I discovered a BritBox show last night. I have enjoyed it so far- except for a sinister Russian Mafioso presence threatening one of the main characters. Rob Lowe stars in Wild Bill. It is set in England. He's an American transplant. I have no idea why Britbox produced a show about an American coming in to save the British in the middle of the rise of British nationalism. Britbox canceled it after one season. What a surprise!
I got up around 6, forgetting that my alarm isn't set automatically for the weekends. Elsa and I got in a short walk before driveway yoga. Neither Scott nor B. were there today. They both had other things to do. This will be our last class with Yvette for the week. She and Scott are participating in some four-and-a-half-hour yoga class every morning for the week. It starts at 5:30 Hawaii time and ends at 10. I'm sure the timing is more reasonable on the mainland. Yvette is preparing an audio class for us in her absence.
I feel like I got very little done today, or at least it feels that way. My big accomplishment was cleaning the fixed screens on the lanai, well, one panel. I finally figured out a good way to do the cleaning. I have one of those garden spray systems, a two-gallon jobbie. I spray the screen holding the nozzle of the garden spray bottle sideways, so more area is covered. I spray the area repeatedly. I have cloth on the ledge below to catch the water. Then I wipe the water off the screen. I repeat this until the cloth comes out clean as I wipe. Voila! It's labor-intensive, but, boy, you can see the difference. I step back and forth between the screen I cleaned and the one by its side to compare the difference. Mind, my screens never 'look' dirty. It's not like they're opaque with mud. After finishing that one screen panel, I sprayed the close weave carpet with water and sucked it up with the Rainbow vacuum cleaner.
While I was doing this, a moment I shared with Mike came to mind. My thought was "a shared life." There was nothing major about the moment. It wasn't a high or low moment, just a moment, the stuff shared lives are made out of. We were knitted together. I had initially written, "we were so knitted together." But we weren't so knitted together. We had very separate lives, too. It was the perfect balance for me. I hope it was for him also. I think he believed that he hadn't spent enough attention to me before he retired. I don't know who he thought I was. I was not the needy type. What I did need, he gave to me except for a few years there in Ohio. Those were the cool years. We didn't fight. We weren't mean to each other. We continued to be kind and considerate, but the light had gone out. That was horrible. Once the warmth and laughter were back in place, I was good.
I had some thoughts about getting back to work on that article on my reading method. Watching that classroom teacher work with a student alone made it clear that I do something very different. I was shocked when I observed what she considered a reading lesson. She would often say that she wished she could listen to kids read individually as I did. I think she believed that was all I did, just listen as they read and told students the correct answer when they didn't get it. Sad.
I had a thought about D. today. He was making no progress in identifying the sounds in words. We always have to start from scratch. Today it occurred to me that maybe he thinks he is supposed to 'remember what the sound is. No, no, no. He is supposed to discover it from his own speech.
In past years, I would be kicking myself around the black for not thinking of this sooner. I have learned that everything is in its own season. "In teaching, as in comedy, timing is everything." If the student isn't ready, forget it. You can't force change on people. Sometimes all you can offer is presence and patience. It's a lot like fishing. I feel I'm constantly on the lookout for a teaching moment.
Following Sandor's advice, I turned on all the fans and air conditioners that never get used. If I run them 15 minutes a week when the sun is high, that should keep them in working order.
Yesterday, I did more work on my relationship with my fear on my own. I lived in constant fear as a child. My mother was always angry at me for things I had done, for something I was, and for things I wasn't and hadn't done. It didn't seem to make any difference. When I told her she was hurting me, she would get really furious, accusing me of saying it for the sole purpose of causing her pain.
I think I finally am having a moment where I am waiting for my mother to 'come through for me.' This is what therapists always claimed people wanted, for the person who hurt them to come through for them. I want her to admit that she did damage to me, so I can stop feeling bad. At the end of her life, I learned that she felt free to use her children, mainly me, to release tension. Yelling relaxed her. She meant no harm. She refused to acknowledge that she did harm.
I find it very hard to let go when I picture her hanging on to her perspective. I have no idea why. By initiating a separation without her consent is the best chance we had of deep reconciliation.
I initiated a separation from her shortly after I met Mike. I wrote to her I had been afraid of her all my life. I had tried everything. Now, I was going to try a complete break. I sent that letter in August. In early November, she called me and said she forgave me and was willing to continue our relationship. She was shocked when I said I wasn't ready. That was the first time she recognized that I was an independent human being with my own thoughts and feelings over which she had no control. It was definitely the first time that she realized that if she wanted to ever have a relationship with me, she would have to come to terms with my having boundaries and expectations of my own.
If it hadn't been for that break, what developed would never have been possible. The following Thanksgiving, a relative called and asked if I would consider coming if my mother was there. We were cool and polite, but things got better rapidly. She spent the last eighteen years of her life living with Mike and me. I don't think she ever recognized that that was only possible because of that earlier action. It established boundaries without which I could never have considered the later arrangement.
Today I realized that it isn't only the fear I hate, but I also hate myself for feeling fear. That's a toughy. It feels like my feelings betrayed me. But who do I attack? Who do I blame for this betrayal? True, my mother triggered these feelings in a young child. True, it is immoral to do so. It robs the soul. That's what the Nazis did to the Jews. They dehumanized them successfully and then blamed them for their condition. That is true evil.
In my mom's case, I think she just had PTSD. She had no way to see herself clearly. Dorothy and I agreed that she was about 8 months old when she had me and about two when she had Dorothy. She was undeveloped. Prenarssitic. Her primary trauma was a medical one that started right after her birth and ended when she was six months old. She's lucky she came out with any sanity given what she went through. Her lack of psychological development was her worst characteristic, but it was also her best. She had a childlike capacity for joy and wonder.
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