I just finished mowing the front lawn. Frank used to mow the lawn, front and back; but when I began to notice him tiring too easily I insisted he mow in back one day and in front the next. Now I insist on doing the mowing, while he pulls weeds (less strenuous). My legs will talk to me tomorrow (and they won't say thank you) but Frank has more serious issues at play, so my legs and I will have that conversation when the time comes but in the meantime I've done the right thing.
Yes, we could hire a gardener, as we have in years past. But we aren't of a mind to pay some young whippersnapper to come in to mow-and-blow at his own convenience, then spray chemicals (that give me sinus headaches) to control the weeds. There was a time when you could hire a kid to spend an hour a week keeping your flowerbed weed-free, but kids don't do that anymore. They don't need the money because their parents shower them with two of everything, and such a menial task would interfere with their overactive social and overstimulated intellectual life.
When Frank and I went to visit and groom my horse last night, she would NOT lift her foot to let Frank clean her hooves (easier for him than for me in the past, because it requires bending over and supporting the weight of her leg with one hand while using the hoof pick in the other hand). I took over and she gave me no resistance.
I remembered the time she would NOT go into one corner of the riding arena for me. I spent 10 minutes trying every technique I knew (and admittedly my riding skills are limited). When I finally looked beyond the fence I saw two coyotes in the nearby orchard. Horses have their own way of knowing things. And letting you know. I had forgotten last night that Frank is not at his best but somehow Brandi knew he should not be the one to clean her hooves.
He was the one who got me out there in the first place though. I've decided for a variety of reasons that Brandi needs a new person. Someone younger than me, who can give her the attention and exercise she deserves. I was hoping my grandson would take her, or his goddaughter's mom, but they aren't ready for the responsibility of a horse. Had they said yes, I would not have seen her again, but would have asked them to simply pick up and trailer her to her new home. Less painful without the goodbye. Since they said no thanks, Frank convinced me that while I am pursuing other possibilities, I need to continue to nurture my relationship with her. So off we drove to the ranch, lump in my throat be damned.
I'm not selling her, I'm giving her away. No amount of money can equal what she means to me. But if you're interested don't bother contacting me unless I know you well. I will not let her go to a stranger. I need someone I'm certain will treat her kindly and who will commit to seeing her through to the end of her trail. I don't want her handed off willy nilly from person to person. She's not getting any younger either, and she does not adapt well to change. As for me, I love her enough to let her go, and I fear the time has come.
Getting old is not for sissies, and ironically it strikes at us when we are at our weakest. Frank and I love our home but it's high maintenance and we're exploring options for an apartment in a seniors apartment complex. We've always done a pretty good job taking care of each other, but recently we've learned there are times when we are in individual survival mode and neither one is in any condition to compensate for the other's frailty. Frank has always helped me remember my vitamins (and sometimes even remember to eat); but now he is using his I-phone to remind himself to take his medication. One requires one pill a day. Another requires two pills a day. The third requires three pills a day. Yeah, we could write it down but neither of us would remember to look at the list. We need someone looking in on us occasionally. I know there are places where you can push one button that signals "help" and another that signals "leave us alone, we're fine." Then again I suppose someone has to remember to push the right button.
Yes, we have family, but they have lives of their own. A few nights back we watched Clint Eastood's Gran Torino, which speaks loud and clear to to the generation and communication gap that can sneak up on old people. Anyone who can't relate to that movie on one level or another gets brownie points in my book. Even in the best of families, reliance on someone you love can only add to the drama playing out in their own lives -- an unfair burden. This, I believe, is why old people "cocoon."
Well tomorrow it's back to the hospital for more tests for Frank and, who knows? When the results come back "well and clear" the two of us may break into an energetic happy dance that reassures us (rightly or not) that we're not as old as we've recently come to believe we are. Meanwhile it's do a little, rest a little. Do a little, rest a little. Remember to keep an eye on each other even if we forget why, and...
Hmmm. I had an idea for a great way to end this, but now I've forgotten what it was.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
A Highly Sensitive Subject (Me)
All medical conditions have emotional components to varying degree. I'm not talking psychosomatic here (where an issue originates in the mind and the body then acts it out), I'm talking about (a) stress, which makes every condition worse and, more particularly, (b) self-image, which is a patient taking on a condition as their identity -- I have ADD becomes I am ADD.
We've observed that once a condition is either self-diagnosed or validated by a professional, it takes on even more importance. Vague aches and pains become Fibromyalgia. Mood swings and irritability become Premenstrual Syndrome. Gastrointestinal inconsistencies become Irritable Bowel Syndrome. A wandering and forgetful mind becomes Attention Deficit Disorder. Fixation on repeated thoughts or behavior becomes Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. But wait, there's more.
Once these conditions become common enough to be known by and called by their initials, they have made an important breakthrough into societal acceptance. FMA, PMS, IBS, ADD, OCD.
Instead of name dropping a person gains a sense of self-importance by simply dropping initials. Impressive. Expeditious.
Am I being snidely critical of others? No, I am simply setting the groundwork for making fun of myself. In a way. Because now EYE have a fancy name for what afflicts me, and I have initials! HSP! Hyper Sensitive Personality (or Highly Sensitive Person, if you prefer simplicity).
A recent article in Psychology Today says of HSPs (like me) that we are extremely perceptive to nuances unnoticed by others, that we are especially sensitive to animals and how they are handled, that our feelings are easily bruised by occurrences that others would simply shrug off, and that we have a complex inner life, sensing and internalizing the moods of others on top of our own.
Lines between fact and fantasy become blurred for us, which explains why certain scenes in movies have me covering my eyes and ears, sometimes even leaving the room, and why I skip over disturbing passages in novels. It explains why I prefer the quiet environment of my home to social interaction that can sometimes deplete me, and even why I am often impulsive -- intensified sensory input consumes psychic resources for thinking before acting. Ernest Hartmann, a psychiatrist at Tufts University, in solidifying boundaries as a dimension of personality, says of HSPs (like me), "It's as if those with thin boundaries have porous shells that allow more of their environment to penetrate and 'get' to them."
This also explains why I am highly perceptive to the complexities I encounter in dealing with clients and their psychological issues. This is a good thing in that it gives me more information to work with therapeutically. I liken this to the wolf nature that permeates my favorite book, Women Who Run With The Wolves (Dr. Claire Pinkola Estes). Wolves don't just look at -- they look over, under, beside, and even through. On the other hand it can be a bad thing. If my guard is down I literally feel a client's pain, and then must see to the healing of my own psyche.
In another context, years ago when I was a legal secretary in a large law firm, an attorney once said to my husband, "The thing about Ginny is she sees through all the b...sh...t." Guilty. I did. I do. I catch myself often asking my husband, "Don't people realize how obvious they are?" No, he assures me, most do not.
But back to Psychology Today. Jerome Kagan, a Harvard psychologist. found that brain imaging studies reflect "a distinctive biological feature: a hyperresponsive amygdala" (the brain center that assesses threats and governs the fear response). Thus HSPs (like me) are hypervigilant. Cortical areas linked to attention and processing perpetual data show higher activation in response to all kinds of stimuli. HSPs (like me) perceive the slighest sensory or emotional provocation and respond "with a flurry of brain activity" that others consider an overreaction. In the words of Andrea Bartz, Psycholoogy Today news editor, hypersenstivity is "neither a flaw nor a gift, but rather an amplifier of an environment's effect."
So, now that I have a self-diagnosis and initials, the advice I am giving myself is the same that I have given countless clients over the years -- it's not what you have, it's what you do with it. I can take on the identity of an HSP and use it to excuse my attitude and behavior (as in, "I can't help it! I am an HSP, you know,") or I can use the magic word I've so often encouraged others to use -- just. As in, "This isn't the end of the world, it's just my hypersensitivity playing games with me."
Which isn't to say it doesn't hurt when the HSP ball hits you in the psyche; however, while it is hurting (more deeply than it would hurt most others) I can remind myself of what a 10-year-old boy told a news commentator years ago after donating a kidney to save his father's life. When she asked him, "Didn't that hurt?" he said simply, "Why are people so afraid of pain?" Or, as my granddaughter said to me when she was 5 and broke a crayon, "It's just part of life, Gramma."
On a good day I'll remember and apply this wisdom. On a bad day? Well, no one's perfect, especially an HSP, like... you know who.
We've observed that once a condition is either self-diagnosed or validated by a professional, it takes on even more importance. Vague aches and pains become Fibromyalgia. Mood swings and irritability become Premenstrual Syndrome. Gastrointestinal inconsistencies become Irritable Bowel Syndrome. A wandering and forgetful mind becomes Attention Deficit Disorder. Fixation on repeated thoughts or behavior becomes Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. But wait, there's more.
Once these conditions become common enough to be known by and called by their initials, they have made an important breakthrough into societal acceptance. FMA, PMS, IBS, ADD, OCD.
Instead of name dropping a person gains a sense of self-importance by simply dropping initials. Impressive. Expeditious.
Am I being snidely critical of others? No, I am simply setting the groundwork for making fun of myself. In a way. Because now EYE have a fancy name for what afflicts me, and I have initials! HSP! Hyper Sensitive Personality (or Highly Sensitive Person, if you prefer simplicity).
A recent article in Psychology Today says of HSPs (like me) that we are extremely perceptive to nuances unnoticed by others, that we are especially sensitive to animals and how they are handled, that our feelings are easily bruised by occurrences that others would simply shrug off, and that we have a complex inner life, sensing and internalizing the moods of others on top of our own.
Lines between fact and fantasy become blurred for us, which explains why certain scenes in movies have me covering my eyes and ears, sometimes even leaving the room, and why I skip over disturbing passages in novels. It explains why I prefer the quiet environment of my home to social interaction that can sometimes deplete me, and even why I am often impulsive -- intensified sensory input consumes psychic resources for thinking before acting. Ernest Hartmann, a psychiatrist at Tufts University, in solidifying boundaries as a dimension of personality, says of HSPs (like me), "It's as if those with thin boundaries have porous shells that allow more of their environment to penetrate and 'get' to them."
This also explains why I am highly perceptive to the complexities I encounter in dealing with clients and their psychological issues. This is a good thing in that it gives me more information to work with therapeutically. I liken this to the wolf nature that permeates my favorite book, Women Who Run With The Wolves (Dr. Claire Pinkola Estes). Wolves don't just look at -- they look over, under, beside, and even through. On the other hand it can be a bad thing. If my guard is down I literally feel a client's pain, and then must see to the healing of my own psyche.
In another context, years ago when I was a legal secretary in a large law firm, an attorney once said to my husband, "The thing about Ginny is she sees through all the b...sh...t." Guilty. I did. I do. I catch myself often asking my husband, "Don't people realize how obvious they are?" No, he assures me, most do not.
But back to Psychology Today. Jerome Kagan, a Harvard psychologist. found that brain imaging studies reflect "a distinctive biological feature: a hyperresponsive amygdala" (the brain center that assesses threats and governs the fear response). Thus HSPs (like me) are hypervigilant. Cortical areas linked to attention and processing perpetual data show higher activation in response to all kinds of stimuli. HSPs (like me) perceive the slighest sensory or emotional provocation and respond "with a flurry of brain activity" that others consider an overreaction. In the words of Andrea Bartz, Psycholoogy Today news editor, hypersenstivity is "neither a flaw nor a gift, but rather an amplifier of an environment's effect."
So, now that I have a self-diagnosis and initials, the advice I am giving myself is the same that I have given countless clients over the years -- it's not what you have, it's what you do with it. I can take on the identity of an HSP and use it to excuse my attitude and behavior (as in, "I can't help it! I am an HSP, you know,") or I can use the magic word I've so often encouraged others to use -- just. As in, "This isn't the end of the world, it's just my hypersensitivity playing games with me."
Which isn't to say it doesn't hurt when the HSP ball hits you in the psyche; however, while it is hurting (more deeply than it would hurt most others) I can remind myself of what a 10-year-old boy told a news commentator years ago after donating a kidney to save his father's life. When she asked him, "Didn't that hurt?" he said simply, "Why are people so afraid of pain?" Or, as my granddaughter said to me when she was 5 and broke a crayon, "It's just part of life, Gramma."
On a good day I'll remember and apply this wisdom. On a bad day? Well, no one's perfect, especially an HSP, like... you know who.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Something to Think About, Hmmmm....
Business people offer guarantees to attract customers and to increase their income. If your washer doesn’t work, they’ll repair or replace it. If your car falls apart, they put it back together for you or provide you something similar. They play the odds. In most cases all goes well and they don’t have to carry through with their end of the agreement. In some cases, when a customer does return seeking satisfaction the business is no longer there, has "changed" its policy, or lays out prerequisites that are impossible to meet.
Legitimate health care professionals do not offer guarantees. Surgeons cannot guarantee success. They will do the best job possible and hope for patient compliance, but the healing and recovery are up to you. Marriage counselors cannot guarantee they will save your marriage. He or she cannot. You are the only one who can do that... perhaps with help from others.
Think about it. If you want to use hypnosis to stop smoking, and you are given a guarantee that if “it doesn’t work” you can return for a free follow up session, from a psychological viewpoint you have been given permission to fail. You might think, “Oh well, if it doesn’t work I’ll just go back. Maybe next week. Till then I'll just smoke some more.” This weakens your motivation to succeed. The "guarantee" is in the business person’s best interest, not yours; because (a) many people falling short of success won’t bother coming back, thinking, “If it didn’t work the first time why would it work a second time?” or, “It’s too much bother,” and (b) those who do decide to return may find that the business has gone out of business.
While we’ve been practicing professionally since 1992, with impeccable credentials and with community awards for excellence, we’ve seen many others in this field come and go. Why? Because there are no state regulations or oversight, meaning that hypnotherapists are not held to standards of practice. With no solid foundation in psychology (the science of human behavior), most people discover it is more difficult to achieve and maintain success than they were led to believe by the hypnosis "school" (actually a business) of their choice. With their sights set primarily on making money (and maybe helping some people in the process), they find that to most people their misplaced priorities are transparent.
To make sure that you are dealing with someone with a successful track record and a stable reputation in your community, do a little research -- including checking on (a) the history of their business license, (b) the existence of liability insurance, and (c) the location of their business. Are they seeing people in their home (unsafe, and in some cases illegal)? If not, how long have they been in an office? Is clinical hypnosis something they do there full time, or do they share space with someone else, and pop in occasionally to do a session? Is hypnotherapy their only business, or one of many ways they generate income -- which doesn't make them a bad person, it simply makes them an entrepreneur, not a health care professional.
A big difference that raises a little cause for concern.
Legitimate health care professionals do not offer guarantees. Surgeons cannot guarantee success. They will do the best job possible and hope for patient compliance, but the healing and recovery are up to you. Marriage counselors cannot guarantee they will save your marriage. He or she cannot. You are the only one who can do that... perhaps with help from others.
Think about it. If you want to use hypnosis to stop smoking, and you are given a guarantee that if “it doesn’t work” you can return for a free follow up session, from a psychological viewpoint you have been given permission to fail. You might think, “Oh well, if it doesn’t work I’ll just go back. Maybe next week. Till then I'll just smoke some more.” This weakens your motivation to succeed. The "guarantee" is in the business person’s best interest, not yours; because (a) many people falling short of success won’t bother coming back, thinking, “If it didn’t work the first time why would it work a second time?” or, “It’s too much bother,” and (b) those who do decide to return may find that the business has gone out of business.
While we’ve been practicing professionally since 1992, with impeccable credentials and with community awards for excellence, we’ve seen many others in this field come and go. Why? Because there are no state regulations or oversight, meaning that hypnotherapists are not held to standards of practice. With no solid foundation in psychology (the science of human behavior), most people discover it is more difficult to achieve and maintain success than they were led to believe by the hypnosis "school" (actually a business) of their choice. With their sights set primarily on making money (and maybe helping some people in the process), they find that to most people their misplaced priorities are transparent.
To make sure that you are dealing with someone with a successful track record and a stable reputation in your community, do a little research -- including checking on (a) the history of their business license, (b) the existence of liability insurance, and (c) the location of their business. Are they seeing people in their home (unsafe, and in some cases illegal)? If not, how long have they been in an office? Is clinical hypnosis something they do there full time, or do they share space with someone else, and pop in occasionally to do a session? Is hypnotherapy their only business, or one of many ways they generate income -- which doesn't make them a bad person, it simply makes them an entrepreneur, not a health care professional.
A big difference that raises a little cause for concern.
Friday, June 17, 2011
A Rising Tide Lifts All Boats
Frank and I are privileged to enjoy a profession that provides a comfortable lifestyle (we have simple tastes, which helps.) When I began the business in 1992 he was working in retail management (underpaid and unappreciated) and while he was coming home feeling used and drained, I was the one coming home with an ear-to-ear grin and receiving lovely thank you notes from the clients I had helped. That elated realization that your contribution has made life better for someone else in a meaningful way, is what we call a "Helper's High." Frank eventually joined me at Evergreen, proving if there's anything better than a happy camper, it's two happy campers!
In 2002 I created a venue through which others can have the same rewarding experience.
I created a FREE Peer Level Support Group called Rising Tide, which consists of 5-10 members who learn and practice simple, specific self-improvement techniques on a weekly basis. The setting is casual & comfortable and the agenda combines structure and sponaneity within the context of pleasant conversation. Focus centers on 4 areas of life: 1) Creating and maintaining a positive mindset, 2) problem solving with input from others, 3) goal setting with accountability, and 4) stress management.
Many groups were formed, and some members remained actively involved for years. Literally. Those attending included a woman dealing with her mother's Alzheimers Disease, a man who described himself at the onset as "suicidal," a stay-at-home dad with borderline agorophobia, and a self-made millionaire who was healthy, happily married, and yet considered himself a loser. Others were in difficult relationships, or meeting the challange of raising teens, or stuck in a go-nowhere job they hated, or feeling disillusioned with life, or simply wondering whatever happened to that upbeat, energetic "old" self they could barely remember.
Despite the problems we all deal with in life, a basic concept in Rising Tide is that, based on your life experiencestress, goals, problems, helping others resolve their issues gives you a helper's high! The encouragement and support is reciprocal, and in an hour-and-a-half, no matter how "down" or dejected or discouraged you may have felt coming into the meeting, it's guaranteed you'll leave feeling better! That's right -- guaranteed!
In today's general atmosphere that is cloaked in uncertainty about our future as idividuals, as a business, or even as a nation, it is more important than ever before that we use every resource available to us to keep our heads above water in a psychological sense. For this reason, I am reprising the group and inviting anyone interested to give it a go. I'm willing to bet it's like no other group you've ever attended. (No hypnosis, no prayer, no mediation is involved.)
Let me reiterate and reassure you that membership costs you nothing other than your commitment to attend six consecutive meetings. This is important because with regular, consistent application of techniques that are effective and enjoyable, your results become lasting. You simply develop a new way of looking at and dealing with life!
Meetings will begin the 3rd week in July and run through the 4th week of August. Which day of the week and what time of the day depends on input from those who contact me to register. I'll be as accomodating as possible. I can be reached at 209-406-9901 or by e-mail at docgin@egreen.net.
This is an opportunity for you to find out for yourself that a rising tide does, in fact, lift all boats!
In 2002 I created a venue through which others can have the same rewarding experience.
I created a FREE Peer Level Support Group called Rising Tide, which consists of 5-10 members who learn and practice simple, specific self-improvement techniques on a weekly basis. The setting is casual & comfortable and the agenda combines structure and sponaneity within the context of pleasant conversation. Focus centers on 4 areas of life: 1) Creating and maintaining a positive mindset, 2) problem solving with input from others, 3) goal setting with accountability, and 4) stress management.
Many groups were formed, and some members remained actively involved for years. Literally. Those attending included a woman dealing with her mother's Alzheimers Disease, a man who described himself at the onset as "suicidal," a stay-at-home dad with borderline agorophobia, and a self-made millionaire who was healthy, happily married, and yet considered himself a loser. Others were in difficult relationships, or meeting the challange of raising teens, or stuck in a go-nowhere job they hated, or feeling disillusioned with life, or simply wondering whatever happened to that upbeat, energetic "old" self they could barely remember.
Despite the problems we all deal with in life, a basic concept in Rising Tide is that, based on your life experiencestress, goals, problems, helping others resolve their issues gives you a helper's high! The encouragement and support is reciprocal, and in an hour-and-a-half, no matter how "down" or dejected or discouraged you may have felt coming into the meeting, it's guaranteed you'll leave feeling better! That's right -- guaranteed!
In today's general atmosphere that is cloaked in uncertainty about our future as idividuals, as a business, or even as a nation, it is more important than ever before that we use every resource available to us to keep our heads above water in a psychological sense. For this reason, I am reprising the group and inviting anyone interested to give it a go. I'm willing to bet it's like no other group you've ever attended. (No hypnosis, no prayer, no mediation is involved.)
Let me reiterate and reassure you that membership costs you nothing other than your commitment to attend six consecutive meetings. This is important because with regular, consistent application of techniques that are effective and enjoyable, your results become lasting. You simply develop a new way of looking at and dealing with life!
Meetings will begin the 3rd week in July and run through the 4th week of August. Which day of the week and what time of the day depends on input from those who contact me to register. I'll be as accomodating as possible. I can be reached at 209-406-9901 or by e-mail at docgin@egreen.net.
This is an opportunity for you to find out for yourself that a rising tide does, in fact, lift all boats!
Monday, May 30, 2011
What's So Special About Seventy?
My husband has been asking me lately what I want to do for my birthday in September. It should be something special, he tells me, since this will be my 70th. His argument has merit, and so I have been giving this some thought. The problem is, I am feeling uninspired.
The fact that he asked, "What do you want to do for your birthday as opposed to, "What do you want for your birthday?" proves how well he understands me (i.e., better than anyone else ever has or will). I certainly don't want or need gifts. He and I stopped exchanging gifts years ago when we realized the most fun in giving a present is the element of surprise, and we can't surprise each other because we can't keep a secret from each other.
Rather than things, what I value most from others is their time. One of my greatest pleasures is having a son or daughter or grandchild spend time with me and at least seem to genuinely enjoy it as much as I do. It's common knowledge that children want attention, acceptance and approval from their parents. A lesser known truth is that parents want the same from their kids. It's called validation. It gives meaning to our lives.
Traveling is one of my least favorite things to do. I enjoy other places, it's just that I wish I could teleport to and from them, and not have to pack or unpack. Alaska is my favorite place, Hawaii comes in second, but I've been there/done that enough times that I wouldn't call going again to turn 70 in either place special. Over the years Frank and I typically plan vacations that take us away from the hustle and bustle of business and book promotion, and I have fond memories of hiking a remote trail with no one else in sight, and walking a beach that was, for the time, ours alone. On the other hand, last year we travelled with family for a week, eight of us sharing a luxury condo on Waikiki -- and had an awesome time.
The difference being family.
Aha! A distinct clue. Nothing I enjoy more than family, so why not keep it simple, I'm now thinking. Everyone has such busy lives that take them in so many different directions, just gathering the clan in one place at one time qualifies as special! I may be onto something here. A sunny September day, a sparkling swimming pool, good food, cold champagne, a cake with lots of frosting, maybe Jennifer Lind, John Denver, and SCOTTY singing over outdoor speakers, kids, grandkids, great grandkids all happy I'm still healthy and mobile and for the most part independent.. wow... it almost makes 70 sound downright inviting!
Okay, so having put together in my mind my Walt Disney version of a birthday that seems as though it should be different from all the others (though I'm not sure why -- 70 is just another number, after all), keeping it really simple, I wouldn't mind waking up that morning, putting on my jeans and boots, and heading out to the ranch for a nice quiet ride on Brandi. Then coming home to a cold beer and a long soak in a lavender-scented tub, a few phone calls, and some cards to stand on the mantle over the pellet stove. Hokey though it may seem, I love my family whether they are near or far, together or apart. And they find wonderful ways almost every day of the year to let me feel loved.
I'd have to be crazy to want or need anything more than what I already have.
The fact that he asked, "What do you want to do for your birthday as opposed to, "What do you want for your birthday?" proves how well he understands me (i.e., better than anyone else ever has or will). I certainly don't want or need gifts. He and I stopped exchanging gifts years ago when we realized the most fun in giving a present is the element of surprise, and we can't surprise each other because we can't keep a secret from each other.
Rather than things, what I value most from others is their time. One of my greatest pleasures is having a son or daughter or grandchild spend time with me and at least seem to genuinely enjoy it as much as I do. It's common knowledge that children want attention, acceptance and approval from their parents. A lesser known truth is that parents want the same from their kids. It's called validation. It gives meaning to our lives.
Traveling is one of my least favorite things to do. I enjoy other places, it's just that I wish I could teleport to and from them, and not have to pack or unpack. Alaska is my favorite place, Hawaii comes in second, but I've been there/done that enough times that I wouldn't call going again to turn 70 in either place special. Over the years Frank and I typically plan vacations that take us away from the hustle and bustle of business and book promotion, and I have fond memories of hiking a remote trail with no one else in sight, and walking a beach that was, for the time, ours alone. On the other hand, last year we travelled with family for a week, eight of us sharing a luxury condo on Waikiki -- and had an awesome time.
The difference being family.
Aha! A distinct clue. Nothing I enjoy more than family, so why not keep it simple, I'm now thinking. Everyone has such busy lives that take them in so many different directions, just gathering the clan in one place at one time qualifies as special! I may be onto something here. A sunny September day, a sparkling swimming pool, good food, cold champagne, a cake with lots of frosting, maybe Jennifer Lind, John Denver, and SCOTTY singing over outdoor speakers, kids, grandkids, great grandkids all happy I'm still healthy and mobile and for the most part independent.. wow... it almost makes 70 sound downright inviting!
Okay, so having put together in my mind my Walt Disney version of a birthday that seems as though it should be different from all the others (though I'm not sure why -- 70 is just another number, after all), keeping it really simple, I wouldn't mind waking up that morning, putting on my jeans and boots, and heading out to the ranch for a nice quiet ride on Brandi. Then coming home to a cold beer and a long soak in a lavender-scented tub, a few phone calls, and some cards to stand on the mantle over the pellet stove. Hokey though it may seem, I love my family whether they are near or far, together or apart. And they find wonderful ways almost every day of the year to let me feel loved.
I'd have to be crazy to want or need anything more than what I already have.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
A Piece of Pakistan in my Family History
My parents were divorced when I was very young. My father remarried, had a son, and pursued his military career with vigor, retiring eventually as a Colonel and Chief of Instruction for Army Intelligence. He was never able to talk about his work, and after his death when I attempted to obtain his military records I learned they had been stored in a building in Kentucky that, at some point in the past, caught fire, everything inside destroyed. Okaaay... One of the many places he lived was Pakistan. Following the death of Bin Laden, my brother sent me the following information, which I thought readers might also find interesting.
Abbottabad, where Bin Laden was killed, is about a 30 minute drive from Murree, on a narrow, winding, mountain road, and is named for a British general. It is in rolling foothill country that's a bit cooler and greener than the hot, dusty flat land down at the capital of Islamabad, which is why so many Pakistani army folks have homes there.
In 1958-59 Dad, Mom and I lived in Murree HIlls (not the village itself). Murree is higher in elevation than Abbottabad and in the steeper mountains very close to the disputed (still today) border with India. We then moved to Rawalpindi for a year, the capital at that time, as construction on the new capital city of Islamabad (adjacent to Rawalpindi) was begun.
The Murree Christian School's stone church is where I attended 2nd and 3rd grades. They had divided part of the church interior into separate classrooms, and it still looks in photos very much as it did 52 years ao. When we lived in Rawalpindi I would stay in the school's boys dormitory in Murree Hills during the week and take the hour-plus drive home on weekends. A search on the internet identified the 1959-60 dormitory as the Sandes Soldiers Home, a former convalescent facility for soldiers of the British Indian Army (Pakistan was part of India back then). It's now being used as a dorm for 6th grade and up. [In a photo, it is a 2-story building with a steep pitched roof and white porch railings.] The old stone church is named "Garrison Church" and was an Anglican church used by British soldiers stationed in Murree back when.
There was an armed attack on the school by 4 masked Islamist gunmen in August 2002, in which 6 Pakistani security guards were killed. None of the kids or teachers were hurt. I hope they didn't later become a target again. Just thought you might like to have some family history of where Dad was stationed at one point[relative to recent highly publicized event].
I tried relentlessly (and unsuccessfully) to talk my father into writing his memoirs, which included 5 amphibious landings during WWII as a young infantryman, and later, many colorful countries as his residence. When I was in my twenties he visited the states, escorting an Iranian General who was here for medical treatment. They came to my home for dinner, which is material for a story I'll tell another time --guaranteed to amuse.
Abbottabad, where Bin Laden was killed, is about a 30 minute drive from Murree, on a narrow, winding, mountain road, and is named for a British general. It is in rolling foothill country that's a bit cooler and greener than the hot, dusty flat land down at the capital of Islamabad, which is why so many Pakistani army folks have homes there.
In 1958-59 Dad, Mom and I lived in Murree HIlls (not the village itself). Murree is higher in elevation than Abbottabad and in the steeper mountains very close to the disputed (still today) border with India. We then moved to Rawalpindi for a year, the capital at that time, as construction on the new capital city of Islamabad (adjacent to Rawalpindi) was begun.
The Murree Christian School's stone church is where I attended 2nd and 3rd grades. They had divided part of the church interior into separate classrooms, and it still looks in photos very much as it did 52 years ao. When we lived in Rawalpindi I would stay in the school's boys dormitory in Murree Hills during the week and take the hour-plus drive home on weekends. A search on the internet identified the 1959-60 dormitory as the Sandes Soldiers Home, a former convalescent facility for soldiers of the British Indian Army (Pakistan was part of India back then). It's now being used as a dorm for 6th grade and up. [In a photo, it is a 2-story building with a steep pitched roof and white porch railings.] The old stone church is named "Garrison Church" and was an Anglican church used by British soldiers stationed in Murree back when.
There was an armed attack on the school by 4 masked Islamist gunmen in August 2002, in which 6 Pakistani security guards were killed. None of the kids or teachers were hurt. I hope they didn't later become a target again. Just thought you might like to have some family history of where Dad was stationed at one point[relative to recent highly publicized event].
I tried relentlessly (and unsuccessfully) to talk my father into writing his memoirs, which included 5 amphibious landings during WWII as a young infantryman, and later, many colorful countries as his residence. When I was in my twenties he visited the states, escorting an Iranian General who was here for medical treatment. They came to my home for dinner, which is material for a story I'll tell another time --guaranteed to amuse.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Business is Business & Other Platitudes
I know a man who sold boats. He worked on commission. One day he sold a boat to his son, who paid cash. Weeks later his son was sitting next to the owner of the boat business, having drinks.
"How are you enjoying that new boat?" asks the owner. "Loving it," replies the son. "Heck of a price I gave you on it," says the owner, mentioning specifically what that price was. Pause. "Yeah. Heck of a price all right,thanks," son agrees. When he later asked his father why he paid $500 more than the price the owner believed the boat sold for, his father replied, "Oh that. That was my commission. Business is business, son."
Full disclosure: I'm not a business person. I'm a therapist. My husband is the one who makes sure we stay in business so that we can do what we do -- help people on an emotional/behavioral level to live better lives.
Recently I ventured out with him into a section of society I rarely visit -- a newly formed group of business people meeting to help one another become more successful. "It's not about business," the leader reminded members enthusiastically. "It's about relationships. No self-promotion allowed here. Introduce yourselves to each other, arrange to meet one-on-one. Get to know each other, find out who you like, who you trust. Ask yourself what you can do to help that other person succeed. Then they'll do the same for you." I found the concept exciting. At last! Business with a heart!
The next speaker presented his views on how to be successful. His voice was soft, his style unassuming, his presentation unpolished, even bordering on awkward at times, which rings of authenticity. My kind of guy. As I listened to him, however, I looked around the room. Something was "off," but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. (I'll admit to the possibility of projection -- my perception of others may have been tainted by my personal unease. Remember, I was out of my element here.)
Now, platitudes may be boring because we hear them frequently, but repetition is a teaching tool that helps move information from the conscious part of our minds (short term memory) to the subconscious part (long term memory, therefore more highly influential regarding attitude and behavior). So I didn't fault the speaker there; however, when his bottom line regarding relationships became, "The people you talk to the most must be people who make more money than you do," he lost me. I mean, given the choice, I'd rather cultivate a relationship with the Dalai Lama than with Donald Trump.
I have the honor, and I mean that sincerely, of having been named our city's Small Business Person of the Year back in 2003. I'm quite proud of that, and grateful; however, I immediately jimmied the title around to be "small business" (omitting "person") because there were many others behind the scenes who placed me in position to qualify -- my husband, our small staff, and most importantly the clients who, over the years, have trusted us to help them unravel their psychological snarls. "Business Person" was a hat that did not sit well on my head, yet there it was, part of a uniform I suddenly realized I was being asked to wear.
So I resigned. Retreated to the wings and left my husband to enjoy the spotlight. I established a mentoring program, the purpose of which is to train others in my field to raise their standard of practice by focusing not only on competence but on ethics and professionalism. I believe if your heart is in it, success is inevitable. By "it," however, I mean helping others, not earning money, and that's where I became highly selective in considering candidates for the program. Highly. As in taking the high road, raising the bar. And by "success" I don't mean adding zeros to one's income. I mean (warning: platitude ahead) making the world a better place.
Problem is not many subscribe to my philosophy. Our society flashes dollar signs in gaudish neon that lights the wrong way to success, if you ask me. Too many follow blindly, caring only that along the way there are lots of banks with ATMs, and places to shop for the trappings of wealth. Flashing neon turns me off. I look instead for what can simply be called, "the spark." It can be found in people, in other living creatures, in places, and in ideas. But it isn't found commonly. It is rare.
Ah! There you have it! My ramblings have led me to understand what it was that seemed off to me in that room full of business people. There was no spark. I mean collectively. Had there been, the room would have lit up with it. I genuinely wish the individuals and the group well, and concede that many there make more money than I do. Allow me to fall back on Princess Lea's admonishment to Han Solo of Star Wars fame: If money is all you love, money is all you'll get. Perhaps for some, it's enough,and they consider themselves blessed and give generously to charity (or not), as they seek relationships based realistically on, What's in it for me? I wonder if they ever wonder what Jesus's net worth was.
Of course, his meetings were of a different nature, and he did hang out with fishermen and spend most of his time talking to the downtrodden.
"How are you enjoying that new boat?" asks the owner. "Loving it," replies the son. "Heck of a price I gave you on it," says the owner, mentioning specifically what that price was. Pause. "Yeah. Heck of a price all right,thanks," son agrees. When he later asked his father why he paid $500 more than the price the owner believed the boat sold for, his father replied, "Oh that. That was my commission. Business is business, son."
Full disclosure: I'm not a business person. I'm a therapist. My husband is the one who makes sure we stay in business so that we can do what we do -- help people on an emotional/behavioral level to live better lives.
Recently I ventured out with him into a section of society I rarely visit -- a newly formed group of business people meeting to help one another become more successful. "It's not about business," the leader reminded members enthusiastically. "It's about relationships. No self-promotion allowed here. Introduce yourselves to each other, arrange to meet one-on-one. Get to know each other, find out who you like, who you trust. Ask yourself what you can do to help that other person succeed. Then they'll do the same for you." I found the concept exciting. At last! Business with a heart!
The next speaker presented his views on how to be successful. His voice was soft, his style unassuming, his presentation unpolished, even bordering on awkward at times, which rings of authenticity. My kind of guy. As I listened to him, however, I looked around the room. Something was "off," but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. (I'll admit to the possibility of projection -- my perception of others may have been tainted by my personal unease. Remember, I was out of my element here.)
Now, platitudes may be boring because we hear them frequently, but repetition is a teaching tool that helps move information from the conscious part of our minds (short term memory) to the subconscious part (long term memory, therefore more highly influential regarding attitude and behavior). So I didn't fault the speaker there; however, when his bottom line regarding relationships became, "The people you talk to the most must be people who make more money than you do," he lost me. I mean, given the choice, I'd rather cultivate a relationship with the Dalai Lama than with Donald Trump.
I have the honor, and I mean that sincerely, of having been named our city's Small Business Person of the Year back in 2003. I'm quite proud of that, and grateful; however, I immediately jimmied the title around to be "small business" (omitting "person") because there were many others behind the scenes who placed me in position to qualify -- my husband, our small staff, and most importantly the clients who, over the years, have trusted us to help them unravel their psychological snarls. "Business Person" was a hat that did not sit well on my head, yet there it was, part of a uniform I suddenly realized I was being asked to wear.
So I resigned. Retreated to the wings and left my husband to enjoy the spotlight. I established a mentoring program, the purpose of which is to train others in my field to raise their standard of practice by focusing not only on competence but on ethics and professionalism. I believe if your heart is in it, success is inevitable. By "it," however, I mean helping others, not earning money, and that's where I became highly selective in considering candidates for the program. Highly. As in taking the high road, raising the bar. And by "success" I don't mean adding zeros to one's income. I mean (warning: platitude ahead) making the world a better place.
Problem is not many subscribe to my philosophy. Our society flashes dollar signs in gaudish neon that lights the wrong way to success, if you ask me. Too many follow blindly, caring only that along the way there are lots of banks with ATMs, and places to shop for the trappings of wealth. Flashing neon turns me off. I look instead for what can simply be called, "the spark." It can be found in people, in other living creatures, in places, and in ideas. But it isn't found commonly. It is rare.
Ah! There you have it! My ramblings have led me to understand what it was that seemed off to me in that room full of business people. There was no spark. I mean collectively. Had there been, the room would have lit up with it. I genuinely wish the individuals and the group well, and concede that many there make more money than I do. Allow me to fall back on Princess Lea's admonishment to Han Solo of Star Wars fame: If money is all you love, money is all you'll get. Perhaps for some, it's enough,and they consider themselves blessed and give generously to charity (or not), as they seek relationships based realistically on, What's in it for me? I wonder if they ever wonder what Jesus's net worth was.
Of course, his meetings were of a different nature, and he did hang out with fishermen and spend most of his time talking to the downtrodden.
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