The Children We Lose

R&B talent Amy Winehouse died this weekend, alone and by her own hands. Her friend, actor Russell Brand, writes:

“When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.

"Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make, it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.

"Now Amy is dead, like many others whose unnecessary deaths have been retrospectively romanticised, at 27 years old. Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy’s incredible talent. Or Kurt’s or Jimi’s or Janis’s, some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill. We need to review the way society treats addicts, not as criminals but as sick people in need of care."

Those who know me well know that I consider every day a blessing for not having this ending to my mother's tale. Each decision may seem insignificant in the moment, but as they accumulate and spill one on top of the other and merge into a lifestyle there comes a point where the way back to a life that exists with hopefulness and choice is lost.  How can we teach our children that?

From a fan comes this reminder: 'When we look at artists, sometimes we forget to look at the real person behind the scenes... we don't know what kind of problems they might have, what they are feeling. They are humans just as we are with worries and despair.. we know you are singing to angels with that beautiful voice. May her soul finally rest in peace.'

Pass the AntiD's

An expert being interviewed by NPR said (and I'm paraphrasing here) that worldwide technology makes information / communication instant, but can make the world seem like a more dangerous place than it is. He went on to discuss the Somalia pirate statistics and how dangerous that part of the world can be.

In other words, without filters or references to the event from our own personal knowledge, we take it in raw that is not anchored by perspective. So let's take the headlines this morning with the aol.Huffpost  ... maybe just the highlights? - let's see here, what have we got:

Category A:
Husband of missing mom of triplets is baiting and harrassing the volunteers looking for her.
Inmate dies in videotaped execution
Norway rocked by blast
Alleged War Criminal Extradited to Hague
A Florida teen didn't believe his best friend when he said he was going to kill his parents — until he was shown the unthinkable.
Mom With Autistic Kids Attacked
The brother of the NFL player found dead has been arrested

Category B:
Pregnant singer's boyfriend leaves
Tough interview questions: Don't be fake, ('I care too much about my work!') but do mention an area where you could improve and the steps you've taken to do so
Is Your Office Hiding a Hoarder?
Massive Heat Wave Suffocates US (22 die)
How to use your time wisely when you are unemployed

Category C:
Visit the Irish Countryside, From $799
Grownups-Only Getaway to Mexico

Category D:
7 Drinks That May Up Gout Risk
11 Ways Pets Make You Healthy
The NFL still is on strike
Nail Polish Idea You Haven't Seen

I don't wonder at all why we are all goobered up.

And How!

It was a great day with GD#1 and husband lazing around the pool waxing and waning about politics, success, and life. Grandkids are the bomb.

We had a spirited and interesting conversation about voting. This generation apparently doesn't vote because they don't think their voice will make a difference. Each generation shares some characterics and I'd hate to think most of the 20-somethings feel the bleakness our grandkids expressed, but do they?
 
Used to be the youngsters in the family smiled patiently and rolled their eyes at all the back when we were kids stories.  Now we're tellin' them!! LOL  But life was great when we were kids. Before Silicon Valley was built over and changed, it was an idyllic place to grow up. And growing up in San Francisco in The Sunset with a gang of kids whose families all knew each other gave them strong roots.

Our generation was ruled by change and technology. We were under our desks during air raid drills and watched that weird guy at the end of the street dig up his yard to built a bomb shelter. It became popular to assassinate our public leaders, and we rode the wild 60s and 70s, race riots and war. In a relatively short amount of time, we ushered in the computer, the web, tv and dvds and cell phones. Women fought for equal rights during my lifetime. 

But the thing is, before all that, hardly anyone was divorced. Kids roamed the streets in search of fun things to do and used our imaginations. There weren't gangs to worry about, not like today. Nobody had much money but we made due. We had kool-aid stands with tons of sugar and drank from the hose. Nobody took anti-depressants. Kids ate pb&j sandwiches that sat in the afternoon sun in baggies that nobody worried about the plastic leaching into the food. We ate them hot and gooey unless ants had gotten to them.

We didn't wash our hands unless they had mud on them and the fruit we picked from the orchard nearby wasn't washed, either. Sometimes it wasn't even ripe. Our parents only had a general idea of where we were. We'd hear a bell or a voice hollering down the street and know it was dinner.  

Life really was different and even more now that three generations have passed and our way of life is all but disappeared. We have more stuff now, but have lost the hopeful innocence that helps us carry on.

I'm a 'ma'am' phase. For instance, if I carry a box into a business and catch someone's eye and smile, they rush to open the door.  Like magic!  Not very long ago I'd have had to put down the box and open the door, prop it with my knee and gyrate to pick it up and dash inside.

And when someone is clearly in a hurry and dashes by, almost always they think better of it and turn back to open the door and say hello. It makes them feel good and me feel good and it feels good passing it on. All this considerateness and goodwill swirling around the cosmos happying people up makes for a really good day.

I discovered a lifetime pass for the National Parks for like ten bucks. For Seniors over 62. It lasts forever. We'll have to go off season when the families with kids are in school and soccer practices! Do Disneyland and have the park to ourselves! No wait, that's not a National park...

Anyway, that's going to be life for the jellied and over 60 crowd.  Not the same, but not so bad. There's perks in the works.  I'd sure like to clock 10,000 miles on that free National Park pass: Grand Tetons, here we come!  Well, maybe not quite yet ... but soon.

Lessons from Geese

I spent today in a meeting, and as grueling as that sounds, it wasn't at all. Whenever people gather who choose to be there, and are focused on the same goals, and those goals have nothing to do with personal gain, it's an inspiring day.

There were a lot of take-aways from the day but my favorite was the Lessons from Geese. I don't know who wrote it but it's a great moral on becoming a successful team and integral part of a community. (So much for geese being considered an inferior species.)

Lessons From Geese 

• As each goose flaps its wings, it creates an uplift for the birds that follow. By flying in a 'V' formation, the whole flock has 71% greater flying range than if each bird flew alone. 
• When a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of flying alone. It quickly moves back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird immediately in front of it. 
• When the lead bird tires, it rotates back into the formation to take advantage of the uplift from the bird in front of it. Another bird from the flock rotates into the lead position. 
• The geese flying in formation honk to encourage those up in front to keep up their speed. 
• When a goose gets sick, wounded or shot down, two geese drop out of formation and follow it down to help protect it. They stay with it until it dies or is able to fly again. Then they launch out with another formation to catch up with the flock.

Testing 1 2 3

Testing out the email feature added to my webpage.

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Information Junkies

I have been struggling with a topic to write about, more too many things than too few.

I was thinking how easy it is to fall into a world of your own making and remain there for an entire lifetime, that safe little me place to count on and treasure. As the world explodes through all sorts of mediums, we become aware of a good many more things that are often scary and hard.

The world flies at us full tilt. We can know everything all the time. Just how are we going to deal with it, and where will we put those big files that download automatically, and find a way to make sense of it?

My melancholy mood is NPR inspired, perhaps, which I listen to on the drive in to work. In very succinct terms they tell the story of how dangerous and pivotal the world has become. I am more informed, but less happy, as I try to humanize the sorrows that wear thin my sense of optimism and hopefulness. It in turn chips away at the emotional compass and intellectual immunities that I rely on to maintain a healthy sense of balance.

When a resilient spirit is exposed to raw data and instinctively responds with the conditioned sense of responsibility that Americans feel as the peacekeepers and conscience of the world, it can quickly become a personal crisis. We identify with the situation, as with the greusome murder of that little Hasidic boy this week that kept me up nearly all night. It could have easily been my son, I know, and but for the grace of God was not.

As the pressure builds, I recognize the need to rehab myself to break free from being an information junkie. I've half a mind to curl up in a throw and spend a week with everything turned off except my thoughts and a 500 page novel. There's a little mini vaca a couple of weeks away, and that's just what I'll do.

I can see why we draw back into our little homes and lives, and reacquaint ourselves with small insignificant purposes that are manageable. It nourishes and strengthens the spirit.  To be able to carry on is the thing, and copious amounts of information make it increasingly harder to do.

A Modern Dilemma

This in, from Therese Bouchard. Definitely worth a read.

The other day I wrote a post for Blisstree.com on how to stay productive when you are clinically depressed. I mentioned that, at my rock bottom, I had to take a break altogether from writing, as every time I sat down in front of my computer, all I could do was cry. Moreover, because my concentration was so totally shot, composing a sentence -- much less an article -- wasn't going to happen.


I took a year off. To heal.

Because my husband was gainfully employed at that time, I was able to swing it.

Eventually I tiptoed back to the working world. Very slowly. Very carefully. Very deliberately. Because a sudden plunge might have rendered me disabled for another year or so.

And I didn't start with writing, ironically.

My therapist advised me to do something in which I interacted with people, as the process of writing is not all that conducive to recovery from depression. The time alone and the cerebral exercise can often aggravate depression and anxiety, inviting more invitations to obsess and ruminate. When your job requires that you be among people, some of whom you have to listen to, you have a better shot of concentration.

So I became a tutor at a local college. For two hours a week. I read the words of my students since I couldn't compose my own.

One of the more complex quandaries of depression is knowing when your job is making you depressed, or if you are just clinically depressed and your job has nothing to do with it.

While most mental health professionals assert that gainful employment improves mood and promotes resiliency, a new study by the Australian National University (ANU) maintains that the wrong job can do more harm than good. Psych Central's Selena Chavis covered the study last October.

According to lead researcher Dr. Liana Leach, "The research showed that people who moved from being unemployed into poor-quality jobs were significantly more likely to be depressed at follow-up than those people who remained unemployed ... This research suggests getting people into any job may not necessarily lead to mental health improvements. Instead, people need good quality work to gain and maintain better well-being."

I can think of two jobs that definitely made me more depressed: My first year out of college, when my personality was a horrible match to my co-workers', and the six months of this past year, when I became a government contractor with a conservative consulting firm and was doing PowerPoint presentations on change management and other things that I knew absolutely nothing about.

Both times, the last day of these jobs felt like I had transcended into the air -- you know, like the transfiguration of Jesus. The lightness I experienced seemed metaphysical. In fact, this last time, I was so glad to be done with that job that I got manic. I couldn't contain my excitement that I would no longer have to type my employment ID number forty times a day into my computer and wear a dark gray, navy or black suit with my badge faced out.

Not to say that my days are perfect now. I do hit rough patches, and during those times, I put down the writing for awhile and focus on tasks that get me out of my head because, while writing is enormously rewarding, the isolation and cerebral exercise is hard, I think, for a person prone to depression and anxiety. The challenge is staying resilient enough that you can stay productive, which, in turn, promotes more resiliency.

Unless you're working a job that only fostering more insecurity.

Originally published on Psych Central.

What Kind of Homeless

I work in an urban part of the city and there's a lot of traffic especially near the mall. It's cool. But one thing that is not cool is the number of homeless people who hang out there. The business park has a lot of restaurants, with mature landscaping and lots of grass. Don't get me wrong: it's a great spot. 

For shoppers rushing to do errands, they are probably invisible -- and I'm typically a live-and-let-live kind of person  -- but recently they have started patrolling the berm in the left turn lane to get money from people stuck at the light.

It's like an in-your-space-and-in-your-face sales call just inches from the car.  Sometimes the window is open and it's like they are in my car with me. When the light turns green, all the cars blast out of there like a rocket.

It's really hard to explain how uncomfortable this has become for all of us sitting there. We don't want to be shamed by their gestures and comments, and so we look in our laps and pray for the light to change. And the next time we have to head this way, we find an alternate route.

It happens in my hometown, too, at the exit from WalMart. The same guys have staked out this little exit route for 3 years or so. One time I watched one of them set up a mid-aged woman in a wheelchair on that little raised berm. So now it's a little business venture on the busier corners in town and they are using a marketing strategy for sympathy donations. It's probably very lucrative.

That makes me sad because there are genuine people in need. And it's not right to take advantage of people who are compassionate and generous. And that is why I don't like the term Homeless because it is too much of  a catch-all for everyone in that circumstance. I want to understand what kind of homeless they are. Is chronic, habitual, opportunistic any less offensive than the old labels of bums, tramps and hobos? According to Wikipedia, generally, the terms mean:

Bums are consistently homeless. It is their choice. They are probably the guys on the corner who sit there day after day asking for handouts so you can pay their way for them. They know and work the systems with no intention of doing anything else.

Tramps work when they are forced and count on the generosity of others to fill in. Maybe bums, with a conscience? Economically speaking, they need a push. They probably use the system to their advantage, but they are able-bodied and productive.

Hobos work when work comes up, whenever and whatever that is. They follow the job if they can, and panhandle until the next things pops up. These are migratory workers who live doing piecemeal work, specialized and skilled.

I'm all for helping those trying to help themselves. I really do understand that when bad things happen, sometimes the gap between security and homeless is a very small one. I am grateful for the gifts in my life. But it is hard to know the best thing to do when you want to help others.

My husband and I now offer food instead of money, but that doesn't always work out so well. It goes something like this: We are leaving a pizza place and half a pizza is left. We approach someone and offer it. They ask what it is before taking it. I stand there looking stupid, I'm sure, trying to process the question. Or this: Some people we offer to buy a meal for decline and want money instead. What am I missing here?

There had to be a 'next time' when I had to take that route and turn left, and couldn't get over to take the other street, and I am again at the corner on the red arrow and waiting for the light. There was a new guy working the corner who had been in a terrible fire with scars covering his face and arms and one withered hand. It was a hot day and he stood looking from car to car into the faces of people who had already looked away.

I don't carry money as a rule, but I fished out a little to share. He caught my eye and I nodded to him and only then did he approach the car. His gravely voice thanked me (THANKED me!) as I handed over the bill, and I found myself not feeling the goodwill one feels when they do that sort of thing, but being grateful for his manners in letting me decide for myself.

Canned Love

Yesterday we spent the day celebrating the 4th with old friends. For as long as I can remember, we have gathered for holidays and summer barbecues, road rallies, winter snow days and raising our kids.
  
Yesterday we talked about some of us still having parents in our 90s. And the people sitting here listening will usher them through the rough patch ahead.

Life around the table seems remarkably unchanged -- other than our kids are now parents with kids -- and eyeglasses are strewn everywhere. It sounds the same is a better description, for it certainly doesn't look the same, with bad backs and high blood pressure, sciatic pain, diabetes and cancer.  We don't dwell on that, because we are busy marveling at our good fortune.

Let it go on forever, I wish, as everyone leans forward to talk all at once. Let the old stories pour out funny and timeless. Let it bring comfort, that someone else knows our history and will carry it on. May we always listen and laugh, and be the light in each other's lives.