Mike's death; Betty's life...

Tuesday, February 3, 2026

Friday, February 11, 2022

I slept well. I hadn't been getting up at 5:30. It was so dark. I made it out for my morning walk with Elsa by 6 am. It was still pitch black. We're past the winter solstice; the days are supposed to be getting longer. I don't see any evidence of that. Darby explained to me the other day why I'm not seeing a change in the morning. She said we were in a period when the day gets a little longer at sunset but not at sunrise. I have no idea why that happens.

I had a chiropractic appointment this morning at what I thought was 8:30 am. I set my alarm for 7:30 for my shower and 8 am for my departure time. Halfway there, the phone rang. I didn't recognize the number but answered. The voice said, "You missed your chiropractic appointment. You have to reschedule." I flipped out. I had two appointments this morning. It sounded like she had canceled both because I had missed the first. I cracked. I way overreacted. In the past, if I got a call like that, I'd say, "Oh, shit!" and let it go at that. Today, I was devastated. I said, "You're telling me to just go home." She hung up on me. When I arrived at the office, the chiropractor was standing at the door waiting for me. I said, "Are you going to let me in?" I understood I had overreacted. I missed my chiropractic appointment for treatment of my left foot. The work she did was helpful. The second appointment was for an hour-long electronic something or another that she said would help calm my nervous system. Well, it had its work cut out for it. The receptionist with who I had spoken was nowhere to be seen. I suspect she was as traumatized by the exchange as I was.

While the woman did nothing wrong, she didn't do a good job either. When delivering bad news, it's worthwhile taking a reassuring tone rather than a mechanical one. Something like, "Hi, Betty. Are you okay? You were supposed to be here at 8 am." Whatever, she was not responsible for the depth of my response. However, I told her, "You're telling me you've canceled both my appointments and should just go home." As it wound up, she did cancel both, assuming I don't know what. My best guess is she's not good a delivering bad news and compensates by becoming officious. Bad solution. The receptionist is usually a delightful lady. I don't think either of us will recover easily from that exchange.

I arrived in time for my second appointment for the electronic treatment. I lay down on the massage table in a side room. The chiropractor asked me if I had plenty of water to drink. I said, "Yes. I had two cups of water." She said, "You were supposed to have two quarts of water." Huh? This is the first she defined 'plenty of water.' She also said, "Make sure you don't have a complex emotional experience today." I had a therapy appointment scheduled for 11. I told her I had an appointment at 11. True, she hadn't known it was a therapy appointment, but she did know that I shouldn't take on emotionally challenging situations. How did she know I didn't have a meeting with a lawyer, the school principal because my child was having problems, or a luncheon date with a difficult friend, etc., etc. She didn't know what I had on my schedule, but she did know that I needed to take it easy. Why was she only telling me now-now when there was nothing I could do about the water consumption or my schedule for the rest of the day.

After half an hour, the chiropractor returned to the room to adjust the electronic flow. I asked her, "Two quarts over what period of time?" "In the two hours before the procedure." You've got to be kidding me?!! You're telling me this now. I only thought those words. I said, "I would never have done this procedure if you had told me that." She said a lot of people feel that way. Thinking she thought consuming that much water was out, I told her, "While the consumption might have been a problem, the real problem was at the other end. After drinking two quarts of water, I would spend most of that hour in the bathroom rather than the treatment room." I left without rescheduling. The receptionist was nowhere in sight. I assumed she was hiding from me. While I might – or might not- recover from the trauma of our exchange, if she was hiding, I doubted she ever would. I had been harboring thoughts of finding a chiropractor covered by insurance for a while. I had been reasonably satisfied with her service. I was also given a reason to switch; she missed an important aspect of my condition. But that story is for another day.

When I got out, there was a text from Yvette saying that Scott would be repairing a broken fence today. The front gate was closed when I arrived at the house. I honked repeatedly.

Scott eventually came to open the gate. I apologized for not texting instead of honking. It wasn't just Scott I needed to apologize to. I needed to walk throughout the neighborhood apologizing. No one, and I mean no one, honks their horn here. It never happens. It's one of the things that makes living here so lovely.

I went down to look at Scott's handiwork. He is very gifted. All his work is artistry. I asked him where he learned to do it. He said from his dad and smiled. Scott's relationship with his dad had a ragged edge to it, but working with him on construction was a joy. His dad was very gifted. Scott was obviously proud of his dad.

I had a session with Shelly. First, I told her about my experience with the 22-year-old girl she recommended as a temporary guest until she settled here in Hawaii. I told Shelly I found her passive. She was unwilling to ask for what she wanted. Shelly said she found her aggressive. She was so aggressive with her mother that she nearly gave her a heart attack. What??? Why in God's name did Shelly suggest that I have this girl stay in my home at any time, no less when I'm alone and having difficulty myself. I had a clear image of this girl nesting into my home, not relating well to me, and not having any clear plans for developing her own life. Why bother when she had someone she could live off of. OMG!

While I wasn't as hysterical as in our last session, I was in a disturbed state, asking for help. Shelly was throwing practical suggestions at me. I am never looking for practical suggestions from a therapist. One of my concerns was the lack of positive feedback from clients. I do good work, but some people said they were taking the summer off and never called me. That hurt. The only parent who has said anything positive is adolescent D's mother. She appreciated that it was unlikely that anyone else could have helped her son. Some methods might have helped him if properly administered, but he needed a teacher who considered his ego. Also, I was able to make some changes in his perceptual system.

Shelly pointed out that people may reject me because of my age. Great! I have started worrying about it. I don't think I needed to hear it. I think I worry more about my looks in general than my age, but they're related.

I had two recommendations for a new chiropractor, one from the PT and one from the acupuncturist. I got on the site the KP customer service rep had directed me to. It still wasn't working. "No results" was all I got and all I had gotten for a month straight. I called KP customer service to complain. This rep worked with me to get on the site. She said I had to get in through the KP site, not directly, as I had been told by the previous rep. She must have spent an hour with me. She gave me the same address over and over, but it didn't work. Finally, we got through. I was so done; I didn't check the names to see if Kaiser covered them.

The guest on NPR's Science Friday talked about grief. The speaker spoke of the neurological aspect of grief. She said the imprint of the other person stays with us for a long time. Our brains expect to see them. This changes the concept of denial. It's not denial because it's not conscious. The speaker described one experiment with an animal, like a rat. The rat was put in a box with Legos for long enough to imprint that image on its mind. Then they put the animal in a container without the Legos. They could see that the rat's brain still 'saw' the Legos present. Adapting to something new is difficult.

My imprint of Mike has run out. I am finally all alone. Wow! This is hard. I think I'm falling apart. I am not doing well. Mostly, I think I look like I am okay, except for my meltdown this morning. I wondered what Shelly was thinking about, recommending this girl stay in my house when she knew she could be capable of vicious verbal attacks. What the hell is going on? I seem to have the capacity to bring out the worst in therapists.

I spoke to John, my hanai sister's husband, today. She's been home from the hospital since Monday. I had heard some of the stories. I thought she was supposed to come home on Tuesday. John said that both Jean and he had assumed they would be able to drive home together and she would spend time in her own bed recuperating. These days, they get you up and walking almost as soon as you come out of the anesthesia and send you home after your first poop. But that was not the case with Jean.

During the discharge process, they first learned Jean would have to spend time in a rehab facility for at least 10 days. They said they would send her to a place close to an hour away from where they lived. John said that wouldn't work. When they checked, they discovered one right in their retirement community. Perfect. John could walk over there every day and spend time with her.

The other surprising news was that Jean would be traveling by ambulance, not in her own car, with John driving. The ambulance ride was hell. I once rode in an ambulance. It is one bumpy ride. I hate to think how painful it was for Jean with her recent back surgery.

Ambulance rides are bumpy because there needs to be more equipment in the vehicle than the springs can support. They would need an ambulance the size of a truck to provide a smooth ride. All's well that ends well. Jean survived the ambulance ride and was safely ensconced in a rehab facility within walking distance of her home.

Thursday, February 10, 2022

I slept like a baby last night. My left foot did reasonably well on my morning walk. I got almost 2,000 steps in.

I finally canceled my DVD subscription to Netflix. I only recently realized that I was paying for that, and it's taken a while to get around to calling them to end it. The agent told me to return the DVDs I still had. Oh, dear. I hadn't watched a DVD for at least four years. I remember seeing the last ones we ordered at one point, but that was a while ago. He said I would be charged for them if I didn't find them. I went to look for them. I remembered where I had seen them last. Sure enough. They were: The Sapphires, a film about Hitchcock, and Shakespeare Retold I.

When I met with adolescent D., he admitted his reading was improving. At the end of the session, with two minutes left, he asked if we could end early. He's never asked for that before. He had worked hard, I said sure. Then he said, "Hold on." I had no idea what he had in mind. Then he said, "Can you see my screen?" Yes. There was his image, although so backlit I couldn't see his face. I know, you're thinking, what's the big deal. That was a huge deal. I had not seen his face in our Zoom meetings yet.

From the beginning, he never allowed me to see his face. He put up one of two images. The multiplication table or an image of a Hawaiian beach. Once, his dad walked through the room and asked sarcastically, "Don't you think it would be better if you could see him?" I snapped something back at him. I felt the boy's sense of safety trumped everything. If hiding his face reduced his stress, great. As long as I thought it didn't interfere with his learning, I was good with it.

I called his mom immediately after our session. I asked, "Are you sitting down?" She wasn't as impressed when I told her. She didn't get the significance. Some of it is his trust in me. But even better is his increase in his own self-confidence. When we started, this boy wrote hateful messages about himself in school. I didn't know if he would show his face again. I was open to both possibilities. I was hoping he would one day be willing to do this independently.

I brought up the subject of his teacher's attitude toward D's presentation, insisting he had memorized it and not read it. His mother said, "He memorized them in the past." Huh? I couldn't imagine he could have memorized a whole speech. It wound up his mom was using memorize to describe an off-the-cuff speech based on an outline. That is not memorization. The following demonstrates memorization. These are the exact words of a poem by Emily Dickenson.

The thought beneath so slight a film

Is more distinctly seen,

As laces just reveal the surge-

Or mist the Apennine.

Dash showed terrific changes in his executive function when putting his presentation together.

1. He remembered to do it. (Dash has severe memory problems)

2. He selected the slides and composed the text on his own. (He probably dictated the text into his phone.)

3. He read the text to his mom.

4. He asked his mom to check his text

5. He did that on Wednesday, 2 days before it was due.

6. He instructed his mom to bold sections because he knew he had trouble following the text.

Wednesday, February 9, 2022

I had some difficulty falling asleep last night. I did deep breathing to calm my mind and my soul. I slept well then. When I woke up, the thoughts started again. Loneliness is pressing in on me.

Both my feet bothered me this morning. I hadn't worn the sling on the hammer toe on my right foot for a while. I did today. The problem hadn't been getting worse. Doing Graston using the gua stone every evening was working.

Because Terry, my PT, declared that the problem was with my right leg, I worked on getting more on turning out that hip as I walked. Too bad my feet were bothering me. I got an appointment reminder from Kaiser for the podiatrist on the 16th. I doubt there is much a doctor can do for me. The physical therapists and chiropractor have recommended exercises and inserts already. I hoped he could help me with my fungused toenail.

I edited my update post for February 9, 2021, and posted it on the public blog. It is the writing that keeps me going. It occupies my mind and helps me feel like I'm doing something. I feel engaged. Some would prefer to read. I prefer to write. Writing engages my mind and my soul.

I've become aware of how different behaviors are safe for other people. For me producing, speaking, or writing feels safer. I certainly have toned that down over the years. Looking back over the years, I preferred talking because I was terrified to find out what the other person had to say. I certainly was afraid of what was on my mother's mind. I had good reason to fear it.

Then some people don't speak and prefer to listen. Some people don't talk because they fear how others will judge them. They're not good listeners; they're reluctant talkers. There are other ways of accomplishing that: limit the topics that can be discussed. Nowadays, I often prefer to be the listener because it distracts me from my own thoughts. That has nothing to do with being interested in the other person's story. I happen to be interested. Like Judy and Paulette, I always want to know about others. Why are they the way they are? What influenced their life choices? Why do they do one thing versus another? Endlessly interesting. Each person is as unique as a snowflake. It's amazing.

I drove to Holualoa around 12:30 to pick up sourdough rye from the Sundog bread company, one unsliced for me and a sliced for Judy. No one was in line when I arrived shortly after 1 pm. The couple who run the bakery set up a tent in the town parking lot and sell their wares every Wednesday from 1-4 pm. They sell out each time. They used to be in the parking lot two days a week, but they got business from the restaurants and hotels and cut their public offering to one.

I told the woman I couldn't order online on Monday afternoon. She was somewhat annoyed and said no one else had a problem; they had many orders come in on Monday afternoon. I also told her the last time I ordered, I couldn't order the unsliced, only the sliced. She said again no one else had problems. It was only me.

I had Mama K's crew this afternoon. We tried to use the computer I gave them. Whada bust! It was painfully slow, and the sound system didn't work in either direction. The kids couldn't hear me, and their voices were warbling. The kids used their mother's phone. More important than being on Zoom, each child was in a somewhat secluded area away from the other nine people living in the house, five of which are other children.

None of Mama K's crew had thought about something they wanted to write. However, pulling an idea out of them and getting details wasn't difficult. I heard an improvement in the verbal expression skills of all three. It's hard to know the cause of the improvement; there's maturation, opportunities for oral expression at school, their writing exercise with me, and listening to the 5 Stories audiofile

I got a phone call from a twenty-two-year-old client of Shelly's who wanted to move to Hawaii and set up a business. Shelly had asked if she could contact me to ask if she could stay in my home for a while. I wound up being an untenable relationship. The young woman was at the extreme end of passivity. I have learned that I don't get along with personalities like that.

When I answered the phone, she said Shelly had told her to call. (I don't remember the exact words. Maybe she even said her name.) Then her voice trailed off, leaving me feeling it was my job to speak next. "Yes, I was expecting your call. Shelly said you would get into business here in Hawaii." To which she responded. "Yes, I want to move to Hawaii," I repeated my question. "Oh, no. I don't have a job there." And then nothing. I knew the objective of this phone call was to see if she could stay in my home as a guest while she figured out her life here. I waited. She said nothing. I waited. She still said nothing. Her tone throughout the conversation was to create a void for me to fill. I did nothing.

It was clear. The young woman was unable to ask for what she wanted. Her silence suggested that she expected me to bring up the topic of her staying in my home, not her. I said, "I'm a highly interactive personality. I've had a lot of experience with people. I have learned that I can't get along with people who don't ask questions and don't ask for what they want. This is an unworkable situation for me. (I believe I told her I was in emotional distress as it was, and living with someone I couldn't get on with was something I wouldn't take on.) She responded, okay.

I wrote Shelly later in the day to tell her what happened. I found it a bruising experience, having to reject someone so bluntly. I was concerned for the girl. I thought that Shelly would be angry at me for not being kinder to such a vulnerable girl. She wrote me back quickly to tell me the girl would be fine. She was sorry I had to have this experience, particularly in my vulnerable state. Her assurance that the girl would be fine led me to think that this girl would dismiss me as weird. Oh, boy. Typical passive-aggressive. I assume the girl is an introvert. Are all introverts passive-aggressive? Isn't it possible to have one that can set their own boundaries and ask for what they want?

While I don't recommend this experience to anyone, there is an upside. I better understand the type of person I could live with. I can detect those I can't get on with and avoid a bad situation for myself and them. I have something close to an interview format by now. I'm sure it won't eliminate all problems. The person has to be someone who can ask for what they want, accept no for an answer, and be interested in negotiating without pushing their point too far. They also have to be someone I can ask something of and be willing to negotiate with me if their first response is no. They have to be interested in knowing more about me and find my interest in learning more about them enjoyable. They don't have to be well educated or particularly knowledgeable on any topic. But they can't be uncomfortable with my verbal ability, knowledge, or interest in discussing concepts. If they have a limited interest in my ideas, they should be able to say, "Not now." There is no reason someone should share my degree of interest in a topic any more than I should share an interest in theirs. But as Yvette has pointed out, I'm interested in everything-except cooking.

After an admittedly superficial search of the internet, I couldn't find terms to describe interaction ranges in positive relationship styles. They focus on the negative and lump good relationships as just secure. But there are all sorts of ways of achieving that end.

Avoidant/parallel play______________________________________interactive/ enmeshed

independent connected

Judy stopped over and brought me two gallons of Kangen water. They had been buying it from a supplier every three days. Paulette finally bought the machine that processes the water. This is tricky stuff. The device does something to affect the PH of the water. The effect lasts only three days. You must keep the water in a closed container, or the PH alters. Jeez, Louise! The water is supposed to be very good for you. Someone reported having fewer stomach issues. I had none to start out with. I wonder if I will ever see a difference.

I hadn't heard from Isaac for a couple of days. I texted him. He contracted Covid. It must have been from his new friends with who he played an outdoor game unmasked. He was sick as a dog. I asked if there was anything I could do for him. He said he wanted some soup. I decided to call him, give him a choice o the type of soup and bring it over. The next thing I knew, I had a text saying he had walked to my house, and there was nothing in the mailbox. Oh, well.

Tuesday, February 8, 2022

I had a restless night's sleep. I slept lightly through the night, wrestling with the attitude of adolescent D's teachers. I was concerned their hostile attitude toward D reflected their feelings toward me.

His mother asked his teachers to contact me at the beginning of the school year. One teacher, his English and Social Studies teacher, didn't call until right before Christmas vacation. We had a good talk. She had been asking nothing of him up to this point because she understood he couldn't read and his self-image was damaged. She planned to ask him to do something in the coming semester.

I called her back the next day, leaving a voice mail, expressing excitement. I had a few ideas. She never called me back again. Reflecting on her response, I have concluded she interpreted my excitement as pushy. I can appreciate that. I had a friend push ideas on me that she found exciting. I felt overwhelmed. I asked her to stop. I expect others to do that. This woman didn't get that there was no way I'd expect someone to do what I recommended. I' expect them to tell me what they respond to and what they don't respond to. That way, I can modify my recommendation. I love making those changes in my thinking. I find it creatively satisfying. I love doing it. I also don't do well when someone tells me to use a method. It takes me time to adjust. I expect everyone else to be the same way. If my approach to reading were ever accepted in the schools, I would oppose teachers being forced to adopt it. That's crazy-making.

On the other hand, after I don't know how many years, I finally got the point of the 'modern math approach.' It didn't hurt that I read that most people never successfully memorize multiplication tables in one of my neuroscience books. If they are going to function mathematically, they need another approach. Is our objective creating an intellectual elite, who can memorize, or is it making as many people as possible functional?

However, in the case of adolescent D's teacher, there is another possibility; she is just a total incompetent. She didn't know he had serious memory problems. There is no way he could have memorized his whole talk. Also, she said she and another teacher were working on his executive functioning. I asked her what she was doing. No answer. First place, executive functioning is the new, flashy name for study skills. My best guess is they give him the list of executive function skills and say, "Do this! Complete this homework!" but give him no support. They're not scaffolding his learning because they have no idea what they're doing. I did ask. I hoped to support them in their efforts. But she never got back to me.

I'd been thinking more about my social interaction style. I remember Shelly saying that families function either independently or enmeshed. Those don't seem like antonyms to me. The antonym of enmeshed is avoidant. In the enmeshed family, everyone has to do what everyone does. Everyone is in everyone else's business, but not in a good way.

In an avoidant family, people avoid each other. Both enmeshed and avoidant are toxic. What does a healthy family look like? They can't be all exactly the same.

The healthy perimeters are independent on one end and engaged on the other. From what I have observed, people on the independent end barely talk to each other and rarely do things together. Yes, there is a healthy version of that. I have observed it. Two people had tough childhoods but felt they could deeply trust each other. In creating a base for each other, they help each other flourish. They create a foundation for each other to make change possible. There meet on some plane. For couples, it could be sexual. That would be enough. They have to have some way to deal with the negatives other than denial and avoidance. Eventually, the relationship backfires.

On the other end, but still short of toxic enmeshment, you have people who do everything together. Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme are an example of this, married parents of two children who worked together in a business that required constant interaction and remained happy with each other for 55 years until Eydie's death.

Any healthy relationship has to have a range of possible ways to interact. If it's stuck at a narrow level, constantly engaging, or always separate, I can't see how it can be healthy. It can't all be one or the other. The difference would be in how much of one relationship style versus another.

On my morning walk, my right foot didn't hurt at all. I have been pushing my left hip to the left as I walk. Katie told me not to do that but to keep my hips even. Problem: They're not aligned correctly in the first place. My weight is distributed too far to my right leg to start with. I have to thrust my hip to the left to even out my weight distribution. When I do that, the pain in the metatarsals of the right foot disappears.

Darby had called last night to tell me she would leave a tangelo for me. She leaves fruit for me on the rocks holding her mailbox in place. I made sure to walk that far to collect it. There was nothing there. I have never had that problem before. I thought she had forgotten to put it out last night.

I walked past her house again in the late morning. Furthermore, there was nothing there. I got worried. I called her house phone and left a message, warning that I would be banging on their door if no one showed up. Darby came up the driveway. She heard my voice but didn't hear what I said. It assured me she and Patrick were okay. She had put out the fruit at 5:30. Someone else must have taken it. This was a first. No one has ever taken the limes she puts out for me. This makes it clear there isn't much demand for limes-but that juicy tangelo. She said she had given me their best one. It was soft and juicy. She returned to the house and came out with two more for me.

I had PT with Terry this afternoon. She worked on the muscles of my left leg. In the end, she said my left leg was straight. She was stunned. She didn't think that would be possible. Now, we had to work on my right leg. The problem is more with my back than either of my legs. She checked my spine. "You poor thing. You're a twisted sister." That I am, I contemplated THR. Terry thought as I have, I need to clear up my spinal curvature before I have THR.

As I left, Terry opened a brown shopping bag sitting on her desk and offered me some tangerines. A client had brought them in. We all have problems getting rid of our access produce. I have two mango trees on my property. They produce several hundred every season. If I don't distribute them wherever I can, they fall to the ground and rot. I said I would take the whole bag. She doled out four to me and then changed her mind. She kept four for herself and gave me the rest of the bag.

I had an appointment with adolescent D later in the afternoon. I asked him about his presentation. Yes, he felt it went well. Did he feel like it took a lot of courage? No, it was just ordinary. That could be good with another student, but because he's a passive floater, I wish he had felt some excitement, some realization that he was doing something he had never dared to do before. There could be an advantage to his lack of self-awareness and memory problems. He can't remember who he was. He lives in the moment. He could read his presentation, so he did—period end of sentence.

I complimented him for his accomplishment. Then we continued working with Phase III of The Phonics Discovery System. Because he had done better on the sight word list, reading words on a third-grade level, I switched to the material on that level instead of the 2nd-grade level. He did reasonably well. There were words he misread. There was one sentence he rendered meaningless. That was a concern. When he reread it and got it right, he said he knew it was wrong. Then he missed the word is. Yes, he couldn't remember it for love nor money. He had to decode it. Why does this happen? Is there anything I can do about it? I hope so.

I watched the first half of Patsy and Loretta, about Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn. It's a made-for-television movie. It's decent. Anything that doesn't stress me out of my mind or annoy me with its silliness is okay. There just has to be something good about it.

Monday, February 7, 2022

I was exhausted when I went to bed last night. I stayed up as long as I could. My first wake-up moment was at 12:30. That's what I was afraid of. I slept or dozed for the rest of the night. It wasn't insomnia. That's a horse of a different color. That's a living nightmare. I couldn't sleep during my last three years of high school before leaving my mother's house. With insomnia, I was exhausted and couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, desperate to find a way to relax enough to let go. Horrible. I pity anyone who suffers. Last night, I dozed lightly while my mind remained conscious.

The CBD pills had knocked out my anxiety, terror more like it. The paranoid thoughts started again in the early morning, thinking of people who didn't understand my point of view. Then I had one where I feared someone might have misinterpreted my friendly email. I haven't had thoughts like that in years. I had no negative interactions with this person. It reflects my mother's insistence that I did everything wrong and that no one liked me. That's what life was like when I was younger. Those messages are locked into my body-brain. Thank you. CBD. I must remember to take a pill when those thoughts start creeping into my mind.

I took one capsule. It didn't calm me. I had to deal with my racing, pounding heart. It didn't help as much as the two pills did last night. I tried meditation. I applied my method: "I release anything negative about my hatred for my terror and keep anything positive or anything I still need." That produced a mild calming. Then I said, "I release anything negative about my love of my terror and keep anything positive about it or anything I still need." Whoa! Substantial calming and a stomach gurgle. Stomach gurgles indicate a response of the sympathetic nervous system. When I do healing on others and hear it, I call it applause for my work. I accept it as an indication that I'm on the right track. But why would I want to hold on to such unpleasant feelings and thoughts? The only thing I could come up with was a frequency I shared with my mother; it was a way to connect with her.

This makes sense when I think of it. My mom suffered from PTSD. She operated at the level of urgency in all situations. No one wants to be alone with no one to share their vibes. We all want to be in harmony with others. It's downright scary to be in a situation when you're not in harmony with those you have to spend a lot of time with. While she didn't mean me ill, she was toxic. That is not to say she didn't do her best. I loved my mom. I adored her. She was adorable. When I gained some control over her negative impact on me, I was delighted to have her spend the last 18 years of her life with me. It was a joy to be a good daughter. Now, let's see if I can clear my psyche of all the negativity so I can spend the rest of my life in relative peace.

My reactivity reminds me of how I felt when I went through menopause. I would have these surges, which felt like anxiety. What I'm feeling now doesn't feel like that, but a surge of uncomfortableness still leaves me feeling out of control. Not fun!

At 11 am, I had my weekly reading office hours for Step Up Tutoring. Three people signed up, but only two showed up. Both were working with 5th graders on writing. I told them to use co-writing. They wanted to know how to generate a topic. I use "Think of a color. Name an object that's that color. Pull the camera back and describe the scene around the object." That works unless the student thinks I'm playing a game where I have a color in mind, and it's their job to guess it. I told them how to do a pre-writing activity, generating ideas. And how to subsequently organize the material. I should have talked to them about Vygotsky's theory on scaffolding, supporting the student to the extent they need it to fulfill the lesson's objective.

The third tutor never showed. I checked my email. She had canceled, telling me that she was having problems teaching decoding. As I recommended in my email, she planned to watch my videos and work with me the following week. Perfect.

Sometimes people just come to mind. Recently, the woman Mike and I got Elsa from came to mind. I finally sent her an email, updating her on Elsa's life. I also sent her a picture of Elsa sitting on my lap, looking at the computer screen.

I was moved to text adolescent D's teacher to get feedback on his performance on Friday. He prepared a presentation and read it to the class. I wanted to know how it went. She responded he did well, but he didn't read his presentation; he had it memorized. I gather he looked like he was reading it, but she assumed he couldn't possibly be reading it and sound that good. This is a boy who has a poor memory. As I worked on Phase III, he had to read a sentence, memorize it, and dictate it and spell it back to me. He can only do that sometimes. Also, she said they are working on executive function. I guess all they were doing was going over the study skills list and telling him to do it. I doubt they know how to scaffold learning moments for him. Yikes. Furious.

Their assumption that he memorized the presentation is bizarre. A) they are working with him on his executive function. They should know there is no way he would have memorized the text independently. If he had worked for hours with his mom, which he didn't do. B) There is a difference between memorizing a text versus reading it several times and becoming familiar with it.

When Judy prepares her reading for our church service, she doesn't memorize it; she familiarizes herself. She could not get up there and recite the biblical passage without the text. She remains dependent on the text. She reads it. C) Did she assume that other students who read their presentation memorized them rather than read them? Unbelievable! Frustrating!

I had a session with the M & W sisters. As usual, I had first-grade M first. Her neighbor gave her a book. She wanted to read it to me. It was a chapter book that was way over her head, but she joyfully tackled it, decoding every word. I couldn't understand what she was saying. That was fine with me. She had a great time figuring out the words. We also continued with Phase III work on the second-grade text from Barnell Loft.

With fifth grade W, I had her read the story she wrote and look for changes she wanted to make. When she reads out loud, my goal is accuracy. She made some mistakes with little words but never distorted the meaning. I don't do much better than she does. Her mother makes a big deal about her missed words. I don't know what the issue is. Also, W reports she is doing better in school.

I watched A Long Way Down on Netflix last night, a phenomenal cast. They are probably all actors who have lost their A rating but are still damn good. The movie got panned. I enjoyed it. Yes, it's a feel-good movie. It's the only type I'll watch. I don't need other people's tragedies to fill my dreams.

Sunday, February 6, 2022

I had one hell of a night. I was in a panic state for most of it. I knew that the intensity was caused by childhood trauma. I had a new insight. Zola spoke about her son, Tommy, suffering from debilitating panic attacks. I knew I suffered from PTDS. My mom suffered from it. She was just described as nervous and difficult. No one understood the causes for extreme behavior at that time. Now it's the go-to theory for all mental problems with no apparent physical reason. I wonder how our current theories will be viewed in ten or twenty years.

Whatever the theories might be, I was gripped by fear in the early morning hours. I tried everything to calm myself. Nothing worked. I had already tried using my homunculus image to have my conscious mind tell my unconscious mind that I had survived my childhood and wasn't in danger. It didn't work. My conscious mind was not on board with that. It suddenly occurred to me to separate physical survival from psychological or ego survival.

While my mother attacked me close to constantly, it was all verbal. I was never in physical danger. She hit me once when I was five and once when I was nineteen. (Yeah, that last one is a story.) Other than that, she was devoted to my physical well-being. That was something she could do, and she did it well. This was something my conscious mind could agree with 100%. I used the homunculus image to have my conscious mind tell my unconscious that I had physically survived and had never been in physical danger, despite feeling that way. When a parent comes at a child in unrestrained verbal rage, a child can't distinguish between a physical versus a psychological threat. Those moments of trauma were embedded in my nervous system.

As I worked the image, most of the release was on the left side of my head, not the right. It didn't feel like there was no trauma embedded there. It just wasn't ready to budge. The moment I started the visualization, I felt relaxed. While there was a substantial release, I could feel places in my brain where trauma, very old trauma, was stuck. I kept searching for stuck places and releasing. I fell into a peaceful sleep.

Krista Tippet had someone on New Dimensions this morning who argued for the reality of the spiritual experience. Krista brought up the objections of scientists who say spiritual experiences have no external reality; they all happen in our brains. To both sides, I say bah humbug. We have no evidence either way. I see no harm in either point of view unless it leads to harm to others. Both sides have had their day, killing the other side for one reason or another. It's an unknown. It's a mystery. It may be one we never solve, or maybe one day we will. In the meantime, there is no evidence; it is a moot point.

To the scientist who argues that it's all in our heads: You use evidence of brain scans while people have spiritual experiences to prove that there is no reality to the spiritual experience. That’s like saying that if we can see something is going on in the brain, there is no external reality. That would mean that every time you see brain activity in an imaging machine, it proves there is no external reality. Right?

I read about neuroscience, particularly in education. Scientists are prepared to say what they see activity going on in the brain in response to stimulus, i.e., the words on a page as the subject reads. From what I just read recently in Brainscapes, the brain uses the same areas when it imagines a word as it does when it reads one. Scientists not seeing an external stimulus assume the brain activity is internally caused. Whatever these spiritual experiences are, they are certainly not caused by sensory stimulation in the objective sense of the word. However, as one who has received information I couldn't possibly have, I wonder if there aren't other channels for obtaining information science hasn't adequately explored yet.

Clearly, scientists see no external stimuli to trigger the brain's activity in spiritual matters. But what makes them so sure there isn't another form of perception. Denying its existence doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It's just an unknown.

I say the same to those on the spiritual side of the argument. While spiritual thoughts can be very beneficial for healing, they are not objectively true. It's the absolute belief that drives me nuts from either side.

My stepson, Damon, called. He had good news about his son, August. First, he was assigned a single room for his second semester at Oxy. He had been sharing a room. It was hard on his nerves. He uses his room as a refuge. His roommate was always there. August could never completely unwind.

The second piece of news was a joy because Damon guided August to champion his own cause as Mike had taught Damon. Mike would have been so proud of Damon. August got a C in his major. Other than that, he had straight As. One problem was the professor had overlooked something he had handed in. In the second case, August had completed an assignment before the due date, written the professor asking how to hand it in, and then forgot to. The professor corrected his error but told August he could do nothing about the paper he hadn't handed in. August resigned himself to his B. His mom also said, "Oh, well. You won't do that again." Damon said, "Speak to your advisor." He did. The advisor told him to go to the chair of the department. He did. He submitted his assignment and now has straight As. Yay! August!!

Damon will be in NYC for the next week for work. His mom will be in Philly for back surgery and then at home. She says she doesn't want Damon to visit while in agonizing pain. Hopefully, it won't be as bad as she's currently experiencing, the reason for the surgery.

I had a session with the M & W sisters. M signed on early. That's a good sign. She does so well with the approach we're using. She loves decoding. She says she doesn't do it at school. I encouraged her to.

Then I had her sister, fifth-grade W. She finished dictating the end of the story we worked on. This child has a phenomenal imagination. This story was about a circus elephant who mysteriously disappeared. The circus performers did their best to entertain the crowd, knowing the elephant was their favorite act. The magician was preparing to go on. He had a problem. He couldn't pull a rabbit out of this hat. He had to perform anyway. He reached in and pulled. He had an elephant's tail in his hand. He pulled and pulled, and out came the missing elephant. What an imagination!

W was pretty worn out before the end of the session. Today we just chatted at the end. She loved that. She's interested in conversing with anyone. Great quality.

I watched All I Wish last night. It was a piece of fluff, but Sharon Stone was fantastic. She plays a woman in her late forties through her early 50s. She looks like a shopworn woman in her late thirties. Stone was about 58 when she was in that movie. By the way, her acting was pretty good, too.

Saturday, February 5, 2022

As I walked this morning, I had metatarsal pain in my left foot. The ankle was slightly swollen, but that caused no pain.

The Internet was down. I quit Spectrum to go with a private company that offered a stronger internet connection. Now it was down. I contacted the guy who set this system up. He said he was working on it. It should be another twenty minutes. That was at 9 am. I had a stable connection again around noon. I had to miss my 9 am appointment with the M &W sisters. There was a chance of doing it later, but that didn't work out. At noon the family went to the beach.

I take it badly these days when I think I've made a mistake. I haven't done that in years. I may have regretted a decision, but I didn't sear myself with hot coals. That's what it feels like these days.

I spent the morning doing some housekeeping and working on the updates and blogs. I also spoke to my hanai sister, Jean. She was in terrible pain from sciatica. She is scheduled for a back operation on the 7th. The doctor refused to give her enough codeine to last until the surgery. I've heard two reasons for this. Of course, they are afraid of creating an addict. I doubt this in Jean's case. Her drug of choice has always been working. She has no chemical addictions. I'm more vulnerable than she is. I'm addicted to Hersey's Milk chocolate kisses with whole almonds.

The second explanation is that if she takes it now, it won't be effective after the surgery. Apparently, she can anticipate being in pain for at least ten days afterward. I hope that will be the end of her pain. I've heard stories of failed back surgery; it's a term.

I recommended she try a massage therapist to help tide her over. A while back, I suggested using a tennis ball to relieve the spasms in the past. I don't know why I haven't thought of a massage therapist. However, she rejected the tennis ball suggestion outright. She's a lot like Mike in this regard; he opposed any procedure that his doctor hadn't recommended. Doctors see the value of massage. However, they don't recommend it because it's not a service they provide, and they expect everyone to know its benefits.

Jean announced her friend Bonnie had lung cancer. It was diagnosed two days ago. She will be operated on at the same time as Jean. Jean has had to wait 3 months. I pointed out that Bonnie's problem was lethal. I had no idea how deadly until later in the day. In a conversation with another friend, I learned lung cancer is particularly dangerous because it metastasizes quickly. While Jean may sometimes think of killing herself, the pain is so bad she won't die of sciatica.

I had a long talk with Judy about whatever. We can talk forever, and then I still think of things I forgot to say when we hang up.

Isaac texted to ask how I was at the exact moment I was thinking of texting him. I was worried about him. I wanted to check I was okay. He said he had contact with people his own age today. He spent some time with some through church and later made new friends. He saw a group of young people playing a game, something like volleyball. He walked up and asked if he could join. They were the perfect people for him. They are students at the University of Nations, an unaccredited Christian college dedicated to volunteer work worldwide, Youth with a Mission, YWAM. Isaac was able to talk about religion with them. He finally had contact with people with a similar background. I could hear the relief in his voice. He said they were hot; he doesn't see himself that way. He had their contact information but was concerned it might not work out. This is the first time he's connected with people from the same cultural milieu. His relief was palatable. He's a youngster away from his own people for the first time in his life and completely alone. I gave him ways to connect with people from UofN if these new friends didn't contact him. He could visit the campus for other purposes and run into people that way.

Adolescent D's mother called with tons of good news about him and lots of praise for me. Remember, I had thought my contribution wouldn't be recognized. It has been ignored in other circumstances. I have often busted my rump to accomplish something with a student to have it dismissed as maturation or credited to someone else. It was not happening in this situation, at least with his parents.

But first to what D accomplished: 1) He prepared a presentation for his class independently. He probably dictated his presentation into his phone; 2) he coordinated it with slides; 3) he read what he wrote to his mother; 4) he asked his mother for help (she recommended they print out his speech rather than read it off his phone), 5) while she was editing it, he asked her to make bold headlines because he could get lost easily. 6) He read the speech with relative ease after his mother edited it. 7) he made the presentation to his class. This is probably the first time he has read anything before other students in his life. Each one of these steps is amazing in itself. Altogether, we're talking about a significant miracle.

The second part of what I learned is good for me but not for the other tutor. His mom said she didn't think the tutor hired by the school system had a clue how to teach. She did some evaluation, having him read the Fry Sight Word List. D made it through the third list. This would be one grade level higher than he tested in the summer. They had him at a second-grade reading level, but without being able to discern the difference between her and here or recognize the word they. They also said he had no decoding skills, and he had auditory processing problems. I wish I knew why the other tutor stopped with the third list.

D's mom tried to cancel D's Wednesday class with the other tutor so they could work on his presentation. The tutor said she would work on it with him. Her proposal was that she would mute herself, and she could listen to his presentation. It sounds like she assumed he would have it all together and just need to practice. His mom knew better. She had to help him with the writing.

I told D's mom I saw a significant boost in his energy and confidence the day after the new tutor started working with him. I asked how old she was. As I thought, twenty-five. She is in the fertile female category. The combination of a fifteen-year-old boy and a young female teacher. Need I say more? Mom said the woman does some light flirting with him. This is harmless since it's all on Zoom. She had FBI clearance. No worries. In the meantime, she has him practice reading and boosting his testosterone. Great! This is wonderful. If she serves no other purpose, this is good.

D's mother is clear that I was probably the only person on the planet who could have helped her son with my BrainManagementSkills. She recognizes the uniqueness of what I have to offer and how successful I have been.

I called Judy to tell her she was right about why the tutor never got back to me. I complained that I had sent her detailed notes and asked her to tell me what she was doing. Judy said she wasn't contacting me because she didn't have a clue on how to work with D. I wailed, "She's trained." Judy said that meant nothing. Judy was right. The tutor has a degree in special ed. That guarantees she knows nothing about teaching. The special ed degree focuses on legalities, testing, and documentation rather than teaching.

Tonight, it was a bagel and lox night. I didn't enjoy it as much as I had. The lox tasted too salty and made me slightly nauseous. I'd been eating half a bagel every other night to ensure I used the cream cheese before it went bad. I finished the container last night. I can take a break now.

I watched Queens of Mystery. It's a light, vacuous show. Not very satisfying, but not disturbing either. I have enough nightmares of my own. I don't need TV shows introducing new disturbing thoughts, especially right before I go to bed.

Friday, February 4, 2022

My left foot hurt this morning as I walked. It wasn't the ankle. There's no pain there and no swelling. The metatarsals of the two outside toes are squished together and pinch a nerve.

I'm agitated, perpetually. Loneliness has hit hard. I feel fear all the time. When the littlest thing goes wrong, it hurts.

On Fresh Air the other day, a woman spoke on the impact of loneliness on our bodies. She looked at it from the perspective of evolutionary psychology as I do. Hypervigilance, fear, was a healthy response to being alone during our brain's development as a species. If we were alone, we were in danger. Every step could cause injury. Every sound could warn of an animal attack. If injured, there was no help. We were on our own.

The speaker said our cortisol count went up in those circumstances, and our immune system depressed. We didn't need to be concerned about catching something from someone in our group. When we were securely embedded in the group, our cortisol levels were down, and our immune system was boosted to protect us from contagion.

I had a session with Shelly. These sessions were once an indulgence, a way of exploring my psyche and, to a certain extent, the human mind. They are now necessities. The limit to studying the human mind while exploring my own is I'm only one sample of the human condition. I formulate theories and test them out on others. So far, my theory is broad enough and fits many of the people I've worked with. I'm always prepared for surprises.

I came into today's session in a state of distress. Shelly, hearing that, tried to offer me practical solutions. I threw those off. I see myself as incapable of making good decisions when I'm in this state. Decisions must be made from a calm, clear mind, not one desperate to escape its current state. I don't see that ever as going well. I insisted that I had to work on my mental state, not what was happening outside of my mind.

Shelly then suggested I find the fear in my body. No, no, no. For the first time, I heard impatience in her voice. She had given me something to do, but I wouldn't do it. De Je Vu all over again. This is how therapists have responded to me for time immemorial. It was scary hearing that in her voice. I commented on it to her. She said she didn't hear conflict. I said you've always supported me in applying my methods. Please, do that now. She did.

I asked what I had to do (not to Shelly) to calm myself. I don't remember the sequence. I am sure I said something about this fear being a reprieve of my mental state as a child. I was in a constant state of panic, waiting for my mom's next verbal blast. Now, I'm able to maintain a calm, sane persona. People don't look at me and wonder why I'm a whirling dervish; my way of coping with the adrenaline output I had to live with. Experiencing it again, I had to wonder how I survived. This is hell.

Shadow images, dolls cut out of black construction paper came to mind. They came hurtling toward me. I saw them as my mother's vitriol. Each shadow figure represented one of her assaults. However, they just passed through me now. They didn't injure me. I think I have to take each one back instead of pushing it away as I did as a child. Letting it in allowed it to pass through me without damage. Holding them away, defending myself from the assaults, was my contribution to the damage I suffered. I don't know if I could have done it differently as a child. But I haven't been a child for many, many years. My mother, who remained difficult but became softer, died on October 16, 2001. Let it be noted: I miss her. However crazy she was, she did care about me and my well-being. Too bad she was the worst and the best in my life.

I had an appointment with the dentist to see if the Snap-On teeth I ordered would work. This is the second set. The first didn't fit. The dentist examined the first pair and found a flaw. He thought the mold had broken and glued back together. There had been problems with dental lab work. The dentist thought it was because of Covid; it was hard to keep good workers.

Why would I get a set of Snap-On teeth? What are they? They are a plastic mold you fit over your own teeth. No, you can't eat with them. The plastic is fairly flimsy. It would crack on the first serious bite. They're cosmetic. I got them for my Zoom presentations, well, some of them. I don't need them when I speak over a slide show. For those presentations, my image is in a small box. No one will pay attention to my teeth. However, I want to discuss forming and blending the individual phonemes. I will need the full screen for those sessions, and attention will be focused on my mouth. When watching others on Zoom, I was aware of people's teeth, particularly their bottom teeth, which are not very good-looking on me. All my teeth are veneered or capped except for the bottom five in the front. Those lone five front teeth are crooked and discolored, contrasting sharply with the rest of my mouth. I don't want them to be a total distraction.

The new set snapped in with a bit of effort. The dentist told me it would get easier with practice and usage. The usage would wear down some edges and loosen them a bit. I had to practice putting them in and taking them out.

After the dentist, I needed a nap, one of the great pleasures of retirement. I set the alarm for 3:50 because I had a 4 pm appointment with the acupuncturist. I woke up around 3:30. When I first moved to Hawaii, naps would run up the two and a half hours, and I had no trouble sleeping at night. No more. That's good.

The acupuncturist was running a little late. No worries. We met in my home in the guest bedroom with all the windows open rather than her little windowless office. I was concerned about Covid. The only place I found discomfort or pain was in my feet. She found edema in my right calf, the foot with the hammertoe. I understand the muscles running up the outside of the calf have an important role in controlling the toes. That may be the cause. The acupuncturist put most of the needles in my feet, both of them. OW! Man, that hurt. This is the only time I felt pain with the needle insertions. I hoped this would be good news for all the problems I had.

I finished watching Rent. As with Tick, Tick . . . Boom, I couldn't watch it all at once. Larsen's work that I've seen all focuses on the victimization of the underclass. Frustration and tragedy. I tried to watch Murder Call afterward. That was even worst. I won't watch anything featuring a psychopathic predator. I'm lucky to have nothing like that in my life. Why would I welcome it in?

Thursday, February 3, 2022

My left foot hurt when I got up in the middle of the night and walked to the bathroom. In the morning, I couldn't find my chiropractor's appointment on my computer calendar. The calendar on my phone said it was on Thursday. I remembered it to be on Friday. I called early, hoping the receptionist could get back to me. She didn't. I left at 8:30 to make a 9 am appointment. If worse came to worst, it would be the wrong day. If I didn't go, I would miss an appointment, have to pay for it and lose hope of getting help for my sore foot for another week.

There are two doctors in this chiropractic practice. They alternate days. As I entered, I saw there was no receptionist on duty. Ah, that's why I didn't get a call. I could hear voices in one of the rooms. I got as close as possible to see if I could recognize Kim's voice. I could hear two women talking, but I couldn't make out if one was Kim's. She often laughs. She has a great laugh. Today, I heard it at the end of her appointment with the preceding client. That was my confirmation that my appointment was for today. Kim came out shortly after and greeted me as if she was expecting me.

She spent half an hour unjamming my foot. If that pain continued, I would develop a neuroma. I've had that before. It's horrible. It's like having a pebble in your shoe you can't get rid of. It hurts. Kim recommended that I get a metatarsal pad to support the metatarsal arch. I thought I could get one at Long's. I stopped off there on my way home. They were out of the ones that you can glue into your shoe. They did have the type you can hook onto your foot, slinging a loop over one of the toes. Problem: I can't reach my foot. I ordered the ones Kim recommended when I got home from Amazon.

I was exhausted when I got home and needed a nap. I set my alarm for 11:45. I would have to leave by 12:15 to make my service appointment with Kia. I dawdled, thinking I had time. My alarm went off when I got out of the shower, sopping wet. It was time to leave immediately. Boy, my head is out to lunch. I am suffering from temporal disorientation.

Scott stopped by this morning to help Yvette make her yoga videos. He told me he found a FaceBook positing that skin lesions in dogs respond to probiotics. It's worth a try. I ordered what was considered the A+ rated one. Who knows? It may have been looking at an ad placed by that company.

Because I had given the Kia clerk all my information yesterday, I only had to drop off my key today. They remembered I needed a ride to get to my luncheon appointment with Zola. I got into a white van whose outside had seen better days. Where it wasn't scratched, it was dirty. The young man who drove me had no idea where St. Michael's was. Yes, he lived in Hawaii (My money was born here.), but he wasn't from this area. Zola and I were meeting at a restaurant across the street from the church, Papa Kona. My driver pulled into the church parking lot, turned around, and dropped me at the exit. I walked across the street to the building where I thought the restaurant was. I couldn't see a sign and asked. It was in my favorite location, where Daylight Mind used to be. Zola had made a reservation for 1:15. I got seated and settled down to wait.

I had my Kindle and could read. Instead, I enjoyed my favorite view from where I sat from a wraparound porch area to the side of the restaurant. A bay was to my left. I could watch the waves roll in and crash on the shore from that seat. The sun was bright and sparkling on the rolling water.

Zola arrived, and we ordered. I got panko-coated avocado fries covered with sambai aioli, a spicy sauce with a side order of ahi poke, and a lemonade. I didn't expect to eat it all. I finished off the fries. They were delicious. I took the poke home for dinner. I had a wonderful time with Zola. She is extroverted as I am. We can say whatever comes to mind to each other. What a pleasure.

Zola has lost two out of five children, and I've lost Mike. We talked about grief for a few moments. Zola heard about someone who made a distinction between grief and mourning. Grief is the feeling; mourning is the behavior that expresses that feeling. I'm not that good at mourning. I think of the cultures that build in wailing, chanting, or ululation, particularly as part of a group. Your grief is carried with the others. The others are expressing their grief and supporting yours. I have nothing like that. All I do is alone, except when someone listens to me. That's better than nothing.

Kia called to tell me my car was ready. Our luncheon was about over. Zola offered to drive me to Kia. She was heading to the bank.

The car checkup was free. However, I had them check the car's underside for damage from when I drove over a small bolder. There was no damage to my hybrid car's battery. No, this was not my fault. A child had rolled it into their driveway. I tried to pull into it in the dark and didn't see it. I was doing less than 5 mph. There was damage to the plastic battery cover, but that was it. They would call me with an estimate. It is not covered under my ten-year service contract.

I got home by 3 pm and called to speak to Mama K's crew to make up for yesterday. Again, there was no answer. It may have been they weren't home yet. I was too tired to pursue a meeting with the three kids. There are many distractions when I call, and I always have to pull a story out of them. It would be lovely if they had an idea of what they wanted to write about before getting on the phone. It is frustrating working with the kids.

I lay down for a nap. I was exhausted. Grief is exhausting. I feel like I'm shaking inside all the time. Is this just heightened awareness of what is? Is this how we all are all the time? Is it just now that I'm relaxed enough to feel it? I don't like it.

Adolescent D texted me to ask if we could meet at 5 instead of 4:30. I reset my alarm later and worked on the updates. I had forgotten to send out January 31's update to my email readers yesterday. I discovered I had already processed it through Grammarly. I had to copy the edited version into my updates file and then post it.

I had Adolescent D at 5. I continued working on Phase III of The Phonics Discovery System. Today's sentence was, "Soon, the newspapers were all given out." There were enough odd spellings. I offered to be the one who would remember the sentence for him. Before I had him dictate the spelling to me, I went over the oo in soon, and the ew in new. He couldn't remember the spelling of oo in soon for two minutes. It was a frustrating session. I even told him we could switch activities if he felt overwhelmed. Knowing when you need a break because the misses exceed the hits is a critical study and learning skill. He said to continue. I worried about him at the end.

I finished watching Tick, Tick . . . Boom, the video Isaac recommended. It was good, just upsetting. I didn't watch it straight through. I watched as much as I could tolerate. I had to deal with Jonathan Larson's frustrations and disappointments and his egocentricity, focusing on his work and ignoring the needs of others. I had only a bit left of that video to watch tonight. When that was over, I looked for something else to watch. I came across, "If anything happens, I love you." It was an animated short video about the lives of a couple after their daughter was killed in a school shooting, leaving the message above on her cell phone. I didn't know what it was when I clicked on it. It just started showing an alienated couple. The reason they were in such despair was only revealed as the video progressed. It was a fantastic concept.

Wednesday, February 2, 2022

I had a bad, bad night, struggling with fear. Terry Gross interviewed a woman who did research on heartbreak. Among other things, she talked about the impact of loneliness on our bodies. She spoke about how our bodies respond to being alone the way I am from the perspective of evolutionary psychology. When we're alone, our inflammation is boosted in preparation for an injury. When our brains were evolving 700,000 years ago if being isolated was a dangerous business. An injury could mean death.

On the other hand, when we were enveloped in our groups, the inflammatory system quieted, and our immune system was boosted. When with others, the danger was in catching something from them. The problem with this system is we don't need to worry about aloneness in the same way in our modern world. I am alone. I live alone. However, if I injure myself, I can call someone. I can even get in the car and drive to Urgent Care. I don't need to be in a constant state of inflammation. I don't need to be in a state of hyper-vigilance; neither do others living alone in this world. Aloneness signals danger. Great! Just what a need to be in a state of constant fear. That's how I lived as a child. I had forty-five years of rest, only to pick up the challenge of aloneness again. I don't like it.

On my walk this morning, I ran into Tammy. I hadn't seen her for a while, a long time. She asked me how my visit with my stepson went over Christmas. I had to tell her he never came, and I had been all alone. Being alone at that time was okay. Special days were never a big deal for me. Mike and I celebrated our union every day. In fact, I found Christmas, with its too-much-of-a-deal-present-giving, a drag. Mike loved it. Being alone for Thanksgiving and Christmas wasn't the worst. However, the burden of aloneness has been getting heavier. The forty-five years of being with Mike provided me with only so much insolation. It thinned out over time, as stored fat does in a famine. Eventually, you just run out. I've run out. I told Tammy how hard it was. She was sympathetic. As we separated, walking in opposite directions, I started to cry. I must have been sobbing out loud. Tammy came back and apologized for making me cry. I told her, no, no, it was a gift. I don't cry easily. Having a cry with wracking sobs felt good. It released some of the grief.

Despite my poor mental state, I present as surprisingly steady. I may feel like I'm vibrating inside, but I look calm. I can hear my voice as more modulated than it usually is, combating my inner state. For the most part, I experienced the upset as just physical. My mental state was reasonably calm when I was engaged with others.

At ten, I signed up for a workshop on Connecting with Our Students sponsored by Step Up Tutoring. Participating in these workshops is wonderful. I get to be part of a group. While close to a thousand tutors are in the program, only thirty or so ever attend these online classes. Many of the names and faces were becoming familiar. I saw mostly older people. Of course, we were all retired. We had the time, and we were alone and needed company. The class wasn't relevant for me. It was how to build a relationship with your student. I'm an expert on that. I don't follow their suggestions. I usually start by having the student tell me something they do well. We are working on something they don't do well or need help with. In our relationship, they're children who are failing. I want them to know I know something they do well. That works like a charm as far as I'm concerned.

I had an appointment to have the car serviced at Kia at 11:30. I gave the clerk all the information he asked for. He seemed to be preoccupied with something on his computer. I asked him what I should do. He snapped at me as if I had said something rude. I was startled. This is the second time this has happened to me with the people who work there. Last time, the guy told me off directly. I was shocked. I hadn't said anything meaning to be rude. I still have no idea what I did to offend him. My NYC style may have something to do with it. It's direct and no-nonsense. I have a New Yorker's sense of entitlement. I ask questions. As it wound up, he still needed to finish entering my information. I wonder if he was having problems or was just slow. I asked him again what I should do now. I also asked how long the service would take. An hour and a half. What!!! It was twelve, and I had to be home for a 1 pm appointment. I made another appointment for Thursday and left. My sense of time was way off. I had planned to stop at Costco after the Kia servicing to do some shopping. I barely made it home in time without the car servicing or a stop. I am suffering from temporal disorientation.

New Yorkers indeed expect speed. I have moved west in progressive steps. Each time there has been an adjustment. Mike and I moved from Brooklyn to New Jersey. I remember laughing at how hesitant people were to make turns into traffic.

Then we moved to Columbus, Ohio. Oh, boy. I sat behind a line of cars on a two-lane road with a truck in front of us moving up slowly. I couldn't imagine what was going on. No one honked their horn. It would have been a symphony of noise signaling annoyance in New York. Finally, the third car in line swung into the opposite lane to pass the cars ahead of him and the truck. The rest of us followed. A worker on the street in front of the truck was doing road work, moving down the road a few feet at a time. We would have been there forever.

Then Mike and I moved to Hawaii. Josh told us we could expect to be held up as two people going in opposite directions on a two-lane road stopped to talk. No one would honk. I generally love the slowed-down pace.

I made it home to meet with the tutor I had missed on Monday for my reading office hours. He still needed to meet with his tutee. We quickly decided he should watch my videos on YouTube, The Phonics Discovery System Phase I and II, and then get back to me if he thinks he needs help.

I finally got around to washing Elsa. She hates it, but it's the only thing controlling her skin lesions. Some of the old ones on her neck and upper back had cleared up, but new ones had erupted on her lower back just above her tail. I should have been bathing her every other day. That's not a fun idea for either one of us.

I had a scheduled appointment with Mama K's crew for 2 pm. I called there was no answer. I texted her, telling her the problem I ran into. She texted back, saying the phone hadn't been plugged in. Could I do it some other time? I was not enjoying these telephone sessions. We were doing story writing to help them develop thinking and speaking skills. The kids never had anything in mind before the session. I can cope with that, but their distractibility is driving me nuts. It was bad when we were on Zoom. Now we are on the phone; it's even worse. It's an eight-person household. It's impossible to isolate someone from the rest of the family when the youngest is a set of seven-year-old twins. I gave Mama K one of Mike's old computers after their tablet broke. They still haven't set it up. We could get back to Zoom if they did, which would be better. For now, I'm dreading my work with them.

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Musings:

On Race and Whoopie Goldberg's comment:

Race is not a scientific term; it's a social term. It implies some dramatic genetic difference, distinguishing one group of people from another. Distinctions like this are created by repeated inbreeding within a group. If a group is very small, abnormalities set in. If the group is large enough, just distinguishing characteristics. The royal houses of Europe practiced inbreeding. All sorts of horrible abnormalities developed. Were they a separate race? Inbreeding happens when people of the same religion make sure they only marry people of that religion. If the group is large enough, abnormalities don't develop.

As I understand it, race is a social construct, not a scientific one. It is consistently adopted by those who want to denigrate a group of people, as the Nazis used it to denigrate the Jews. I am 51% Ashkenazi Jewish; I do not consider myself biracial, no matter what the Nazis want to say about it. Are Jews ethnically different? Yes. Are they racially different? There are genetic differences that can be identified. That's true for the Irish versus the Germans versus the Italians. Are they different races? If you say no, why not?

When Italians first arrived in the USA, they were considered racially different. Then they were absorbed into the social structure. Italians are no longer commonly considered racially different. At least I haven't heard comments to that effect.

Poor Whoopie. Do Jews really want to be considered a different race? Who's protesting her comments? Are Jewish groups protesting her not viewing Jews as a separate race? Oh, dear. They're supporting the Nazis. Pretty confusing.

I hear alienation whenever I hear a group identified as a different race. It announces some uncomfortable differences. Whoopie says the term race should be reserved for people with visible differences, like skin color. I'm sure the term race, or the sentiment, was applied to groups of people with differences in hair or eye color at one point. But as people of different groups interbred, those distinctions became less apparent.

As for skin color, the criterion for group membership is more stringent than the Nazis' for Jews. The Nuremberg Laws dictated that you were 1/8 Jewish; if one of your grandparents was Jewish, you were Jewish. To make things more confusing, Jewish was defined as someone who practiced Judaism. If the child of a Jewish couple converted to Christianity, and his children followed suit, they were still considered Jewish. If the next generation continued to be Christians, were they home-free? It sounds like the Germans were into epigenetics before the rest of us. It's the one-drop rule when it comes to identifying people of color. Any colored blood makes you a person of color. If you don't declare yourself as such, you're passing. Really???

White people panic because people of color are starting to outnumber them. Assuming we continue considering people of color a different race, with all its implications, white people with their prejudices have screwed themselves. If they considered anyone with one drop of white blood white and treated them accordingly, they wouldn't be part of a majority rapidly becoming a minority. Think of all the black women who were raped by their white masters. That alone would take care of the numbers. How people of color are treated in the white world is a different ball of wax. If you're going to treat people as less deserving than you are, why would you be surprised by their objections?

No, I'm not considering we banish the word RACE to make the problem disappear. Think of book burning. Banishing words does not make concepts disappear. If anything, it makes them stronger. It becomes forbidden fruit.