The Subtle Art of Loving Confrontation

Tell the truth and run.
An old Swedish proverb

Tell the truth and duck.
An old Finnish proverb

It is such a relief to be told the truth.
Katherine Anne Porter

In my 30 plus years as a psychotherapist I have had to do many a confrontation and only the worst one comes to mind. Once I had an entire family come to me concerned that their beloved Mother was going to drink herself to death or kill someone as she frequently was driving drunk. Being naive and optimistic, a seriously unfortunate combination I was afflicted with in my younger years, I did a hasty run through with several family members and we called a meeting and Mom was the star guest. Well, they all read their letters, so sincerely and so caring and Mom, sat there calmly and roasted each one deftly with some secret defect. "Oh, sweet heart you have always been such a nervous child, all of that bed wetting..." is just one example. I tried to steer the conversation to the points at hand, "Ah but Mrs. Guzzler*, we are talking about the time you ran over the fence post." And she would smile and nod and let the next adult child read their letter so she could publicly skewer them. It was masterful on her part. I stood in awe. my sense of professionalism went straight out the window and after the last poor kid confronted her, I bid them all adieu and slunk away. Not exactly the recipe for success. Yet...

Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.
Aldous Huxley

I don't give them hell, I just tell them the truth and they think it's hell.
Harry S Truman

There is a good time and a good way to confront a loved one on their destructive behaviour. In fact, to not confront someone you love on behavior that is hurtful, destructive or insensitive is a failure to love them completely. I took the roots of this idea from The Road Less Travelled by Scott Peck's book written in the early '80's and applied that idea with abandon. Makes sense to warn someone if they are ignoring you or hurting you or themselves, doesn't it? Makes sense to train a dog not to jump up on people, or children to scream at each other, or adults from drinking themselves to death, doesn't it? Well back to Mrs. Guzzler, no, she did not get sober from our intervention then, but it did plant a seed and lo and behold a year later she went to treatment at the urging of one of the sons. That was more than twenty years ago and she has been happily sober ever since. I got considerably better and more polished at my confrontations. Here are some of the tid bits that I have learned and want to share with you when and if you need to confront a loved one.

The Grout Method of Loving Confrontation

1. Write out a letter first that states what you do want and believe rather than what you don't want.
2. In the first paragraph include three honest positive statements about the person and why you care about them. Example: "Dear Ma Guzzler, I have always enjoyed your sharp wit and great sense of humor, when we travel you are so generous with your time and money to all of us."
3. Then in the main body of the letter do the tell the truth and run part, make it specific. Example: "Last week you drove the car off the road, into the ditch and you could have killed someone. Two weeks ago you fell down the basement stairs and left serious bruises all over your face. I was scared for your life, these are two reason that you are a danger to yourself and others when you drink." 
4. End the letter with what you want to see happen now and in the future. Example: "I would love to see you get sober, Ma and there is an excellent treatment center that has a bed available to you. I want to see you live long enough to met your grandchildren and not cut your life short because of the booze. I want to enjoy you and not worry about you and take some trips and have more raucous laughs together."
5. When the time is right [and in the case of drug or alcohol addiction usually many people are involved]and preferably that is when everyone who is going to confront the person is educated about this method, you deliver the letters verbally, in person to them in some neutral place. If this is just between two people, like in a family squabble, do the above by yourself and either send the letter or do so in person.
6. The best results, without qualification, are when the consequences are great for the person and they care about the consequences. Example: the boss is involved and she could lose her job; everyone agrees not to have anymore drinks with that person, or will only see them when they are not drinking.
7. End the process with declarations of hope and love, and mean it.

I find that this method works really well, if not for the person being confronted, it will always works for the person doing the confronting. Everyone wants to feel as though they have done everything in their power to try to help a loved one who is going down that rabbit hole. Doing it with love and kindness is effective and usually gets good results.

Now for a personal story. Right after my father died in 1987 all of us, the six siblings hovered around my mother to give her support. She was only 65 years old and had lost the love of her life and was devastated. I arrived to stay with her with sister Sally, believing Sal was going to be with us the entire time. No, Sal need to go visit her other in laws so I was there with Mom who also was known for her sharp tongue, not fun. First she said, in a critical voice  "why are you flipping your hair?", I let that go then she said, "do you always squint when you're talking to your clients?" "Ah, yeah, I guess so..." I said. and to myself added 'one more criticism and I'm going to tell her to lay off' and went to bed. The next morning we were about to have breakfast and she said "Susan, you've been picking at your face." I said in a level voice, "Mother, I am not a 'reclamation' project. Let's have a good day together and stop the criticism." To her credit even though she didn't like it, she made no comment and we ate. That day we went to the Art Institute and had a fine time. Now, I realize not every one's relatives are that compliant, but it does pay to confront. Clears the air and eases tension. Always? I wish.

One's task is not to turn the world upside down, but to do what is necessary...with a due consideration of reality.
Dietrich Bonhoffer

We are born to love. If we get back love in this life that is dandy and splendid. But our job is to love. It is courageous to confront someone who is jeopardizing that love, it could go badly. Do it anyway, do it with love and perhaps a sense of humor. Who knows, you just might save a life, or discover that your mother can be your friend. Mine became a good friend to me and I treasured that relationship, it became closer after I stopped being a reclamation project and just a flawed human being that she used to want to make perfect.

*You might have figured out that Mrs. Guzzler is a pseudonym and compilation of several families.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

On Hearing More and Talking Less

 As you know from previous posts I was a psychotherapist for over 30 years. This is from an old post about the art of psychotherapy and the privilege of listening, Susan Grout style.  I rewrote some of it as it feels like a very pertinent subject to readdress. I find that today more and more people have trouble listening. One of the causes is the constant interference of cell phones on our culture. People are allowing themselves to be constantly distracted. Read on.

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 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 and, 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 was making 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 as serious as: the death of a loved one; or torment from their childhood; or 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 have 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 was/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 hear: "my husband is an alcoholic [workaholic, gambler, etc.] 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 he/she has a problem. Two big helpings of frustration for all.] However you can coax someone to be more willing [totally exciting underpants, bribes, rewards, praise, more pleasant experiences if they do...] and there can be consequences for that person if they don't/can't or aren't willing to stop destructive behavior. One of the great teachers of this line of thinking is Al Anon. 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 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 but merely waiting for a pause in the conversation so they can make their own brilliant points. If I am the one making the egregious offense, I usually and candidly admit it. "Sorry Charlie, I drifted a minuted 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 is OK,  but sometimes they'll blurt, "let me finish." And humbled, I take their advice and let them finish. Happily for me the vast majority of people that I listen to are really interesting, easy to listen and pay attention to and it's fine to sit and nod and encourage them to continue.

The exceptions, the ones difficult to pay attention to, are the ones who are incredibly tangential. One person that I'm thinking about is a dear but while talking she'll manically go off on several tangents:  her hair cut, then to people I've never met, then to her approach on dieting--- all in the same paragraph, and sometimes in the same breath. Mostly I just steer the conversation back to her reason for being in counseling, the problem. If it is a friend or relative who is tangential, I will distract her/him to a topic we both enjoy perhaps books or movies we both love and all is well or at least more interesting.

From the client's perspective, it is a drag to figure out that their therapist is not really listening. They are paying good money for their therapy and deserve full attention. Believe me, most people I know realize when someone is not really listening. You can see it in their faces.

And if the therapist suspects that the client has drifted off, my humble perspective is it's important to say something. I usually gently acknowledge that you know that you aren't being heard. "Did you understand that last bit, Charlie?" or something like that to alert the listener that you know they aren't all there. 

'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 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 ta-da: "The Grout Five Minute Rule". Simply employed and executed, you tell the chatty and rambling or repetitive individual go ahead and stick to their topic, or topics and you agree not interrupt for 5 minutes. The talker, who always loves a tangent, has to agree to this as well as the listener. Then the blitzkrieg begins. I must confess that this works brilliantly and I must also 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 that is taught in psychology classes is reflective listening made famous by Carl Rogers who swiped his ideas from good parents everywhere. This is reflective listening, repeating back what someone just said to encourage them to continue. This is most natural to respond in this manner when a baby coos. 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. I listened with my whole body and glowed with delight as that baby articulated that name, my new name to herself and me.

I am truly blessed because my life's work has been to study, listen and then help people who come to me. There is constantly so much to learn and the field of psychology is not only fascinating but also exciting in its discoveries of what works best for most people. I am constant learning, so are the people in my field and so too are my clients and we all share in that wealth of knowledge. It all starts 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 2018 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Everlasting Love- I Love You Still

I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have called you and you are mine.

Hymn sung at Mom's Memorial by her request

Our Mother died in Sept of 2010 and we buried our mother ironically nine months after her death. This was fitting since she gave birth to the four of us who handled her ashes. I expected this to be a somber, sad, and somewhat solemn affair and it turns out it was anything but.

While other people's deaths are deeply sad, one's own is surely a bit of a joke.
James Cameron

Mom asked to be cremated,[yeah Mom] and then she asked if "you would take my ashes and put them on top of Dad's grave." "O, well, of course." we all said. See, she wanted us to put those ashes on top of our father's grave which resided in a big cemetery in the heart of Chicago. I thought, "that might prove to be an interesting proposition.  Did they have security, rules, penalties for misbehavior?" Undaunted, we agreed and met at sister Trish's house in June.

The day of the 'Ashes to Earth' ceremony, Sally, Trisha, Kathleen and I gathered around Trisha's little kitchen table where the ashes were in a black box. Trish made a lovely altar for Mom, complete with candles and flowers. Then the ceremony began. I pictured we would say a prayer, tell stories or read poetry about the death of a loved one. No, we took to the task at hand, dividing the ashes into four zip lock bags so we could carry Mom in our purses into the cemetery. It is hard to be solemn when you have 1/4th of your mother and a trowel in your purse. This was our "strategery" [as W would say] to sneak passed the guards.

We loaded up into two cars: Trisha, her daughter and grandkids in one car; Kathleen and her husband Steve, me and my husband and Sally in Steve's van. Off we went to the place where, not only my Dad but also where our four grandparents were buried. Once there, we carefully dug up the sod around Dad's gravestone [looking over our shoulders all the while for fear of incarceration]. Trisha had not only provided trowels for each of us but also a bigger baggie for the extra soil. That girl is smart. We then unceremoniously, holding our breath, dumped Mom all around the perimeter of Dad's gravestone and quickly replaced the turf on top of Mom's ashes. Then the coup de grace, Stevie had brought beers "I figured since we tailgated your father's funeral we should tailgate Jane's." Good logic. We used those beers to pack down the sod and to wash off the headstone. We took tons of pictures, and then as is common with most funeral experiences we went back to Trisha's house for a huge lunch.

Celebrations of death often end with the celebration of life: talking, laughing, telling stories of the loved one and eating. Being from a restaurant family we are all of the "live to eat" club as opposed to those who 'eat to live'. We don't understand those folks and they don't understand us. My observation is that if you want to be really, really thin become very, very old, you will then be quite thin. I didn't notice tons of obesity in the Assisted Living crowd. This is also contrasted by being with my baby grand niece LJ who was eating mashed banana for the first time in her life. The wonderment, the joy, the delight as she savored each mouthful. We should all keep those experiences about food, to taste, to savor, to celebrate.

Our mother was know for her voracious appetite. She used to say when Dad was still alive and people would ask her, "Jane, how do you cook for two now that your family is grown?" She'd answer, "It's simple I just buy meals that say 'serves 4' and we eat the whole thing." That appetite only waned in the last couple years of her life. She lived fiercely, artistically, colorfully and then when she was done with all of that fierceness she "ebbed away".

Later that day we went up to sister Trisha's cottage on a Lake and Sally and Trish took turns reading the love letters that Mom and Dad sent to each other during World War II when my Dad was in Okinawa. The letters were tender, dear, filled with love and longing. We all had tears in our eyes to think of these two young married people with a new baby [Sally] separated by war. I never knew that my father was so passionate or my mother so heart broken by their separation. It was a touching and grand afternoon sharing their love for each other. Such a good idea after the burial and reuniting of two great spirits.

I loved so many things about Mom, most of all her wit and her modesty. No gravestone* for her and she certainly did not want to be encased in an urn. Her grave is now surrounding the man that she loved from the time she was a teenager, my father. He got from her stability and someone he adored, she got from him a sense of adventure, tons of laughter and a wonderful, loving husband.

Mom was solid and so forthright, you could always count on her blunt truth and I used to call her frequently to ask her opinion about anything. Here's how much she meant to me, on the morning that she died my sister Sally called at about 5:30 AM. She related the story of Mom's death and then the other sisters told me how it was for them. My recurrent thought that I had as they talked was "I've got to tell Mom about this." We would have had a good old talk about everyone's reaction to a death. Of course I still can talk to her, but only in my head and heart. If you are listening Mom, I love you still.

In my fantasy she is not only listening but she is with Dad and the four grandparents, my baby and all of our old pets, loving and cuddling beyond the stars. I like that.

*One of my Dad's favorite expressions to all of us was "you think you know everything, but you know nothing." My Dad's headstone reads "Now he knows everything." Guess because she is in there too, so does she.


magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Going Home by the Light of the Silvery Moon

On the last days of our trip I must admit to longing for Mr. G, free toilets, copious water not from a plastic bottle and my own bed. I believe I will never in my long life take any of these for granted again. I solemnly swear to bring a steel water bottle whenever I travel to avoid the incredible waste that is being perpetrated by the water companies convincing people that the water [in Italy] is not drinkable from the tap. I am living proof that it is and only bought water when it was 100 degrees and frozen. That's an incredible luxury. I know this is not true in many places on the globe but in all of the developed countries why all of the plastic? Hmmm, could be money's involved.

Back in Rome and this time Sal and I scored a grand room, one so big that we decided to have a "Salon" prior to our good bye dinner [where expectations were low due to the mediocre quality of the group dinners]. It was fun getting together with all of the folks that we had grown to know and love over our 16 day trip and everyone brought incredible snacks and wine [probably for the same reason that I just expressed]. My thinking was not perfect, as I stated many posts prior to this one, I'm not a very good drinker. If I have more than 3 glasses of wine I tend to be awake in the middle of the night. Just one of the gifts from Menopause. So, thinking "who cares if I'm awake in the middle of the night, that should be about perfect for the alarm going off at 3:45AM."  What I didn't count on was being awake at 2 AM and not being able to get back to sleep. This is when I practice my "cheaters" form of meditation and lay there recalling scenes of the trip and the blankness and calm that ensues. On to the bus at 4:20 and eventually on the plane, I had a great seat on the flight home, a window seat and by none other than Chris again. I said, "I'm just so grateful that it's you and I didn't get stuck with the gentleman with failing capacities." He said, "I hear you, though you know computers tend to go for the same seating sometimes." Still, I felt lucky, although I'm not so sure Chris did when I accidentally spilled a cup of water on him when  he was asleep. He said, "at least it's not red wine." See, gracious of him.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

I have darling nieces. Witness the niece: L who rescued our credit cards from a Xerox machine and drove them to the airport in time for Sal and I to have a bit of lunch before the flight. Kudos! Then the other niece, K who picked us up and drove me to the park and ride where I met Mr. G, another darling, for the ride home.  It was a sunny but cool 70 degrees and I cherish the cool of the NW.

Home is indescribably delicious, out on our deck with my cat, Mr. G, taking in all the colors of the garden with an iced beverage, ahhhh. Nothing like it. Good to be singing 'home sweet home' after leaving Rome.

Go thy way, eat thy breat with joy and drink thy wine with a merry heart.
Ecclesiastes  9:7

O we did make merry and here are the tips that I promised, none of which will shock you but might aid you on any trip.

1. Start enjoying the trip even before you purchase you ticket. Love that you world is about to expand.
2. Have plenty of reading materials. Had Sal not loaned me The Last Child I would have been without a book because I finished the first one I had in record time.
3. Don't put a chocolate bar in your pack in hot weather. I realize this is obvious to most, too bad it wasn't to me. Desire over ruled logic again.
4. Make sure you take "skinny" clothes when traveling in a hot climate. Sal and I were able to wash out all of our clothes and I never had the shame of dirty underwear. The thrift stores are loaded with cotton/poly blends that dry in a snap.
5. Say 'yes' to most experiences, even the less than desirable ones [the city of Trivoli] can have benefits for someone besides yourself. Be generous, we have so much.
6. Go with your gut, if something feels forced, beg off [still glad I left Venice when I did].
7. If you see something in a shop and then you think long and hard about it when you leave, it means that you are supposed to purchase it.
8. A big hat is an asset, find one you love.
9. I shopped for the sandals that I wore almost every day two months prior to the trip to make triple sure they were OK. They were great.
10. Pack light is almost nagged into all of us and yet it's great advice. I had plenty of room for the things that I bought en route and the only thing that I didn't wear was a pair of Nikes. Who knew? 
11. Be smart enough to bring either an Ipad or up grade your phone for keeping in touch with those you love. I stewed about not talking to my husband until I bought that phone card.
12. Be kind, open, loving and express your gratitude to anyone in your path. It pays dividends.

Finally, thanks to anyone who is reading, this has been quite a delightful several posts to publish. Love to you all.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

The Perfect Cup and Cooling Off in Italy

"I don't want to suffer."
Robert Ricketts as he turned on the car's air conditioner

"I love the heat!" glib person said.
"Do you really?" said my sister Trisha.
"O, I do." replied glib person.
"Do you have air conditioning?" Trish
"Of course!" glib
"Ah, then you love the idea of the heat, not the heat itself." Trish

For anyone who claims to love the heat I always ask that same question. My contention is that are a very few people who not only tolerate the heat but thrive in it. They are the 'desert rats' who live in trailers out in the desert, no air conditioning and they do love it. Then there's the rest of us, we cope, we flee into the shadows away from the sun. This would be me in Italy. We don't love the heat, we accept it and run as fast as we can to warm from hot. To us extreme heat is suffering, as my father used to say when it got above 74 degrees, "I don't want to suffer." On went his air conditioner. I'm not that bad but I so love the Northwest for its moderate to cool temperatures. Apparently, the entire time we were in Italy it was less than an ideal summer, bring a new meaning to the word moderate.

I bought a phone card while in Italy and unwittingly bought 5 hours of time. "Yikes" I said to Sally, "how am I going to use up 5 hours?" "You'll think of a way." Sally said. So I called Mr. G just about every night, I called my sons and my grandkids and used up that sucker. "How are you doing and what's the latest?" I'd ask Mr. G. "I've been unbelievably busy and everything at home is going well. Right now it's about 58 degrees and raining." "O, glad to hear that things are going well, try to take it easy." I'd say and then I'd hang up the phone and yell to anyone within hearing distance, "it's 58 degrees and raining in the Northwest," and a cheer would go up from our crowd in Italy. Bratty but fun.

So, finally, day 9 of our trip it cooled off a bit. We went to Ravenna saw a 6th century Basilica of St. Apollinaris in Classe which was most impressive. Simple and beautiful. But the biggest treat was the little cafe by the Basilica. [Just remembering that, as I write this, I felt an urgent need for a cappuccino and went downstairs and made one.] The coffee truly is an art form in Italy and I miss that. At the little outdoor cafe I ordered, in very bad Italian, a cappuccino. The woman was kind enough to not smirk and answered me in pretty good English "that will be two Euros". After the first sip I would have paid four Euros. Heaven in a cup, al fresco. This was Ravenna and it had cooled to about 85 degrees, down right chilly compared to what we'd had for the last eight days. Additional note: the cappuccino was about half the size of our drinks here in the states. Our tour guide, Katarina, explained how Italians drink their coffee like this: "The Italians usually go to a "bar" for a breakfast that consists of a cup of espresso and a roll." I observed espresso is so tiny even a newborn baby would squawk in protest at the meager amount and so strong that it's a wonder that anyone has any tooth enamel. "They drink their espresso straight [mostly] and pair it with a small roll of some kind, standing up at little tall tables," said Katarina. That's it. Isn't that against the rules of proper nutrition? However, they look finer and fitter than we do, so there might be another potential diet book.

Down the country we rolled on our bus. My sister Sally is responsible for me missing a good deal of the scenery from Venice to Assisi when she forced me to read a thriller. I couldn't extract my head from inside the book.* Honestly, it's her fault.

Assisi was definitely one of  my three favorite stops. This is the hill town in which St. Francis founded the Franciscan order and they've very respectfully preserved it. It was a joy to leisurely stroll with our guide pointing out all the important sites. The church of St. Francis is ostentatious, somewhat Byzantine, somewhat Roccoco. Not what I picture the humble and modest St. Francis praying in. Our hotel was eye stopping, perched on the side of the hill [but then, it is a hill town] with a fabulous view of the olives groves, churches and farm land below. We sat on the deck with snacks and a glass of wine enjoying the stunning vista and the breeze.

This is one place, along with Lake Maggiore that I could have lingered, but it was a tour and we were on the bus the next day bound for southern Italy. We stopped for a couple of hours at Pomeii and some of the best pizza of the trip, wood fired a la Napoli style. The young men baking kept things rolling [excuse the pun] and yelled at each other frequently. They were standing right next to each other, yelling. Funny. It was great that the lunch was divine because, and you might want to close your eyes again, I didn't particularly like Pompeii. I know that I was supposed to, but my imagination is not good with rubble. Our tour guide for the site wore pink eyeshadow and created fake lips outlined with brown pencil, nude lipstick in the middle [you should try it] and this looked hilarious to me. This might have aided in distracting me from the pomp in Pompeii. I will say that seeing the mummified bodies left behind after the volcanic eruption were touching. One woman was pregnant and trying to protect her middle, the child within. Touching for me because this was real and those people lived and were right there in front of us.

That night we ended up in Sorrento a truly lovely town on the Bay of Naples. We stayed in another great hotel though the food could have used those bakers from Pompeii, even with the yelling. We discovered Prosecco at a small green grocer across the street and our hotel had ice which excited us no end, as it was the first we'd seen. We had a deck and J and D and Sal and I toasted each other and our great good fortune. Off to a fancy restaurant and "A Taste of Sorrento", worth it and we got to dance again. Sal and I taught the two youngest guys on the trip to dance thereby proving that just because you are a musician it doesn't mean you know how to dance.

The next day we traveled to the Isle of Capri where all of the uber wealthy hang. Off the ferry we booked passage on one of the round the island cruise ships. It was hot enough that it made your teeth ache with desire to dive into that aqua water. After our tour we decided to hike up to the town of Capri, how difficult could it be you could see the houses perched up there. Well, it was a couple of miles of switch backs and J and D and Sally couldn't believe we were doing this, did I mention it was hot? I kept saying "O, look there is a plateau and I bet the town is around the next bend." Ha, it was just another street, more climbing ahead. J, D and Sal, all sweating profusely, groaned. Finally we got to the top and the crowded street in the little village of Capri. The shops according to our tour guide Katarina "are all chicy, chicy, poshy, poshy," and indeed they were. I strolled around for about a half hour, saw some beautiful jewlery but was concerned about the pricey, pricey and so let them go. Then I found a nice bench in the shade overlooking Capri and sat to write. An eighty year old man came strolling by and I smiled saying, "bonjouro" and he said, "Ciao, bella". See, I still got it, with the eighty year old men anyway.

We took the funicular down which took all of two minutes, loving the ride and the view. Then, finally we got to swim,in that divine water, floating blissfully. Gelato for lunch, natch and back on the ferry. I couldn't stop thinking about the jewelry and wondering if I should have bought something for my elegant daughters in law. O, well.

I wrote in my journal, "one of the most glorious days of my life" and it was the boat trip we took, this time in our rented "cigarette boat" around Capri. Blame Sally. She saw this pamphlet, showed it to me and said, "hey, I think we should do this." I looked at the pricey, pricey and said, "Mmm, I don't know." Then good Italian sense prevailed and after the intial hesitation I said, "OK". We started to show the brochure to others on the tour and then like wild fire we had 13 of us signed up for the boat trip. They picked us up at the hotel, provided us with lunch and drinks and dropped us off at the end of the day. Our guide the darling Luigi was so gracious and helpful. When we had free time on the Isle of Capri he took Sally and three others all the way up to Anacapri and showed them around, mind you this was his free time too. I, of course, was on a mission. D, J and I took the bus to Capri town and I went on the hunt for the objects of my obsession for my daughters in law. I dragged three others in with me and all of us bought beautiful things for probably too much money. The clerk was almost surly who sold to us, never mind, I got what I came for. Me, a happy girl.

Down on the funicular and this time B and I got to ride in the front, better than Disneyland, back to the boat. This time we got to swim on all of the wonderful places around the Isle, diving into that turquoise water, through caves on to small sand beaches. This was enhanced by snorkel gear and we watched the teeny fish, I believe all the big one have been et. Lunch huge sandwiches with mozzeralla,  tomatoes and fresh basil on delicious bread. What more can I say, a perfect day with wonderful people in a gorgeous spot in the world in my bathing suit in the sun. We all kept saying "thank you, Sally!" because I told everyone it was her doing. When in Italy, be expansive. It pays big time.

Back we trudged to Rome. That night we went first to the town of Trivoli, then to a dinner over looking the city. Up until this time I would have been hard pressed to believe that the whole of Italy is having a hard time financially. Trivoli convinced me that this is a sad fact. In all of the big very touristy cities and villages everything is clean. The opposite is true in Trivoli, trash is strune everywhere and sadly no one seems to care. The shops are loaded with goods and there are no tourists around to purchase their wares, so D, Sal and I tried our best to help. I bought Mr. G a belt in a leather store and didn't mean to barter, but as I was saying, "O, 60 Euros," aloud, the shopkeeper said, "OK, half price, 30!" and so...The shop where Sally bought all of her trinkets for her grandkids, the owner was so grateful. Contrast this with the Capri experience. The town could be lovely, minus the trash, and I heard that some teens in another village organized a clean up. This should happen to Trivoli. Then we went to dinner that was pretty good though the wine was terrible. We had a wonderful time though because there was music with an excellent young opera singer and we requested Puccini and Verdi. She complied and it brought tears to my eyes. Then the tenor, a man over 60 realizing I was the instigator of the opera request came to our table and sang "Nessun Dorma" to me. Most embarrassing, but it shows that I still have it marginally with the over sixty opera singing males.

Tomorrow I will promise to end this trip with short observations and quips for the traveler.

*The book was John Hart's The Last Child and I loved it. I thought it compared to Edgar Sawtell and exceeded that story. As opposed to ES, I wasn't so bothered by the child being on his own. In ES the child abuse was unresolved and wretched.  I still resent everyone praising this book to the hilt just because it was written as a tragic tale a la Hamlet. Hamlet was a grown man, folks. That makes all the difference Edgar was a disabled child.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

When in Rome and It's 100 degrees in the Shade

Nobody wants to hear about your wonderful time on vacation.
K. a good friend

There's no cure like travel to help you unravel
the worries of living today.
When the poor brain is cracking there's nothing like packing
a suitcase and sailing away.
Take a run around Vienna, Granada, Ravenna, Sienna and then around Rome.
Have a high time, a low time and in no time you'll be singing "Home Sweet Home".
Cole Porter

It was my great good fortune to travel with my sister Sally and a small symphony to Italy. That, ladies and gentlemen, could be my travel log in a nutshell, however I would like to add a few notes on why travel is valuable to me. Travel creates an opening in the brain that wasn't there before, that's left me in a state of wonderment that hopefully lasts longer than the jet lag.

I have been home for several days now and after some marathon sleeping feel less stupid each day. I did get enough sleep on the trip but zero on the plane ride home. I've always said, "I don't sleep on moving vehicles" and this still holds true for the jets but the long bus tour through Italy made a liar out of me.

Here's an example: we went out for our first dinner with our tour group in Rome in our big air conditioned bus. Dinner was fun although the food was only OK and the wine mediocre. On the ride home  to the hotel, Sally had to keep waking me up, "Susan, there's the Spanish Steps", "O, yeah great" and I'd promptly fall back to sleep. This peculiar behavior [for me] continued on and off throughout the entire 16 day trip. I would read a bit, look out the window to the mostly beautiful scenery and nod off for a half hour or so. Drooling? Snoring? I'm not sure, everyone was so kind.

Everywhere is within walking distance if you've got the time.
Steven Wright

Another factor in sleeping well at night and during the day was the incredible amount of walking we did. I actually lost weight on the trip and almost every day I had a gelato for lunch. Could this be the basis for a new diet craze? "The 100 degrees, walking and gelato diet", you heard it here first.

As I said, our tour started off in Rome yes, 100 degrees in the shade. And we walked everywhere despite the heat. First stop was to the Sistine Chapel, then over to St. Peter's Basilica, finally around the grounds of the Colosseum. I had a book about the Sistine Chapel that I studied prior to this trip, all of the glossy beautiful pictures of every room and the ceiling that Michelangelo spent years painting [on his back for the love of God] in detail and close up. Well, here comes the heretical statement and you might want to close your eyes, I was disappointed. Seems that for me because I couldn't beam myself up close and personal to the fresco's, I felt cheated. Dumb but true. So studying backfired for me. Then we walked over to St. Peter's and all of that disappointment fell away. I was the humble awestruck 14th century peasant walking into a world of grandeur. The Basilica is so immense that at one point our guide pointed up to a balcony in the dome and said, "you see those creatures up there that look like birds?" "Yes" we all said. "Those are people." Took my breath away, all of the mosaics, the entire enormous cathedral, and the thought of all those laborers, all of the artists devoting their life to making this grand statement a glorious one, for the love of God. [Now it could have been for the pay check but I would prefer to keep things lofty.] On we trudged to the Colosseum, first in the bus then on foot. It's hard to love the Colosseum when your only thoughts are "where exactly is the toilet, can I possibly get some water, my hip hurts, are human beings meant for slow roasting?" The ruins were inspirational, but the heat dreadful. I felt like a spoiled 'whiny baby pee pants', to quote a sage.

Sally and I had the same idea after seeing the grand sites and we went back to the hotel and for 10 Euros went swimming [I would have paid 20]. The pool was grand, Olympic sized and you would expect, as we did, that it would be crowded on this blistering day. Granted there were many Italians sunbathing [!] but we were the only people swimming besides one little girl. What makes this more remarkable was with only the three of us in the pool Sal and I,  both swimming back stroke, managed to bonk heads. That's talent for you. Embarrassing, but we roared with our hearty American laughter.

That night we went to a castle for dinner and joined many other tour groups. They had a good tenor, a DJ and an accordion player who serenaded the tables. Just about all of the young people at one of the tables got up to do the "chicken dance" which may be known to all of you, a revelation to me. Very spirited and cute. Then they played "I Will Survive" and the entire group of women of a certain age joined in the festivity and we showed those young things how dancing never dies, it just thrives with age. I danced my hip off.

En route home from this wonderful night we stopped off at a view point that overlooked all of Rome in it's splendor at night. The luscious warmth had thousands out, tourists and the locals-- all of us relishing the sparkle that a hot summer night can deliver. This 'out at night' was to be repeated in every city we visited, it was electric and dazzling. People enjoying each other and the summer.

We left Rome for Firenza and stopped for pictures of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The most amusing sight was nearly everyone taking the exact same picture: pretending to hold up the tower. No matter if they were Japanese, Chinese, French, Polynesian, all had the same idea and it was funnier to watch them than to do this ourselves. The day was still so hot so we welcomed the air conditioned bus and went on to Firenza.

Lucky for us we got to stay in a hotel on the Plazza Dell D'Annunziato close to the heart of the city. That night the orchestra looking for a place to practice eventually went outside to practice on the plazza. The night was perfect, a half moon, a slight breeze and the music of Mozart, Faure, Benjamin Britten, Hayden outdoors was nothing short of magical. Not only were we, the people on the tour enchanted but quite a large crowd of locals gathered. Someone remarked, "it's sad that classical music has become only for the rich people, it's always played in halls indoors for those who can pay." The people who came were enraptured and I wanted the night to go on and on.

The next day we toured all of Firenza's museums: Uffizi, the Galleria, etc. but my favorite for sheer sweetness was the San Marco museum where Fra Angelico painted with such love, frescos in each monk's cell.

Off to Milano which was not great for these reasons: the tour guide had an annoying voice and I thought we were going to see inside the La Scala Opera house but no, just the exterior. What thrill is that? I wanted to breathe in Maria Callas and Luciano Pavarotti. Then an elderly gentleman on our bus that I was sure had failing capacities, got lost and we all spent an hour searching for him. Not fun, and did I mention it was hot? Turns out the people from the other bus happened upon him and said, "why aren't you with your tour group?" To which he answered, "what tour group?" They brought him back to our bus. I couldn't believe that the people on this tour who'd know him from previous tours couldn't accept that he was slipping. One person even suggested "we all take turns babysitting him". "No," I said, "I didn't pay all this money to take care of someone who should have a paid companion." Thankfully we got going and went to Lugano for a quick look at the lovely lake and put our tootsies in the water. That night we ended up at Lake Maggoire for the best meal of the trip, a small trattoria down the street from our fancy 5 Star hotel. Sal and I were indeed fortunate to get a room with a view of the Lake. The weather was cooperative and Sal and I opted to swim [duh] in the pool and dine al fresco with items from the grocery. This was a wonderful day capped by sharing a bottle of excellent Sicilian wine [Mr. G will be so disappointed that I can't remembering the name...] with two  ladies of the excellent Mother-daughter duos on the trip. We had much in common and they shared a philosophy which was important and fun. They were acute observers of personalities and rather than being critical they played at "what would so and so say, what would so and so do?" Really gave me a new perspective of the people that I was being judgemental about. I grew to love almost everyone on the tour that I spent any time at all with and it was fun to internally dialogue and imagine "what would they do/say?"

Thankfully the next day, and the only day of the entire trip it was raining and I made an unfortunate fashion choice and wore long acrylic pants and a black top because I thought it wasn't going to be as hot. So wrong. I ended up pushing the pants up like bloomers without caring one wit about what people thought, I just wanted to be cooler. Verona was a waste of time, on we drove to Venice. We boarded a boat and went into the city for our night time pleasure and it was. Sal and I found a small cafe by the Rialto bridge and sat with a drink watching the gondolas and boats cruise the canal. Then we wandered down some side streets until we found a restaurant where the locals were dining and ordered a good pizza with  a bottle of Proseco for dinner. Delicious.

The next day in Venice, the heat came back full force and worse, being surrounded by the canals, it really felt oppressive. I learned from the Rome experience that if I was walking around with only crabby sentences in my head to leave and so after seeing all of the grand sites that is what I did. Happily two other women from our group were feeling as cranky as I and so we went on the water taxi which was crowded but a kick.

Listening to what you need even if it is against the rules ["you are to be in Venice until the bus takes you to you hotel at 6 PM"] makes imminent good sense any time, especially when you are travelling. Going back to an air conditioned hotel room felt just right and I am not a whiny baby pee pants.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Whatever You Do, Don't Drop the Watermelon

We should treat our minds as innocent and ingenuous children
whose guardian we are,
be careful what objects and what subjects we thrust on their attention.
Henry David Thoreau

Here is a favorite family story. When my brother was a wee lad of nine or ten years old he decided to dress up as "Stupid Man". He made his own costume, a torn sweat shirt with the name "Stupid Man",  and as I remember it, he had his pants on backwards and his shoes on the wrong feet.  Even at this young age he had a good grasp of the absurd. We were having a party that day and my mother instructed Bob in his full costume, to "go down in the basement and get the watermelon." Cheerful as usual, brother Bob bounced down the basement stairs and after a couple of minutes, Mom yell after him, "whatever you do, don't drop the watermelon." As she was yelling that order he was on his way up. He looked up and 'splat', dropped the watermelon. Watermelon cascaded down the basement steps, a horrific mess, and we, his siblings, roared with laughter.

Bob was chagrined in his "Stupid Man" costume, uncertain as what to do next. But we knew just what to do. We chorused "whatever you do don't drop the watermelon" until he was laughing too. I'm not sure my mother found it quite as amusing as we did [she was the one who had to clean up], but she grew to love the story too. To this day I can't look at a watermelon without wanting to utter that phrase.

One of the peculiarities of our brains is that they hear words and commands and ignore negative instruction. The best example I can think of [besides, "whatever you do..."] is one relevant to anyone who as ever tried to diet. If you are constantly mentally listing what you can't have: "I can't eat sugar, I can't have a donut, I can't have chocolate, etc. after awhile that's all you can think of. "Sugar, donut, chocolate, now" says the brain, until, gee whiz ,you have a craving for these treats defeating the diet. Another food example that exemplifies the brain/ body connection is try saying this to yourself: "I kiss and then suck the juicy lemon."  Makes you pucker, no?

Coaches in the sports world figured this out eons ago and started coaching people with positive instructions, which works better and goes down easier. This is especially true of training dogs who respond more effectively to 'good boy' and  to ignoring their more obnoxious traits [an effective trick is turning your back on them when they jump up]. Now for humans, one example I found useful I read in a biking magazine: when approaching a hill that seems daunting say to yourself, "this hill is flatter than it appears." Trust me this does not work all of the time, but 80% is better than 0%. Most successful athletes engage in positive, encouraging self talk while playing their sport. This is backed up by an old and interesting study. In the study the experimenters created three basketball teams. One team was instructed to practice, every day, shooting free throws. Another team was instructed not to practice the free throws at all and the third team was instructed to visualize themselves making the free throws every day but not to practice. Of course the team that practiced had the best score, but a surprisingly close score was the team that just visualized. The "Music Man" was right! He  merely instructed his music students to think about the music, they didn't even own the instruments. Although he was supposedly a charlatan it turned out he was an encouraging good coach [and an all around love able fellow who could sing and dance which has not much to do with our story but I do love that musical]. When the kids played it did sound wretched yet far better than if they had just blindly picked up a tuba. Your thoughts do influence your actions. Then, if add your words and positive self talk to that equation and you are on your way to a successful action.

The reverse, unfortunately, is also true. When my darling husband was coaching Little League one of his player's Dad was an truly obnoxious man who would always yell gross comments from the side lines: "watch what you're doing, you stupid kid, chase that ball, now you're going to drop it." And by God, the kid did drop the ball, after looking anxiously at his Dad. My husband had to finally throw this hyperventilating Dad off the field and talk with him afterwords. "Tom, if you can't control yourself, you can't come to the games." My brother had an old costume designed specifically for this man.

Everybody loves a lover
I'm a lover that's why
Everybody love me.

An old song sung by Doris Day in the 50's

He who distributes the milk of human kindness cannot help
but spill a little on himself.
James Barrie

Bringing love into this equation completes the circle for successful action. Self love is important, as important as self respect. If we are truly good and kind to ourselves it is a breeze to be so to others. The rewards are ten fold, and as Daniel Webster says "what a man does for others, not what they do for him, gives him immortality." Not a bad return on your money. One of the easiest ways to be kind and good to yourself is to be your own cheerleader, coach, with positive messages to be delivered on a regular basis. Simple affirmations are useless unless uttered endlessly, until they are finally believed and ingested. Most of the people that I have seen in counseling have heard about affirmations but tend to pooh-pooh them as 'new agey'. Silly, because if as I explained, our thoughts influence our actions and our feelings, this is a quick way to change the grind of internal negativity. The trouble is changing a thought is a steep uphill battle when you've been calling yourself bad names for years. Ah, this is when we can steal from the bike magazine, "this hill is flatter than it looks." Said more than a thousand times a day, you can become encouraging rather than discouraging to yourself.

Reversing the curse

When I said a thousand times a day, I wasn't kidding. You figure that the internal dialogue with yourself has been going on for many years, probably since childhood and it is going to take a powerful commitment to reverse the cursing that you have been doing to yourself. Sign up today. Figure out what you have been saying to yourself that you would never say to a beloved child, then turn it around and repeat 10,000 times. Might take awhile. My [step] Grandfather used to say, "it's nice to be nice" and "it would be different if I didn't care," and we heard that over 10 K times I am sure. Not bad messages to have implanted. So, catch yourself. If you are internally muttering things like "you stupid, foolish girl/boy" turn that into "you dear, love able woman/man". And even if it makes you laugh, it will be a cheerful laugh, not derisive or critical one. Have fun with coming up with much better sentences that you can mutter.

And you know what? It is nice to be nice. Put those good encouraging thoughts in that brain of yours and start today reversing the cursing. Today, now. Go!


magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Now Spit! Songs from Little Shop of Horrors

The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their right name.Confucius

When we are assaulted, verbally or physically, most of us emotionally get in a world of trouble and confusion. The mind reels trying to decipher what is happening. People from abusive homes mostly just do one of two things: freeze or flee. There is another healthier method which I will waltz you into as gracefully as I can.

The person doing the assaulting needs a name and for lack of a better term- 'bully' will do. Of course, there are the more dangerous ones, the unfortunates who have grave mental illnesses and really do need to be locked up forever, but for our purposes, let's focus on the bullies.

Sad but true bullies revel in being on top, frightening people and creating confusion so they can seize the upper hand. They have learned that bullying has its own rewards, people will do what you say or want. A really funny example of this is the dentist in "Little Shop of Horrors".  Steve Martin's over the top portrayal of a sadistic dentist and abusive bully certainly strikes a chord -a poor pun. However, he perfectly skewers the stupidity of being a bully and gets his just due in the end. In real life abuse is anything but funny. My take on this is it's better to laugh at the bully than agonize your way though recovery from abuse. [Also see Mel Brook's "The Producers" that made gleeful fun of Hitler.]

In 1979 when the two other women [Jan and Ingrid] and myself founded the support for victims of domestic violence, we had little help from the media and in fact not much from the scientific community as well. There just weren't many people studying domestic violence and so there weren't many studies to back up our cause. The stories were not glamorous enough and so much shame was attached to being abused that even Hollywood stars made sure it was very hushed up. As I remember it, one of the only books that we had for the victims trying to let go of the relationship was Ginny Nicarthy Crow's Getting Free which we used constantly. We held workshops, set up safe homes and a phone line and we were in business. Then after the word got out the phone started ringing. Reluctantly the sheriff's department started to arrest the abusers but in those days it was not unusual for a woman who had just been beaten to blame herself and drop the charges. My how times have changed, thank God. Today the state of Washington has some of the toughest laws in the nation supporting victims rights.

Nothing is impossible for those who don't have to do it.Anon.

Why on earth, you might ask, would a woman drop charges only certainly to have the terror continue? in three words: fear of reprisal. These people in an abusive home are living with a domestic terrorists. They are in essence being held captive and like the "the Stockholm syndrome" from the Patti Hearst case, they will defend and love their terrorists. Obviously this is not healthy love, healthy love is never based on fear, this is traumatic bonding. Yet, for years her reality is that the abusive bully has been using fear and intimidation with frighten looks, actions or gestures. Even if you take a healthy dog and do this, you are going to get one of two things: a cowering, cringing animal or a vicious one. From the looks, actions and gestures the bullying escalates: her pretty things are destroyed [never his], he might even mistreat the children and the animals, and sometimes even brandished weapons. He is definitely threatening her in every area of her life: financial, emotional and physical. On the subject of her self esteem the result is almost worse than the physical beatings. This is the soul shattering experience of having the person you love try, on purpose, to make you feel as bad about yourself as possible. Unbelievably I have listened to many a woman cry, not for herself, but for how hard his life is and how sad his childhood was ad nauseum. Finally I'll ask, "OK, well what about you and the kids?" Silence-- then maybe some tears for the kids. Onward. A slim dawn of awareness starts to happen and then we coach her to face the grim truth.

After a bit of coaching, she may be coming out of her own denial and let's say she gets brave enough to confront the bully on his violence and the terrible repercussions it's having on the family and guess what? He denies that it's that bad. Over and over again. The culmination of the confrontation is he usually threatens to impoverish her and take the children away, her greatest fear. So, she backs down, all the way down into the morass of the cycle of abuse. Ironically for a short while he is even nicer to her, and this folks, is the honeymoon phase. After awhile something [almost always silly and petty] that she does or says pisses him off and guess what? Kapow.

The above is all too common and from the old 1979 perspective. At that time we would say that it took at least 20 incidences of abuse before a women either left or sought help. Sad but true. Today, "it has gotten better" says Jan one of the founders of DVSAS. Jan, remarkably, is still working for the organization in our town. I am putting her up for canonization.

I did continue working for victims of domestic violence for two and a half years. But I had to quit.  Here's why: I was less evolved and my patience is not as great as Jan's. The last straw for me came on a day when I was overloaded with my job at the Community Alcohol Center.  Then I got a call in the morning and a woman, let's call her Junella, had been beaten by her husband and needed a safe home. Worse, she had a month old infant. I spent the better part of the day, between clients, looking for a placement for Junella and the baby. Finally, by luck, I found a place in an undisclosed location [no small trick in a small town] and someone picked baby and Mama up and brought them to this wonderful home. Ahhhh. Well, I get a call after dinner from Junella and she says, "I want to know if I can call my husband to tell him that me and the baby are just fine." I all but leapt through the phone and shouted "NO!  For God's Sake NO". I hung up and then I was really angry. I'm thinking, "how can she be so ungrateful and didn't she realize what she was doing?" Basically, all my training went out the window and I was furious. Fortunately I didn't take it out on her, instead I called my therapist friend Joan and said, "Joan, I was ready to smack her myself." And Joan, the wise woman, said, "Susan, I think it's time to quit." O, the guilt. Ms. Smarty pants can't take it, but I did take her advice and resigned.

One of the up sides in our tales of domestic violence is the media finally did discovered it, books and articles were published, studies were done and things have improved for the victims of abuse. There is just not as much shame when things are not secretive and hidden. Granted we have a long way to go, but the awareness is out there and their are many more of us ready to call a bully a bully.

"Recovery unfolds in three stages. The central task of the first stage is the establishment of safety...the second stage is remembrance and mourning...the third stage is reconnection with ordinary life."Judith Herman from Trauma and Recovery

As a psychotherapist my job is to help people who are suffering from any form of trauma to recover and reconnect with ordinary life. This can take months to years depending on the severity of abuse and trauma. That is also one of the reasons that I studied methods that produced rapid reduction from trauma, I wanted to ease the suffering ASAP and still do. These therapies include but are not limited to EMDR [eye movement desenitization and reprocessing]; TFT [thought field therapy], brief therapy, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and my own special eclectic art form of therapy which have chosen to name the Grout method [a combination of anything that will work]. I specialized in brief therapy in graduate school with some asides in Jungian analysis and dream work thrown in. Then I also did years of group therapy with an emphasis on speeding recovery. Can you tell I tend to be impatient? I have tried to use this as an asset and plus, I think of this as consumer rights, more luck from your buck.

Here is roughly what I see as essential to recovery from abuse or traumatic experiences:

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

Another one of my dictums about life is to find something amusing each day, and to commit to staying loving and open. None of us has to be victims of our pasts, the day is wide and open, don't go back to sleep.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Drink, Drank, Drunk

"Alcoholism isn't a spectator sport. Eventually the whole family gets to play."
Joyce Rebeta-Burditt

"An alcoholic is someone you don't like who drinks as much as you do."
Dylan Thomas

"I've joined Alcoholics Anonymous. I still drink, but under a different name."
Jerry Dennis

My father who was my all time favorite personality used to say, "I'm leaving my liver to the Jack Daniels Institute." Ironically his liver was probably admirable, too bad the same couldn't have been said of his heart. He dropped dead after 18 holes of golf of a heart attack. Could it be that his heart was compromised by excessive drinking? Easy answer, yes.

Drink, Drank, Drunk

O, how I loathe to be
the only one with sobriety.
The dullards repeat their conversations
I groan with all their recitations,
Of  mundane stories, fables, tales-
Outrageous acts when reason fails.

My spirits sag as theirs soar
And deep inside my head I roar.

How I wish that they could see
How truly repulsive it can be
To stagger, stammer, yell and yammer
Half their lives away.
No glamor,

Wrenching their lives away, away
From their hearts.
I know it's how my Dad died and
Here's how it starts.
                         
Susan Grout 1995

My sister believes that Dad drank to cover his anxiety. Knowing about his childhood [see the blog about him as a child], I am sure that anxiety was a contributing factor in his drinking. Mind you this was not the entire reason that he drank, but it did help mask his discomfort. You would never have guessed that if you saw him in his element: the restaurant. He was a regular bon vivant, cheerful, sharp and witty. When I worked there I always tried my best to match that attitude and to be as efficient as possible. Sometimes too efficient. As a waitress I was known to carry the silverware in my pocket and ask the customers to fish out the place settings when I was in a rush and hoisting a full tray. Dad said, "she used to ask the customers to get the rolls out of her pockets." I did not. I had my standards, only silverware.

Because he owned the bar he could have been steadily drinking the entire time he was working. He did not, he was extremely disciplined and never had more than one drink with the customers until things were shutting down. Only then he would indulge and drink with the regulars, sometimes with abandon. Interestingly he never appeared drunk. He told about the time he had 11 martinis over the course of a long night. "Driving home, I  hit a car that was stopped. I jumped out of my car and yelled at the guy, 'why didn't you signal?" and the guy said, "signal? I'm waiting for the train." Dad had hit the last car in a long line of cars at a train crossing. He laughed and added, "I never drank martinis again." But drink he did.

For one birthday I found a card that had a tag to wear on your lapel that said: "I am not drunk, I am by nature a loud, clumsy, cheerful, person." He loved that and even saved it and wore it often. Another time he called me after celebrating his birthday [he was by his term "over served"] and said, "Sue! I stopped drinking!" I said dubiously, "Ah, great Dad." He said, "five minutes ago, they made me."

As anyone can see he was not an unpleasant drunk but someone who could go to work, run a successful business and be kind to everyone. For me, it was only after I left home for college that I started to see the sadder effects of  drinking. My first shock was seeing the kids who couldn't get up for classes and eventually had to drop out altogether due to their drinking. I was no innocent and believe me Freshman year, I did my absolute best to drink alcoholically. I'm rather small yet I was able, for a very limited amount of time, to drink right along side the basketball players. In Sophomore year it all ended, I started puking. Frankly I probably should have been hospitalized and am lucky to be alive. I was never able to drink like that again. I told my Dad and he added, "you are lucky, I never get sick, probably not a good thing." Don't I know it.

So then I became the one who started viewing drunkenness and if you have a chance, as a spectator sport it can be quite amusing. That is as long as you don't give a hoot about the person who is overindulging.

"The gift from God that gladdens the hearts of men."
the Bible

The curious thing about drinking is that some people can do it and it never really adversely affects their judgement or ruins their lives. In fact statistically, most people can drink socially and be fine with it. It is the unfortunate 8 to 10% of people who are set up to become addicted through family history or prolonged abuse. Tragically many people start down the road to addiction by an uninformed doctor prescribing drugs without letting that person know of the addictive potential. Nonetheless, once the brain is habituated to drug abuse [alcohol is a depressive sedative drug] there is no turning back. One phenomena that is not clearly addressed in the literature is that many a teen drinks for all the world like they are going to be perpetually alcoholic and that is not necessarily the case. Over my many longs years in the counseling field I have found that sometimes those teen grow into adults that can drink socially. Mind you, they are always cautious as adults, but never seem to descent into the pits of chemical dependency.

It is relatively easy to stop an addiction in the first stages, but becomes increasingly more difficult as the middle stage approaches. Witness smoking. Many people try it, and though nicotine is not an easy drug to quit, if they haven't been smoking for all that long they can quit. One famous study showed that monkeys had an easier time tearing themselves away from cocaine than nicotine. So, too all of you who have stopped smoking, drinking or drugging in the middle stages of the addiction, my hat's off to you.

The absolute ugliest form of addiction is the person who turns beastly when using. Again, I had no experience with this until I entered the field of addiction as a counselor in 1978. Nothing perpared me for the violence that is occassionally coupled with drug abuse. I started to see women who had been abused and could not believe it. They would often excuse the behavior by saying, "I tauted him, I got in his face." Let me tell you, I am feisty and in my past, have been known to get into many a face and never once have I been threatened except by an obnoxious drunk [see the post on forgiveness]. This lead me to start questioning if others had seen as much evidence of domestic violence.  I along with two other women did a survey in our community. The cops at the time were routinely driving drunks home and breaking up domestic squabbles with no arrests. We were appauled when they said about domestic violence, "we don't see much of that around here." Whew. I did. So we founded the Domestic Violence [and Sexual Assault, added later] Services in 1979. The connection to alcohol was there although there was also plenty of violence without it. All of this is heart breaking, not just for the woman who is beaten but for the by standers: extended family and children. Recovery from domestic abuse is a long slow process since the person has literally been beaten down. But I have witnessed amazing recoveries in my years as therapist.

There must be the generating force of love
behind every effort this is to be successful.
Henry David Thoreau

Next post I will address successful recovery from addiction and the effects of other's addictions.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Small Town Therapist on Tips from Clients

Mean what you say,
say what you mean,
but don't say it mean.

 Anon. kindergartner

Immature poets imitate, mature poets steal.
T.S. Elliot

I have stolen. Some of my best lines I have swiped from other people. There, the sad truth is out. I feel imminently better for it but I intend to do the same thing again and again. I have been in the counseling business for over thirty years and have to admit that some of the greatest insights have not come from my brain or from the founding fathers and mothers of Psychotherapy but from my clients. Here is a few jewels that I  remember and frequently use to help others and, oh yes, myself. I always ask permission and also give credit where credit is due.

The above quotation "Say what you mean..." was brought to me by a client who was in the office about her marriage. They are delightful people but very different in their outlook on life. She is introverted and he is an extrovert. She could stay home all of the time and he wants to be on the go. Getting this couple to compromise wasn't that difficult because they have a passel of kids and so their motivation was very high. One of the kids brought this wise sentence home with him from kindergarten and it struck both of them as a good way to behave toward each other. Nice.

Years ago I saw a darling woman who had gone the equivalent of Niagara falls in a barrel while making pb and j sandwiches for her brood.  One of the verbal balms she came up with was a mantra to soothe herself : "be open to goodness". She had a bad habit after the Niagara experience of being a sieve for every philosophy, religion or guru who came down the pike. She realized that she couldn't be open to everything and by giving herself the mantra of goodness she gained an internal barometer. If it felt too frosty, turn away, if it felt calm and easy, it was probably something for her to listen to. Goodness. To this day she remains a cheerful, sweet and an interesting friend to all who love her. She avoids extremists like the plague.

Several years ago I was working with a young woman who had been unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend of  five years. She was devastated but she was a natural optimist and soldiered on. One day she came into counseling and she was ebullient. "What's brought about this change?" I said. "My old lover asked me out and I knew that his new sweetie was out of town and for a little awhile I was conflicted," she said. "How did you resolve this dilemma?" "Well, I imagined he had offered me a coat and I tried to put it on," she said. "And?" "And it just didn't fit or feel right, too tight, so I said no," she said with a smile. This was a wise choice for her even though in her grief she believed she wanted nothing more than to have him back. But it didn't fit. So, I  use this coat trick with numerous clients in worthy dilemmas.  Try the coat trick in your mind when you are in a muddle, see if it fits. It works well.

A very gracious and graceful widow came to me for counseling, not about her deceased spouse but about the row that her children were having concerning certain possessions that he left them. She was a quick study and soon I was asking her about her seemingly serene recovery from the huge loss of her husband. "Of course I miss him, but each night I set the table and set a place for him, I honor him at my table." It felt like an art form, picturing her lighting the candles and honoring him in such a loving manner. Gone but not forgotten.

Another time a mother of an out of control teen came to me in despair. Her ex husband took the boy was about to have him either arrested or thrown into drug and alcohol treatment. I puzzled about the best approach, me thinking, "he probably does need treatment if he is this out of control." She was wiser and at the next meeting she had put together a "baby book" of all the highlights of their life together as Mother and son. It was incredibly moving and when, after our session, she gave the album to her son he broke down and pleaded with her to take him back promising to steer clear of the nasty crowd and the drugs and alcohol. Did it work? He graduated with honors and went to college after that. Sometimes the emotional and artistic approach is the best.

This last technique was given to me by my partner in therapy crime and one of my mentors, Laurie. I was wailing about confronting my Dad's drinking yet I tended to portray him as near canonization. Laurie said, "why are you hesitating to talk with him?" I said, "I am afraid it might wreck our relationship and hurt his feelings." She smiled and said, "Susan, let go of other people's feelings, he's a grown up and he needs to hear what you have to say." Buffo. Never heard those words before. I was always the one who tip toed around, not willing to disturb the waters in a relationship, a typical peace maker. It never occurred to me to 'tell the truth and run' and allow someone to come back with a conversation that might heal. At the time, I also knew that gentleness is more effective than rage in tense conversations and if you have been reading my blog you will know that the conversation turned out very well. Mind you it was not effective, but it opened a door so I could let go of worrying about my Dad and he joked, about it in the most affectionate manner, about that conversation until the day he died.

A great line that I stole from Scott Peck is "loving is doing". The failure to confront a loved one [respectfully] is turning away from love. In all of the above cases someone had to take an action, even if it was just a reflective moment. It changed the outcome that was beneficial to them and sometimes to both parties.

As a joke when I was doing workshops back in the late 80's I used to say most solemnly, "spring forth with love". Now that I am thinking about it, I didn't steal it but it seems less funny than true. Get out there and love, if it comes back to you, fine, but be the love machine. And if you need, to steal these methods. Do give credit where credit is due.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

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