Sunday, July 18, 2021

 Sunday, July 18, 2021 

 

            I slept well with no troubling thoughts. Jean, my hanai sister and Mike's first wife called me first thing in the morning. Many years ago, Mike took some books from her library that had been her father's. Since I was emptying the library, she asked me what I would do with them. I had no idea. She told me to mail them to her. She would keep the ones she wanted and give the rest to this wonderful friend that wanted all these old books. She said he planned to donate them to some college library- the Isadore Blumberg Collection. Good luck! Mike had wanted his collection donated- intact- to the seminary where he taught. They refused all the books. I think they would have taken the whole collection if I had volunteered to build the Mike Ross Wing to the library. I think Iggy's books will find the same reception. Mike's books are at least current. Iggy's book date from the thirties through the sixties. They were easy to pick out because they all have those old covers, and many of them are discolored if not falling apart.

            I called Jean yesterday to say that it was a ridiculous idea for me to send her the books now while she and John were frantically getting rid of stuff in anticipation of their move to a retirement village. I would wait until they were in their new quarters for a few months. 

            This morning she called with a better suggestion. She figured the books she allowed Mike to take were not ones she would hold as precious in the first place. I should mail them directly to her friend. Done! She sent me his address and phone number. I will text him to warn him about the six or seven boxes of books coming his way.

    The swings between grief, loneliness, and being okay are interesting. I am delighted to see that I can have stable, contented moments. That's a good sign. Other times I'm fighting back the tears. I'm trying to stay with the sadness. 

     Some of the grief was old, relating to my difficult relationship with my mom. As a child, I had no idea what was going on. I didn't understand until shortly before her death. During my childhood, she was always putting me down. If I remembered something differently, there was a problem with my memory; if I perceived something differently, there was a problem with my sanity; if I knew something she didn't know, it was worthless information; if I didn't know something, she did know, how could I be so out of touch with the world; and God forbid, I held a different opinion from her. There was a standard back and forth n. "No one believes what you do."  "I believe it." You're no one; you're no one." This was my whole childhood.

            I once approached her and told her how she hurt me. She argued that she never did anything to hurt me; I told her this because I wanted to hurt her. How's that for totally crazy-making?  

            I figured it all out in my old age. I was over sixty. My mom and I were watching TV together. A model came on the screen. She said, "Isn't she beautiful?" I had just thought, "Wow! She's unattractive. I said, "No," anticipating an interesting conversation. She said, "Why do you always put me down?" Oh, boy. Is that what was going on? I couldn't imagine someone thinking that everyone thought the same. No, I never explained it to her. 

     I know my father tried to explain how people held different perceptions and opinions when I was young. Once, she walked up to me and said, "If two people always think the same thing, there is only one mind at work." Even at 12, I knew those were my father's words. My mother never thought in such abstract terms. Those words were a lifeline for me for the rest of my life. I couldn't conceive why anyone would expect everyone to think the same way they did. 

            On the subject of her hurting me, we have a different problem. It arises in people who want not only to be good but are obsessed with the need to see themselves as a good person and who never does harm. They argue they can only do harm if they intend it. These folks are as dangerous as any sociopath. While they live by the code, "Do no harm, they are not on the alert for the harm they do- we all do. It's part of the human condition. If someone's good person status depends on doing NO harm, they must blind themselves to the damage they do. Very dangerous. Very harmful.

            I remembered it was Jean's husband John's 85 birthday today. I called and offered to sing the "Ross "happy birthday song. It's an off-key, fa sol la version. John giggled in delight. He also told me they had a set of encyclopedias dated 1911. I thought Egad. But John told me it was a prized edition. He is going to try and sell them.

            My niece's mother-in-law's funeral was this morning at 2 pm EST and 8 am my time. I signed in. The in-person attendees were milling around before the service began. I saw the back of my sister's head. I expected her to stay home and care for her 2-year-old grandson, who couldn't attend because unvaccinated children weren't allowed. I texted her without expecting her to answer. I saw my niece talk to her and check her phone. I immediately texted her. Yes, her mother was at the service, and her brother came from New Jersey to care for the two-year-old. 

            My nephew, David, had just visited Karin in Seattle the week before. That visit was scheduled before it became clear that Nancy didn't have much more time. David, Karin's husband, and Nancy's son went down before David, Karin's brother, arrived in Seattle. Karin came to Connecticut to be with the rest of her husband's family after David, her brother, left. The point is that Sam, the 2-year-old, was well bonded with Uncle David. He had been riding on his back, being the extra weight for David's pushups.

            When the service started, there was still no sound on the Zoom. The Zoom participants were chatting, remarking on this. I texted every number I had, Karin's, her husband, David, and David's brother and sister. I figured if everyone texted everyone, one would have their phone on vibrate and respond when they got multiple texts. It was surprising that the temple didn't have Zoom down pat. Our church here and a synagogue in New Jersey Zoom their services. I would have thought this one did too. Eventually, we could hear the speakers, but the acoustics were so bad that we couldn't understand what they said. I suppose I'll find out why it went wrong. It was too bad too. I could hear the laughter as people gave their eulogies. I would have liked to learn more about this lady, although I only met her twice.

            In the middle of this, Damon called. He was about to jump into the shower to go off to attend a birthday party for one of his closest friends, Eddie, a friend of over 25 years from Vassar. Damon is planning a trip next summer when Eddie will turn 50. Concerned that his good friend won't be there for the event, he did his big bash this year.  

            Eddie rented his favorite restaurant and sent out 230 invitations offering free food and drinks, expecting thirty people to attend. Damon said 130 had already RSVP'd, and there were a few maybes. Damon and another good friend, Mike, had already offered to throw in some money to help Eddie pay for it. I also offered to throw in some money if it became necessary. 

            I talked a little about how badly I was doing. The grief was strong upon me. I didn't know if it was full strength, but it was bad. I feel so alone. Damon recommended I consider moving into a  retirement community where I will have more people. Of course, I don't know if that's the case. I love my home; I have friends in the neighborhood. If I move into a retirement community, I will be encased in my quarters, not out in the open as I am now. My house can't be closed off. I am always in nature. Also, there is no guarantee that I will find a like-minded person in a retirement community. 

            Judy's in-laws settled in a Honolulu retirement community. Judy said it was absolutely gorgeous. They hated it. They were east coast Jews living in a predominantly Asian community. They moved out of there and in with Judy. The kids had to give up their rooms and move into the garage. It all worked out.

       I got a call from Judy right after I got off the phone with Damon. Don's, a worshipper from church, car brokedown. She needed my help in finding a car for him. The car rental agencies here were defuncted because they got rid of all their cars during Covid. Our next-door neighbor has set up a Turo cottage industry, renting out eight cars. There were currently six sitting in their lot. Our neighbors had to return to Canada because they never got their residence visas. A friend is running their Turo business in their absence. I left a sign on one of the cars asking them to contact me. Mei, the wife, texted me. I had forgotten that I could have contacted her directly. With a little back a forth between Peter, Mei's husband, Judy, me, and Don, we got Don talking to Peter. It's out of my hands now.

            I had adolescent D at 3 pm. I've been working with him on the weekend because he's leaving tomorrow for 12 days. His mother had set up the appointment for 3 pm yesterday. At the end of that session, I told D I would ask his mother about Sunday. He set it up for 3 pm. I had to text his mother to make sure it was okay with her since she was paying for it. I'm thrilled with his attitude. He is happy to be working with me. Today I could say, "You missed one word in this sentence. Please, reread it and correct that word." I would never have said that to him two months ago. He would have crumbled in self-hatred. Now, it was just a mild challenge. He says he sees no improvement in his reading, but this change in attitude says otherwise. While he still makes mistakes, they're fewer, and he often catches them and self-corrects. I don't just teach reading; I teach metacognitive skills. I teach him to be aware of his mind, how it works, and how to make changes. His mom said she could see an improvement in his self-confidence.

            I walked down to Adam and Jazzy's house to see if I could get a jar of sauerkraut opened. In the past, I have taken a jar on one of my short walks. When a car comes down the street, I stop it and ask the driver to open the jar. So far, so good, but no cars today. I headed to Adam and Jazzy's. She answered the door with Zion, her one-year-old, on one arm. She had to go get a towel to improve her grip. These jars present a challenge to a thirty-year-old. No way, I can open them.

            If I hadn't written all this, I would have thought today was a day where nothing happened. It certainly feels empty but look at all I had to say about it.   Thank God I have this writing.