Wednesday, May 15, 2024

Wednesday, May 15, 2024 

   Darby brought over two empty egg cartons and a star apple, whatever that may be. Star apples are a fruit grown here in Hawaii. The variety of fruits is unfamiliar and astounding. I put both items in my mailbox in the late evening and texted Nina. If I didn't run into Dean and Nina on my walk, they could pick it up as they passed. 

  I ran into them at the end of my block. Nina was carrying a shopping bag. I turned around to accompany them. When we came to my house, Dean announced he wouldn't go into my mailbox. He had expressed objections to leaving eggs in our mailboxes. That was understandable. If they were in there when the sun came up, they would be cooked when someone came to get them. But this was different. Nothing could go wrong with the empty egg cartons; the apple had only been in the mailbox overnight. It was still early enough to have avoided the sun's baking effect. This was some rule he was following. Of course, it's not just his rule. Using a mailbox for any purpose other than mail is a federal offense. The only people legally allowed to use a mailbox are the mail carrier and the owner. That's it.  I said it was OK if they picked up items from inside my side door. That didn't appeal to Dean either.  It sounded like a boundary issue. He said Darby could come down to his house to drop them off. 

   Dropping things off or picking them up at his house is a challenge. You can't contact Dean to tell him you're on your way or there. He has no cell phone and no actual landline in his home.  He has an old-fashioned dial phone. It's hooked up to his in-laws landline.  If his wife, Nina, wants to call Dean, she dials her parents' number, and they yell up to Dean. His in-laws speak only speak Chinese.  No one calls on that number except Nina. 

   Then there's the gate, which is kept closed. Darby dropped by once to see the batch of young chicks in a tent set up in their living room. She had to coordinate her visit with Nina's arrival home. 

     I stopped by once. It was at the end of our morning walk. Dean was there already.  I like Dean despite his curmudgeon aspects.  I tease him about it. I felt free to because I saw Nina do it. I thought it was a show of affection. Of course, I did that to Mike, too. He wasn't crazy about it.

   On our morning walk, Elsa used all her strength in that thirteen-pound body to force me to cut our walk short.  Impressive.   

   When we got home, she did something else unusual. Of course, I did something that allowed that. After taking the garbage bag out of its container, I set it on the floor while I did something else; I don't remember what.  When I returned to the kitchen, the bag's contents were strewn over the kitchen floor. Elsa had attacked it. There was no foodstuff in the bag; why did she do that? Ah, there was an empty dog food bag.  I'm sure the remaining scent was enough for her.

   I thoroughly washed the bathroom floor today. It was long overdue. Nothing takes as long or is as hard as I fear it will.

   I was in the church parking lot by 11 am to meet with Paulette for lunch.  She was running late. Paulette ran the wedding ministry for the church. She had to meet someone at 10:30 after the Kupuna meeting, which I decided to drop out of because I started falling asleep behind the wheel on my way to the meeting. I have no idea what caused that degree of stress, but it did. Going to the meeting wasn't worth risking my life. I texted Paulette to tell her I was there. She was running late. The woman she was supposed to meet came closer to 11 than 10:30. I pushed back the car seat and read. I wasn't in a hurry. 

   Paulette found me in the parking lot when she was ready. She had proposed eating at a restaurant across the street that sold great hamburgers. It was closed until noon. We walked down the street to see if something else looked good.  As we walked, Paulette commented on the smell of the sea. She missed the sea smell of the Atlantic.  I did, too. We were both East Coast kids, swimming on the New York and New Jersey seashores.  For a brief moment, the Hawaiian sea smelled like our beloved Atlantic Ocean. I had always thought the salt gave it that distinctive smell. Nope. It's rotting algae. There's none of that in Hawaiian waters. It's a food desert.  Whales come down here to give birth to their babies. They live on the fat they built up over the winter up north. 

    As we walked, we found a restaurant that appealed to us.  We shared a small homemade pizza, half Margarita and half pepperoni.  It was the perfect amount and delicious.  

    After lunch, we continued strolling down Ali'I Drive, looking in shop windows.  I wondered where Lava Java was; had we passed it?  We saw the sign as we returned to the church parking lot. It was the restaurant we had eaten in.

   I met with Mama K's twins.  Twin A is doing remarkably better. Her reading fluency has improved, as has her comprehension. We read an article about a flower called 'Snow in Winter.' It took a minute for her to get it, but she did it in a way that demonstrated logical thinking. Wow! She was also articulate in giving a summary of the article.  It was all in her own words. Wow!

   I had been working with Twin E on first-grade material, but I didn't have anything easily accessible. So, I used the third-grade material I was currently using with Twin A. Wow! She could read that. The other day, she announced she was starting to figure out big words. I didn't check her comprehension. One milestone at a time.

   I accidentally came across a podcast on empaths on YouTube. I have watched several since; none of them carry the same message. Most of them are about the plight of the poor empath. They don't discuss it as a problem for the person and those around them. This one did. It was very helpful. I'm an empath, for better and for worse.

   There must be healthy family structures that produce empaths, but this one discussed the unhealthy ones. It sounded like my experience. Babies need parents who attune to their needs. My mother was incapable or unwilling to do that. I recently found a picture of my mom sitting with my four—or five-year-old sister on her lap in an attuned state. I sent it to my sister. We both understood what an unusual state it was for my mom. 

   As far as we can figure out, my mom considered attunement, along with all forms of affection, sexual and avoided them on moral grounds.  I'm sure she was concerned about hurting us. 

    It wasn't that we weren't flooded by her negative energy. She had little control over her moods and negative behavior. It was just the positive state she inhibited. Mind you, she rarely hit us. I remember being struck once when I was in kindergarten and not again until I was nineteen when she slapped me across the face for being late. Even she understood that was off the charts. When she returned to work after that incident and told her colleagues what had happened, they told her she was lucky I didn't slap her back. I didn't. I turned tail and walked away.

   But back to a mother incapable of positive attunement. It creates a hungry ghost and an encapsulated ghost.  The hungry ghost describes me as constantly vigilant for danger in others while searching for connection. I was the typical anxious, avoidant child, just like my mother.

  The images of some part of me constantly groping in the air to make a connection came to me.  I saw it as part of myself that didn't belong out there.  I gave permission for it to be returned to me. The feeling of agony that has haunted me for my whole life was resolved. It quieted. Let's see if I'm going to be better off without it.  It will be an adjustment either way.