Today my mother would have been 117. I miss her.
I listened to a TED talk as I walked, "How your emotions change the shape of your heart." I suspect that's why I felt so lousy yesterday. That's what that feeling, like the inside of an ashtray, is about.
People expected me to feel this way about Mike's death, not some tree guys lousy treatment of my fruit trees. Everything with Mike was based on love and caring, mine for him and his for me, and the doctors' best efforts. I'm fine as long as I know there is caring in the air. When faced with cold indifference or contempt, I collapse.
Dorothy thought it had to do with being sensitive to what people think of me. No, no, no. I have the same reaction when I see behavior like that in a movie. I am terrified by the human capacity for indifference. I have known for a long time that my response is not only extreme but dysfunctional as well. It serves no purpose. I have always suspected PTSD caused by my family's experience in Nazi Germany and my mother's behavior, driven by her PTSD.
The other day it occurred to me that there may be another source. I was born in 1940. For my first birthday, the Japanese blew up Pearl Harbor. When the US entered the war, their enemy was not just Japan but Germany as well. Some people attacked Germans living in the US. My parents read about German-speaking babies being attacked in their carriages. This scared them badly enough to stop speaking German to me. My mom was paranoid as it was. I can't begin to imagine how she must have felt going out with me, concerned that she would have to protect herself and me from some crazed anti-German. My background has made me super sensitive to people's intolerance of differences, particularly cultural ones.
I had a piece of Tilapia last night from a bag of fillets from Costco. I had one before that was terrible. I had poached it. I tried broiling the fillet with butter, seasoned with parsley and dill. OMG! What a difference! Now I'm going to dream of having it for dinner again.
I'm sure one of the things Mike worried about as he lay dying was how I would feed myself. I have always hated cooking. He was the one and only cook for the last 45 years, even during one period when all he served was rice, broccoli, and broiled chicken – every night. I actually complained. Surprise! I'm doing just fine. I don't eat the same thing every night. I always have either a large serving of salad or a large serving of some vegetables. – and of course, Hersey's Milk Chocolate with almonds in some form.
I watched the end of The Queen's Gambit last night. It's simplistic in its theme, but I enjoyed watching it. Given that much of the film is watching people stare at a chessboard, make a move, and then go back to staring at that same chessboard, you have to wonder why it's interesting. But it is. It's absolutely fascinating. I know nothing, absolutely nothing, about chess. I didn't enjoy it because I could follow what was going on. What made it enjoyable was just watching people stare, move and go back to staring. What a pleasant relief!
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Musings:
In listening to talks on marriage and adultery, they speak about people's need for novelty. I find so much novelty within the small space of my life that's about as much as I can handle.
In T.S. Elliot's The Cocktail party, he comments (as I remember it), "Always greet your loved ones as strangers every day." We can't even know ourselves perfectly. Those who think they do know everything about themselves are in denial. I keep working with my therapist because I learn something new about myself in every session.
If I am a source of endless novelty for myself, how can I know someone else perfectly? It may be that someone won't allow you to get to know them. I can imagine that some people consider it invasive for someone to view them as an endlessly changing canvas. They like their static self-image. It would get old fast for me.
I think we are somewhat different people with each person we have contact with. I remember a commune-mate of mine commented that I was the same with each person I talked to. Weird because I felt like a completely different person with each person I spoke to. Yes, there was a core me. For me, it's like being a color. Blue stays blue regardless of the other colors around it, but it is also completely different because of the surrounding colors. I guess it's a paradox. If anything, the more I know myself and deepen my knowledge of my own 'color,' the more I can adapt to my surroundings. In other words, the more I can grow and become a bigger person.
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