
Or people trashed.
When biting comments meant to sting,
Are reduced to playful pithy things.
The quibbling quip, the ill timed phrase
Instead are met with joyous praise.
Give me the rhythm rhyme and rule
That helps relieve the words so cruel
And adds a lone redeeming tone
To any song that feels like home.  Susan R. Grout, 1998



I admire great wit and find that so much of life can be appreciated when one's wits are fully engaged and one is eager to laugh. My first homework assignment to most of my clients is: be aware and amused each day and then report back. This is just one of the blessings I got from my father who in his gentle way could make any heart melt with his warm humor and quick wit. I know this contributed to his success as a restaurateur. How did he develop this humor?

Dad was the baby of  his family and though treasured for that reason, he did not have an optimal up bringing. For one thing his mother left him and her other three children with their grandmother when he was only six months old and did not return until he was five! [I had to verify this with sister Trisha, even writing it was awful.] Then my Grandmother wanted her children back and took her case to court. Unbelievably the judge made the children decide where they wanted to live, Mother or their Father. The older three chose their Dad who had been involved with them all along. My Dad wanted to do this as well, but he chose to live with his mother because he felt sorry for her. Then, what a circus ensued! Every six months they would have to move in the middle of the night to avoid eviction and paying the landlord. One time when he was about eight,  Dad was eating cereal for dinner while his Mom was out on the town [it was the roaring twenties...], there was a knock on the door, he opened it and some men came in and repossessed the furniture. She said when she came home, "why did you open the door?" When he told this story he always laughed, he loved to entertain, even at his own expense. Obviously, this is not the recipe for family life, role models, or love relationships but curiously this man was all about love, laughter and making people feel good and comfortable. Also surprisingly he was an excellent business man with a strong work ethic and a head for figures.

Ah, but the toll this childhood had on his soul was unrelenting anxiety through most of his thirties. Surely his erratic upbringing set him up to be anxious but then, as most of the men in his era, he entered the war as a 21 year old. I know next to nothing about his stint on Okinawa, he told us "I dug latrines for three years,"  which I blithely believed until I read about Okinawa. Yeah, right. It was called "the worst theater of  WWII in the Pacific". So I doubt seriously it was nothing but the shovel for him. He never talked about it. This probably contributed to his anxiety attacks. [See the post on http://susansmagicfeather.blogspot.com/2011/03/influential-people-in-my-life-or-who.html 3/17/11 "Influential People in my Life" about Dad].

As I previously mentioned these attacks finally stopped the last time my mother brought him to the emergency room and a doctor said sternly "this has to stop, you had better change your life."  His change was wrought by a new job, selling our big house and buying his own restaurant. Getting him away from a rather difficult brother who was perpetually jealous of my Dad was an enormous improvement, but striking out on his own with a family to feed-yikes.

Did I mention another possible contributing factor? My Dad was drinking heavily. Excuse me if I am preaching to the choir, but one of the unfortunate facts about booze is it's a "depressive sedative drug". This drug initially relaxes and then it ends up being a stimulant especially when too much is consumed. That is why in moderation it is a 'feel good' experience, but with too much of a good thing, as in many things in life, it is detrimental. When he quit the restaurant downtown the doctor told him to take six months off, to pull himself together and start on a new course. The doctor also cautioned him "don't have more than one drink a day." Dad was fond of saying, "So I went out and bought a fishbowl."  My sister Sally and I still laugh remembering him in his lawn chair, drink in hand, while we were sweating our butts off cutting the grass. "You missed a spot," he'd say pointing. Amazingly he was able to draw up a new life for himself and he did recover fairly well from the months off. Yet he continued to over drink.

Years later when I was working for the local 'Community Alcohol and Recovery Center' I screwed up my courage to confront him about his drinking. "Dad," I said with shaking voice and utter sincerity, "I'm concerned about your drinking and from what I've learned, you are a 'maintenance alcoholic'." He looked interested and said, "Sue, what is that?" I said, "It is a person who is a "heavy steady" drinker, never really drunk but someone who maintains a certain percentage of alcohol in their system most days." He laughed, patted me on the arm and said "Never give up on me, Sue," then he pause and said, "heavy, steady, I like that." He used that term fondly about his drinking and to my knowledge it did not alter his behavior one iota. So, I did raise his consciousness but not in the way I intended. His drinking up until that time was always a puzzle to me, I never saw him drunk yet when he'd come to visit us our first stop, at his insistence, always was the liquor store. When he got his bottle he would clutch it and say "my security". He was a happy, cheerful, fun loving drinker who would occasionally burst into song. Not the usual sad profile of an alcoholic. He not only was successful at business but he was cherished by his family and had a host of loyal friends until he died. Nonetheless, I was constantly trying to save him from himself, I did so worry about him. I lost the battle years later-- he died of a heart attack, at only 67 years old. My husband and all of the brother-in-laws grieved him like a father, and all of us still tell funny stories about him. He was very well loved. Flaws? Yes. Wonderful, absolutely.

So, now that you know some of his history, how on earth was he able to control his anxiety? Obviously, not very well in his thirties but he improved as he aged. For one thing he threw himself into his new business and because it was his own venture he dragged my Mom, my sister Sally and me into the restaurant. Then as the littler ones aged they had a chance to work in the restaurant with our father. He was surrounded by hiring and by genetics with people who adored him. Quite a contrast to working with his brother. As a matter of fact, some of his employees worked at the restaurant the entire time he owned it, more than 25 years. As his business grew so did his confidence in choosing who he cared about, in other words, no more ass kissing. He was unfailingly respectful to everyone who walked into that restaurant and remarkably was able to greet everyone by name. This is thousands of customers and he could remember not only their name but also something personal about them. [It is just striking me, I have always been grateful for my good memory and that this is one of the characteristics I must have inherited from him, though I don't have thousands, only hundreds of names and histories to remember.] If a customer was rude he could handle them, best with humor. An example: a rather pretentious, seriously overdressed woman came in while I was waitressing. She asked to see a menu, popped on her glasses, read and exclaimed, "there is absolutely nothing on this menu that I would eat!"  "Lady," my Dad said, "the only thing not on that menu is spaghetti or hot dogs!" She left in a huff and we laughed and laughed.

 Taking charge, making the changes he needed and using his anxiety as energy was top on the list of taming the anxiety. Later,  letting go of how people perceived him or felt about him also helped. He even took a yoga class with my mother. Keep in mind this was in the late sixties when men at a yoga class were about as ordinary as if a llama stepped into the class. I was thrilled and said, "Great, how did it go?" "I threw my back out trying to be a pretzel" he said. At least he tried.

How to conquer anxiety, a partial list.

1. Use the anxiety for yourself as extra energy.  Think about how actors use their nervousness back stage as a punch to their performance.
2. Learn to pay attention to the body and read its signals. If anyone who is starting to have a panic would just slow their breathing [in extremis breathing into a paper bag], most panic attacks would be prevented.
3. Vow to live fearlessly each day, or as Sally says "carpe them diems". Ask yourself, "what is the worst thing that can happen?"  "Do you have to do this by yourself or could you ask for help?" "What small thing can I do today to protect myself from the [imagined?] outcome?"
4. Pregrieving?  Am I imagining how bad I might feel if and when this dreadful thing may or may not happen?  
5. Use the Serenity Prayer or a magic feather to realize that there are things that are in our control and things out of our control [people, places and things] and we must accept this and move on.
6. Distract yourself with a friend, a walk outside, a pet, a phone call, yoga, writing, a movie, bath, music, etc., etc.
7. Let go, remind yourself that the last time you checked you weren't a god or goddess and so in our humanness, the human brain is anciently wired for fear and for good reason we had to be alert so as not to be eaten by a predator.  
8. We can outsmart or train the brain which wants to go back into the fear groove by saying, "no thank you I've had enough of that" or by the distractions mentioned above.
9. Always try to be aware and amused at the world.

Since everyone has anxiety thanks to how our brains are wired, it is the wise person who uses that anxiety with relish and maybe even turns it into a passion. He did, he loved his work, his family his friends and to entertain everyone. I will always love my Dad.  I have learned the lessons he taught me, some good [memory, discipline, friendliness, business] and the not so good [ don't drink too much or it will shorten your life, driving too fast promotes tickets...] I will always be the grateful daughter. I just wish I could tell a joke like he could,  alas, I inevitably screw up the punch line.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

I'll Let You Go --the Grace of A Happy Death

"Seems to me it wasn't all that long ago that when an OLD PERSON DIED  the UNDERTAKER put him in a COFFIN,  and then you sent FLOWERS  to the FUNERAL HOME where the MORTICIAN  held the WAKE. Then after the FUNERAL,  they put him in a HEARSE  and DROVE him to the CEMETERY, where the BURIED  his BODY in a GRAVE.
Now when a SENIOR CITIZEN PASSES AWAY, he is placed in a BURIAL CONTAINER and you send FLORAL TRIBUTES  to the  SLUMBER ROOM  where the GRIEF THERAPIST  supervises the VIEWING. After the MEMORIAL SERVICE,  the  FUNERAL COACH TRANSPORTS THE DEPARTED   to the GARDEN OF REMEMBRANCE, where his EARTHLY REMAINS  are INTERRED  in their  FINAL RESTING PLACE."  George Carlin

The above is not a scolding, but a mere reminder that we have sanitized death and dying sometimes to a very silly level and George was willing to make fun of that. Wouldn't be better, more real, if we just talked bluntly about death and dying?

In grade school most of us loved to solve riddles and one I remember was, "what does a housewife search for and hates to find?"--- Dust.  Another, more modern riddle, "what do most of us avoid examining and must experience"?--- Death. Ashes to ashes dust to dust, a modern day riddle solved.

A couple of months prior to her death, my sister Sally overheard my Mom say to one of her friends on the phone, "my daughter is with me and then the rest of them [me and my siblings] are coming to watch me die, isn't that sweet?" Sally really laughed and gleefully told us this remark.  Mom toward the end of her life was overt and candid about her impending "ashes to ashes" experience. I do not believe I ever heard her utter the popular phrase "passed on" about any of her friends who died before her or  about her own death. In her apartment complex, anyone she would meet would ask her how she was getting along and she'd say, "my life is ebbing away". Since most the of inquirers were approximately her age, they would just nod knowingly, and push their walkers away at a glacial clip. By contrast, the younger people would invariably say something like, "O, Jane you look great," stumbling all over themselves to deny the truth what was right there before their eyes. She did have fire in her eyes and always that witty remark but she was so greatly diminished in her last year.

Being in an old people's home really brings your mind around to how precious a healthy and active life is. Some of the people residing there had few visitors and this was an up scale place that went all out for their residents. I believe it is because no one wants to look at the end of life, especially the thoughts of our own impermanence.
I can't say I blame anyone for not wanting to examine their own death, or as Woody Allen said, "It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens." And currently in our society we keep death as a secret as possible with our over emphasis on youth, eternal youth, everlasting youth, we do not want to be there when death happens, at all. In my work I promote living fully until the last breath of life with love and joy all around. However, wonder if one of your last experiences is in a country that is having an earthquake, a tsunami, radioactive fallout? Wonder if you contract a particularly virulent form of cancer? How would you be, how would you want to be? I remember many years ago reading in  James Clavell's Shogun, the warriors would prepare themselves each morning with "today is a good day to die". That is how we all should be preparing for our own deaths, daily, with grace, wisdom, awareness and humor. I realize that finding something tranquil or humorous in painful illness is a reach, but the discipline of keeping calm, being meditative, can serve us well.

In my field, Psychology, in past twenty years, there has been a refreshing embracing of the art of "mindfulness" and meditation. Many studies have shown that the simple act of being still and letting the thoughts in your head roll on by without grabbing them with a choke hold has a remarkably palliative effect. I am a type A+ person, love to and need to move, so even though I have practiced a form of meditation for over 25 years I am still fairly lousy at it. Below is the handy dandy method I espouse.

1. Forget what you have been told about meditation, you do not have to be holy, mindless or even sitting up. So instead I would like to introduce:
2. "The Cheater's Method of Meditation".
3. Plan to wake up 15-20 minutes before you have to get up and get going.
4. Go to the bathroom and then get back in bed.
5. Lay on your back, rotate your arms so that your palms are facing up to the ceiling.
6. Let the thoughts in your head just go. Do not grab them.
7. If this feels too difficult, just allow yourself to calmly breath. Watch the breath. [Turning the palms up like that interferes with falling back to sleep.]
8. Do this daily, aim for 15-20 minutes. Even five minutes can improve your day immeasurably, it could be a good day to die.  

I have been happily engaged in this form of meditation for years and truly enjoy the peace and the settling in that comes with it.

This last year was a big one with Mom dying and the meditation practice has been invaluable. It helped with the times I spent with Mom and afterwords dealing with her death. She said to me the last time that I saw her, "you know Susan, you are helping me die and this is something that you will remember all your life." She died gracefully with her daughters at her bedside. She talked about helping my Grandmother through her last days. Mom was holding her hand and GG leaned over to her and said, "let's run away together." Then she died, running to, hopefully, a lovely place.

Mom would always end each phone conversation the same way, "I'll let you go." And now on a daily basis I am letting her go, with love and gratitude. Amen

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Influential People in my Life or Who will You Mourn

It is well past midnight and I am reading a particularly lovely passage in Major Pettigrew's Last Stand and I am smiling then abruptly burst into tears. Why? Well, I would love to be able to share this book with the other member of my two-person-Friday Book Club and I cannot, she died in September. For years my mother and I shared, extolled, ranted, raved and immensely enjoyed our exchanges about books that we had mutually read. This happened mostly on Fridays due to my "religion" - I haven't worked on Fridays for years, but truthfully it could have been any day of the week. The reading and treasuring these books was especially heightened in intensity when Mom and her husband had to sell their house [which she did single handedly] and move into a retirement  complex [again, almost single handedly] and she had to give up hundreds of her books. I took this on as my mission, the least I could do, sending her six books every six weeks. Lucky for me, we liked many of the same books. Also fortunately, I have a dear friend who has remarkably similar taste in literature as Mom and I could easily rope her into the game. She read every one, even the ones she railed about. She read 'em all. She often said, "Susan, I don't know what I'd do without these books," and with that kind of gratitude it was my delight to seek out books she would particularly enjoy. I recommend this activity for anyone who has a friend who is ill or family member that you wish to be closer to, it is stimulating and very satisfying rather than reverting to "how's the weather where you are?"

There are many reasons that my Mother reaches the top of my list for remarkable and influential people in my life. As I thought about this it came to me that the people you admire and enjoy are the ones that you will grieve when they die, and they must be included on the influential list.

My Mom, by nature, was never very huggy-kissy and I was one of six children so there was no danger of being over indulged or spoiled. We learned independence at an early age. We ran free and as one of my sisters stated: "ours was a  lively and raucous household". There were lots of artistic endeavors and always tons of music, perhaps to the neighbors chagrin.  My Mom was quite an artist and drew for Marshall Fields & Co. back in the 40's which she had to abandon for her family but she never stopped being artistic. Music was one good way of keeping all six kids happy during long car rides. It is particularly sad to me that so many families are all on their isolated pods and not interacting while traveling.  Everyone in our family not only learned to sing but also  to play an instrument. Ah, the harmonies. I really believed that if you had more than two people singing there would naturally be three part harmony. Lucky, so lucky to be exposed to all of the  music and singing at such an early age, and has brought so much joy to my life. What  I admired about my Mother was her willingness to change, bend and grow from rough experiences. My Dad had a series of what we now realize were panic attacks when he was in his late 30's, believing each time that he was having a heart attack. Many a time she rushed him to the emergency room until a Dr. told them he had to make some big changes in his life,  adding that he could not continue to do what he was doing. He decided to quit his job: he had been working at the family restaurant with a very unpleasant brother and grew to hate the job. He loved restaurants though and so he and Mom sold the big house and bought a restaurant in a town 20 miles away from the restaurant in the big city. Very hard work, grinding long hours but they eventually made a success of the restaurant. During these tumultuous years she ended up packing up all six kids, pets and the family belongings four times in about four years before they finally settled into the home where my father died when he was only 67. Widowhood was rough and we gathered around our grief stricken mother. A most remarkable thing happened, my Mom who was not known for her light- heartedness became fun and entertaining. Married to the life of the party her role had been to basically clean up the detritus of the star of the show, my Dad. Now was her time. She surprised us all by getting re married at the age of 75 and up and moving to her new husband's stomping grounds. They had about 9 or 10 good years and then he started to lose it, either minor strokes or dementia and though it was difficult [and so was he] she didn't leave him and took care of him until 3 months prior to his death. I don't believe his family has ever appreciated what she did for him and them. Because her husband did not like to travel she became the one who would come out west to see us. She was there at all of the weddings, the funerals and an annual summer visit. It is hard to think, no more, never again. Her generosity is legend in the family, she financially helped each of our children with college, she aided in paying for surgeries, until very recently she sent us a check for our birthdays and always "a buck for luck". So I not only loved her, I admired her and realize that she influenced me greatly. I hope I can live up to some of her happier traditions, her creativity and her generosity. Tomorrow: What my Dad and Nelson Mandella Had in Common

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magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Recovering from "Great Pain"

When there is great trauma in the world, the thoughts and heart go out to all of the people: Japan, Haiti and New Zealand who are all overwhelmed with earth quake catastrophe, huge loss and overwhelming grief.  I am narrowing grief down to a personal level and hope that this can aid in the lessening of great pain for anyone reading.

It is almost, but not quite, impossible to describe to someone who has not suffered a huge loss what it is like and why it takes an inordinate amount of time and energy to recover. Age and time help, that is true and I am drawn to the words written a century and a half ago by Emily Dickinson.

                             After great pain a formal feeling comes---

The Nerves sit ceremonious like Tombs--
The stiff Heart questions was it he, that bore,
And yesterday or Centuries before?

Great loss does have that pendulum feeling of immediacy and 'centuries before'. I tell people that I see in counseling, "the best you can hope for is that it will not remain as physically painful, it will become more like a whisper, a wistfulness of a memory." This is true when I reflect on the loss of my daughter. Granted, I am mourning only one tiny person, yet "my heart stiffened" at that time and my mind locked into an oblivion of pain. I was relentlessly grieving not only for the baby daughter but for every age of the daughter that I would be missing. My resolve was to tough it out so I could be an adequate Mom to my darling, healthy, little boys who were only two and five years old.  They were as lively and funny and dear as always but their antics not only made me laugh but then I would cry, which I, of course, tried to hide from them. Life goes on and people expect you to recover quickly and be the same person that you were prior to the death. I couldn't and I wasn't.  Again to Emily describing the weight of loss--


This is the hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow--
First---Chill---then Stupor---then the letting go---

I was so young, only 28 and all the previous deaths in my life were expected, Grandparents in their late 70's, so nothing had prepared me for the overwhelming grief that would be my constant companion for years. Did I appear a mess and glum? No, I hid it well and in fact had many joyous times. I also did some incredibly foolish things like telling my parents not to come to be with me, no memorial [in those days it was funerals], rejected friends who babies born around the same time and did not seek help for months. When I did seek help it was with a peer support group that in a small way did aid in my recovery but truthfully I needed more than that. I did lots of reading and talking to others who had experienced a similar loss. I found out just how a big club it is and I was humbled. I learned so much about grief and grieving, and this loss jet propelled me past my peer group and gave me insights that I carried into my counseling practice.

Here is a partial list of the things that I found were essential in my recovery and helpful to the grieving people in my counseling practice:

1. Budget more time than you think is necessary to allow expression of the loss.
2. Get appropriate help. This can be in any form that you find meaningful- most importantly with friends and family and then what works for you: the churches, professional counseling; a peer group; shamans; spiritual guides etc.
3. Review frequently: what is getting in the way of feeling better? How is holding on to anger, hatred, despair, victimization, bitterness serving me? Am I keeping the past as present?
4. Self care is a very important part of recovery to wit: am I abusing drugs, alcohol etc.? Am I eating nourishing food, getting enough sleep, exercising? Am I withholding the truth from myself, my friends, my family, my support group? Am I minimizing?
5. Prioritize your sense of humor. Find reasons to laugh even if it is only at yourself. Watch amusing films, read books that are humorous, be around people that make you laugh. Be around children and pets that you love and find amusing. The AH-HA! is very close to the HA-HA.  All of this takes commitment and diligence, sounds funny to write this, but this is true.
6. Be response able, in other words watch that you are not just reacting to situations and the world but that you are responding in a loving, respectful manner. This includes setting acceptable limits for yourself, being accountable for your actions, being willing to let go of old roles and of course, telling the truth and running.
7. Learn the art of forgiveness. While acknowledging the truth of hurts inflicted  purposefully or inadvertently by others, be willing to step up, say something and then let go of the outcome.
8. Dive down deep, to quote Goethe, "knowing is not enough, we must apply; willing is not enough, we must do." Record this journey in some form for yourself: make a journal; have meaningful conversations; create a painting or collage; make a quilt; write letters etc.
9. Do good loving actions for others daily: remember kindness doesn't cost a cent; be lavish in your loving those close to you; express that love often to those you love; do volunteer work; be aware and amused every day of your life and sharing this joy with others. 

I could go on an on mainly because this is part of my life's work. It has been my privilege to work with so many people and help them through the "hour of lead" to emerge on the other side to the hours of joy.

Tomorrow: On the Loving Influences in My Life and Being Disobedient

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.