Quote of the Day: About Tea

Paula sent this quote to me this morning. Where does she ever find these gems? She is a wonder to behold.

"If you are cold, tea will warm you; if you are heated, it will cool you; If you are depressed, it will cheer you; If you are excited, it will calm you." 

~ William Gladstone

If the Walls Had Eyes and Ears

"You make him (her, them, us, me) glad with the joy of your presence." 

This is my reiteration of Psalm 21:6.

Hidden among us are individuals and couples, who are simply and surprisingly healers. They create their environments consciously and unconsciously as powerful healing sources in the midst of an urbanized society. One knows immediately if one finds themselves in such a space with those individuals.

Everything is a feast for the senses; sight, hearing, tastes, fragrances, and tactile touch are so miraculously entwined that its effect is to renew and replenish the spirit. So it is with Illa and Michael, two extraordinary beings creating music, magic and harmony in their home and garden. Illa's touch is in her artfully decorated home where every inch of wall, window, and counter space is a shrine to her interests and a celebration of the Colombian culture. With someone else, it might seem like an endless mismatch of collections, but each decorative item fits perfectly into the ambiance, created to stimulate and immerse one into warm colors and images. Signed art, mixes with Bottero sculptures with gifts, antique store finds, and framed commercial art. Using the hues one associates with the Spanish, those vibrant yellows, blues, oranges, and reds is a palette of color against which to display her heritage. It is a visual feast for the eyes.

Plants and flowers thrive in windows and on the rear porch where we all enjoy and share the sunshine and morning coffee. Their garden is a testament to teamwork so it's brimming forth with the pulse of spring. The daffodils have passed, the tulips have emerged, the lilacs are budding and breaking free. We walk around the yard while Illa points out garden beds of recently planted bulbs and vines that creep along the trellises. It is remarkably beautiful afternoon and this is only April. I soak in the positive energy, the sunshine and the intellectual conversational exchange.

For it is in these conversations our true selves are revealed. No subject is taboo nor do we keep secrets from each other. None that I'm aware of, that is! So, if the walls had ears and eyes, what would they hear and see of the times we spend together?

Michael, originating from Galway, is an authentic Irish man in Boston. Is there nothing sweeter to the ears than an Irish brogue? He introduces the love and 'mythology' of his heritage and history into the equation. He leads our theological and political discussions. This time around, the topic is the power of forgiveness and the mess of our heretical church. He brings us home a loaf of fresh bread and a expensive Irish blue cheese that we consume with a passion. Illa searches for a Gregorian chant CD (that she does have) while Michael's prodigious memory and voice dispels the need. "En Gloria Excelsior Dios" (I definitely spelled that Latin incorrectly) It's decided monks chanting is too serious for a Sunday morning. Illa is always the DJ but solicits requests. We settle on a mix of international women musicians and if the walls could see, they'd witness Illa and I dancing, letting in the spirit. Alleluia!

They'd hear our views on politics. We're Obama Democrats who wonder about the rise and implications of the Tea Party and Sara Palin as its cheerleader. Each has an opinion. We just don't get it.

You'd hear about my $400 cosmetic shopping spree at Nordstrom. The one, where two friends thought I'd lost my mind. "You're so bipolar" and we laugh.

We talk about sex. Everyone is for it, even if we're not getting it. (I speak only for myself.)

Then there is the disaster and greed of Wall Street. Michael suggests "bring Elliot Spitzer back and put them all in jail!" Who cares about his (or anyone's) sex life? Obviously, his enemies, the media and a manipulated public. The next morning Spitzer is on a Sunday talk show. The irony does not escape us. Michael always has an instinct of identifying the political pulse.

How is it that 48% of Americans do not pay federal income taxes? Has the gulf between the haves and the have-nots become this disparate? How is it that 25% of corporations in Massachusetts do not pay taxes? Here the answer is obvious. Universities and medical centers. Not-for-profits accumulating wealth and endowments for investors to sell junk bonds to as the middle class shrinks into obscurity.

We speak with reverence about Haiti, for she reminds us of how fortunate we are, no matter what. There is a huge, inescapable difference between poverty and misery.

While Michael works at Solera, Illa makes his favorite bolognese sauce as I keep her company in the kitchen. I learn that it helps to have the right kitchen tools and gadgets when cooking. This is where, of course, we congregate, either in the kitchen or on the porch. As non-smokers, we smoke cigarettes outside, scolding but forgiving ourselves for these momentary lapses in quitting. Is there anything better than choice bottles of wine, some prosciutto, melon, and a host of other delicacies followed by a cigarette? None comes to mind. Everything here in their home is done for the pleasure of the senses.

The cats, Bella and Nikka, amuse us and snuggle up with this guest. Cats are such loving companions. I bemoan the fact that pets are barred from my apartment building. Nikka, the adventurer, scales the next-door neighbors porch in search of a treat. He chases and catches a squirrel much to Illa's dismay. Michael and I laugh because who among us can change what is in our nature?

I leave reluctantly the home they share, but knowing that our days and evenings together are timeless and eternal. The guest quarters have my name on it for future use. Music, food, conversation, love and friendship are healing forces magnetized and magnified whenever we are together.

Remember Love Always Wins!

Letter from Shanghai - Re: Expo 2010

I trust Beibei will not mind if I share some of her correspondence from China with you, dear Readers. As her friend and English 'teacher', I've tidied-up the grammar and spelling just a bit because I love to edit. Please read the insert on the World Expo being held in Shanghai. Here in the States, the media has not elaborated or highlighted the purpose of the World Exposition. It sounds very futuristic to me with its urban -cultural focus.

 

Hi Denise,

I am in Shanghai now. I'm living at my cousin's home. There are two computers here, one is dead and another is broken. It's raining heavy every day. I slept all day and night because of the change in different time zones.

 

There are mourning ceremonies taking place for the victims who died in last week’s devastating earthquake in the mainly Tibetan region of Yushu. This is in the north-western province of Qinghai in Chian.  THOUSANDS of Chinese rescue workers, cadres, soldiers and ordinary citizens bowed their heads to pay tribute yesterday to the 2,064 victims of the earthquake. Everybody is donating everything. 

 

My cousin is very, very busy these days. She just came home once to bring some food for me and that's it. Beginning today, everyone is getting ready for "Expo-ShangHai".

 

I can't find a good computer so I went outside to find some place where I can buy 'a time' to check the internet and write to you. I will go to 'Expo' on May 1 or 2 with my cousin. Later I will go to Beijing to visit my others relatives.

 

Missing you!

Beibei

________________________________________________________________________________

Brief Intro to World Expo 2010 Shanghai China

PNA to join Shanghai Expo 2010 in China due in May Shanghai Expo 2010 exhibition in China that begins in early May and ends in late October. A PNA official told Xinhua in a special interview, "There will be a special wing for Palestine in the exhibition, where various details of civilization as well as the Palestinian national and cultural heritage will be presented ..." World Expositions are galleries of human inspirations and thoughts. Since 1851 when the Great Exhibition of Industries of All Nations was held in London, the World Expositions have attained increasing prominence. The Palestinian National Authority (PNA) finalized the preparations to join the grand events for economic, scientific, technological and cultural exchanges, serving as an important platform for displaying historical experience, exchanging innovative ideas, demonstrating esprit de corps and looking to the future. With a long civilization, China favors international exchange and loves world peace. China owes its successful bid for the World Exposition in 2010 to the international community's support for and confidence in its reform and opening-up. The Exposition will be the first registered World Exposition in a developing country, which gives expression to the expectations the world's people about China's future development. With a long civilization, China favors international exchanges and loves world peace. China owes its successful bid for the World Exposition in 2010 to the international community's support for and confidence in its reform and opening-up. The Exposition will be the first registered World Exposition in a developing country, which gives expression to the expectations the world's people place on China's future development. So what will Expo 2010 Shanghai China deliver to the world? There is no doubt the Chinese people will present to the world a successful, splendid and unforgettable exposition. Expo 2010 Shanghai China will be a great event to explore the full potential of urban life in the 21st century and a significant period in urban evolution. Fifty-five percent of the world population is expected to live in cities by the year 2010. The prospect of future urban life, a subject of global interest, concerns all nations, developed or less developed, and their people. Being the first World Exposition on the theme of a city, Exposition 2010, will attract governments and people from across the world, focusing on the theme "Better City, Better Life."  For its 184 days, participants will display urban civilisation to the full extent, exchange their experiences of urban development, disseminate advanced notions on cities and explore new approaches to human habitat, lifestyle and working conditions in the new century. They will learn how to create an eco-friendly society and maintain the sustainable development of human beings. Expo 2010 Shanghai China will center on innovation and interaction. Innovation is the soul, while cultural interaction is an important mission of the World Expositions. In the new era, Expo 2010 Shanghai China will contribute to human-centred development, scientific and technological innovation, cultural diversity and win-win cooperation for a better future, thus composing a melody with the key notes of highlighting innovation and interaction in the new century. Expo 2010 Shanghai China will also be a grand international gathering.  On the one hand, we shall endeavour to attract about 200 nations and international organizations to take part in the Exhibition as well as 70 million visitors from home and abroad, ensuring the widest possible participation in the history of the World Expositions. On the other hand, we will put Expo 2010 Shanghai China in a global perspective and do our best to encourage the participation and gain the understanding and support of various countries and peoples, in order to turn Expo 2010 Shanghai China into a happy reunion of people from all over the world. In addition, Expo 2010 Shanghai China will offer a wonderful opportunity for cross-culture dialogues. Before the conclusion of the Exposition, a "Shanghai Declaration" will be issued. This declaration, hopefully a milestone in the history of the World Expositions, will epitomize the insights to be offered by the participants and embody people's ideas for future cooperation and development and extensive common aspirations, thereby leaving a rich spiritual legacy of urban development to people throughout the world.  The Chinese Government will go to great lengths to make Expo 2010 Shanghai China a special event that carries on traditions and opens a new vista into the future. Our motto is: "Keeping in mind the next 60 years' development while preparing for the six months' Exposition." We count on the continuing attention, support and participation of all the peace-loving countries. The Shanghai World Expo Organising Committee was founded by the Chinese Government in 2004 as the leading organisation to host the Shanghai World Expo in 2010. The Shanghai World Expo Executive Committee is the organization responsible for the specific works set out by the Organizing Committee and the Bureau of the Shanghai World Expo. Coordination is responsible for the day-to-day work of the Executive Committee. The Expo General Deputy of the Chinese Government is responsible for direct international liaison with World Expo.

Illa - the Godess of Wine

Illa is one of the 'Hail Mary's' that I love. She has already appeared in this blog under another pseudonym. One of the features I adore about the Hispanic culture, is the multitude of names and identities individuals can assume. One can use either their mother's or father's surnames and adopt any one of their given baptismal names; first, middle or even confirmation, for public or private use.

Not all tea parties serve up tea. Wine is very popular, too, but Ilia has that venture already sewn up. She's the entrepreneur among us, and what she sets her mind to, turns golden. With her success, comes greater responsibilities, but she has the strength of character and the financial acumen to gracefully execute them . Hers is the single-handed success story of a woman's determination to live her own life, on her own terms. Colombian born and educated, she came to the US to work and create a new life for herself. As the eldest of a large group of siblings, she had no illusions about what child-rearing responsibilities entailed. She began her oddessy in Boston. It would lead her to earning everything that she owns, without screwing or manipulating people in the process.

Whenever I have one of our sleepovers at Illa's, I come home feeling nurtured and ever more comfortable in my own skin. We have been friends with each other for decades. She has been a loyal, compassionate and supportive companion. She knows my story, as well as anyone, and has participated in my journey from mental illness to emotional wellness as it unfolded. She's a great listener and adviser.

Her life rarely takes her north of Boston these days, where I live. Those earlier years, when we both lived in Brookline, were fun because being invited to Illa's home, meant meeting the most interesting mix of talented artists and musicians from various (South) American countries. The mix of Spanish and English was exotic to me. They'd be music, dancing and great food and wine. My kind of party! Through Illa, I became one of the international set and was introduced to the Hispanic culture.

Easter weekend, we had what has become a ritual whenever we get together. Illa knows her wines and picks some of the most delicious varieties from her store, Solera, to share. What a beautiful name for a wine boutique. It conjures up images of magnificent sunny days made all the more special because of the diversity of countries represented, as we solve and discuss our personal and political ideologies. Naturally, along with the wines is the accompanied bounty of delicious foods. I tease her and call her the 'Costco Queen'. She laughs heartily because it is the truth.

Time has been good to us and our friendship. It is like a fine wine that is appreciated more because it has become more satisfying and refined as we age. Gone are the days of the overflowing parties but we manage, nonetheless, to dance and sway to her endless collection of music. Her mix includes every genre of music known to mankind. OK, maybe not Gregorian Chant, but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she had an album of this period music stashed away somewhere in her magnificent collection.

For me, going to her home, driving deep into a remote neighborhood of Boston, is a healing experience. I'm in wonder of her boundless vision and energy. She is the most confident, self-made and independent woman that I know. She shares her largess with those she loves. I'm blessed to be one of those.

More to follow because the plan is to visit with Illa this weekend. Remember love always wins. Friends are the family we chose and who chose us, no matter what cards are dealt.
 

Only A Mother Would Know

This humorous antidote comes from Paula who always has a laugh or a story to inspire good cheer. It arrived perfectly timed. Keeping a good sense of humor is fundamental to overcoming any challenging moment or situation. I trust you'll agree. 

  A  Cup of Tea  

 

One day my mother was out and my dad was in charge of me. I was maybe 2 1/2 years  old. Someone had given me a little 'tea set' as a gift and it was one of my favorite toys.

 

Daddy was in the living room engrossed in the evening news when I brought him a little cup of 'tea', which was just water. After several cups of tea and lots of praise for  such yummy tea, my Mom came home.

My Dad  made her wait in the living room to watch me bring him a cup of tea, because it was 'just the cutest thing!' My Mom waited, and  sure enough, here I come down the hall with a  cup of tea for Daddy and she watches him  drink it up.

Then she says (as only a  mother would know):  "Did it ever occur to you that the only place she can  reach water is the  toilet?"

Dads don't think like Moms do. 

Now wasn’t that the cutest????  I loved it.

Three Month Report from Partners In Health

Dear Dee,

Our colleagues in Haiti have seen incredible suffering and losses as a result of the January 12 earthquake, but they have persevered, saving thousands of lives and bringing hope to hundreds of thousands more. It is with deep admiration for their efforts and gratitude for your support that I present our three-month progress report on Partners In Health's relief and recovery activities.

http://act.pih.org/haiti-3-month-report

On my last trip to Haiti, I found myself struck, more than usual, by how important our work is in serving as an antidote to despair, not just for our staff but also for all of those we serve. The ongoing suffering of the Haitian people--particularly the hundreds of thousands of displaced people living in Port-au-Prince--weighs heavily on my mind. But what gives me and so many others hope for the future is witnessing the daily progress we make in trying to relieve such misery. We see patients with amputations stand for the first time on their new prosthetic legs; we watch children escape needless death by receiving treatment for diarrheal disease or other treatable conditions in our settlement clinics; we deliver food to displaced families and assist with long-term agriculture assistance in the heavily burdened rural poor areas of the country; and we join meetings with the dedicated Ministry of Health leadership to develop national plans for strengthening the public health sector.

I remain steadfastly convinced that, with your commitment to making a difference in the lives of people who are living in such dire conditions, we can serve as a beacon of hope for Haiti and all of the communities around the world in need of a better future. As you will read in the report, we are not just saving individual lives in Haiti but also helping to transform entire communities and setting an example of what is possible in the months and years to come.

http://act.pih.org/haiti-3-month-report

Again, thank you for your engagement--our goals are unachievable without your support.

With warmest wishes,
Ophelia Dahl

The Psych Center

Over the river, across the old bridge to the Psych Center we go. Five years and counting crossing that bridge and seeking out a parking space in a lot with a sprinkle of potholes. Having "parking magic", that certain something, that always finds a space for the Volvo, is a plus. There are clearly marked crosswalks now but there were times when crossing the main street meant taking your life in your hands. These are improvements.

A white sign hangs over the doorway announcing to the world that this is where 'troubled' people parade through. A whiff of burnt tobacco clings to the entrance. A group of smokers congregate outside despite the now visible white sign in red letters forbidding this behavior.  A tough looking young man holds open the door for me. I smile and thank him looking him in the eyes.

The temporary stench and sting of urine greets one as the public restrooms are passed. A lot has changed in 5 years around the Psych Center but some things remain stable, the group of bilingual women who receive and manage the cast of characters who walk through the doors of the clinic. They are always gracious and responsive. These women are the gatekeepers and theirs is not an easy job. I am not alone in appreciating their presence. They give me preferential service for many reasons, not the least that I may be one of the few who truly can appreciate the enormity of their job and less than ideal working environment. For every scheduled appointment I receice a phone call of confirmation usually from Virginia or Raquel

Upon entering the clinic, depending about the time of day, it's fairly busy but restrained There are the group home individuals with severe and crippling disabilities who are sheperded  by a residential social worker to their appointments. There are the court-ordered rascals and rascalettes who are mandated into treatment. There are the local parolees from the jail. There are the street drug and alcohol support groups. Almost every patient/client speaks Spanish because in Lawrence, Spanish is the first language. I'm one of the few exceptions.

Can you believe that Lawrence has one of the best mental health clinics around? What brings me here month after month, week after week? There is a certain breed of quality physicians and staff who treat the sick and the poor. It's more than altruism, it's a vocation. Once upon a time, I had the elite priveledge of having private psychiatry, but the system and a dysfunctional approach to mental health, has put an end to that. However, I'd travel to the ends of the earth to maintain th medical relationship of 15 years with my psychiatrist. Obviously, I have.

Treatment with only drugs is a half-assed solution. Talk therapy is critical in order to claim one's life back.  Having the right doctor and counselor is essential. Being a private patient for 10 years made a huge difference in the quality of my recovery. Fortunately, as India-born, this psychiatrist is well-versed in psychotherapy and psycho-pharmacology but he is also from a culture that encourages introspection. I am an introspective individual. It's just the way I'm designed. "The unexaminded life is not worth living."etc. etc.

I've been willing to make some very hard sacrifices in order to continue to get the best, insightful medical care from this psychiatrist. I understand it makes the difference between having the life of a destiny or becoming a bitter and angry woman with a plenora of masks. The choice is that clear to me. I take this disease seriously and with a profound respect. I have no issues about making commitments or about being loyal. I would follow him to the ends of the earth which apparently I've done without fear.

Now, I'm breaking in a new counselor. I'm struggling with how to make these therapeutic talk sessions beneficial to us both. I had such a rich and fulfilling female couselor until recently.This is my first male counselor and he is a much younger man but with a thoughtful and calm nature. Bright and intellegent, a framed diploma indicates he's a graduate of Columbia University Graduate School. Perhaps in another time, he'd be a minister or a theologian. I see him as "The Thinker", for he often adopts that thoughtful pose while listening to me speak. I call him "Counselor" which elicits a smile of amusement from him for this Counslor is serious, pragmatic and well grounded. He also uses technology in our sessions as feedback. This isn't new, per say, the setting of goals, gauging the mood temperature, or identifying complicated hardship issues or situations. It's how he is usuing techology as a feedback mechanism that is new for me. The application of technology for theraputic sessions is intriguing on a whole new level.

"The good news", he announces, "is that you are less depressed than you were three months ago." How can this be good news? Then, I was coming off a joyful Christmas and a vacation in the DR. I wasn't feeling depressed until when exactly? What triggered it? Does it even matter? It's a low level cycle that leaves me mostly unmotivated except for writing and some socializing. Writers spend a tremendous time alone.

I haven't felt a real connection to him yet. As a consequence I've changed appointments with him on more than one occasion. Cancelling is not my ordinary behavior. I mention this to the psychiatrist after we have tweaked the medication regime. Those changes are precribed and duly noted. As I leave, this pyschiatrist who knows me better than most men, says as I'm exiting his office:

Give him a chance. Find a way to make it work. And, I suggest you make dating a hobby", he says with a smile. It's time.

I wasn't expecting that from the psychiatrist. Sounds and feels promising. How does one make dating a hobby? All systems are go. Forward. Skip lightly into the future unburdened from the past.

Chasing down the meaning of 'psychological' in the dictionary, I learn that 'psych' is an informal expression of the noun psychology: to put in the right frame of mind. 'Psyche' is also a noun that refers to the spirit or soul. It's the mind functioning as the center of thought, emotion and behavior. It is from the Greek word psukhe (spirt). Psychiatritry is the branch of medicine that deals with the diagnosis and treatment and prevention of mental and emotional disorders.

Ah, the dictionary. One of the Divine's favorite books!

Driving the Political and Historical Landscape

The drive from Danvers to Lawrence is like a drive back and across time. It is only marred by some density as Rt. 114 bisects the Andovers bordering Lawrence. As one leaves the Hill, the roadway, affectionately known as the Speedway, rounds a downhill curve, arriving at an X-four-stop. A sharp, hairpin turn takes me back through acres of cultivated farmland. In the spring this vista is breathtaking with the wonders of budding and blossoming trees. Poplars, cherries, a sprinkle of magnolias, maples and locusts. Bushes of small rhododendrons impersonate azaleas and the evergreens in the distance tower above the saltbox farmhouse. The smell of freshly turned soil awakens the nostrils. Here it is the colonial and revolutionary times inhabited by the Yankees. 

Breaking up the vista is the Hogan Regional Center for very, very, special needs built in the mid 1960's and named for the politician who championed building the 'modern' facility. How do I know this? Because Charlie Hogan and his wife, Marion, were great friends of my grandparents. Bridge, religion, politics, shared ethnicity and a strong spiritual connection bound them together. With its pillars, their home looked like a white mansion to my little-girl eyes. It was located only one block from the ocean and was meticulously maintained. The Hogans had affluence but no children. Institutional hospitals were a necessity for the most severe children born with "birth defects" and so it is situated at the bottom of the hill that serves as our mutual campus. Here is the historical power of the state institutional system. Out of sight, out of mind, but not totally forgotten. Let's say these building span the course of the 20th century medical system serving individuals with disabilities. Rarely does one see any action here at the Regional Center. The children, now adults, are never seen outside.

The back roads eventually lead to Rt 62 in Middleton. This crossroad, I imagine, was a stop on the street-car and the pony express systems, too. There is an old wooden building called Howe Station that has served as the local country store for eons. The Howes also have a school named after them, and a large presence in the local cemetery. It's a real Yankee name. The store's now owned by Indian immigrants, like every other convenience store in the area, in the nation. On the opposite corner is Bouchard's, where one gets old-fashion customer service. An attendant pumps your gas without you having to pay through the nose for the service. Let's just say, this is definitely the end of an era, before self-serve supposedly drove the price of a gallon of oil "down". This is where the Volvo is serviced and my friendly, helpful neighbor has rescued me on more than one occasion.

Next stop Middleton Center, a crazy intersection, that backs up endlessly at certain times. If you don't know your way around, it would be easy to get into the wrong lane, thus annoying the locals. Let's just call this late 20th Century capacity, meets an 18th century road system. BC. Before Cars! Route 114 heads east and west but here it is more like heading north to south. As one leaves tiny, but congested Middleton Square, the roadway gives way to woodlands and wet-lands for several miles. Broken up here and there by homes and businesses, it's mostly a ride through the woods ending up at the intersecting borders of the affluent Andovers and poor Lawrence. One thing about being poor that is little understood, is that often being poor and/or serving the poor, brings out our better natures.

Lawrence, is a manufacturing city intentionally designed for the Industrial Revolution and the immigrants who fueled it, made men rich. It's located along the banks of the mighty, fast moving Merrimack River. It's huge red-brick warehouses and factories dominate the riverbanks. Here was the birth of the labor movement that would catapult lower income families into the middle class. Lawrence has seen better days, however, even I can not recall when those were. Today, as I've mentioned before, it is the poorest city in Massachusetts and one of the poorest in the nation. Its residents have just elected the first Hispanic mayor in Massachusetts history. Here a new wave of immigrants, mostly from the Dominican Republic (DR), are claiming political power.

Will the new political administration seek to serve it's residents with a new vision and plan for the city or will they use their power to garner largess for themselves?

It's not this mayor or his administration's fault that "The City of Immigrants" is bankrupt and decaying. The question becomes then, what are you going to do about it? What does the Hispanic culture have to offer that can transform this city into a dynamic cultural and economic hub? What resources can be leveraged to create a vision and a plan to restore the integrity and viability of the city? Or am I just dreaming?

The Dominican people have every right to assert their Hispanic heritage of firsts, here in a city that is almost forgotten. Feel free to bring it back to life and give it meaning and purpose. You are not alone or an island nation any longer.

Receiving Gifts

Have you ever felt the thrill of unwrapping a Tiffany box? Tied with a white satin ribbon, with one pull, the whole ribbon comes unfurled in your hand or lap. The blue of the box resonates quality. Every Tiffany employee past and present, from the top down, masters the art of tying a perfect bow. Due to the generosity of a true sister, I've become the recipient of a number of blue boxes tied with perfect white bows.

It's just moments before Christmas. It does have a habit of sneaking up on us, doesn't it. There is a bubble cushioned manila envelope along with some cards, bills and seasonal requests for donations in the mailbox. The familiar handwriting on the package puts a smile on my face. A quick squeeze reveals a flat box inside. Hmm, what luxury item is contained within?

I open the envelope and slide out a unique-sized silver box tied with a Tiffany-style white bow. In one corner in tiny script is "D" but otherwise there are no markings on the box. What's in the mystery box? I chose to wait until Christmas morning to open this gift simply because everyone should have at least one surprise on that day of celebration. This is an annual surprise that is always luxurious, appreciated and acknowledged.

I've developed my own little Christmas morning ritual but this year is different. This is my best Christmas ever. I'm feeling authentic joy without the accompanied stress. This is not because I'm more organized or become creative, this year I've tapped into is an eternal well of glad tidings and joy. Joy itself is elusive in periods of depression. Joy, is a sign of mental wellness. Finding your joy in the moment is sometimes challenging but that is how healing takes place.

With one thrilling tug, the ribbon unfolds into the lap of the snuggley, new white robe I'm wearing. I take a sip of coffee and savor the moment. Off comes the lid and announces it is a gift card to Nordstrom's. The amount of $500 is staggering.  No one has ever done this for me before. This will be one hell of a shopping spree. I'm speechless but nonetheless I flip open my phone and hit speed dial.

"My God. Merry Christmas! Have you lost your mind? Thank you!!" 

Hi, ho, hi, ho. It's off to Nordstrom's we go. "Remember to bring a sister", I admonish myself. "At least for encouragement or as much as a reality check". You know what can happen when you go shopping alone.

Due Date

May 5th is the due date. Father and mother will arrive to greet their new home and a host of tasks that may be daunting. There is a lot of memorabilia and numerous possessions to sort through. Five storage rooms, one for just about every room and closet that was emptied in the wake of the pipes bursting. That's a lot of stuff going back into the house even with help. 

In an ideal world, every picture would be hung, every project completed, every document and photo pre-edited. But this is not an ideal world. In theory, turnkey was the goal, so as not to disturb their equilibrium or over-power them. However, impatience is an Irish calling card. They want to come home but honestly who wants the chore and responsibility of sifting through a collection of a lifetime?

Having moved frequently, I've kept my own clutter to a minimum. I just had a taste of what's ahead for them, when some closet remnants stashed in a car trunk, needed to be sorted. There were black and white photos, school pictures, lifetime achievement awards, letters and more photos. Many of the photos were repeats that have gone through several hands before arriving at stop. I created folders for each individual, after I tossed as much as I saved. It was a judgment call but I believe I saved what was important. Had I not had the opportunity, it is quite possible I or someone else would have missed a gem.

Among the items I found, was a postcard to me from father when he went to Italy on a business trip in 1961. It is a hand-colored postcard of the interior of St. Peter's Cathedral in Vatican City. The sentiment that it expresses brings tears to my eyes because I am a sentimental fool. That he should have a granddaughter who would sing a solo in St. Peter's was decades ahead and unimaginable at the time. I'm confident, he never would have expected that honor when he sat down to write a post card to his little girl a very long time ago.

Dear Denise

This is the church Daddy went to on Sunday. It is the biggest church in the world. Don't you think it is pretty. Be a good girl. See you Sunday.

Love xxx Daddy

Dear Daddy and Mommy,
I'll see you on May 5th. I hope you'll love the new house everyone has been working diligently to deliver to you. I do not envy the emotional sorting process ahead. The postcard from our life long ago, is posted on the refrigerator door. Someday, despite the controversy, I'll see how pretty Vatican City is, too. P.S. I'm always good.
Love xxx Denise

Another simple box contains what seems like hundreds of pictures of mother, chronicling her at every stage and age. She is front and center of the camera, the subject, in photographers' parlance. She's every Daddy's little girl growing into a lady. Neatly written on the back in grandmother's distinctive handwriting is the exact location and date and person in each and every photo. No guessing required.

What do you do with such a collection and devotion of love from ones parents and grandparents? Into whose safe keeping does history (her-story) belong?

Ode to Camping

I'm suppose to be arriving at the campsite now to rendezvous with a sister and her clan. It's their annual Opening of Fishing season party located in a bucolic setting not far from Hartford. Driving over Connecticut's rolling hills and passing the tidy inns and countryside is worth the excursion. However, it's cold and raw and rainy today and I can not mentally make the trek alone in the Volvo. This driving alone has become boring and unsatisfying. It would be tempting fate to take the Volvo out on such a miserably rainy day. That hairpin turn is a beauty to negotiate. I'd be better served in a truck.

Today, undertaking the journey in a spirit of play escapes me. This evidently may lead to disappointment on my hosts part, because every aspect of my comfort has been taken into consideration. The RV accommodations, the foul weather gear, the food and drinks, and screened canopy to mitigate the rain.  I guess I'm a fair weather camper who'll miss their annual celebration of family and family of friends and mother nature herself.

Releasing the trout and kicking off another fishing season has been a long standing traditional outing. I'm told there are years when it has snowed. These players are regulars and much more hearty than I. This is as natural as breathing air for them. With them, I get to indulge my inner camper. You've never witnessed such bounty as the dawning of a New England spring in this spot of paradise with this family.

Camping brings out the best in men, these women too, but camping, for me, is about men. Being in the outdoors with them is to acknowledge their superiority in just drinking, relaxing, eating, and tending to the fire. The campers and fishermen go about their business or just sit around soaking in the hypnotic elements of the fire. Someone caught a trout! How big? Congratulations all around. It is taken inside the RV and prepped to consume. Out comes the hot, home-made clam chowder. Their attentiveness is charming. Talk turns to politics, religion and the economy for this is an intellectual camping group who are not apathetic. I learn camping with a heated RV is the way to go and honestly enjoy myself.

The cooking spit is set up and multiple grills are in action. The picnic tables are arranged like a large banquet. The roasting pit is bound in heavy aluminum foil and is strong enough to hold a humongous pork loin. That's the Saturday evening feast, the year before it was a fried turkey that was incredibly moist and flavorful. A lot of thought and love goes into producing this event. I suspect they have it down to a fine science. Kudos to Nancy and Carol and Norma and Paul for orchestrating this unforgettable experience.

It's the companionship that is the draw. This year, Nancy, is bringing a new love into the fold. The siblings and her friends adore him and feel it's a perfect match. Good. Very good. Awesome. He is a fortunate man and she is one powerful soul sister. I'll look forward to meeting him on their own turf in Vermont, rain or shine.

Indifference Part 2

I've been thinking about that piece on indifference and apathy. Where is it showing up in my own life and relationships? What do I do to break its absence of emotion, this cycle of depression?

Indifference and apathy, being without feeling, is another voice of depression. We're bored but on a more profound level. You can bet indifference is showing up in my life, too, for aren't we all but reflections of each other? I may feel, or more precisely, not feel, one way or another about situations or tasks but rarely does it apply to individuals. Apathy cloaks and conceals passion and unresolved conflicts. The mind escapes and seeks refuge in the intellect. One is thinking, not feeling, going through the motions, existing. It can go on for days, weeks or months.

What's the antidote? Fun and amusement can shuttle nothingness away temporarily. However, when apathy runs deep, so do its dangers. Individuals consumed with apathy or indifference don't make much headway because to feel nothing is the opposite of peace. Nothing. It's a commentary on the state of grace.

It shows up as a lack of gratitude, bad manners and rudeness. One simply doesn't care who or what is impacted. Herein, lies the mystery of breaking the choke hold of indifference. Apathy is the opposite of joy, caring and well-being. It is the opposite of motivated service in action.

So next time, if I'm greeted with indifference masquerading as bad manners, I'll try not to take it personally. I'm a Sensitive. From my experience, it is far better to possess and express feelings of anger and hurt than to be feeling Nothing at all. At least with emotions one knows one is alive for better or worse.

How does one alter the feeling of nothingness in a constructive, healthy way? How do we respond when confronted with poor manners or withdrawal of an intimate?  Do we dare look inside for the answers or will we cling to our justifications and story?

Apathy denies its very own existence.

Trust me, I understand now, what the survivors and cutters teach. It's better to feel than to feel nothing. Apathy. Indifference is the enemy of Love and Peace.

Love Always Wins!.....except in tennis. Peace.

Boston Film Festival and iPhone apps

What does the Boston Film Festival and iPhone apps have in common? As far as anyone knows, it’s the first time in movie history, in which a location-based iPhone application, has been accepted as an entry at an international film festival. Developed with funding from NEH, this mobile application will debut on the big screen at Lowes Boston Common Theater 175 Tremont Stthis Sunday, April 18 evening at 9 pm.

The animation and narration is provided by Laura who also did the animation of ECT featured in this blog. It's a murder mystery story that takes the viewer on a walking tour of Boston. "Walking Cinema: Murder on Beacon Hill" can be viewed here.  http://www.parkmanmurder.com/

Tix:  http://www.bifilmfestival.com/biffschedule.html
   PS:  Roger Ebert just gave them a mad “tweet out”, so she must be doing something right!

Indifference

The ring of the home phone pulls me back from contemplation. It's the familiar number of Cecelia and I'm grateful to have someone to talk to over the morning coffee. Both of us are struggling and dealing with the breakdown in communication with our girlfriends. We care about the outcomes but are greeted with indifference.

What's the opposite of love? It's not hate. It's indifference.

Naturally, I pull out my worn dictionary to trace down the meaning and the root of this word, indifferent. To be indifferent, is the absence of feeling one way or another. To have an attitude and thought process about not having any particular interest or concern especially about important matters is apathy. Apathy is from the Greek word, "Apathes, without Feeling". This is not the same thing as being neutral or Switzerland.

I recall being stunned to discover that for some individuals they had episodes of absolutely being without feeling. They each expressed that it was worse than the pain of feeling too much. This, not feeling, was so powerful in fact, it drove them to the extremes of behavior. The ones doing the speaking were "the cutters" and the failed suicides. From them, we learn that it is possible to be deeply apathetic. Be aware. Be informed.

A Billionaire

The story, located in the well of the May issue of Vanity Fair, capture's my attention. "Bruce Wasserstein's Last Surprise."  Here's the lead of the article.

The mystery shrouding Bruce Wasserstein's death, last October, at 61, fit the billionaire investment banker's M.O. Always secretive, he withdrew further as his health apparently failed and his personal relationships turned tumultuous. With stories about Wasserstein's brilliant rise and the three different Wall Street firms he inspired, including his contentious final act as head of Lazard, WILLIAM D. COHAN profiles a master negotiator who made his own rules.

Their names bounce off the pages of the magazine. Bruce Wasserstein,, Joe Perella,. Chuck Ward, Steve Golub. None of them would remember me, a temporary assistant, sent to man their battle stations in the world of investment banking's mergers and acquisitions in the early 1990's. But I would not forget them. When I was placed for 3 month stint at Wasserstein-Perella, they were the emerging powerhouse in M&A.

It was the Wall Street of Gorden Gecko, located in a glass skyscraper in mid-town Manhattan. Somehow, even then, I recognized that I had a bird's-eye view of how these deals and the personalities that drove them, operated. It was not my first assignment to an investment banking firm. I'd just completed another job at a firm, whose name I can not recall, but it was really located on Wall Street with brilliant views of the World Trade Center. I suspect they had concussion and collateral damage on 9/11, for when I went downtown within weeks of the terrorism act, their building was closed, guarded by the NYC police. Downtown and Wall Street was a wasteland of devastation.

Nearly 20 years later, these guys who founded and then sold, Wasserstein-Perella, are still making good copy. And the survivors are still making international deals worth billions thus generating fees into the hundreds of millions of dollars for themselves. Staggering wealth and greed. The Vanity Fair article is not flattering about Bruce Wasserstein who would have been in his early 40's when I happened upon his world, their world, of sharks and other carnivores who travel in packs.

My guy's name is missing from the players list. Just as well. He always impressed me as the new generation of self-sufficient, self-contained executives. At most, he would give me a letter to type and asked that his wife's calls be prioritized. So I was, more or less, for show at Wasserstein-Perella. Every new partner got an assistant if he didn't bring one along with him. It was a man's world where analysts worked all night and the executives took the train home to Greenwich or a car service to dinner and/or a cultural event.

It was all about making money and the art of negotiating the deal. I just happened to work for one of the "nice" guys with a quiet, even temperament. Everybody at this firm was related to someone else in some pararrell universe. It's how business at this level is done. They hire each others children and open the doors to vast wealth. At the time, I never met a woman investment banker but that doesn't mean a few didn't exist.

Among the staff, Wasserstein was already MIA and had a habit of showing up whenever. There was always a long line waiting to meet with him when he was in the office around the corner from where I sat. Joe Perella, whose office was in the opposite corner, was always the scene of action. He scared the shit out me one afternoon, by blasting some analysts about some failure on their part. In the rarefied world of executives, it is the only occasion where I witnessed a leader blowing his top and having a hissy fit. The echo of profanity that filled that large expansive space, even today, is unforgettable. Explosive tempers rattle me, probably because I can have one, too, when pushed too far. Let's just say, on that day, Mr. Perella let loose. It was his style. 

As I mentioned the article isn't very flattering to Bruce Wasserstein. Joe Perella is a main, named source of insight as to how his partner ticked. Narcissistic, out of touch, withdrawn, secretive about his health and a sudden, mysterious death is code for mental illness of the manic type. Wasserstein was as crazy as a fox. Brilliant intellect but in the end, no amount of money could buy him health, a sound mind, a peaceful heart or the life-affirming respect of his partners, friends, clients and colleagues. When he died, he was worth billions. So what? He lived large and excessively. Good for him.

Mike and Individuals with Visible Disabilities

It's the end of the month and Maureen, also on a strict budget, wants to have lunch together. Where would you like to go?, I ask. "Appleby's she responds without hesitation. It's not a place, I'd ever chose, but Appleby's it was. This is a woman who knows what she wants. She's not in the car two minutes before she is planning next Wednesday for me. "You need to have more fun" she asserts. "You're right about that.", I respond. So began our afternoon together. She set the agenda and I provided the transportation.

Into Appleby's we enter, using the long accessible entrance. It wasn't necessary for either one of us, it was just close to where I parked the Volvo. The Volvo, is the 21 year old trusty classic that serves as my means of independence. Without transportation, my world would disintegrate rapidly just like any suburban American.

Maureen is dressed attractively in black with a black leather jacket. She has large brown eyes and flawless skin. My girl can talk and does so with volume. Maureen knows what she wants simply by looking at the food pictured on the menu. "I want that, just as it's pictured," she announces to the waitress who then puts her attention on me.

This gesture, looking for confirmation from me touches a sensitive nerve. Maureen had already done that by announcing that she knew I was very shy underneath my friendliness. I felt exposed for the first time in a very long time. Most people when they meet me or even if they've known me for a long time, never get to the shy me, so well I have surrounded her, with a host of social graces, honesty and personal appearances. There underneath it all is the shy ultra-sensitive me. I bet you didn't even believe this is possible!

So here we are, two women having lunch together, one with a visible disability and the other with an invisible one. I've been here before and my mind wanders back a few years ago to Mike. He was brilliant, so funny, handsome and an out-going mensch. He, also, became a quadriplegic having broken his neck in a diving accident at age 17 years old. When I met him he was 47 years old and had been a 'quad' for 30 years. Fortunately, he was not respirator dependent and when the weather was good, man,could he ever get around Boston!! Talk about a man who broke down barriers for individuals with spinal cord injuries in a proactive activist manner.

Eventually, Mike got married and had a daughter. Absolutely everything has to be done to keep a 'quad' functioning as a spirit/soul trapped in a body that refuses to do anything. It takes it toll on the caregivers and  thus any marriage. Debbie and he divorced but it was Debbie who single-handily whenever Mike got sick and near "the valley of death" who talked him back to life, badgered the doctors and saw that he got the best medical care possible. She continued  this role long after they were divorced. She was an incredible inspiration herself.

I simply loved Mike and he joyfully loved me back. We had chemistry and had a lot of fun together walking  or getting around the city, He knew all the disability access points in the subway. We got to ride for free on buses and trains and vans wherever we were going.  I learned to cut his food for him and on one occasion an elderly woman said as we passed "God bless you. I don't know how you do it." The shock hit me in the gut. She was speaking to me, not to Mike. His disability, was by far worse than my twisted route to stability. Of course, she assumed I was his wife.

Mike was good for me because he got me moving and opened up a whole new world to me. With him, I became an advocate for individuals with disabilities. I guess that means that I am comfortable in the company of those who are different or who've known tragedy or vulnerable health and have overcome it in their own way against the greatest odds. Mike was the finest. He died about 7 years ago having defied the medical professionals and specialists about how long a man can live in such a state.

He loved the fact that I was a Democrat and he was a Republican. Mike knew how to bait a conversation to get "my Irish-up". He also invited me as his date to one of the Republican Inaugural Balls when Mitt Romney became Governor of the Commonwealth. Want to make an entrance? Make an appearance dressed in a sexy black dress with a full-length mink coat accompanied by a man dressed in his finest suit looking handsome in his crisp white shirt. Except, picture the handicapped van with an electric lift and the gentleman in an electric powered wheel chair. No lines for us! We are whisked inside. That was an entrance, I know he played over and over, because it gave us great laughs. Crowds parted for us. It was all quite amusing and astonishing at the same time.

Maureen may be disappointed but I can not commit to this as a weekly event until the k-ching increases. Next stop at her insistence is to see James Cotton play at a Salisbury Beach venue. She's dying to go to Salisbury Beach. I haven't been there since high-school days and this, too, is not a destination that normally intrigues me. Yet in this instance, too, I'll let her take the lead. She obviously relishes the job. Maybe, it'll even be fun.

Time to Pray for Others

"Bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you." - Luke 6:28

I see hurtful behavior as a misguided call for love.