Taking some time off

Things have become very busy at work, so it's time for me to take a rest from blogging.

As Garrison Keillor says "Be well, do good work and keep in touch".

Amarilla mia bella

Too pretty not to share.

Good word

I was doing a crossword puzzle this morning. The clue was "speak evil of" for a seven letter word. The answer was "traduce". I can't remember the last time I heard or read traduce. It brought to mind the vocabulary workbook Wordwealth, aka WW, that we used in high school. I think it was meant to boost our SAT scores. Traduce is definitely a WW word and obviously a crossword word too.

Of recent book and music discoveries, I have no cause to traduce. Thanks to family members of good taste and who also know me pretty well, I have enjoyed some fine reading. I just finished the novel "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss. In the middle I wasn't quite sure just where she was headed with the story. All the threads were unraveling and it was a bit confusing, but it ended wonderfully, reminding me that love comes in many forms and it is often in disguise.

"The Uncommon Reader" was a delightful welcome diversion from work. It's about the queen of England who late in life becomes an avid reader. She wants to read a good book instead of cutting one more ribbon or attending one more royal function. I found myself remembering when young Amy Carter was criticized by the press corps for having her nose in a book at a White House dinner. I'm sure whatever she was reading was a lot more interesting to a kid her age than the adult conversation going on around her. Hmm, not unlike a preacher's kid.

Now I am reading "Little Heathens" by Mildred Armstrong Kalish which is the story of her childhood growing up in the depression in a small town in Iowa. I find it has tapped wisps of memories from my own childhood of great aunts and uncles who I met on rare occasion who still lived on the farms and small towns of rural Ohio. She referred to her family members as "hearty-handshakes Methodists". I knew exactly what she was talking about only mine were hearty-handshakes Presbyterians. To this day I feel awkward hugging my own brother. I bet he'd feel a lot more comfortable with a hearty handshake, don't you know.

My music choices gone to something old and something new. The something old is the first violin concerto by Max Bruch. I turned on the radio recently and came in on the middle of the second movement of the work. I was simply transfixed. I knew the work but couldn't place it. The announcer said Isaac Stern was the soloist and I had indeed heard him play that exact work in concert a jillion years ago. I went to iTunes and (thank you son) downloaded Shlomo Mintz playing the Bruch with the Chicago Symphony. It is a wonderful work.

Something new is the husband-wife duo "Over the Rhine". I'm going to use the new blogger music gizmo to share some information on their album "Snow Angels" :

----------------
Now playing: Over the Rhine - Snowed In With You
via FoxyTunes

I've been wanting to try this out, so now I have it out of my system.

Fill in the blanks

Christmas is packed away for another year. I dusted and tidied as I removed the Christmas knick-knacks replacing them with the items they had displaced. Every year I pull out less stuff because the undecorating always falls on me. Hubster took advantage of the unseasonably warm weather yesterday to fell another tree and to split it up for firewood. I took down the outside lights only in shirtsleeves.


There's something about January that leads me to pull the poetry anthology down from the shelf to reacquaint myself with old poem friends. Most recently I reread some Housman, whose "Loveliest of Trees, The Cherry Now" never fails to move me. I also enjoy doing crossword puzzles particularly this time of year. My post-Christmas tradition of many years is to buy a new book or two of NY Times crosswords in the spiral back format which is easy to use and easy on my poor eyes. Last year I tried a book of Wall Street Journal puzzles for a change. They frustrated me endlessly. The clues were bad. The answers were inaccurate and at times just plain wrong. Will Shortz's editing makes all the difference in the world and turns puzzle solving into a relaxing pleasure.

So what draws me to crosswords and poetry now? My first thought was that after the excesses of Christmas, that the precision of these forms is refreshing. Instead of a sensory glut, there is the single carefully chosen word or turn of phrase. There's some truth to that. But I realize that there is a strong unconscious factor too. When I think of crosswords, I picture my Dad doing the daily Times crossword...in ink, he'd remind me, as if those of us who used pencil were rank amateurs. Son-in-law, to my delight, is also a fan of crosswords.

Dad and Mother were both English majors in college, but it was Dad I remember quoting poetry or reading aloud a passage from Yeats, Tennyson or Gerard Manley Hopkins. I don't know who bought us "The Just-So Stories" by Rudyard Kipling, but I know I learned the delight of alliteration from hearing "the great gray-green greasy Limpopo River all set about with fever trees". Dad's birthday was January 13th. Do you think my picking up a book of poems and doing a Times crossword are just random occurrences? In my field, it is said that all behavior is unconsciously motivated. As I tell my patients, there's the good reason and there's the real reason. Never confuse the two.

First day of the year

In honor of the new year:
1. I'm wearing new jeans.
2. There's a new scrubber at the kitchen sink,
3. A new sponge at the kitchen sink,
4. A new calender on the refrigerator, and
5. Four new page-day-box calendars sitting on the kitchen table.

The four box calendars are all funny ones. This year I've added Non Sequitur to Zits, 365 Dumbest Things Ever Said and Close to Home. In 2006 and 2007, my Non Sequitur calendar lived at the office because I wasn't sure Hubster would always appreciate the cartoons which occasionally poke fun at the current administration. Since any administration is fodder for cartoonists, I decided to risk bringing Non Sequitur home to Fox country. What the heck, it's an election year.

Well, this morning Hubster picked up the new Non Sequitur calendar with interest. Upon examing today's cartoon, he muttered in disgust "Liberal!". I said I thought it was funny because depicted the little girl, Danae, telling her ghost uncle Reginald why she's not scared of him. There are things lots scarier, she explains, like Bill O'Reilly. I gather that Hubster is not alone in believing that if one thinks Bill O'Reilly is, shall we say, a jerk then one is (gasp) anti-conservative. That's one serious accusation.

Last day of the year

For me the year 2007 is exiting in an ordinary way. There is laundry to do. Work clothes have to be pressed. I need cash to fill my wallet and food to fill the larder. While in town, I'll stop by to see my mother. I missed going out yesterday because I was taking youngest daughter to the airport. It was a nice drive and a sweet farewell. She's a very good person.

I am enjoying reading Christmas books, listening to newly downloaded (son gave me a most generous iTunes gift card), and watching a few movies. One daughter is an artist, the other daughter is a trained actor, so they look at film as an art form. I look mostly at the film's story and whether it has a something that might prove helpful to my patients. For example, "The Final Cut" with Robin Williams did not garner great heaps of critical acclaim nor will it make any one's list of all-time favorite movies. The movie is technically awkward in places but what it says about the nature of human memory is profound, i.e. that what we think we remember has frequently been distorted by our emotions. What may appear to be a clear cut memory may be a composite, a screen memory which blocks more emotionally intense memories, or even a complete confabulation.

This week I watched "The Ref". Embedded in this fluffy Christmas comedy are the themes of taking responsibility for one's own decisions and to stop blaming everyone else for your own misery. I lent it to son and once he's done, it will go out to some couples I work with.

Christmas memories

-As I waited for daughter's plane to arrive, I watched one traveler after another pulled into welcoming bear hugs and kisses. Delighted parents asked their weary daughter and husband how their trip went with their three small children. "It was hell" replied the harried young mother while her little sugar plum of a daughter literally danced and twirled through the crowd. A nervous Dad was reunited with his equally nervous gangly daughter, who probably had grown several inches since he last saw her. One Mom was there in a Santa hat to greet her twenty something son. A reserved Japanese girl let out a muted squeal when she saw her family. One young woman traveler just looked totally exhausted. A college student after exams or one of those delayed by the Midwestern storm? Maybe both. And finally my own lovely daughter arrived, twenty minutes early no less. What a blessing!

-Singing along to The Messiah with daughter on the long drive home and seeing the brilliant full moon with Mars nestled next to it like a mini-moon.

-Watching"It's a Wonderful Life" with the family on Christmas eve. I hadn't seen it in five or six years, so it was fresh and inspiring again. It's my favorite kind of Christmas service.

-Visiting my dear old mother at the nursing home and seeing the tears in her eyes and her face light up when she saw two of her grandchildren. My gratitude is great for the men and women who work on Christmas while the rest of us have the day to be with our families.

-The wonderful, thoughtful presents I received. And the strange, "what-were-they-thinking?" presents I received.

-Son and the Hubster burning up all the Christmas wrappings and a t-shirt I gave to Hubster. He hadn't seen it in the box. Son noticed it when something burned oddly. Memo to self: don't wrap items inside a t-shirt, even if it were inside a box which was wrapped with paper.

-My sister-in-law is a fabulous cook. Her daughters and son are also excellent cooks. All of the above create an amazing Christmas feast. My contributions were two pies, the classic green bean casserole and a big green salad. I spent all of Christmas eve afternoon baking. My body still aches.

-Other daughter calling during the family dinner and passing the phone around so she could wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

-Closing the tailgate of my car after loading up the presents and dishes to return home, I looked up at the stars in the clear crisp night sky and said with all my heart "Thank God, it's all over!"

2:21pm
Agenda for today:

Drink fancy coffee and mess around on computer(done)
Finish crossword puzzle (done)
Take a walk (done)
Eat leftover coconut cream pie (done)
Drink fancy tea from Dean&Deluca (doing)
Take a nap (next thing to do)
Drink more fancy coffee which daughter brought from place which roasts beans on premises (the next next thing to do)
Do another crossword puzzle (optional)

Bill

Recently, a woman I know pulled me aside. She had something to tell me. Last week was the anniversary of her marriage to her first husband. I knew she dreaded this time of year because it brought back up so many sad memories of her husband's last days and his death just before Christmas. She was left a young widow with a small child to care for. I've known her for ten years, but until that moment I never knew his name was Bill and that they'd been married on December 15. In the past, she fell into a dark funk each year which deepened as the fifteenth approached.

This year, however, she went nearly all day before she even remembered that it was the fifteenth. She thought it might be connected to a dream she had the year before in which Bill had been murdered and she had been wounded.

I answered "You were wounded, but you didn't die. It seems you needed to have that one last bad dream."
She nodded in agreement and added softly "I think I'm healed."
"So you think you've done enough grieving?"
She laughed "Yes, it only took thirty-some years!"

Sanity Island

I really love going to work this time of year. One would think that the holidays would bring out all sorts of nuttiness. They do indeed. A colleague mentioned recently that Christmas started around Halloween this year. The reference was not to holiday merchandising blitzes which come earlier with each passing year, but to the ghosts of Christmases past and those of Christmas present which unsettle the people we treat. Those who mourn, who are depressed, who are sick, who are damaged feel their pain more intensely in contrast to the holly-jolly-very merriness of the season. There is always so much disappointment when magical fantasies do not come true.

And there are the annual family battles which get played out with renewed, reflexive vigor. Where to put the Christmas tree? When to put up the tree? Whose family do we grace with our presence, for how long, in what order? Where to attend services or if one attends services? And what if other members of the family are feuding? How do people avoid picking sides? Fa-la-la-la-la..., la-la-la-LA!

Yet, when I go into our little building and the door closes behind me, I shut out the Christmas carols blaring out over loud speakers and lights blinking in the park next door. I enter an island of sanity, where I don't think about shopping, wrapping, cooking, decorating, tinsel or to-do. I don't decorate my office except for a little sleigh which was made by the grateful wife of one of my patients. I welcome other people to my island and do my best to help them get through the season. When they leave I hope that they take some of the peace with them.

Christmas thought

Recently I heard this Scottish prayer set beautifully to music by Alfred Burt.

I saw a stranger yest're'een;

I put food in the eating place,

Drink in the drinking place,

Music in the listening place;

And in the name of the Triune

He blessed myself and my house,

My cattle and my dear ones;

And the lark said in her song:

Oft, Oft, Oft,

Goes the Christ in the stranger's guise.

Oft, Oft, Oft,

Goes the Christ in the stranger's guise

Dee

In my work, I've learned to always check what people eat. So many people eat horribly. A pop tart washed down with diet soda may pass for breakfast. Fast food or convenience store nachos might be lunch followed by frozen pizza for dinner. All you have to do is peek at other people's shopping carts at the grocery check-out to get an idea what passes for nutrition in a lot of families. And if someone I work with comes in looking awful, it's not unusual to find that they have been living on junk recently.

That said, I confess that I am a bona fide card-carrying hypocrite. Last week I bought a box of Captain Crunch. This box of high fructose covered sugar nuggets was not for me. Even worse, it was for the Fire Department's Christmas food drive.

The box of Captain Crunch was my tribute to Dee. This amazing woman was for years the force behind the cub scout program in our area. She was the power behind the local toys for tots program, a bell ringer for the Salvation Army and a key member of the annual food drives. For several years I helped her sort and pack up toys for children referred by social service agencies. I always found her alone at the church Sunday school room where she worked. A few others like me would help for an hour here and there, but mostly it was just Dee going through the donated toys trying to fill a bag so each child would have some special gift and a little surprise or two. There was a boom box playing Christmas music and the unfailingly cheerful Dee was always delighted to have a little help and someone to talk to while she worked.

Every Christmas, Dee asked that her cub scouts bring in a box of their favorite cereal to give to the food drive. This was a kid to kid gift she explained. Soon boxes of Apple Jacks, Frosted Flakes and Fruit Loops piled up and eventually made their way into the Christmas boxes. As a nutrition conscious mom, I would never have donated this junk. I would pick a big box of oatmeal to give to the needy instead. But deep down, I smiled at Dee's idea. I had visions of some happy kid on Christmas morning digging into a big bowl of sugar coated smackers, images which were no doubt generated by TV advertising. Each year he was a scout, son was the one to pick out the box of cereal that he took in for the food drive.

Dee moved away from here many years ago. I think of her each Christmas. No doubts she is now working quietly in another Sunday school room somewhere. Dee, this Captain Crunch is for you!

Reindeer Hoofbeats

Well, the annual stampede has begun. I had to hit the big box emporium yesterday which almost as frantic as I thought it would be. If this store is any indicator, it will be a very good year for their stockholders. Actually I've accomplished a lot on my seemingly endless to-do list. In less than three weeks, we'll all be sitting around digesting the enormous dinner we just consumed and thinking about the day.

I have my own little Christmas traditions which I like to observe. For the past few years I have created my own Christmas mix made of favorites songs from CDs and downloads from iTunes. This year's mix is as eclectic as ever with songs by Third Day, the Weepies, Barenaked Ladies and Brad Paisley mixed with Bach, Delius, and an interesting duet featuring Bing Crosby and David Bowie: "Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy". The last track is Louis Armstrong's delightful "Zat you Santa Claus?". The new mix will join my Christmas CD collection that serves as my personal soundtrack by which I wrap presents, iron, fold laundry, cook or run around town in my buggy.

I'm not a big scented candle person, but Vermont Country store sells the most wonderful pine and holly berry candles which are an utter delight to sniff. I like to arrange big candles on the fireplace mantle which is my nod to Dad who loved Christmas. Then there's the creche set which I bought when the kids were small. The figures are plastic so little hands could play with them. Sturdy little pieces they are. In the past thirty years only one has been damaged, a sheep who had a leg broken when someone stepped on it. He still is able to carry out his once a year job with the rest of the flock who guard the Christ child.

The Hubster has never shown much enthusiasm for outdoor Christmas displays. No, that's not quite correct. There was the life size wooden cut-out of Santa seated in his outhouse which was given to us by his brother. Brother-in-law and wife thought it was hilarious. They'd ordered it made just for us. It was the gift that unfortunately kept on giving. Every year, I hoped and prayed that Hubster would forget about the outhouse Santa; but every year he'd haul it out and set it down at the end of our driveway. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, he lit it with flood lights so the passersby could enjoy our seasonal decoration. Only he was sad when the thing finally fell apart.

That was Hubster's only voluntary contribution to outdoor decorating. I finally concluded that if there were to be anything tasteful, it would be up to me. I would be the one to hang the lights and I would be the one to take them down. Therefore the decorating would be very simple and would not entail the use of a ladder. I've taken to hanging multi-colored lights along the deck railing which I can enjoy from the kitchen sink and from my comfy chair. The lights are simply there for my own enjoyment. The first year I draped the lights in a way that impeded the Hubster's access to his bird feeders. There was not peace on earth at our house until I rearranged the string of lights. Each year I confer with him asking if he's absolutely sure that he doesn't want me to decorate the pole that supports the rope that goes to the pulley that raises his bird feeding station so that he can fill it. He now gives me a weak smile in response to my poor attempt at humor. Some things are just not funny to birders.

Baggage

Not long ago I met a woman. She told me that she'd had to overcome a horrible childhood. It appears her mom had some mean boyfriends, one of which tried to smother her when she was sleeping. There were many, many moves and perhaps some time in foster care.

Fortunately she had a good mind. She entered the military, where for the first time she encountered order and discipline. She thrived. She took advantage of the educational opportunities in the service and earned her bachelors and masters degrees. She has also been through years of therapy working through the mess of her childhood. She had made a good marriage and built a successful career.

She is an articulate, independent and intense young woman. When she was talking about all the moving around she did as a kid, she pulled her small duffel bag in to herself. "I always have this with me" she announced solemnly. "I never, ever want to lose my stuff again!"

When I tell this story, people always want to know what was in that duffel bag.

Orientation

Mother was really confused yesterday. She fell nearly a month ago. There was no obvious injury beyond some bruising on one ankle and soreness. She was x-rayed and CT scanned from top to bottom. Nothing was broken and there was no apparent stroke. Since the fall, her mind has been seriously scrambled.

Yesterday she didn't know where she was. Once explained, her distress was relieved...for a moment. Then she was confused because she didn't know what she was supposed to do. Orientation to time and events have pretty much slipped away for good. There are calendars, clocks and seasonal decorations all over her unit to help the residents of this hermetically sealed world stay in touch with time and events, but not much registers with Mother any more. This, however, was the first time I was aware that she didn't know where she was. It was sad to see her frightened look. The nurses placed her out by the nurses station so there would always be someone near. That was reassuring to me. Still, another piece of her mind is crumbling away.

9:22pm Mother is back in isolation again. Happily she was less confused but sadly the culture that was taken from her skin lesion grew MRSA. This strain is sensitive to Bactrim so a course of it has begun. She doesn't act sick just unhappy about being cooped up. Fortunately some a new CD from my sister arrived. Music helps fill the lonely hours.

Turkey Shoot

Sunday, the Fire Department held its annual turkey shoot out at the police firing range. I was looking forward to using use my new shotgun this year and enjoyed the day immensely. Hubster raked up by winning the 50/50 raffle and two turkeys. I was a hair's breadth away from winning my own turkey. I've saved my target as proof. Oh well, two turkeys is more than enough. TA was there and he won a turkey as well. Except for one brief shower, it was a wonderful day to be outside.

The fellow, who beat me out of my turkey, won 12 turkeys last year. He talked enthusiastically to us about frying his turkeys. He is obviously the cook because he knew about oil and meat temperatures and even recommended a favorite concoction to inject into Mr. Tom before immersing him in the hot oil. I was sold, so today I went out to my favorite farm supply emporium to buy a turkey fryer, a big box of oil, a digital fork thermometer and several jars of flavoring to shoot into the bird. The picture on the box shows several smiling men hanging around the fryer perhaps telling hunting stories and throwing back a couple of brewskies. Around here, it will be me (knocking back a cup of herbal tea) and the dog, keeping an eye on the turkey as it fries to a deep brown crisp.

Is he cute or what?

This is Iggy, my nephew's miniature greyhound. Recently Iggy was playing with another dog when he decided to take a flying leap down the stairs. He didn't stick his landing and broke his leg. At the doggie orthopaedist's office, he jumped off the examining table and broke the other foreleg. It was a bad day for Iggy and a very expensive one for my nephew.

Happy Birthday Son!

Look at all those candles....



and all that smoke!







You make us so proud!
love,
Mom and Pop

Best Pumpkin Pie

I love pumpkin pie. I love pumpkin lattes, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin muffins...pumpkin anything. Every fall, I enjoy picking out a fat pumpkin to sit on my front porch until the Christmas decorations come out. When it rots, I enjoy my annual tradition of lobing the late pumpkin over the hill to bounce down into the woods.

Last week, I was given a pumpkin. This was a pie pumpkin. In all my years of making pumpkin pies, I had never baked one using fresh pumpkin. I accepted the challenge, using the recipe that came on this cute little orange guy from Trader Joe's. While I microwaved the pumpkin, I measured out the ingredients and rolled out a Pillsbury pie shell. The meat from the pumpkin didn't get as mushy as I wanted, so I ran the filling through the food processor before putting it in the shell. That did the trick. The results were, in my humble opinion, spectacular. My friend Mavis told me that her kids refuse to eat any pie not made from fresh pumpkin. I now know why.

Fresh Pumpkin Pie:
2 beaten eggs
1/2 C milk
3/4 C brown sugar
2 C cooked pumpkin *
1/4 tsp allspice
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves

Mix ingredients. Puree if needed in a food processor. Pour into pie shell. Bake at 425 degrees for 10 minutes. Lower oven temperature to 350 degrees and bake for 35-40 minutes until the custard is firm.

* Pumpkin can be split in half and seeded. Then bake it in the oven upside down in a little water until soft. Or cook it in the microwave. Poke a couple of holes in the skin to vent steam and cook until soft.Times will vary depending on the size and tenderness of the pumpkin. I think it took about eight to ten minutes in the microwave to get this 6" pumpkin cooked, turning it every two minutes.

Birth order

In a recent issue, Time magazine's cover story was about the intriguing subject of birth order. There is no doubt that our birth order is a strong influence in shaping our personalities and is one explanation why children in the same family are so different. The Time article, alas, ignores the influence of gender which is seriously stupid. There is a great difference, for example, between a boy who is the middle of three sons and another who is the middle between two sisters.

My favorite book on birth order is Family Constellation by Walter Toman who conducted groundbreaking research in both the US and Germany on the subject. This book is not conjecture but the fruit of serious scientific study. Toman discusses personality traits which are commonly associated with various birth positions and what are the best birth order matches for marriage. If two oldest children marry, they often butt heads and jockey for leadership in the relationship. Two youngest marrying frequently fruitlessly look to the other to take charge.

Recently a young couple consulted me. Their marriage of three years is failing. The husband is heartbroken. I am the last ditch effort to save their marriage. The wife wants out. She feels she has outgrown him, doesn't love him, so why prolong the misery. If the wife wants to work on the relationship, I have a shot at salvaging this mess. Since she doesn't, I'm not very optimistic.

In our time together, I learned that they were both unplanned babies. Her mom didn't think she could have any children. She was born via C-section prematurely. She spent her first weeks of life in the NICU hooked up to monitors and tubes. There was some concern about a heart murmur but she outgrew that. She is an only child.

The husband was also unplanned. He is a twin. He too was premature and spent several weeks in a NICU. In fact, it was the very same unit as his wife's . He also had a heart murmur that he outgrew. He and his twin brother were his mom's only living children. During his mom's first marriage, she had given birth to a premature little girl who had lived only a few days before she died. Mom's first marriage ended shortly after that tragedy.

This couple's history is a nightmare. There is so much pain, fear and sadness here. But the birth order alone is intriguing. The young wife is an only child who was catered to and most likely was indulged by her parents and her grandparents.She was the center piece of her birth family and the first grandchild on both sides. Now she wonders what is wrong with her husband. He just doesn't get that she is a princess. She is still a child, the only child whose mom and dad are at her beck and call. He, on the other hand, had to share with his brother from the moment of conception on. He is used to taking turns and sharing, but there is the chronic frustration of not getting enough from his mom. He got half the love and attention that a single birth baby would receive and he's now married to a gal who may have gotten too much. Does this mean that the marriage cannot be saved? No, but one key part of the treatment would be to instruct them in what ways their birth order influences how they conduct life and how they react to each other.

Our very own Mummy

The Hubster felt we needed this mummy for our front porch. Since Herr Mummy arrived a few weeks ago, he has been standing guard by the piano. A few days ago he was moved outside and Hubster spot lighted him with a rather dramatic result. Methinks Hubster wants to scare away any potential trick or treaters so he can have all the Halloween candy to himself...that is if any is left. He and son have already made a big dent in the candy stash.