It is the nineteenth of December. Again I am sitting in my husband's office, what we call the library, enjoying the sun rise with my coffee. Having been on antibiotics for a persistent sinus "thing" I have not enjoyed coffee much this past week so I find myself unusually content this morning. Perhaps my writing will reflect that.
Today is a rest day in our celebration of Christmas. To be honest we have bowed out of a number of parties that just felt too much like "going just to go" kind of events rather than real celebrations with friends. So I don't think we are overextended at the moment but of course there is almost two weeks until NewYear's Day and the holiday season officially ends. Unless you are talking about Epiphany.
When we first receive invitations to parties I mark them on the calendar and look forward to the comradery and the opportunity to catch up with some old friends. But then as the dates came closer, and we become engaged in Christmas plannings of our own I realized that we were heading into overkill, and by the time we see the last of our children on the thirtieth of the month we might be beyond exhausted. So time to step back and make some choices.
Staying home is an easier choice for me than for my husband. Al is more of an extrovert and really enjoys parties. While I do enjoy parties my pull is to small gatherings and quiet time with friends more than big cocktail type events. From my side of the equation we get invited to smaller gatherings, his friends and acquaintances are more likely to be found at a large extravaganza. So at times we struggle. And in the midst of all of this Al's birthday comes. Yesterday to be precise. All of which means there is a lot of juggling going on between Thanksgiving and January second.
This year my children decided to stay home; thus we are going to visit them after Christmas. Al's children opted to come the two weekends before Christmas and also stay at their own homes for Christmas Day. At this moment Al's son and daughter-in-law have come and gone with their two children and we have celebrated one Christmas, had one Christmas dinner. Tomorrow Al's daughter and son-in-law will come home with their son and we will have our second Christmas and our second Christmas dinner. Still some presents to wrap and a dinner to plan, grocery shopping to do. I must confess here; his children are staying with their mother this year which does change the dynamic somewhat.
And I need to backtrack a little; two days ago we had our "family of choice" Christmas gathering and dinner. Over the last almost twenty-five years I have gathered with a group of women to celebrate our lives. We do birthdays, we do spring, we do Christmas. And sometimes we do trips together. The Christmas gathering is special and easy and I begin planning my gift theme sometime in early September. A few years ago we added men which hasn't really changed it as much as you might think. So really we're up to three now.
On Saturday we will go to a belated Thanksgiving dinner that my friend Jayne gives for all friends. It is also her birthday, coinciding with the winter solstice, so there is much cause for celebration. This year Jayne has reduced her household from seven to three ( her story to tell) and taken a new job. I expect there will be much joy as those four young men return and gather with us mostly women friends to celebrate this new turn in her life. Not really Christmas but still.
Two days later Al's younger brother and sister-in-law will join us for another family dinner and gift exchange on their way to her family's big gathering. They are our only overnight guests this year; kind of strange in and of itself. It will be quieter, because she is quieter and I don't share the family history that gets reviewed every year, but we are looking at inviting some others to fill in chairs at the table. Smiley face should go here.
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day will find us alone. This year an old friend who recently moved to Virginia has returned for a visit; we will spend some time with her. Another dear friend is suffering from kidney cancer and is having a difficult time at the moment. I hope to spend some time visiting with her; she is one of my soul sisters and I really miss her. And of course there is my real sister and my brother's family; that family gathering kind of fell apart a couple of years ago as the grandchildren came and came. Perhaps we will journey to see them; it is nearby.
Two days after Christmas we will load the sled and head to visit my children. First to Atlanta and then to Montgomery. We will try to do something special and memorable with them; but mostly just enjoy some together time. Usually we are all here in Augusta after Christmas and there is lots of chaos and time to sit and drink coffee together. It will be different and it will be fun but by then we will all be tired; maybe we will watch movies and eat popcorn.
And as we come to the end of this year we will leave Montgomery and drive across Alabama and Georgia to Edisto Beach in South Carolina, where we will gather with some of Al's oldest and dearest friends to welcome in 2014. It is a small house party, eight or ten people, and a larger oyster roast on the actual eve of the new year. It should be fun. It will be fun.
So here I am on a down day, drinking my coffee. The sun is up; so is my husband. The sky is blue, the air is cold. A perfect day. Tonight I am gathering with two of my oldest soul friends to watch White Christmas, something I usually do alone. We will eat a simple supper and laugh at our old stories and maybe drink a little too much but probably not. It is the real meaning of Christmas I think; taking time to spend with those we love and who love us. To hold and be held. To give and receive.
I am glad for a down day but more importantly I rejoice in Christmas and the opportunity to create new memories. As we head into the winter and the anticipatory atmosphere of introversion it provides, I welcome this extreme extroversion. It is the parties that are the celebration of life; it is in the winters we do the work.
Now I need to go finish some doll clothes I am making for gifts for some special little girls; the coffee pot's empty.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
Home Alone....
Having coffee this morning I find myself alone. Al has gone to the mountains to tend to some business and I am at home nursing a cold. At times in my life I have become aware of how bad I am at being alone. Oh, I do it well for a day or two, glory in my alone time in fact whenever Al goes home for business and I stay by myself in the mountains. After a day or two, however, I need company. Conversation. Another human voice.
A number of years ago I began an effort to become more conscious. It was not a choice so much as the forces of nature pushing me in that direction, but nonetheless I began the steps necessary to the process of self awareness. One of the first assessment tools I utilized was the Myers-Briggs personality test. The one where we determine if we are introverts or extraverts among other preferred modes of being and operating in the world. There are four pairs of preferences that are evaluated and on three out of the four I tested dominantly in one camp or the other. On the attitude of extraversion vs introversion I tested smack in the middle. And so while I have many of the characteristics of an introvert, like a need for in-depth conversation and fewer, more meaningful relationships, I also love a party, especially when I get to be in charge. So on days like today the extrovert gets antsy. I need to talk to people; but guarding my alone time I dare not leave the house and seek out companionship. Horns of a dilemma.
My husband is certainly an extrovert; extreme extrovert in fact. He never tires of entertaining, whether at home or in the mountains. I am more divided in that need so have come to prize my time in the mountains as my alone time and my time in Augusta to meet my social needs. The time in Augusta is spent catching up; arranging dates with friends and meeting for coffee, drinks or dinner more than entertaining in our home. It is more of how our friends live nowadays. For me, the time in the mountains is to kick back and read copious numbers of books, take long walks and even hikes, and cook interesting meals. But here's the catch; when you have a retreat away from the extreme summer heat it feels somewhat selfish not to share it.
Entertaining in the mountains takes it up a notch though. It means having house guests, 24/7 or more likely two or three or even sometimes four days at a time. And often the sheets are washed and put back on the bed only moments before the next guests pull up in the driveway. It is extreme extroversion. Al loves it; I not so much, however much I enjoy the in-depth time spent with close friends. Horns of a dilemma.
We became the proud owners of our little mountain cabin, aptly named "Pickett's Retreat" a little over four years ago. At the time we had been married three years and while we have four children between us there were only three grandchildren. Life had become a little busier, but much more stimulating and interesting. Entertaining in a way that only required us to grab our car keys and head to Savannah, or Montgomery or Atlanta. Now, four years later with a total of ten grandchildren, grabbing our car keys has become second nature.
As a grandmother of seven of the children, unfettered by a need to work outside the home, I spend more time on the road than my husband. Being a retired judge Al is able to work part time, engaging his love of people and the law. He spends about a week and a half a month in Augusta working; I spend some of that time with him tending to the needs of our hundred year old home, but some of that time I take advantage of his busyness to visit my children. Or just recently, to take grandchildren to the mountains with me for some one on one time.
This fall I have become aware that all of my relationships are suffering from my nomadic life. Some friends in Augusta have fallen by the wayside; others have become less of a priority as the grandmother call has gained prominence. Due to my need for some introversion I haven't really made any friends in the mountains which means it is almost essential to import house guests to meet Al's need for extroversion. And my relationship with myself, my call to be more conscious in an active way, has taken a back seat. Not to mention my art.
So as I sit here, early this December morning watching the sun rise, I am aware of a need for balance. How precarious balance is; without realizing it I find myself alone on the edge of the diving board. New life in the water, old life staring at us from the pool surround. Who will jump in the water with us we cannot control. But the need to jump is apparent because there comes a time that running back and forth, climbing up and down the ladder, just doesn't work anymore.
So as we move into a new year I find myself once more needing to stop and listen to my life and my heart. To set some limits and decide what, and who, is important. Some things will go, some will be reclaimed and some movement will be necessary to incorporate the new life that beckons from the depths. It is exciting, a little anxiety producing, and just a tad exhausting, to contemplate. But I have been rolling along for the last seven years mostly reacting to things outside my control; okay not completely reacting but more than I would like, more than is healthy for a sense of well being.
Expectations. Changes. Work. Balance. All beckoning as this year comes to a close. A new home to become an outward and visible sign of inner change. That's the plan anyway. Catch me this time next year and see how I am doing. For now, enjoy and give the extrovert a little fun. Winter is a great time for inner work.
A number of years ago I began an effort to become more conscious. It was not a choice so much as the forces of nature pushing me in that direction, but nonetheless I began the steps necessary to the process of self awareness. One of the first assessment tools I utilized was the Myers-Briggs personality test. The one where we determine if we are introverts or extraverts among other preferred modes of being and operating in the world. There are four pairs of preferences that are evaluated and on three out of the four I tested dominantly in one camp or the other. On the attitude of extraversion vs introversion I tested smack in the middle. And so while I have many of the characteristics of an introvert, like a need for in-depth conversation and fewer, more meaningful relationships, I also love a party, especially when I get to be in charge. So on days like today the extrovert gets antsy. I need to talk to people; but guarding my alone time I dare not leave the house and seek out companionship. Horns of a dilemma.
My husband is certainly an extrovert; extreme extrovert in fact. He never tires of entertaining, whether at home or in the mountains. I am more divided in that need so have come to prize my time in the mountains as my alone time and my time in Augusta to meet my social needs. The time in Augusta is spent catching up; arranging dates with friends and meeting for coffee, drinks or dinner more than entertaining in our home. It is more of how our friends live nowadays. For me, the time in the mountains is to kick back and read copious numbers of books, take long walks and even hikes, and cook interesting meals. But here's the catch; when you have a retreat away from the extreme summer heat it feels somewhat selfish not to share it.
Entertaining in the mountains takes it up a notch though. It means having house guests, 24/7 or more likely two or three or even sometimes four days at a time. And often the sheets are washed and put back on the bed only moments before the next guests pull up in the driveway. It is extreme extroversion. Al loves it; I not so much, however much I enjoy the in-depth time spent with close friends. Horns of a dilemma.
We became the proud owners of our little mountain cabin, aptly named "Pickett's Retreat" a little over four years ago. At the time we had been married three years and while we have four children between us there were only three grandchildren. Life had become a little busier, but much more stimulating and interesting. Entertaining in a way that only required us to grab our car keys and head to Savannah, or Montgomery or Atlanta. Now, four years later with a total of ten grandchildren, grabbing our car keys has become second nature.
As a grandmother of seven of the children, unfettered by a need to work outside the home, I spend more time on the road than my husband. Being a retired judge Al is able to work part time, engaging his love of people and the law. He spends about a week and a half a month in Augusta working; I spend some of that time with him tending to the needs of our hundred year old home, but some of that time I take advantage of his busyness to visit my children. Or just recently, to take grandchildren to the mountains with me for some one on one time.
This fall I have become aware that all of my relationships are suffering from my nomadic life. Some friends in Augusta have fallen by the wayside; others have become less of a priority as the grandmother call has gained prominence. Due to my need for some introversion I haven't really made any friends in the mountains which means it is almost essential to import house guests to meet Al's need for extroversion. And my relationship with myself, my call to be more conscious in an active way, has taken a back seat. Not to mention my art.
So as I sit here, early this December morning watching the sun rise, I am aware of a need for balance. How precarious balance is; without realizing it I find myself alone on the edge of the diving board. New life in the water, old life staring at us from the pool surround. Who will jump in the water with us we cannot control. But the need to jump is apparent because there comes a time that running back and forth, climbing up and down the ladder, just doesn't work anymore.
So as we move into a new year I find myself once more needing to stop and listen to my life and my heart. To set some limits and decide what, and who, is important. Some things will go, some will be reclaimed and some movement will be necessary to incorporate the new life that beckons from the depths. It is exciting, a little anxiety producing, and just a tad exhausting, to contemplate. But I have been rolling along for the last seven years mostly reacting to things outside my control; okay not completely reacting but more than I would like, more than is healthy for a sense of well being.
Expectations. Changes. Work. Balance. All beckoning as this year comes to a close. A new home to become an outward and visible sign of inner change. That's the plan anyway. Catch me this time next year and see how I am doing. For now, enjoy and give the extrovert a little fun. Winter is a great time for inner work.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Power, Intimacy and Equality...too much?
Recently my thoughts have been consumed with equality and intimacy, and personal power. Volumes have been written about these concepts and I don't think I have much to add; that is not why I write however. It is the thoughts that consume me, that grab my attention in the middle of the night, that drive me to pick up a pencil and try and make a visual picture of a concept, it is these thoughts that must be explored in writing. And re-explored. And some record makes it easier to see ideas evolve and change over time. My need to reread them however is not the issue; it is the need to get them out of my head that is the driver.
My husband is a judge. He has a lot of power in his world; whenever he goes to work his every need is tended to, if not divined by his subordinates. It makes it difficult at home, in our relationship, to have equality because his idea of that concept is cerebral, not experiencial. Al was raised in a southern home in the fifties. In the time of Leave it to Beaver and Donna Reed. My Three Sons also comes to mind. Both his parents worked, both were educators. Homemaker was not a word one applied to Al's mother but keeping a home was important; for that they had Irene.
Irene referred to Al as "Mister Albert." From that experience his world was divided between women who met his needs and women who had authority. His mother was the authority in his young life, but Irene was his caregiver. The imprint of his relationship to women, and subordinates, was early and complete. One takes care of you and the other is the one you push against to gain your own authority. No equality in either relationship.
But when I started thinking about equality and power I realized we are all born into a place where first we are the center of our own universe, only to realize at some point early on that we are at least ONE DOWN in power as we measure ourselves against our parents. And that is if we are lucky; for many children one down would be a dream.
So for men like my husband, who was one down in relationship to his parents, he nonetheless was ONE UP with Irene. Within limits he could make his needs known to her and she would do what he wanted. He might have to manipulate her outside the confines of his parents domain, but for a child manipulation is second nature. And reinforced, in the case of a young man who not only gets his basic needs met but every bath drawn, every meal made, every dirty shirt picked up from the floor and returned clean to his closet. Which model would you choose if you were young Al? It is no accident he became a judge; he was born to play that role.
My place in the world was more than one down from my earliest memory. I had a father who was abusive, a mother who was emotionally absent, an older brother (the key being older) and a younger brother (the key being brother). In case I was confused about my place my mother frequently reminded me; I was the sneaky one, the liar, the cheater despite being a high achiever and not the least bit of a troublemaker, unlike my brothers. The last words she spoke on the subject, before I no longer listened, was that while I got better grades than my older brother " your brother is smarter, you just work harder." And later "There is no money for you to go to college; if there were it would be for your brothers." This after being told at a nursing school interview that I should be going to college, not entering a diploma nursing program. And despite the fact that neither of my brothers desired a college education.
Education was my escape route from a family where I felt so devalued. I realized it at the age of thirteen, a particularly difficult time in most girls lives, true, but in mine it was horrific; I was called a whore by my mother while my father looked the other way and my brothers quietly observed. I became a feminist that day; I put my head down and studied, soaking up all the awards and accolades the world outside my home had to offer. My attitude took its toll in that my decision regarding nursing school was driven by how quickly I could be out on my own, independent of my parents, not by the education I really desired. The school offered a full scholarship and I would graduate in three years; winning hands down over four years and student loans.
A nurse is one down from the truly educated; doctors. A registered nurse from a diploma school is one down from a college educated nurse, this despite thousands of hours of training that resulted in more hands on experience. And eventually I realized that my diploma put me one down from my college graduated husband, whom I would go on to put through law school; never would I be equal in his eyes. "You don't really mean that; You don't really think that; You don't really want that" were his frequent refrains throughout the course of our thirty plus year marriage.
I fought for equality in that marriage. I became more educated. Gaining awards for devotion to my family, my education, my community, I felt empowered and vital. But inside that marriage I was always one down, sometimes more in the patriarchal system that governed our lives. So I divorced. And remarried. This time not just a lawyer, interpreter of laws but a judge, dispensor of laws. As one relative, a court reporter, told me "I can't believe you went from being married to a lawyer to being married to a judge." This only two weeks into the second marriage. I didn't realize what she meant then; I do now.
My struggle for equality is synonymous with my struggle for power. As I have gained power I have fought for equality; the more personal power I gained the more equal I would be or so I thought. But each marriage was to a more powerful person than myself, and my father. So hasn't my struggle for power, and equality been against my father all this time, a man who is long dead?
My father was a sergeant in the army, high ranking in the enlisted ranks. My first husband graduated from West Point and was a lieutenant in the army, low ranking among the officer ranks but outranking any enlisted soldier. I myself joined the army and became an officer but that was not enough, I was not respected for that by my father. Respect for my husband came with the patriarchal system; for me no system was powerful enough to override my father's attitude towards me and women in general.
My second husband outranks my first husband in the world of law. My first husband, when he goes to court, must behave in a reverential manner to the judge and abide by his judgments. He can appeal them to a higher court but he cannot argue, or disagree openly, with the judge. I have watched the dance when my judge husband is in court, I have seen him exercise his power and I have seen the dance that lawyers do to befriend judges. It is all about power. So haven't I won in the power play?
Haven't I defeated my father despite the fact he is dead and cannot jump across the net and shake my hand. If my sense of personal power is coming from within then I would say yes but as long as I am engaged in the struggle for equality with my husband, waiting for him to say and do that which shows I am equal to him, then I have lost. Or at the very least I am still in the game. I am still trying to wrest power from my father and that is the shame. Because it was never his to give.
My own father came into the world ONE DOWN. He left home, joined the army the day he turned eighteen, to achieve his independence; to gain power and equality in his own personal struggle. Did he achieve that goal? Based on his life long drinking habits, his abusive behavior towards his wife and children, I would have to say no. He never felt secure in his own power; his sense of self was only achieved by keeping others down.
That is the problem with power and equality. We are all born at least one down and we all begin our struggle for power and equality when at the age of two we utter the first "no". Some of us are helped along the way by our parents, our teachers and our employers. But most are kept down by the need of the more powerful to feel secure. Sharing power is not easy.
Equality is a wholly different thing; power is sought by everyone but equality is sought by the one down segment. Personally I have never heard a white man talk about the need for equality. Power and equality are inexplicably intertwined yet different. Equality comes with a state of mind as much as it is granted by society through laws and judgments. Power is measured by jobs and income and accrual of wealth. I can have power and not have equality and I can have equality and not have power. It is time to define the two anew. Because I think with equality, the kind of equality we get when we know who we are, comes a different kind of power. This is surprising to me as I write because it has not come into any of my thoughts or discussions of the past week. And it is taking me dangerously close to the beatitudes, not a place I am comfortable going.
'Amen sister' I can hear some of my friends saying.
Oh...and there is intimacy. That's a real kettle of fish.
My husband is a judge. He has a lot of power in his world; whenever he goes to work his every need is tended to, if not divined by his subordinates. It makes it difficult at home, in our relationship, to have equality because his idea of that concept is cerebral, not experiencial. Al was raised in a southern home in the fifties. In the time of Leave it to Beaver and Donna Reed. My Three Sons also comes to mind. Both his parents worked, both were educators. Homemaker was not a word one applied to Al's mother but keeping a home was important; for that they had Irene.
Irene referred to Al as "Mister Albert." From that experience his world was divided between women who met his needs and women who had authority. His mother was the authority in his young life, but Irene was his caregiver. The imprint of his relationship to women, and subordinates, was early and complete. One takes care of you and the other is the one you push against to gain your own authority. No equality in either relationship.
But when I started thinking about equality and power I realized we are all born into a place where first we are the center of our own universe, only to realize at some point early on that we are at least ONE DOWN in power as we measure ourselves against our parents. And that is if we are lucky; for many children one down would be a dream.
So for men like my husband, who was one down in relationship to his parents, he nonetheless was ONE UP with Irene. Within limits he could make his needs known to her and she would do what he wanted. He might have to manipulate her outside the confines of his parents domain, but for a child manipulation is second nature. And reinforced, in the case of a young man who not only gets his basic needs met but every bath drawn, every meal made, every dirty shirt picked up from the floor and returned clean to his closet. Which model would you choose if you were young Al? It is no accident he became a judge; he was born to play that role.
My place in the world was more than one down from my earliest memory. I had a father who was abusive, a mother who was emotionally absent, an older brother (the key being older) and a younger brother (the key being brother). In case I was confused about my place my mother frequently reminded me; I was the sneaky one, the liar, the cheater despite being a high achiever and not the least bit of a troublemaker, unlike my brothers. The last words she spoke on the subject, before I no longer listened, was that while I got better grades than my older brother " your brother is smarter, you just work harder." And later "There is no money for you to go to college; if there were it would be for your brothers." This after being told at a nursing school interview that I should be going to college, not entering a diploma nursing program. And despite the fact that neither of my brothers desired a college education.
Education was my escape route from a family where I felt so devalued. I realized it at the age of thirteen, a particularly difficult time in most girls lives, true, but in mine it was horrific; I was called a whore by my mother while my father looked the other way and my brothers quietly observed. I became a feminist that day; I put my head down and studied, soaking up all the awards and accolades the world outside my home had to offer. My attitude took its toll in that my decision regarding nursing school was driven by how quickly I could be out on my own, independent of my parents, not by the education I really desired. The school offered a full scholarship and I would graduate in three years; winning hands down over four years and student loans.
A nurse is one down from the truly educated; doctors. A registered nurse from a diploma school is one down from a college educated nurse, this despite thousands of hours of training that resulted in more hands on experience. And eventually I realized that my diploma put me one down from my college graduated husband, whom I would go on to put through law school; never would I be equal in his eyes. "You don't really mean that; You don't really think that; You don't really want that" were his frequent refrains throughout the course of our thirty plus year marriage.
I fought for equality in that marriage. I became more educated. Gaining awards for devotion to my family, my education, my community, I felt empowered and vital. But inside that marriage I was always one down, sometimes more in the patriarchal system that governed our lives. So I divorced. And remarried. This time not just a lawyer, interpreter of laws but a judge, dispensor of laws. As one relative, a court reporter, told me "I can't believe you went from being married to a lawyer to being married to a judge." This only two weeks into the second marriage. I didn't realize what she meant then; I do now.
My struggle for equality is synonymous with my struggle for power. As I have gained power I have fought for equality; the more personal power I gained the more equal I would be or so I thought. But each marriage was to a more powerful person than myself, and my father. So hasn't my struggle for power, and equality been against my father all this time, a man who is long dead?
My father was a sergeant in the army, high ranking in the enlisted ranks. My first husband graduated from West Point and was a lieutenant in the army, low ranking among the officer ranks but outranking any enlisted soldier. I myself joined the army and became an officer but that was not enough, I was not respected for that by my father. Respect for my husband came with the patriarchal system; for me no system was powerful enough to override my father's attitude towards me and women in general.
My second husband outranks my first husband in the world of law. My first husband, when he goes to court, must behave in a reverential manner to the judge and abide by his judgments. He can appeal them to a higher court but he cannot argue, or disagree openly, with the judge. I have watched the dance when my judge husband is in court, I have seen him exercise his power and I have seen the dance that lawyers do to befriend judges. It is all about power. So haven't I won in the power play?
Haven't I defeated my father despite the fact he is dead and cannot jump across the net and shake my hand. If my sense of personal power is coming from within then I would say yes but as long as I am engaged in the struggle for equality with my husband, waiting for him to say and do that which shows I am equal to him, then I have lost. Or at the very least I am still in the game. I am still trying to wrest power from my father and that is the shame. Because it was never his to give.
My own father came into the world ONE DOWN. He left home, joined the army the day he turned eighteen, to achieve his independence; to gain power and equality in his own personal struggle. Did he achieve that goal? Based on his life long drinking habits, his abusive behavior towards his wife and children, I would have to say no. He never felt secure in his own power; his sense of self was only achieved by keeping others down.
That is the problem with power and equality. We are all born at least one down and we all begin our struggle for power and equality when at the age of two we utter the first "no". Some of us are helped along the way by our parents, our teachers and our employers. But most are kept down by the need of the more powerful to feel secure. Sharing power is not easy.
Equality is a wholly different thing; power is sought by everyone but equality is sought by the one down segment. Personally I have never heard a white man talk about the need for equality. Power and equality are inexplicably intertwined yet different. Equality comes with a state of mind as much as it is granted by society through laws and judgments. Power is measured by jobs and income and accrual of wealth. I can have power and not have equality and I can have equality and not have power. It is time to define the two anew. Because I think with equality, the kind of equality we get when we know who we are, comes a different kind of power. This is surprising to me as I write because it has not come into any of my thoughts or discussions of the past week. And it is taking me dangerously close to the beatitudes, not a place I am comfortable going.
'Amen sister' I can hear some of my friends saying.
Oh...and there is intimacy. That's a real kettle of fish.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Party Girl
I am a party girl. There is no specific memory attached to the fact that I love parties, love to give parties and love to go to parties; but it is recognized universally by all who know me. I have given kitten showers, croning ceremonies, birthday dinners while house sitting in fabulous homes, and many, many birthday parties of my own. With themes. And yet this year as my birthday comes and goes I am partaking of a number of small celebrations over the course of the week; no party for me.
This Monday morning I awoke at nine, a late start normally but becoming more common as my marriage to Al lengthens. Al is a late night guy; he cannot force himself into the bedroom before midnight and even then it will be at least an hour before he succumbs to his biorhythms and climbs into bed. In the beginning I matched him hour for hour; then we would easily stay up until two or three. However as I am not good at sleeping late or taking daytime naps I began to dial it back. Now I mostly get into bed by eleven and turn out my light around midnight after reading or watching old Frazier shows; and yep that is the time that Al starts bumping around in the dark, turning on lights, desirous of reading in bed.
We have been married seven years now and I am finally able to sleep through (most of ) his comings and goings but also to sleep until nine if that person going bump in the night is too obnoxious. So this past Monday morning, my birthday day, I slept until nine. Surprisingly because I was in the mountains and Al was in Augusta. I cannot blame my late night on him.
When we are in the mountains together, which is much of the time, I usually stay a day after Al leaves to straighten and clean up. Sometimes I complete a chore, like painting the bathroom. I have to paint when Al is gone because our cabin is pine paneled, which I am realizing almost all men prefer to painted walls of any color. So if I want to paint something I have to do it after he leaves. Not before because you can smell the lingering paint smell for days, which is a dead giveaway. It is what I have learned to do, not because Al really hates painted walls but because he thinks he does. Mostly when we next return to the house he will not notice the paint; if and when he does it will usually be weeks or even months later and how can one seriously take an objection that takes that long to file?
But this past Monday I stayed over to finish washing sheets and towels, cleaning up the kitchen and baths, routine stuff that usually gets done while we are packing up and does not necessitate a whole day. Our plan had been to go home together on Sunday, but this particular Sunday instead of packing up together we were busily buying a house.
Al and I bought our mountain house four years ago. We had looked now and again over the course of three years, more out of wishful thinking than any serious intent to buy a second home. But this particular year was after the markets crashed and I decided I was tired of worrying about stock investments and would rather have my money invested in land. So our visit in June of '09 was with every intention of buying a second home.
In previous years we would get together with a real estate agent, a low key guy who loves Highlands and showing houses, always without pressure to buy. Dan showed us numerous houses each spring or summer, or sometimes spring and summer, and we would at times think we had found THE place. However by the time we returned home, many objections would arise and all interest would be lost. Often Al would love a house and I would hate it or vice verse. And because we had friends who had a lovely home that they generously shared with us we never felt we were overindulging what was becoming a hobby of sorts. But this particular year was different.
The housing market had taken a hit which was good for a first time buyer. I was seriously looking for an investment. And I think we were wearing out our welcome with our friends; it is one thing to extend hospitality when you think your friends are going to join you in your dream it is another when they begin infringing on your dream. So there was a shift in our thinking. And still we were surprised by the instant knowledge that this was our house that morning in June; I getting out of the car and heading up the path, and Al when he saw the pine paneled walls and stone fireplace. We continued looking at the other houses but by close of the day we knew we wanted to make an offer.
In retrospect it was good that we had looked at many houses over the course of years. Our desires were refined but also we knew a good house when we saw it. Many of the homes in a vacation community, particularly in our price range, are old and have been altered over time; most are not aesthetically pleasing. Some don't even make sense; like walking through one bedroom to get to another. But our little cabin, while having been updated over time had not been added onto; in other words the house retained a simplicity original to its construction.
We closed on the house, found a contractor and then waited a year before doing anything major. At that point we added a bedroom and a bath; updated plumbing and electrical, added new appliances, a laundry closet and pantry, and most importantly built a screen porch and wrap around deck. The house functions better for two people and looks like it was meant to be. We love it.
In the three years since we have renovated and refurbished, bringing the yard back from construction destruction, our children have been having babies. Where there were three, there are now ten grandchildren. And where we could have one family at a time stay with us we now have to rent additional houses to have a family gathering of any kind. So this past spring we put our house on the market and began looking at bigger, more accessible homes. Our real estate friend told us in the beginning that there are two kinds of people who buy homes in Highlands, those who buy and sell and leave and those who buy and sell and buy something bigger. Clearly we are the second kind.
In the intervening months Al and I have begun looking again at houses, a dozen or more, and narrowed it down to three that would meet our needs. But every time we return to our little cabin, sit on the deck and watch the sun retire there is no doubt that this is the place we love the most. Within our means that is; because if you have ever been to Highlands NC you know there are some truly exceptional homes on all kinds of magnificent land. We restrict our looking to only those we can reasonably afford. And within those parameters our little cabin is head over heels above the competition.
So after six months of trying to sell, I woke up one day and decided to finish my cabin. Remodel the old bathroom, build in some bunk beds for the children, put new counter tops in the kitchen and a hand rail on the path up from the parking pad. My sister had suggested that maybe I wasn't ready to leave, hadn't finished with this house, and that was why it wasn't speaking to a new owner. That made some sense to me, and my decision to invest more didn't necessarily mean I was going to take it off the market, just that I was going to finish what I had started while waiting to see if I was meant to leave. I made that decision one week, even had my contractor come and look at what I wanted to do, and the next week our neighbors called to tell us they were going to sell their house.
Our neighbors have over an acre of land that is contiguous with our third of an acre. Their house is two bedrooms like ours but has about half again as much square footage. It also has a level driveway. As we get older that is becoming more important. And there is enough property to add the third bedroom we need so desperately. But most importantly it is the land we look out over as we sit sipping wine on our deck on the long summer evenings. It is the place that makes us feel like we are in the woods.
After hanging up from that call and telling my husband, we both instantly recognized that this was it; this was our chance to have the place we wanted in Highlands, the place we were eagerly searching for over the last few months. We immediately called back and told them to exclude us from their real estate contract.
Things have moved swiftly since that call. We have looked at the house with an eye towards living there, different than a social visit. We have had our contractor look at it. We have made an offer and it was accepted. And we have arranged for the financing. All has gone smoothly affirming that this is a good choice, and in a few weeks we will close on this house making it ours.
Several things come to mind as I write this. First our good fortune is the result of someone else's bad fortune. As our neighbors sell and move to a smaller, less desirable place we may find it difficult to remain friends. We have tried to be sensitive to their feelings, and their situation, but for now I cannot imagine that it will turn out any other way and for that I am sorry.
The other thing that comes to mind is that shortly after we moved into our cabin four years ago I discovered a secret garden on their property. It is an old driveway, no longer used, that has mossed over; with our neighbors permission, my grandchildren and I visit it as some point during every stay. Last summer we began calling it the fairy garden. Now it will be part of our property. I cannot wait to claim it, to own it, inasmuch as we can own any land, but most importantly to honor it. I cannot wait to have ceremonies and celebrations there and to have my grandchildren grow up knowing that Gramma's fairy garden is also their special place.
And as for me, the party girl, I am already thinking ahead to the first party.
This Monday morning I awoke at nine, a late start normally but becoming more common as my marriage to Al lengthens. Al is a late night guy; he cannot force himself into the bedroom before midnight and even then it will be at least an hour before he succumbs to his biorhythms and climbs into bed. In the beginning I matched him hour for hour; then we would easily stay up until two or three. However as I am not good at sleeping late or taking daytime naps I began to dial it back. Now I mostly get into bed by eleven and turn out my light around midnight after reading or watching old Frazier shows; and yep that is the time that Al starts bumping around in the dark, turning on lights, desirous of reading in bed.
We have been married seven years now and I am finally able to sleep through (most of ) his comings and goings but also to sleep until nine if that person going bump in the night is too obnoxious. So this past Monday morning, my birthday day, I slept until nine. Surprisingly because I was in the mountains and Al was in Augusta. I cannot blame my late night on him.
When we are in the mountains together, which is much of the time, I usually stay a day after Al leaves to straighten and clean up. Sometimes I complete a chore, like painting the bathroom. I have to paint when Al is gone because our cabin is pine paneled, which I am realizing almost all men prefer to painted walls of any color. So if I want to paint something I have to do it after he leaves. Not before because you can smell the lingering paint smell for days, which is a dead giveaway. It is what I have learned to do, not because Al really hates painted walls but because he thinks he does. Mostly when we next return to the house he will not notice the paint; if and when he does it will usually be weeks or even months later and how can one seriously take an objection that takes that long to file?
But this past Monday I stayed over to finish washing sheets and towels, cleaning up the kitchen and baths, routine stuff that usually gets done while we are packing up and does not necessitate a whole day. Our plan had been to go home together on Sunday, but this particular Sunday instead of packing up together we were busily buying a house.
Al and I bought our mountain house four years ago. We had looked now and again over the course of three years, more out of wishful thinking than any serious intent to buy a second home. But this particular year was after the markets crashed and I decided I was tired of worrying about stock investments and would rather have my money invested in land. So our visit in June of '09 was with every intention of buying a second home.
In previous years we would get together with a real estate agent, a low key guy who loves Highlands and showing houses, always without pressure to buy. Dan showed us numerous houses each spring or summer, or sometimes spring and summer, and we would at times think we had found THE place. However by the time we returned home, many objections would arise and all interest would be lost. Often Al would love a house and I would hate it or vice verse. And because we had friends who had a lovely home that they generously shared with us we never felt we were overindulging what was becoming a hobby of sorts. But this particular year was different.
The housing market had taken a hit which was good for a first time buyer. I was seriously looking for an investment. And I think we were wearing out our welcome with our friends; it is one thing to extend hospitality when you think your friends are going to join you in your dream it is another when they begin infringing on your dream. So there was a shift in our thinking. And still we were surprised by the instant knowledge that this was our house that morning in June; I getting out of the car and heading up the path, and Al when he saw the pine paneled walls and stone fireplace. We continued looking at the other houses but by close of the day we knew we wanted to make an offer.
In retrospect it was good that we had looked at many houses over the course of years. Our desires were refined but also we knew a good house when we saw it. Many of the homes in a vacation community, particularly in our price range, are old and have been altered over time; most are not aesthetically pleasing. Some don't even make sense; like walking through one bedroom to get to another. But our little cabin, while having been updated over time had not been added onto; in other words the house retained a simplicity original to its construction.
We closed on the house, found a contractor and then waited a year before doing anything major. At that point we added a bedroom and a bath; updated plumbing and electrical, added new appliances, a laundry closet and pantry, and most importantly built a screen porch and wrap around deck. The house functions better for two people and looks like it was meant to be. We love it.
In the three years since we have renovated and refurbished, bringing the yard back from construction destruction, our children have been having babies. Where there were three, there are now ten grandchildren. And where we could have one family at a time stay with us we now have to rent additional houses to have a family gathering of any kind. So this past spring we put our house on the market and began looking at bigger, more accessible homes. Our real estate friend told us in the beginning that there are two kinds of people who buy homes in Highlands, those who buy and sell and leave and those who buy and sell and buy something bigger. Clearly we are the second kind.
In the intervening months Al and I have begun looking again at houses, a dozen or more, and narrowed it down to three that would meet our needs. But every time we return to our little cabin, sit on the deck and watch the sun retire there is no doubt that this is the place we love the most. Within our means that is; because if you have ever been to Highlands NC you know there are some truly exceptional homes on all kinds of magnificent land. We restrict our looking to only those we can reasonably afford. And within those parameters our little cabin is head over heels above the competition.
So after six months of trying to sell, I woke up one day and decided to finish my cabin. Remodel the old bathroom, build in some bunk beds for the children, put new counter tops in the kitchen and a hand rail on the path up from the parking pad. My sister had suggested that maybe I wasn't ready to leave, hadn't finished with this house, and that was why it wasn't speaking to a new owner. That made some sense to me, and my decision to invest more didn't necessarily mean I was going to take it off the market, just that I was going to finish what I had started while waiting to see if I was meant to leave. I made that decision one week, even had my contractor come and look at what I wanted to do, and the next week our neighbors called to tell us they were going to sell their house.
Our neighbors have over an acre of land that is contiguous with our third of an acre. Their house is two bedrooms like ours but has about half again as much square footage. It also has a level driveway. As we get older that is becoming more important. And there is enough property to add the third bedroom we need so desperately. But most importantly it is the land we look out over as we sit sipping wine on our deck on the long summer evenings. It is the place that makes us feel like we are in the woods.
After hanging up from that call and telling my husband, we both instantly recognized that this was it; this was our chance to have the place we wanted in Highlands, the place we were eagerly searching for over the last few months. We immediately called back and told them to exclude us from their real estate contract.
Things have moved swiftly since that call. We have looked at the house with an eye towards living there, different than a social visit. We have had our contractor look at it. We have made an offer and it was accepted. And we have arranged for the financing. All has gone smoothly affirming that this is a good choice, and in a few weeks we will close on this house making it ours.
Several things come to mind as I write this. First our good fortune is the result of someone else's bad fortune. As our neighbors sell and move to a smaller, less desirable place we may find it difficult to remain friends. We have tried to be sensitive to their feelings, and their situation, but for now I cannot imagine that it will turn out any other way and for that I am sorry.
The other thing that comes to mind is that shortly after we moved into our cabin four years ago I discovered a secret garden on their property. It is an old driveway, no longer used, that has mossed over; with our neighbors permission, my grandchildren and I visit it as some point during every stay. Last summer we began calling it the fairy garden. Now it will be part of our property. I cannot wait to claim it, to own it, inasmuch as we can own any land, but most importantly to honor it. I cannot wait to have ceremonies and celebrations there and to have my grandchildren grow up knowing that Gramma's fairy garden is also their special place.
And as for me, the party girl, I am already thinking ahead to the first party.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Reflections on healthcare in the land of the free....
Writing is an ego thing. I have very few friends who aren't either aspiring writers or who wish they were. I don't know if it is a cohort thing; it could be age related or the result of those things that bind us together in the first place. Many of my friends were, or are, in the health care industry and/or have an interest in human psychology, which would lend one to making observations. And to being in your head much of the time. Which I think can easily lead to writing; getting things out of one's head yet keeping them accessible. I make brilliant observations in the middle of the night or when working in the yard but find that if I don't write them down they are lost; until the next time I make that observation, which may be days or even years later.
So here I am in the place of not having written for over a week with so many passed up opportunities to make brilliant observations that I feel rusty and out of tune again. Nonetheless here I go.
Like many people in this country I am disgusted by our congress; their inability or unwillingness to govern. It is as if they are playing a football game with all that matters is who wins and who loses. If not for referees football would be a brutal game; where in politics are the referees? The rules? This game is about power; who has it, who lost it and how to keep it or get it back. For the last five years our governing body has had little interest in anything except the power. Using their power for the good of the country, for what the majority of the people desire, want or need, has not been in their scope of work.
At issue right now is healthcare. All of us need it but only some of us can afford it. In reading about healthcare reform I was overwhelmed with the history of attempts to develop some system of health care in this country. As early as 1845 citizens organized to pressure the government to develop some system of health care for the indigent and insane. As other countries bowed to the pressure to provide care for its citizens, notably the United Kingdom in 1911, the United States fought against that kind of "socialism".
In The Nation I came across an article titled "This Week in 'Nation' History: Eighty Years of Opposition to Universal and Affordable Healthcare" dated October 5th this year. Here the author, Katrina vander Heugel states that "corporate and conservative opposition to universal coverage has existed since the 1930s, when many supported including national health care insurance in the Social Security Act and Senator Robert F Wagner of New York proposed what we would now call Medicare-for-all. Campaigns to defeat what Nation contributor Leonard Robins called the last great piece of legislation since Roosevelt's New Deal have always involved race baiting and scare tactics."
The history of the fight over some form of national healthcare in this country is mind boggling. If one thinks the push for universal coverage is the sole creation of this 'demon president', Barack Obama, one need only read this article to be disabused of that fact. Or google the history of healthcare reform, or the debate over healthcare reform. It is enough to turn ones stomach.
My journey with healthcare is personal and has informed my politics. My earliest memories of doctors and hospitals are from the age of six as a military dependent. I was frequently sick as a child necessitating numerous trips to the hospital over the course of a decade when, after having my tonsils removed at the age of eleven, I became the model of health. However by that time I was hooked; I loved hospitals and the care I received and those feelings would lead me to become a healthcare professional.
As I look back on those visits, and the treatments and hospitalizations that resulted, I realize that they occurred under socialized medicine. Military healthcare is universal healthcare, conducted on a first come, first seen and as need basis. I rarely saw the same doctor, often in fact was treated in a different hospital due to our many moves, but I never felt a lack of concern or care. When I became an adult and joined the Army Nurse Corps, then became a military wife, I never thought of the care as inferior or wanting. It was all I knew. How can anyone object to that kind of care?
Last week when I mentioned this to a retired navy captain he agreed that the care was basically socialized medicine, he even agreed that it was excellent, what he didn't agree with was the idea that everyone deserved the same level of access to care. " Yes," he said, "You are right. But I don't want everyone having that kind of healthcare." I was so shocked by this response I had no rejoinder. What does one say to someone who thinks they deserve more and better healthcare because of some position they hold in society?
I grew up as an enlisted man's child; the army was segregated by rank and as a result there were many social restrictions we experienced. I saw those restraints from a different perspective when I became an army officer and then married a career army officer. But I never experienced them when receiving or administering healthcare. Administering preferential healthcare was against the oath we all took as medical deliverers. So why does the AMA fight so hard against universal healthcare?
As a nurse I worked both in military and civilian hospitals. In military hospitals care was delivered regardless of rank or position. In civilian hospitals, particularly in the neonatal intensive care units in which I worked, care delivery seemed to be ubiquitous, no matter what the parents could afford. However much of what we were doing with the very sick and immature infants was supplemented by not for profit organizations. The delivery of care, and the level of care, never included discussions about what insurance a patient had. Later as doctor owned hospitals became big business and healthcare costs began to skyrocket, private insurance took charge of delivery; who got it, when and how much. In care conferences the question of what the insurance company would allow became the new standard.
That was my experience when in the 1990s I worked as a child psych nurse in a hospital setting with emotionally disturbed children. Whereas previous to my tenure children were admitted for treatment that lasted as long as six months, with multiple caregivers and in depth family involvement, I saw in-patient treatment dwindle from a month when I began to four days when I quit. At the time I left, the length of patient treatment was dictated totally by insurance companies, not doctors. Supportive modalities such as play therapy, family therapy, art therapy were all eliminated and replaced with drug treatment. The idea that a child was part of a unit, a family, and could only be as healthy as the unit was abandoned in favor of short, inexpensive hospitalizations and follow-up with fifteen minute drug management appointments.
As an aside I cannot help but wonder how many of these children, whose mental health depends solely on drug compliance, are the mentally ill adults we see today walking into the naval yard, post office, theater of your choice with a loaded rifle.
Healthcare did not become less expensive as a result of insurance company managing the delivery; different people got rich. Doctors, who at one time were the wealthiest citizens in any community, are more likely to be members of the upper middle class today. Unless they have managed, as some I know, to build their own private care centers, delivering care that ranges from radiology to day surgery to primary medicine. For instance one physician in this town owns at least five primary care centers, along with a diagnostic center and a surgery center. Medicine as big business.
Another doc friend, who is a diagnostician, talks about how little he gets paid for his skills; all the money is in procedures he says. MRIs, CTs, colonoscopies, etc. You get the idea. So painful has practicing medicine become for those who worked prior to the insurance takeover, that we are seeing some family medicine and internal medicine docs, where procedures are mostly referred out to specialists, abandoning private practice to work for the Veteran's Administration where they are paid a salary. Socialized medicine.
As I think about this I wish the debate would move on to the delivery of healthcare to our citizens and away from overturning Obamacare. As I contemplate the size of this country, and the immense wealth of some of its citizens, I wonder why we continue to have this debate. Providing the means for every person to have healthcare insurance is only the first step; but it is a necessary step in controlling healthcare costs and making it affordable for both employers to provide insurance and recipients to utilize the healthcare system.
I am not a proponent of big government. But it seems that when the healthcare providers, physicians, insurance companies, pharmaceutical corporations are unable to control costs, unable to limit their greed, it is time for the government to step in and protect its citizens. To me it is one of the reasons to have government; to deal with corruptness and greed and equalize access to power. Access to healthcare is a necessity if one is to become a contributing member of society and not just used up and thrown on the trash heap of history.
Interesting isn't it, how those who object to big government and want to lower costs never talk about the defense budget.
So here I am in the place of not having written for over a week with so many passed up opportunities to make brilliant observations that I feel rusty and out of tune again. Nonetheless here I go.
Like many people in this country I am disgusted by our congress; their inability or unwillingness to govern. It is as if they are playing a football game with all that matters is who wins and who loses. If not for referees football would be a brutal game; where in politics are the referees? The rules? This game is about power; who has it, who lost it and how to keep it or get it back. For the last five years our governing body has had little interest in anything except the power. Using their power for the good of the country, for what the majority of the people desire, want or need, has not been in their scope of work.
At issue right now is healthcare. All of us need it but only some of us can afford it. In reading about healthcare reform I was overwhelmed with the history of attempts to develop some system of health care in this country. As early as 1845 citizens organized to pressure the government to develop some system of health care for the indigent and insane. As other countries bowed to the pressure to provide care for its citizens, notably the United Kingdom in 1911, the United States fought against that kind of "socialism".
In The Nation I came across an article titled "This Week in 'Nation' History: Eighty Years of Opposition to Universal and Affordable Healthcare" dated October 5th this year. Here the author, Katrina vander Heugel states that "corporate and conservative opposition to universal coverage has existed since the 1930s, when many supported including national health care insurance in the Social Security Act and Senator Robert F Wagner of New York proposed what we would now call Medicare-for-all. Campaigns to defeat what Nation contributor Leonard Robins called the last great piece of legislation since Roosevelt's New Deal have always involved race baiting and scare tactics."
The history of the fight over some form of national healthcare in this country is mind boggling. If one thinks the push for universal coverage is the sole creation of this 'demon president', Barack Obama, one need only read this article to be disabused of that fact. Or google the history of healthcare reform, or the debate over healthcare reform. It is enough to turn ones stomach.
My journey with healthcare is personal and has informed my politics. My earliest memories of doctors and hospitals are from the age of six as a military dependent. I was frequently sick as a child necessitating numerous trips to the hospital over the course of a decade when, after having my tonsils removed at the age of eleven, I became the model of health. However by that time I was hooked; I loved hospitals and the care I received and those feelings would lead me to become a healthcare professional.
As I look back on those visits, and the treatments and hospitalizations that resulted, I realize that they occurred under socialized medicine. Military healthcare is universal healthcare, conducted on a first come, first seen and as need basis. I rarely saw the same doctor, often in fact was treated in a different hospital due to our many moves, but I never felt a lack of concern or care. When I became an adult and joined the Army Nurse Corps, then became a military wife, I never thought of the care as inferior or wanting. It was all I knew. How can anyone object to that kind of care?
Last week when I mentioned this to a retired navy captain he agreed that the care was basically socialized medicine, he even agreed that it was excellent, what he didn't agree with was the idea that everyone deserved the same level of access to care. " Yes," he said, "You are right. But I don't want everyone having that kind of healthcare." I was so shocked by this response I had no rejoinder. What does one say to someone who thinks they deserve more and better healthcare because of some position they hold in society?
I grew up as an enlisted man's child; the army was segregated by rank and as a result there were many social restrictions we experienced. I saw those restraints from a different perspective when I became an army officer and then married a career army officer. But I never experienced them when receiving or administering healthcare. Administering preferential healthcare was against the oath we all took as medical deliverers. So why does the AMA fight so hard against universal healthcare?
As a nurse I worked both in military and civilian hospitals. In military hospitals care was delivered regardless of rank or position. In civilian hospitals, particularly in the neonatal intensive care units in which I worked, care delivery seemed to be ubiquitous, no matter what the parents could afford. However much of what we were doing with the very sick and immature infants was supplemented by not for profit organizations. The delivery of care, and the level of care, never included discussions about what insurance a patient had. Later as doctor owned hospitals became big business and healthcare costs began to skyrocket, private insurance took charge of delivery; who got it, when and how much. In care conferences the question of what the insurance company would allow became the new standard.
That was my experience when in the 1990s I worked as a child psych nurse in a hospital setting with emotionally disturbed children. Whereas previous to my tenure children were admitted for treatment that lasted as long as six months, with multiple caregivers and in depth family involvement, I saw in-patient treatment dwindle from a month when I began to four days when I quit. At the time I left, the length of patient treatment was dictated totally by insurance companies, not doctors. Supportive modalities such as play therapy, family therapy, art therapy were all eliminated and replaced with drug treatment. The idea that a child was part of a unit, a family, and could only be as healthy as the unit was abandoned in favor of short, inexpensive hospitalizations and follow-up with fifteen minute drug management appointments.
As an aside I cannot help but wonder how many of these children, whose mental health depends solely on drug compliance, are the mentally ill adults we see today walking into the naval yard, post office, theater of your choice with a loaded rifle.
Healthcare did not become less expensive as a result of insurance company managing the delivery; different people got rich. Doctors, who at one time were the wealthiest citizens in any community, are more likely to be members of the upper middle class today. Unless they have managed, as some I know, to build their own private care centers, delivering care that ranges from radiology to day surgery to primary medicine. For instance one physician in this town owns at least five primary care centers, along with a diagnostic center and a surgery center. Medicine as big business.
Another doc friend, who is a diagnostician, talks about how little he gets paid for his skills; all the money is in procedures he says. MRIs, CTs, colonoscopies, etc. You get the idea. So painful has practicing medicine become for those who worked prior to the insurance takeover, that we are seeing some family medicine and internal medicine docs, where procedures are mostly referred out to specialists, abandoning private practice to work for the Veteran's Administration where they are paid a salary. Socialized medicine.
As I think about this I wish the debate would move on to the delivery of healthcare to our citizens and away from overturning Obamacare. As I contemplate the size of this country, and the immense wealth of some of its citizens, I wonder why we continue to have this debate. Providing the means for every person to have healthcare insurance is only the first step; but it is a necessary step in controlling healthcare costs and making it affordable for both employers to provide insurance and recipients to utilize the healthcare system.
I am not a proponent of big government. But it seems that when the healthcare providers, physicians, insurance companies, pharmaceutical corporations are unable to control costs, unable to limit their greed, it is time for the government to step in and protect its citizens. To me it is one of the reasons to have government; to deal with corruptness and greed and equalize access to power. Access to healthcare is a necessity if one is to become a contributing member of society and not just used up and thrown on the trash heap of history.
Interesting isn't it, how those who object to big government and want to lower costs never talk about the defense budget.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
The Battlefields of Marriage
I am on vacation. Vacation from what would be the question. Not being retired like my husband, who is retired but still works part time, I am not really working in the traditional sense of the word, yet I am always working. Being an artist and a migrant worker all of my life I didn't really have a job from which to retire, so I guess I will never really be retired unless I enter a home or until I die. So it is difficult for me to call what I am doing a vacation.
Certainly we have taken a vacation from our homes and the daily upkeep inherent in those dwellings. And we are taking a vacation from our dogs; although I don't think Al would ever want our dogs to hear those words. Also we have taken a vacation from grandparenting, although that is not really work and something from which I would need a vacation as some grandparents might. What we have done is stepped outside of our normal, everyday life in an attempt to gain a different perspective. My definition.
We are currently in Richmond, Virginia. Not exactly the vacation capitol of the United States. Al and I are here because of his desire to tour confederate battlegrounds with two of his cousins. Several years ago, having been invited to a wedding on Long Island, we decided to take a road trip and visit battlegrounds along the way. As I had never visited any sites of the Civil War in my trips up and down the east coast, being more of a yankee than a southerner, I was all in.
Beginning in Georgia we popped the book Killer Angels into the cd player and began our trek towards Pennsylvania and Gettysburg, the main subject of our interest. I cannot remember the exact chronology of the trip now, but the first battlefield we stopped at was Antietam. It was the second day; we were fresh from a night's sleep and a day of Killer Angels, and we were eager to bond through this experience.
Quickly I learned, however, whatever I had expected from this trip, it would not be about bonding. Antietam, also called the Battle of Sharpsburg, was the bloodiest, single day battle in American history. Sobering to think about, beyond sobering to walk the small fields where over twenty thousand men died, were wounded, or just went missing.
Getting back in the car, continuing to listen to the events at Gettysburg in great detail, we stopped at another battlefield along the way. Even as I look at maps I cannot remember the name of that battle, nor the details of the fighting that occurred there. I can remember talking to a park ranger who described how the soldiers would move from ditch to ditch and ridge to ridge in the pursuit of their ideals. But what I most remember is the feeling of shutting down.
Late in the afternoon we pulled into Gettysburg and checked into our hotel. Two days of driving, two days of listening to The Killer Angels, and two battlefields into our vacation I felt what I can only describe as shell shocked. My husband was eager to go out and get the lay of the town so we did a quick car tour planning our assault the following day. Returning to the hotel we passed a theater wherein a movie about Gettysburg was ongoing; a must see. After some discussion and disbelief on my husband's part, Al went to the movie I went to a nearby restaurant and had a glass of wine.
Bright and early the next day we began at the park center which included a marvelous museum, a diorama and a film to provide background to the driving tour we would embark on after lunch. Lots and lots of information for the historian we carry within, if we are to be well educated.
I am, if not well educated, interestingly educated. With both nursing and fine arts degrees, my childhood included living in the very disparate cultures of France and Japan. And like many children I had a love of reading, particularly biographies and historic novels; but I did not enjoy history. It was in my first art history class, as an adult, that I developed a real interest in, and genuine love of, history. Nothing in any of my myriad art history courses, however, prepared me for Gettysburg.
Driving around the town and the surrounding battlefields, where somewhere between forty-six and fifty-one thousand soldiers were wounded or killed in a three day battle, I completely lost my enthusiasm for both the trip and my husband. His curiosity, while normally very attractive to me, nearly resulted in him being abandoned along Cemetery Ridge. And while I very aware of my propensity to shift into overload in times of stress and places of over stimulation, I had never, at any time, experienced such complete disdain for another human being. Fortunately for him, when pressed, he climbed into the car and we continued on our way to Long Island in silence.
I think we did finish Killer Angels on that trip. Maybe on our return home after some lovely visits to other cultural attractions and family gatherings. I honestly don't remember. But as I sit here today my husband is out with his cousins visiting yet another battlefield and I am getting ready to spend the day with my friend Rosie. Perhaps we'll poke around Richmond and enjoy another incredible fall day. Whatever we do I will be remembering what vacations are all about; compromise arising out of understanding and negotiation. No battles in this marriage this trip. The vacation is not over, however; tomorrow we head to Washington DC.
Certainly we have taken a vacation from our homes and the daily upkeep inherent in those dwellings. And we are taking a vacation from our dogs; although I don't think Al would ever want our dogs to hear those words. Also we have taken a vacation from grandparenting, although that is not really work and something from which I would need a vacation as some grandparents might. What we have done is stepped outside of our normal, everyday life in an attempt to gain a different perspective. My definition.
We are currently in Richmond, Virginia. Not exactly the vacation capitol of the United States. Al and I are here because of his desire to tour confederate battlegrounds with two of his cousins. Several years ago, having been invited to a wedding on Long Island, we decided to take a road trip and visit battlegrounds along the way. As I had never visited any sites of the Civil War in my trips up and down the east coast, being more of a yankee than a southerner, I was all in.
Beginning in Georgia we popped the book Killer Angels into the cd player and began our trek towards Pennsylvania and Gettysburg, the main subject of our interest. I cannot remember the exact chronology of the trip now, but the first battlefield we stopped at was Antietam. It was the second day; we were fresh from a night's sleep and a day of Killer Angels, and we were eager to bond through this experience.
Quickly I learned, however, whatever I had expected from this trip, it would not be about bonding. Antietam, also called the Battle of Sharpsburg, was the bloodiest, single day battle in American history. Sobering to think about, beyond sobering to walk the small fields where over twenty thousand men died, were wounded, or just went missing.
Getting back in the car, continuing to listen to the events at Gettysburg in great detail, we stopped at another battlefield along the way. Even as I look at maps I cannot remember the name of that battle, nor the details of the fighting that occurred there. I can remember talking to a park ranger who described how the soldiers would move from ditch to ditch and ridge to ridge in the pursuit of their ideals. But what I most remember is the feeling of shutting down.
Late in the afternoon we pulled into Gettysburg and checked into our hotel. Two days of driving, two days of listening to The Killer Angels, and two battlefields into our vacation I felt what I can only describe as shell shocked. My husband was eager to go out and get the lay of the town so we did a quick car tour planning our assault the following day. Returning to the hotel we passed a theater wherein a movie about Gettysburg was ongoing; a must see. After some discussion and disbelief on my husband's part, Al went to the movie I went to a nearby restaurant and had a glass of wine.
Bright and early the next day we began at the park center which included a marvelous museum, a diorama and a film to provide background to the driving tour we would embark on after lunch. Lots and lots of information for the historian we carry within, if we are to be well educated.
I am, if not well educated, interestingly educated. With both nursing and fine arts degrees, my childhood included living in the very disparate cultures of France and Japan. And like many children I had a love of reading, particularly biographies and historic novels; but I did not enjoy history. It was in my first art history class, as an adult, that I developed a real interest in, and genuine love of, history. Nothing in any of my myriad art history courses, however, prepared me for Gettysburg.
Driving around the town and the surrounding battlefields, where somewhere between forty-six and fifty-one thousand soldiers were wounded or killed in a three day battle, I completely lost my enthusiasm for both the trip and my husband. His curiosity, while normally very attractive to me, nearly resulted in him being abandoned along Cemetery Ridge. And while I very aware of my propensity to shift into overload in times of stress and places of over stimulation, I had never, at any time, experienced such complete disdain for another human being. Fortunately for him, when pressed, he climbed into the car and we continued on our way to Long Island in silence.
I think we did finish Killer Angels on that trip. Maybe on our return home after some lovely visits to other cultural attractions and family gatherings. I honestly don't remember. But as I sit here today my husband is out with his cousins visiting yet another battlefield and I am getting ready to spend the day with my friend Rosie. Perhaps we'll poke around Richmond and enjoy another incredible fall day. Whatever we do I will be remembering what vacations are all about; compromise arising out of understanding and negotiation. No battles in this marriage this trip. The vacation is not over, however; tomorrow we head to Washington DC.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Gardening or Yardwork?
Today Ace Hardware sends me a message reminding me that it is time for fall clean-up. This morning it feels like fall. Cool breezes accompany us on our walk about town and the dogs have a spring in their step. Yesterday I began cleaning out the flowerbed and, overcome with heat, dreaded the mountains of tree trimming and weed pulling that waited in the wings. Then unexpectedly there is this gift of cool air and suddenly this morning feels like a good time to work.
Saturday we are leaving for a ten day trip. Garbage pick-up is tomorrow, which here in Augusta includes yard waste. So whatever I do after tomorrow will sit in a pile, out front, until next week. Anything I don't get done will be waiting when we get back. For me that is the greatest motivator of all; I will have a much better time knowing that I am not coming home to this jungle.
Like most of the southeast, Augusta has been inundated with rain this summer. Many of our drought tolerant plantings of the past few years have been drowned by the incessant rain; they need to be pulled up. The more tropical plants have grown unlike anything I have seen in the near thirty years I have lived here. However now that the daily torrent has stopped many of those plants are dying for lack of water. It is not feasible to continue watering to the degree that they have become accustomed. So more dead things to pull up or cut down, prune or just pray over.
The first order of business, after getting tools out of the garage, is to clean up dog poop. With two dogs, that can take thirty minutes, invariably piles will be missed and I will step in them. My husband doesn't believe in cleaning up after our dogs, he thinks the nutrients are good for the soil. I think it is just an excuse not to do it.
This morning, like any time we walk the dogs, Snook immediately has to poop. Snook is Al's dog and being under good voice control, she walks without a tether. My dog is Ginger; she is more rambunctious so on city streets I keep her leashed. I also carry clean-up bags. Usually Al ignores the dog's business and walks on, but this morning an owner pulls out of his driveway just as Snook is doing her thing and confronts Al with the clean-up question. It is the first time that I have seen Al pick up after the dog, with my bag. Today I decide to forego the clean-up process and ignore the well fertilized yard. I am on poop patrol strike. If he can pick it at the request of a stranger Al should be able to pick up poop in his own yard. Enough on that subject.
It is my understanding that years ago, upon completing construction, the backyard was pretty much laid bare with the exception of some trees that ringed the small property. In the intervening years Al has added an assortment of trees and shrubs, and a small lawn with little design in mind. In the time since we have been married I have had a couple of different gardeners draw designs which will give shape to the area but they all tell us to remove the very old, dying wax myrtles. This is where my husband draws a line in the sand. No tree will be cut down unless it falls first.
This is my second marriage and although I don't have a lot of experience with men and yards, I find it unusual that both men I married have an inordinate attachment to anything growing in the ground; volunteer or otherwise. For example we have two vitex that Al planted in the corner of the yard. They are essentially trashy trees. There is nothing attractive about them, they are scrubby and awkward looking with limbs growing at odd angles; for some reason Al loves them. The wax myrtles, while also somewhat trashy, have very sculptural trunks that add depth and interest as well as shade. I could make a case for saving them if they weren't already dying and loosing limbs on a regular basis.
So, like my ex-husband, Al never wants to get rid of anything. But unlike my first husband who loved yard work and really could not bear to pull even the most pitiful volunteer tree or shrub out of the ground, I surmise Al's reluctance may stem from his dislike of yard work. Al does not believe in yard work, or at least any that requires his participation. He is a gentleman gardener.
Every year Al turns the earth and amends the soil to make ready for the planting of tomatoes. And peppers. And eggplant. He spends days getting ready, sometimes getting the soil analyzed to determine the necessary ingredients to nurture the little seedlings. And every year we have a bumper crop of peppers, nobody could eat the amount of peppers we harvest, and very few tomatoes. And by this time of year, as the plants are dying, he eyes them longingly, hopefully, refusing to pull them up..
It is important to explain why the tomatoes need to go. When you walk in the front door of our house there is a view straight through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, wherein the ceiling is vaulted two stories with eight foot long windows framing the view. Through those windows one can see three old, graceful ligustrum behind which grows lush, very dense, bamboo. In front of the ligustrum, in a brick raised bed are tomato plants. Old, gnarly, yellowing tomato plants. And they will stay there through the first freeze, which comes sometimes in late October, or late November or even into December. This means we will be looking at those nasty plants unless I sneak around and pull them out one at a time. Which should be easy, because at some point Al starts avoiding the garden and I am the only one out there working; however our driveway is off an alley behind the house. Every day we enter through a gate and walk past the vegetable garden to get in the house.
Lest I sound ungrateful or complaining I must say that Al hires yard workers who tend the grass and edge occasionally and even blow the leaves away. Today as I write someone is outside blowing the first layer of leaves that have fallen from the tulip poplars that tower over the front of our house. However, despite the fact that my husband is willing, it is almost impossible to find someone to prune trees, pull weeds, trim shrubs; in other words to garden. If you do find this mythical worker the cost will either be exorbitant or you will have to direct their every move because your worker will have less knowledge of gardening than you do. So, I am by default the gardener and it is with this authority that I called in yet one more landscaper to discuss our back yard.
The plan was drawn up this spring but it needs some tweaking. I think it may be too formal but at least it has good bones design-wise. There is variation in shape, color and form; repetition in species and size. There is movement, drawing the eye around the landscape, inviting investigation. There is attention to detail in every bed and walkway. And finally, there is a husband willing to concede the loss of the wax myrtle and the vitex.
So as I sit here writing the vitex is no longer. The two trees were cut down limb by limb and the remains dragged to the street for tomorrow's trash run. The bamboo is thinned and offerings made to friends in need of water loving plants. The oak leaf hydrangea, that has been clinging creepily to the windows on the west side of the house, has been pruned letting in light once more. There is still work to do but there is space in the yard that wasn't there yesterday and I can breathe a little easily just knowing that. Now to clean my shoes.
Saturday we are leaving for a ten day trip. Garbage pick-up is tomorrow, which here in Augusta includes yard waste. So whatever I do after tomorrow will sit in a pile, out front, until next week. Anything I don't get done will be waiting when we get back. For me that is the greatest motivator of all; I will have a much better time knowing that I am not coming home to this jungle.
Like most of the southeast, Augusta has been inundated with rain this summer. Many of our drought tolerant plantings of the past few years have been drowned by the incessant rain; they need to be pulled up. The more tropical plants have grown unlike anything I have seen in the near thirty years I have lived here. However now that the daily torrent has stopped many of those plants are dying for lack of water. It is not feasible to continue watering to the degree that they have become accustomed. So more dead things to pull up or cut down, prune or just pray over.
The first order of business, after getting tools out of the garage, is to clean up dog poop. With two dogs, that can take thirty minutes, invariably piles will be missed and I will step in them. My husband doesn't believe in cleaning up after our dogs, he thinks the nutrients are good for the soil. I think it is just an excuse not to do it.
This morning, like any time we walk the dogs, Snook immediately has to poop. Snook is Al's dog and being under good voice control, she walks without a tether. My dog is Ginger; she is more rambunctious so on city streets I keep her leashed. I also carry clean-up bags. Usually Al ignores the dog's business and walks on, but this morning an owner pulls out of his driveway just as Snook is doing her thing and confronts Al with the clean-up question. It is the first time that I have seen Al pick up after the dog, with my bag. Today I decide to forego the clean-up process and ignore the well fertilized yard. I am on poop patrol strike. If he can pick it at the request of a stranger Al should be able to pick up poop in his own yard. Enough on that subject.
It is my understanding that years ago, upon completing construction, the backyard was pretty much laid bare with the exception of some trees that ringed the small property. In the intervening years Al has added an assortment of trees and shrubs, and a small lawn with little design in mind. In the time since we have been married I have had a couple of different gardeners draw designs which will give shape to the area but they all tell us to remove the very old, dying wax myrtles. This is where my husband draws a line in the sand. No tree will be cut down unless it falls first.
This is my second marriage and although I don't have a lot of experience with men and yards, I find it unusual that both men I married have an inordinate attachment to anything growing in the ground; volunteer or otherwise. For example we have two vitex that Al planted in the corner of the yard. They are essentially trashy trees. There is nothing attractive about them, they are scrubby and awkward looking with limbs growing at odd angles; for some reason Al loves them. The wax myrtles, while also somewhat trashy, have very sculptural trunks that add depth and interest as well as shade. I could make a case for saving them if they weren't already dying and loosing limbs on a regular basis.
So, like my ex-husband, Al never wants to get rid of anything. But unlike my first husband who loved yard work and really could not bear to pull even the most pitiful volunteer tree or shrub out of the ground, I surmise Al's reluctance may stem from his dislike of yard work. Al does not believe in yard work, or at least any that requires his participation. He is a gentleman gardener.
Every year Al turns the earth and amends the soil to make ready for the planting of tomatoes. And peppers. And eggplant. He spends days getting ready, sometimes getting the soil analyzed to determine the necessary ingredients to nurture the little seedlings. And every year we have a bumper crop of peppers, nobody could eat the amount of peppers we harvest, and very few tomatoes. And by this time of year, as the plants are dying, he eyes them longingly, hopefully, refusing to pull them up..
It is important to explain why the tomatoes need to go. When you walk in the front door of our house there is a view straight through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, wherein the ceiling is vaulted two stories with eight foot long windows framing the view. Through those windows one can see three old, graceful ligustrum behind which grows lush, very dense, bamboo. In front of the ligustrum, in a brick raised bed are tomato plants. Old, gnarly, yellowing tomato plants. And they will stay there through the first freeze, which comes sometimes in late October, or late November or even into December. This means we will be looking at those nasty plants unless I sneak around and pull them out one at a time. Which should be easy, because at some point Al starts avoiding the garden and I am the only one out there working; however our driveway is off an alley behind the house. Every day we enter through a gate and walk past the vegetable garden to get in the house.
Lest I sound ungrateful or complaining I must say that Al hires yard workers who tend the grass and edge occasionally and even blow the leaves away. Today as I write someone is outside blowing the first layer of leaves that have fallen from the tulip poplars that tower over the front of our house. However, despite the fact that my husband is willing, it is almost impossible to find someone to prune trees, pull weeds, trim shrubs; in other words to garden. If you do find this mythical worker the cost will either be exorbitant or you will have to direct their every move because your worker will have less knowledge of gardening than you do. So, I am by default the gardener and it is with this authority that I called in yet one more landscaper to discuss our back yard.
The plan was drawn up this spring but it needs some tweaking. I think it may be too formal but at least it has good bones design-wise. There is variation in shape, color and form; repetition in species and size. There is movement, drawing the eye around the landscape, inviting investigation. There is attention to detail in every bed and walkway. And finally, there is a husband willing to concede the loss of the wax myrtle and the vitex.
So as I sit here writing the vitex is no longer. The two trees were cut down limb by limb and the remains dragged to the street for tomorrow's trash run. The bamboo is thinned and offerings made to friends in need of water loving plants. The oak leaf hydrangea, that has been clinging creepily to the windows on the west side of the house, has been pruned letting in light once more. There is still work to do but there is space in the yard that wasn't there yesterday and I can breathe a little easily just knowing that. Now to clean my shoes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)