Where does the anger go?

I just finished reading Caring for Mother: A Daughter's Long Goodbye by Virginia Stem Owens which is the chronicle of her mother's final seven years of life. The fear, the denial, the guilt, the anger, the doubt, the frustration of her experience in shouldering the responsibility for her mother are all too familiar. As I read, I realized how tremendously helpful it has been to have been in analysis during this time to make sense of the widely conflicted, ambivalent and intense emotions that come to the surface as I watch my mother slowly dying.

So where does the anger go? Physical malfunction is common. Owens develops serious glaucoma around the same time her mother's Parkinson's is diagnosed. Metaphorically she might not have wanted to see what was ahead. Constipation is common ie holding on. Constipation often results in headaches (a big pain). Anger may also manifest itself in skin eruptions, irritations one might say.

Anger is sometimes projected. After placing her mother in a nursing home, Owens talks about the rage of the residents there of which she becomes aware every time she enters the building. It could well be that she attributes her own rage to them. This rage is also mixed up with her guilt about having to put her mother there. I can relate to that. In the past, my mother let me know many times that if she needed to be put into a nursing home, we had her blessing . Still it was not something she wanted at the time. She felt able to return to her apartment when there was no way she could. Her inability to help make the nursing home decision when the time came was never factored in. And inevitably there are those people, like the "helpful" cleaning lady at the hospital, who let it be known that it was such a privilege to bring her dying mother into her own home.

One of my ways of handling anger is displacement. For example it is safe for me to displace my anger on to the "helpful" cleaning lady and maybe for her on to me. Perhaps she couldn't afford to place her mother in the hospital's nursing unit. The "privilege" of caring for mom in her home may have been foisted on her by economic reality.

Recently in conversation with TA, I complained that I was angry that I couldn't get the hubster to travel with me and that I didn't want to travel alone. Later it dawned on me that it wasn't traveling without the hubster that was making me angry. He is a great traveling companion and I do sincerely wish he'd break free from work and join me, but this traveling alone had to do with Mother. She has traveled with me for 58 years and soon I will have to go on without her. Grief and anger all rolled up together in that one.

The more complex the mind, the more complex the defenses.

Musical Offerings

I was saddened to learn of tenor Jerry Hadley's death this past week. Several years ago I had the privilege of seeing a university production of Leonard Bernstein's Candide in which he played the role of Dr. Pangloss. I believe Hadley directed the staging and coached the student singers. The young man who played Candide did an extraordinary job.In this final performance, these talented young musicians played and sang their hearts out while I sat transfixed. When the curtain fell, I knew I had been given a wonderful gift for which I was deeply grateful. Thank you Mr. Hadley.

In a similar vein, many years earlier I heard violinist Isaac Stern play with a major symphony orchestra. At the end of the concert, Mr. Stern came out on stage alone. The stage was dark except for a single spot. A friend of his and patron of that orchestra had died recently and Mr. Stern wanted to pay his respects. He then performed the chaconne from Bach's second Partita for solo violin. The concert hall was absolutely still. No one coughed and no programs rustled, as one of the world's greatest musicians played the highest of tributes to his friend. That happened over forty years ago. Bravo Mr. Stern.

One might ask why these events were so unforgettable? Each went beyond a highly skilled performance. These were moments which transcended the here and now, and touched briefly the timeless realm of the sublime.

Goat

Recently I learned a wonderful saying. A woman was telling me about her husband's habit of letting other people know his sensitive points and then whining when he gets punched in those very places. She was really frustrated with him saying "Everyone knows you don't tell people where you've tied up your goat". What a great expression! And a very useful one because it is so common to find people who set themselves up to be hurt over and over.

For example people who think they are unattractive might share with a new love or friend that they were terribly hurt in the past by people who teased or called them ugly. Of course, in sharing that information, they give others ammunition to use against them. This ammunition is custom tailored to destroy the relationship. Once they are again attacked with ugly comments, it only confirms their own deeply entrenched belief that they are unlovable and never will be loved because of their appearance. In fact, they have set up the situation, not the new friend or love. It's reverse psychology: Whatever you do, don't call me ugly. And what do they do? They follow the explicit instructions and get their goat.

Day off

I received an unexpected day off today and how lovely it is that it is unseasonably cool. Tonight should be perfect for sleeping in my tent. The only thing that might spoil it would be the noises from the demolition derby going on at the county fair. It's surprising sometimes how far sounds can carry. This bit of resort weather really ought not to be wasted.

In a few days, I'm heading to the city to do a bit of book shopping, hit GAP for some shirts and then wander through the aisles of one of my favorite emporiums Gander Mountain. If you need serious hiking boots, this is the place. If you need a bedspread with a fishing lure design, look no further. And their selection of jerky is second to none.

I am taking a college kid with me who loves bookstores. She doesn't get the opportunity to leave town much, so I thought she'd like to come along. On the way home, I want to check out the camping facilities at a state park that I've never visited. If the tent camp sites are separated from the RV sites, it's a good sign to me. I'd prefer not to sit by my campfire with a soundtrack of Wheel of Fortune in the background. Some camp grounds are wonderfully designed with lots of privacy. Other camp grounds are afterthoughts. The park we are going to check out also has lots of hiking trails. Hiking and scouting out a good spot to watch the sunset are key activities of any of my camping trips. Sunset watching spots often takes some effort to find, but a good sunset is often the high light of my trip.

My latest recommended book, a gift from my sister, is Between Two Worlds by Zainab Salbi. It is the true story of Salbi's childhood growing up in Iraq under Saddam Hussein. She lived in protected privilege because her Dad was Hussein's personal pilot. It is a terrifying tale and an insider's view of this despot's regime. It is also gave me some understanding of the current unrest in Iraq. Twenty years of stirring up suspicion and pitting ethnic groups against one another can't be undone over night. Even the insiders paid a horrible price. There is reoccurring her question, the same one I would ask myself, why did they chose to stay when they had the opportunity and means to leave. It's a fascinating read.

And we thank Him for our food

These blackberries were picked this morning from the bushes by the pond.

The Minton bowl and saucer were my grandmother's. This year's blackberry crop has been the best I can recall...plenty for cobbler and more to freeze for future cobblers. Amen!

Fear of water

A fear of water is not that unusual. Some time ago, a woman mentioned to me that she was terrified of water. This was in the context of a dream where she saw a huge wall of water. She woke up in a start, greatly agitated. I quickly ruled out the most common reasons for a fear of water which are difficulties in utero or birth, or possibly some kind of near drowning experience. I then learned that she had not been afraid of water until she went to see "Finding Nemo" with her family. There she sat, in an inexplicable panic, watching a G rated animated movie.

We did a little further exploring of her dream and zeroed in on a period before her Mom and Dad divorced. At that time she went to visit her grandparents who lived in another state. She talked about events during that visit which also included an aunt, an uncle and some cousins in the same community. I gently probed for any memories that might have to do with water. Yes, they went swimming and did some fishing.....

Then, with a start, she recalled watching the news on her uncle's TV. They were showing pictures of a sudden dam rupture which caused a huge wall of water to wash down upon her home town. Her Mom and Dad, her two sisters, to her knowledge, were all dead. This happened before cell phones and the internet, so it was a while before anyone knew that her family was fine. Can you imagine her horror at that sight? Imagine too that you were seven years old at the time. Water filled movie images shown on a screen re-evoked those horrifying TV screen images of so many years before.

Lazy Dazy Days

Last night I slept in the woods. It was a cool night and there was a full moon, so carrying a sleeping bag and a thermos of coffee, I headed to my campsite. Once settled, I built a fire and pulled up a chair to enjoy the evening. I watched the last bit of twilight disappear while sipping tea and listening to music. Some fireworks punctuated the night sounds of the woods, but it was so nice to be away from the phone, the TV and the temptation to fritter away time on the computer.

I began reading Tom Stoppard's play Arcadia which older daughter saw in production recently and described enthusiastically. Stoppard is so unbelievably clever and his dialog is crisp and witty. There is a running joke in regards to a turtle named Plautus (aka Lightning) who is used as a paperweight. One character tells Plautus to sit and another wants to take him for a run.

Sitting by the campfire, I thought about my summers at Girl Scout camp a jillion years ago. I recalled seeing my first kerosene lantern there. Now, of course, kerosene lanterns have been replaced by propane or some of the neat battery powered halogen jobs. Oldest daughter loved camp as much as I did. She still knows all the verses to The Cat Came Back. When youngest daughter went to camp, she did not like hiking everywhere, the bugs, the lumpy cots, camp food, and the latrines. Curiously she has since grown to love camping, back packing, and hiking. Just not the Girl Scout way. However, we are all in agreement that no campfire cookout is complete without s'mores. My newest venture is learning how to cook with a cast iron dutch oven over a campfire.

Earlier this week I finished a sweet, satiric and painfully poignant book called The Ministry of Special Cases . It was given to me by youngest daughter for my birthday. The setting is Buenos Aires during the dirty war of the 1970s when 30,000 people disappeared. The themes are far more universal: how people deal with horror, with the unthinkable, and the ability to live in denial. We like to believe that innocent people don't just disappear, but they do everyday. It is a beautifully written book by a young author who is wise beyond his years.

My other outdoor adventure has been blackberry picking. Both the wild berries and my domestic berry patch are producing abundantly. Yesterday I picked enough to make cobbler for dinner. I have some scratches on my arms where I got snarled in the brambles, but there were some bushes I just had to get to. I saw a turtle (Plautus, stay!) under one bush so I left a plump blackberry right in front of him. Seemed only fair since I had so many. This year's crop is very sweet too. There will be enough to freeze even after making a few more cobblers.