Packing frenzy

We're a day from leaving for a short vacation in Florida. What's important now is to pack well. The passports, the water-proof fanny pack for when we go canoeing in the Everglades. The bathing suits, sandels, boat shoes, shorts and jeans, slacks and a dress or two. Sunscreen and bug repellent. Lightweight jackets. Medication, toothbrushes. Camera, binoculars, pocket knifes and a snake-bite kit. When we get home I will post a picture of an alligator taken from the canoe. And a picture of Sal to prove to the world he really did live through that recent illness.

Practice of the Week

This week's practice is being courageous. Being courageous is distinguished by recognizing your fear and taking action anyway. So, I asked my younger brother to read what I have written about growing up in our family.

He replied that he wants to read my writing that is ready for publication in the family writing collection. He doesn't want to read anything but that. Which of course, I don't think I can write until somebody in my family validates me by reading the gritty and painful story of what growing up was like for me. I think if somebody in my family will just get present to what it was like for me growing up, the validation will give me a measure of freedom...freedom to write about something else besides the horrible stuff that happened.

It was courageous to ask him. Since he did not say yes, the next practice that comes up to be applied here is the practice of being peaceful...and taking what you get.

I'm protecting my family, by moving the posts about my painful childhood to a different blog.

But overall, my experience for today is disappointment.

Snow

We should change the name of this town from Spokane to Snowkane. It snowed again last night. Nobody thinks it's pretty anymore. Oh sure, there is this thin layer of pristine whiteness on top, temporarily, but what's under it is grimy gray ice berms, filthy stuff impervious to anything short of a pick axe. We are not amused.

Well, Valentine's Day arrived, and for all my humbuggery, I am pleased to have a dozen red roses gracing the table. Just to check out my skewed interpretation of what this holiday is all about for men (see yesterday's blog), I asked him last night what he wanted for Valentine's Day. He didn't know. Well, I suggested, how about candy? Yuck! Okay, jewelry then? No, definitely not! Flowers? Well... Okay then, how about sex? Do you want sex? Absolutely! I rest my case.

Valentine's Day Rant

Valentine's Day is tomorrow and I haven't gotten my husband anything, not even a card. When I tell him I am going shopping for him later today he says, "Valentine's are for men too, aren't they?" He seems surprised. We've been married for 20 years, and for 20 years I have given him a Valentine card and gift every year without fail. Yet he acts like he's surprised by the idea.

Have you noticed how time flies when you have dementia?

What I know is that he hasn't gotten me anything either. I mean, we are almost always together. When do we have time, or is it space for such things? It was easier when we were still working. In some ways, life itself was easier when we were still working. Harder on the body, but easier on the mind.

There was certainly less time to think, although even then I thought way too much for my own good. It was convenient that I was paid to think about things. I was so good at it. Maybe one of my problems with retirement is not knowing what to expend all these mental resources on. I suppose it would be a good idea to spend just a little time thinking about what to get the man for Valentine's Day.

It's like this every time. I never know what to get him. Usually I break down and just ask him what he wants. Then it's no surprise and what the hell, he may as well come shopping with me, right? At least that way we can both be sure he gets it.

So here we are again at Valentine's Day. The stores are full of big red paper hearts, boxes of chocolate and cut flowers. And of course the jewelry store is buzzing with tokens of undying love, little hearts being the main attraction. Little hearts with diamonds, little hearts with rubies, little hearts with emeralds. Hey, whatever stone you want, they have a little heart for you.

On another note, the porno store has a huge banner across the front, right over the door: Shop Here: We Are Your Valentine Headquarters.

Candy, jewelry and flowers for the women. Sex for the men.

I mean, I'll give you two guesses what would happen if a man showed up for Valentine's Day in a pair of sexy underwear. "Hi Honey, look what I got for you?"

But if a woman does that, it's a sure thing to be a hit. Well, you can bet he doesn't want candy!

Over the line?

Today I read "Following The Testosterone", one of my blogs, in my writing class. It's a senior class, so everybody is 55 or older. You would think at our age words like "tits", "orgasm" and "lust" just wouldn't be shocking anymore. But while most of the class was laughing hysterically, there were two people in the room who weren't. They weren't laughing at all. The look on their faces was pained. It was the look of someone trying not to look a certain way. There was just a hint of horrified in that look. Like they couldn't believe their ears. One thing was clear, the humor was lost on them.

After class, each of them approached me confidentially to say, in hushed tones, they liked the piece. It was very good even though I didn't laugh. Well that's one way to tell a comic they just flopped. One of them told me that she and her husband always reserved Tuesdays. It was my turn to be stupefied. I mean jeez, it smacks of time management. Not to worry, I'll get to that Tuesday. Meanwhile, I'm busy with other things.

Which reminded me of something I had long since forgotten. During my first marriage, I would wear a certain nighty when I was available for an amorous encounter. I hasten to point out that my first marriage didn't last. There was far too much formula and way too little spontaneity in it. Maybe the problem was that I only had one of those nighties.

Crocodile Eyes

I don't know what it is about February in Spokane, but everybody gets a little weird. Maybe it's the full moon. All night last night, it was like a dreamy version of daytime outside. The world never really settled down. Tre and I stayed up late, reading books in our sleeping bags by flashlight. This morning we were tired. The sky clouded over and a few snowflakes fell. Even Tre, who is five years old said, "I can't wait for Spring." This afternoon we visited the crocodile at the pet store. He never even blinked his eye. He's waiting too.

Don't Push Me and You Can't Make Me

Don't Push Me and You Can't Make Me. A perfect match. But not made in heaven, oh no. Made in the world of rackets (complaints/upsets) and winning formulas (strong suits). They say in Landmark that "an act marries an act." Well Don't Push Me is my husband's act. When he goes there, everybody is clear it is time to leave him alone. I mean, the guy is scary. You Can't Make Me is my act.

When we met, neither one of us had done the Landmark Forum, so we had no idea our acts were compatible. We didn't know we had an "act." We thought it was other things, like the magic of chemistry, similar values and interests, being attractive to each other, being soul mates, mutual regard. How does it burst your bubble when you realize that you married your own act?

Clear Nights

On a clear night, Venus dominates the western horizon. Bigger and brighter than any of the stars. Brilliant even to the naked eye. Sometimes you can see Jupiter or Saturn, and even little Mars shows up red in the night black sky. But Venus is always there. Kinda gives you perspective, doesn't it? To experience directly and immediately being part of the solar system. I find it makes me peaceful. There is nothing like a clear night to clear the mind.

Responsibility is a two-way street

In a strict sense our every reaction is altogether our personal responsibility. It is never about "them" and it is always about "us." But, and I hate to say but...but we are also responsible for what we send out into the world, and to some extent it is irresponsible not to be accountable for how our words and actions are received, how they land on the other side.

But that is exactly how Landmark deals with criticism of their programs. They point out that your reaction is about you. They are clear that your reaction is not about them. But by making it all about you, they aren't accountable. This way, they never get criticized. Your criticisms are always invalidated, in so far as having anything to do with Landmark and how their programs are run. They consistently and skillfully turn it back on you. There is no way to criticize them without being told you are in a racket, or you are in an upset, and when there is a racket or an upset, it is always your own creation.

Of course you are expressing displeasure and unhappiness, so you are disempowered. You are invited to become powerful by being responsible for your reaction and your complaint. The focus is now squarely on you and your deficient mental mechanisms. I sometimes wonder if they deliberately annoy the shit out of people as part of the program. If they can't get you to react, there is no program. There's nothing for them to do.

A Gut Feeling: Is there any such thing?

I've lived my whole life trusting my gut feelings. My intuition about things and people and situations. I've always had the impression that it served me well, like an early warning system, alerting me to something wrong. Guiding me to steer clear. It's a tried and true survival system. Ignore it at your peril.

So now I go to this Landmark seminar, and they're urging us to invite our friends and family to a session, so they too can share in this empowering education, and an alarm goes off in my gut the size of the state of Kentucky. I immediately feel manipulated and used. Pushed and put upon and angry. I mean here is this company that doesn't advertise. They get all of their business through word of mouth. They sell training in empowerment, self-expression and freedom in life. And I even like the product. But there is this constant pressure to share it and bring people to an introduction, so they can become customers too.

Over the last several years, I've taken several of their courses and I find value in the strategies they teach. And though I've never liked the pressure to invite people to the programs, I haven't had a reaction of this magnitude. But last week, something primal, visceral and compelling rose up in me, and the internal resistance to being pushed to invite people initiated a fight or flight reaction. My chest tightened and I wanted to scream. It turned into an overpowering aversion to being there at all.

The notion that there is something going on that is not good for me arose in my thoughts, and I found myself examining the program for additional flaws. I did online searches and watched a French TV program that claimed to expose the program as a cult that uses brainwashing to seduce its clientele. I watched and I listened and I wondered where all that is coming from. In my experience, which is substantial, Landmark is definitely not a cult, and there is no brainwashing going on. On the contrary, the program taxes you to think past your assumptions, manage your mental filters and take responsibility for being the cause of your own life.

The technique involves suspending your disbelief long enough to consider other possibilities for how you view life and make choices. Alternatives to your accepted reality present themselves and opportunities open up. There is room for creativity where before there was resignation. An example is my relationship to being a polio survivor. Most people would agree that I had no choice about having polio. It just happened. I can resist or accept. Doesn't that seem obvious? But in Landmark, there is another possibility. I can actually choose polio. This has nothing at all to do with what's true. But choice is a more powerful place to stand, or come from with respect to my circumstances, i.e. having polio. In the moment that I suspend my disbelief and choose polio, I gain a sense of power and freedom, out of which I then see possibilities for thinking and action beyond what was previously available to me. I am now, as they say in Landmark "at choice." True or not, it feels and works better.

Is this living in a lie? Is it playing a game? Maybe so, but how much of what we think we know is really created anyway? If we are story tellers, why not tell a story that empowers you? Why not tell the story that makes you feel good about yourself and your life? That's what Landmark is selling.

Now suddenly I have this reaction, this powerful emotional opposition. I can see myself at age five, being held down on a hospital bed while an angry and frustrated nurse shoves a suppository into my butt. I'm screaming, and she hurts me. To this day, I wonder if she was out of control too. Beside herself with this hysterical five year old who wouldn't cooperate with being in an isolation room for three weeks with a high fever and limbs that were no longer working, and no access to her Mommy. They were forcing me, making me do things against my will, and I was fighting back.

The next memory that comes up is being molested by my brother, being made to do things I didn't want to do, allow him to touch me in ways I didn't want to be touched, holding in my outrage, tolerating the intolerable. For years. The next memory that comes up for me is of being raped. I think I was 19. He held me down. He made a point of hurting me and told me if I fought back he would hurt me more. I controlled myself, made myself allow it, disgust roiling inside me like poison.

All these memories came percolating up inside my mind and body. Is it any wonder I don't want to go back to the seminar? Nobody in their right mind wants to feel those feelings, relive those memories. But wait! All they did was tell us to bring guests. And I've already said I like the training. So what's the deal?

I'm open to suggestions.

Twisted Sense Of Humor

The universe has a twisted sense of humor. But a sense of humor none the less. Take my father, for instance. When I was growing up, he made it a point to remind us that he didn't want us and did not love us, on a regular basis. He used to remind us, just in case we got confused when he was occasionally nice to us. So typically if he did slip up and have a good time with us, he'd take it back quickly. "Don't think this means I love you," he'd say.

Now you may think he was making a joke. You might want to believe he wasn't serious. Well you'll just have to trust me on that. He was serious. He wanted us to know he didn't love us. He demonstrated that in more ways than one. There were the little things, like taking the food from our dinner plates if he thought it looked tasty. And there were the big things, like the welts on our backsides if we looked at him the wrong way. Sometimes he spanked us for nothing. He said it was a reminder not to do anything wrong. Come right down to it, he enjoyed tormenting his children. It made him feel powerful. He had a little brass bell that he would ring in the morning when he woke up. We were required to line up at attention at the foot of the bed, to await his bidding. Well I could tell you more, but you get the gist of it.

Now, at 80, he's an old man with a failing mind, and he doesn't remember any of that stuff. It's hard to tell if it's selective forgetting or senility, but whichever it may be, he's conveniently forgotten what an SOB he was to grow up with. Be that as it may. But here's the irony. Nowadays, when he sees me, he always gets this surprised look on his face. And then as if it's a revelation, he tells me he loves me.

Like I said, the universe has a twisted sense of humor.

Following the Testosterone

Ever wonder why so many women are willing to risk cancer to take hormones? It's not because they just can't handle the hot flashes, though that's what everybody talks about. Oh the horrors of night sweats! Bullshit. The reason we take hormones is that we miss having a libido. They say you don't miss you water 'til your well runs dry. Well you don't miss your hormones 'til your ovaries shut down. We take libido for granted. We've been horny so long we can't conceive of life without a little lust in it. Although I have to admit, in all likelihood, if I wasn't married I probably wouldn't miss it all that much. But the fact is, I am married, to a man, and he still has a healthy level of testosterone dripping into his veins. As my daughter recently pointed out, good sex goes a long way in a relationship. The absence of sex also has an impact. Especially when only one of you has resigned from the game.

He wants to touch and snuggle. I want to be left alone to deal with my hot flashes in peace. He wants to kiss and say "I love you." I'd be satisfied with a pat on the shoulder and "Hey, see you tomorrow." He wants to watch my tits giggle when I dry my hair after a shower. I want him to close the door and quit letting cold air into the room. He wants to play footsie in bed. I want him to stay on his side and stop bugging me. He wants to hold hands. I want to walk alone. It just isn't interesting without the chemicals.

So now we know why men leave their post-menopausal wives for younger women. it's so simple, isn't it? Those younger women want to have sex.

Now, I don't expect my husband to go looking for a younger woman. He's not the type. But I don't think it's entirely fair to expect him to just give it up. So I try, I really try, I do. But let's be honest, sex without an orgasm is the definition of disappointment. I can't help remembering how much fun it used to be.

So, yes I take my hormones, and I think it's going to save my marriage. And because I don't want to get cancer, I take the bio-identical kind. And I hope for the best.

The Landmark Shuffle

It's a new dance. In this dance, you enroll your partner. They are touched, moved and inspired by your moves. You literally transform before their eyes. They are mesmerized. They want to know how you did it, so they can try it for themselves. Who wouldn't want to be transformed? Well okay, maybe the Dalai Lama. Follow me, you say. Watch my moves. Too fast for you? Okay. Then in just three days, you too could be dancing with the stars. Sign up here. It's guaranteed to boggle your mind, silence your noisy little brain, upset your rotten apple cart and show you the way. Oh, no it's not magic. But it is a trick. It's not slight of hand, it's slight of mind.

Can you think your way out of it?

"Your present is given by the future you're living into." Shuffle to the left.
"The problem is that your past is in your future." Shuffle to the right.
"This isn't the truth, but it is a place to stand." Doh See Doh.

A Place To Vent

I started this blog because I need a place to vent. My other blog is where I post my creative writing, which is good as far as it goes. But sometimes I just want to rant, rave, philosophize, conjecture or complain. I don't want to worry about whether I did it right, said it right, got it right or had a right. I just want to blow off steam, or ventilate my brain, or clear the air, or break the ice, or beat a dead horse. Whatever! I just want to make some noise, say what I think, brainstorm, dig deep and wander in the dark without a light, without a map, without a guide and find my own beleaguered way through life.

Waking Up

What if the Big Bang is really the universe stretching and waking up? Opening its eyes and taking a deep breath? And we are all just along for the ride? There's not a thing we can do about it? What if?

thank your enemy

My daughter's ex does nothing he is expected to do, breaks all his promises and doesn't participate in any meaningful way in the parenting of his son. It is very easy and natural to focus on the things he does or doesn't do that are wrong. But what is really exciting is to discover the opportunity he presents to us to practice being accepting, non-judgmental and at peace with the way life is. Indeed, we could go so far as to thank him for giving us this opportunity to practice our spiritual skills, including radical acceptance and the choice to meet what life brings us with an attitude that there is nothing wrong here.

Life is short; learn peace.