Monday, September 21,2020

            This was a busy, busy day. I had planned a trip to Hilo to get my fingerprints from of Police station that would allow me to write in the ORI number, unlike the Kona Police station.

            After my morning walk, I made two phone calls, one to doTerra and the second to the NY Times.  I was having problems with my login on the doTerra site.  It was really tricky. There was no way I could have done it without the help of a customer service rep.  I was able to change my monthly rewards order from two items I don't need to one I know I will be able to use, On Guard capsules.  Whenever I start feeling as if I'm coming down with something, I take some, and they help. One never can have enough On Guard on hand.

            I learned from the NY Times crossword puzzle subscription services that I just didn't know what I was doing. I hadn't downloaded the program. 

            Next, I took a shower and got ready for my trip to Hilo. This was the first time I took my new car on a long trip, over fifty miles each way. All went well until I started going up Saddle Road, the cross-island highway which goes between two mountains, Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. It starts with a steep upgrade. I had the cruise control set to 60 mph, and the car was straining while doing under 50.  It finally stopped working altogether.  I tried to call Kia to find out what was going on, but I had no reception that high up the mountain. There was a printout saying run the car while in park to recharge.  Huh?  Besides my problem with the car, I had to go to the bathroom.  I turned the car around and headed down the hill.  I set the cruise control to 49 miles per hour to create braking resistance, charging the car. 

            When I got back on Mamalahoa Highway, I called Kia. I was told to just bring the car in. I could drive it into town without a problem, but most of this part of the trip was either on flat ground or descending. As Safeway came into view, I thought, "Their bathroom is closer, and I need apples anyway."

            It was a good thing I did stop there. When I got to Kia, they had closed down their bathroom for public use.  There is one mechanic who works on these hybrids. The rest know nothing about them.  Will, the mechanic, is a wonderful person. He doesn't respond defensively, even though my tone was somewhat accusatory.  

            I hadn't been told before I bought the car that the gas motor didn't work unless the electric motor had sufficient charge, and I wasn't told it after I bought it.  This put me in a dangerous position. My car broke down in a no cell phone reception area. Will did some research and confirmed that the electric battery does need a minimal charge for the car to work.  Four white bars have to be up before the turquoise bars show up, at which point the car can been driven on electric energy alone. Will showed me that the electric battery is charged every time I hit the gas. 

            The question is, why wasn't there enough electric charge to get me to the top of the mountain if I had been using gas for most of the trip. It must be that the steep continuous incline was too much for the car without having a fully charged battery before I started.

            In August, I thought to ask someone in the Kia service department what would happen to the gas motor if I never used it. I drive little enough that I was able to only use the electric motor for months.  In response to the service man's advice, I stopped charging my electric motor and only using the gas motor. The goal was to use up the full tank of gas I had before it went bad.  No one had warned me about the functioning of the electric/hybrid car. Not good.

            After I was finished with Kia, I stopped in Long's and bought a bag of super absorbent Poise Pads to make it to the other side of the island without concern. 

            Then I stopped at the Post office to mail the three boxes I had in the back of the car.  I had to bring in one box at a time. I set them on the narrow platform between the customers and the clerks.  Then I got at the end of the line. When I was my turn, the available clerk was at the far end. I had to slide the boxes down the full length of the platform.  Done! I must write Matthew Horowitz, the librarian at St. Patrick's Seminary, to tell him his first shipment will be in on October 7th.

            I stopped off at Ulu Wini, the low-income housing development, on my way home to offer my tutoring services. I had tried to call them while I was on the road but couldn't find a number for them.  A young woman was sitting by the door of the social services office. She didn't deal with the residents of Ulu Wini; she worked with homeless families.  She took my name and promised to pass it on to the social worker. Let's see what happens with this.  Will the social worker pass on the information to members of the community? Will any members of the community respond?  Everyone is so overwhelmed by the online schooling. The third-grade teachers reported they never had all the children in their classes sign up.

            I got a text message while I was talking to the lady at Ulu Wini. It was Paulette telling me that Judy was in the hospital with a serious infection.  She had had a skin tag removed and went swimming the next day.  This is how the young woman who lived with me got a serious infection in some leg wounds. Serious infections are one of the dangers of living in the tropics. Bacteria thrive here. Wounds must be treated with care. 

            I got the message that Judy felt better, less pain, and less nausea once she was admitted to the hospital; they were keeping her overnight. They will send her home when her white blood cell count comes down. 

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Musings:

            Seems I'm not the only person who has difficulty defining the difference between sympathy and empathy.  I heard someone reduce sympathy as being no more than a saccharine sentiment best represented by a "sympathy card." The hallmark of sympathy for this guy was a lack of sincerity.  Sympathy is knowing the right behavior.

            I continue to advocate for the following:

            Sympathy is feeling with the other person. Referred to by some as emotional empathy.

            Empathy is the ability to understand what someone else is thinking or feeling, sometimes described as cognitive empathy.  Empathy does not mean someone cares about another person. It merely means that they can see why that person feels and thinks. My favorite example: a good con man has empathy.

            Compassion??? How is it different from empathy and sympathy.  I find definitions for compassion that use sympathy as a synonym. A possible difference is that it moves you to action.   The prefix com- means together.  Sounds a lot like a synonym for sympathy.  Maybe that's all it is. 

            How's this for a definition: Compassion is empathy plus sympathy plus respect manifested in action.  Lack of respect is showing concern without respecting boundaries, assuming that you are doing something good because you mean well. It is the recipient who is at fault for being unappreciative.  

            I can think of examples in my own life when I reached out to people in a burst of sympathy, having them look at me as if I was crazy. The fault lay with me.  I had misread the other person.

            The other form of disrespect is pity posturing as compassion. Pity assumes that a person is less than you somehow, and you are some beneficent giver. Ow! 

Sunday, September 20, 2020

             I'm getting tired of writing daily updates. Sandor told me to skip days but not to abandon the project altogether.  I suppose if I get enough tutoring students, I won't have the time.  Part of the compulsion to keep going is driven by routine, but part is driven by a much older habit. I get all these insights, and they collect in me like stones if I don't share them.

            While Mike loved my intelligence and curiosity, he had difficulty with my mind that found everything fascinating. He enjoyed explicating revered thinkers and authors. Me, I enjoy coming to my own conclusions, making my own observations. It was a habit of mind instilled in me by my dad, for better and for worse.  

            At the end of Mike's life, he found me endless entertaining, never knowing what would come out of my mouth next. I would announce, "I had a thought," to which he would respond, "Oh, no. She's had a thought." As I think about it now, it never led to a discussion. He never shared his thoughts on the subject. He wasn't good at improvisation, i.e., unstructured conversation. 

            Now, I no longer have an outlet for "my thoughts." You, my readers, are stuck with me; unless, of course, you choose not to read these updates/blogs. I have wanted to do something like this for a long time.  I find my thoughts interesting; is it fair to think someone else might do so too? Again, dear reader, you don't have to read them.

            I think where my thoughts are most helpful is in the field of education. I have developed methods of teaching reading, writing, and math skills that are very effective and worthwhile learning. Also, they are easy to learn and require no new materials. You can use anything. That makes them cheap at half the price, as Mike would say. 

            While my methods are easy to teach and easy to learn, they may not be that easy to apply.  They require the teacher to be in a discovery mode as well as the student. It requires the teacher to make mistakes in the presence of the student. Heaven forbid!       

     In the nineties, I had a supervisor give me hell, "the worst class she ever observed." Because I got a last-minute request from a teacher to teach something.  I wound up needing some help from the students to explain a particular point. I thought that was brilliant. The students were more engaged because they knew I was flying by the seat of my pants, and they could be there to catch me. I also modeled failure with dignity, a more valuable lesson than anything academic I could have taught them. The supervisor didn't see it that way. I'd say," What a jerk!" but she was just following what she had been taught when she went to school for. I remember getting the same lesson. "Never let the students discover you don't know something!"  

            Today is my niece Karin's thirty-sixth birthday. When I called her this morning, I just got voice mail.  I sang a rendition of the Ross Happy Birthday song; each one is unique; no two are the same.  

            I called Karin later in the day, feeling a need to have direct contact. She and David had their son Sam's daycare teacher come over to babysit for a few hours while they went to the beach. It was there that I caught them.  We made plans for me to sing Happy Birthday again when Sam was around. I would love to see his reaction to my singing. Karin doubted that he was familiar enough with how the song sounded to know how weird my version was. We made plans for her to call me when they got home from the beach around 3 pm my time, 6 pm theirs.  

            Karin told me a little bit about Sam's progress with the language. She said he understands most of what is said to him and can speak about thirty words, even though they are only understandable to those near and dear. One of the words is 'mask," As his dad was leaving the house, Sam reminded him to put on his mask.  Can you imagine? Mask is one of the first thirty words a child learns.  Yikes!

            As always, I needed my mid-morning nap.  I read some NY Times before I snoozed. I am about a week behind. I came across an article on 'empath' as 'imperialism." This is the first time I have read someone who articulates this side of the equation, which is the one that raises my hackles. (to be discussed under Musings).

            I went through one bay of books in the library, finding ten more, and packed up three boxes for shipping.  Packaging them up reminds me of my youth.

            My parents were refugees from Germany. Because my mother was Lutheran, her parents remained in Berlin until 1950. From 1945 to their move to the US, my mom sent regular care packages. I watched her wrap those packages. It was my job to put my finger on the string so she could tie the knot.  I know how to prepare a package for shipping.

            I don't use book boxes; they're much too heavy for me.  I use Four Monks vinegar boxes. They are the ideal size. First, I wrapped duct tape around the box. Then I write the address on the side of the box. Then I wrap the box in brown paper, scotch-taped every loose edge, and fold. Once I have written the address on the covering paper, I move the box out to the car and start the next one.

            Judy's son Adam has chickens and has been collecting eggs. He noticed that egg production had fallen off. He looked up information on the Internet and discovered that hens are only good egg layers for two years. It sounds like they go into menopause quickly.  Industrial chicken farmers buy a massive quantity of baby chicks. When that cohort no longer produces eggs, they kill them. The kindest way is to gas them. Some are sold to animal food companies.  Apparently, post-menopausal hens don't even taste good. 

            For those of you with high toilet seats, which are comfortable to sit on but not as good for your digestive tracts, a Squatty Potty is a good solution. However, if you're like me, you can't bend your legs evenly because of hip problems.  I have discovered a few other solutions to assist the digestive process. 1) While sitting on the toilet, raise and lower your heels while keeping your toes in contact with the floor. 2) Rock front to back, and 3) rock from side to side.  I found these movements solved all and any problems I might have. 

            

            

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Musings: NYC article "The Trouble with Empathy."

            "Yet skeptics say that what seems like empathy may be another form of presumption, condescension or domination."

            Seems, seems. That one word sums up a huge problem.  The Buddhists have a label for actions that can be labeled positive but are really negative, "near enemies." The near enemy of compassion is pity. Actually, I found a formal list on the Internet. (See, it is good for something other than spreading hate.)

The near enemy for:

        Loving-kindness can degenerate into possessiveness.

        Compassion can degenerate into grief or being overwhelmed.

        Equanimity can degenerate into apathy or indifference.

            This article discusses the way people use empathy to use other people's suffering to elevate themselves, to prove they are good people.

            I have an easy measure (I'm sure it can be misused. Can't everything.) for genuine empathy. If you have empathy for all the black men who have been needlessly killed, can you also have empathy for many, not all, the policemen who have killed them?  If you feel for the poor, can you also feel for the rich?  Everyone suffers. Does empathizing mean agreeing and supporting? No.

            While I can empathize with those bankers who suffered when their salaries were cut from five million to a mere one million, that does not mean they should have kept their five million a year salary.  While I can empathize with those who demonstrate violently, understanding their accumulated rage does not mean I support their destructive actions.  

            One of the downsides of empathy that I have read about already is the tendency to extend empathy to those on "our side" and deny it to those on the "other side." If anything, it fosters the lack of empathy for those on the other side. They become subhuman, unworthy of minimal consideration; all they do is born of evil- not like our side. Isn't this what we're facing now?

            You are either on black lives matter or blue lives matter. You can't care about everyone.  Even Chauvin deserves empathy. Does that mean I should understand that the poor guy felt his life was in danger and had a right to kill Floyd? No.  Chauvin is an extreme case even for me, who always questions my distribution of empathy.  Does that mean that I think he shouldn't be charged with manslaughter if not murder? No. But Chauvin is a victim of the system as much as Floyd is.  He has been trained by the police force to use violence to restrain arrestees. We have one of the most violent police forces in the world. 

            I'm a teacher. Would I like a return to the system in use when I was a child, where the principal had a paddle in his office and could administer physical punishment?  Do I want to be part of a system that deals with noncompliance that way? I'm sure some do.

            Of course, as I write this, I am forced to look from the point of view of those who see compliance to authority as the ultimate good, particularly when that authority loves them.  I think of Mike's need order.  Why did he love and marry me? Your guess is as good as mine.  

            We, meaning society, need both. We need those who value order and compliance and those who challenge that order and practice disobedience.  If we swing too far in either direction, we're screwed.

            As I see it, those on the side of law and order are screaming their lungs out.  I think the source of the disorder is the Internet. No, I don't think the Internet is inherently evil as my mother-in-law did, but I do think people have been overwhelmed, with too much diversity of ideas coming at them at once.

            I have been fairly lucky. I am a first-generation American from a cosmopolitan educated family. My parents came from radically different backgrounds, which added to all the differences I had to deal with as a child. I survived that crazy, mixed-up background. Because of it, I have a tolerance for dealing with the unexpected and trusting my judgment from one minute to the next. There are so many who don't have that advantage. Their quiet, conservative lives are under attack. While I empathize with them, understanding how they feel their lives are in jeopardy, that does not mean I support their need to eliminate anyone who doesn't conform to their expectations.  I can only hope that we can hold on instead of being ripped apart by the partisanship developing worldwide.     

Saturday, September 19, 2020

            I got up at six and just walked up and down the block. I wanted to have Elsa fed and be ready for driveway yoga by 7. 

            I did in an asana today I hadn’t done before. While on all fours, I lifted the opposite arm and leg.  I could do it easily using my left arm and right leg. But the other side, oh boy.  I almost fell over.  I did it several times and experienced some improvement. The muscles are weak, but the goal of finding the weak muscles and strengthening them. On that note: I want to tell you that I have been keeping up the practice of doing 10 plies and releves each time I stand up from a seated position.

            After I had my two cups of water and pretzels, yeah, I know, not the best breakfast, I prepared to do weeding between the plumbagos and the neighbor’s fence. I do an eight-foot section at a time.

            I got the 2-gallon spray bottle off the lanai, where it was standing, so I could continue washing the fixed screens. I came across an unexpected gift from Elsa, loose no less. The first order of the day was cleaning that up. I sprayed water on the gifts and vacuumed them up with the Rainbow vacuum cleaner. There is nothing that can replace the Rainbow for this job.  I also dumped some enzyme solution on those spots. 

            I dumped the remaining water out of the spray bottle, took it outside, and filled it in with white vinegar. I sprayed some weeds in the front yard and then went down below to work the strip. I didn’t have too much to do on the strip for today, but it was difficult because I was dealing with the thorny asparagus fern.  I pulled what I could and sprayed the rest.  

         As I walked the stretch back to the house, I hit weeds that were already making a comeback. There were some haole koas I could cut down through an opening in the fence. I picked up the larger clipper from the front of the house and went back down to do what I could. 

            I showered when I came in. I was exhausted. So exhausted, I didn’t want to speak on the phone, and my mind wasn’t clear enough to write.  I napped.

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Musings:

            In this era of blossoming anti-intellectualism, Dorothy made an interesting observation. She said throughout history, those who could write had power. Their ability to write gave them that power. 

            I would imagine that scribes were a few people who worked in the service of their rulers in historical times. These scribes served at the pleasure of those who were more powerful.

            Now, the intellectual class has become a force of its own.  Moreover, “intellectuals’ are considered, or consider themselves, better than those who are not intellectuals.  One can see why that would make those who serve society with their manual labor would be pissed. 

            Arrogance! One of man’s biggest sins, assuming that what “I’ do or what “I” am is better than what someone else does or is.  I am not hopeful that we will ever learn. Death by arrogance!   As I think about it, none of us like to be corrected by someone who knows more than we do. What a species!

Friday, September 18, 2020

            I went to bed early last night but only woke up when the alarm sounded this morning.  I felt much better than I did yesterday.  My leg was somewhat pinchy, so I limited my walk to up and down my street so I could make a run for home if I needed to.  

            I spoke with my friend Carol from Ohio today instead of Dorothy. We're on the same page politically, so we share complaints. There are others, but they become so upset that I don't introduce the topic. It's nice to have someone to share with, but it also makes me think more about the political situation. I am not optimistic about the outcome, regardless of who wins the election. 

            She also shared how traumatized her elementary school grandchildren were by online schooling.  When they are 'in school,' they can't change their focus point; they can't move around in their chairs. With online schooling, they are tethered to that screen and can't budge. It's too much for most people, no less elementary school children. I suppose if this goes on long enough, someone will realize that there have to be some changes made, like just moving around every 5 minutes, changing their gaze, something. This is altogether too much for these kids.  

            There are tragic consequences to the shutdown; there are tragic consequences to allowing the virus to take its course without intervention.  If everyone respected the mask rule, it would lower the rate of infection somewhat. Then perhaps we could say, let happen what may.  I don't know.  The poor and the disenfranchised are suffering the most. They can't do their jobs online. In-person contact is forced on them.

            On the other hand, if we let the virus run its course, who's to say it won't leave young people debilitated.  All I have to say, I am so happy I'm not in a position to make any decisions.  I pity the people who are. 

            When I got home, I felt called to deal with one of my infected hibiscus plants.  B. had told me that there was one in the lower garden severely infected with blister mites.  I did a tour of the grounds after the landscaper left on Monday.  I found several plants in distress. I also found what I consider sloppy yard work. 

            I'm not sure if these guys are taking advantage of me or if I'm getting my money's worth.  How do I tell?  What can I expect for what I'm paying them? Mike set it up. Were they doing the same quality of work for him as they are doing for me?  Mike never went out to check the grounds. I don't know if he cared much one way or the other as long as it looked neat. 

            I found the hibiscus that B. had told me about. Yikes! It was as tall as a tree and badly infected with blister mites. When the gardener came around yesterday to pick up more waste and his check, I walked around with him. It was clear he didn't know there was a problem with that hibiscus. He's like me; he's good at weeding but not planting. We agreed that he would cut the tall hibiscus down to waist high on his next trip so I could treat it with Sulfur powder. 

            I took care of the smaller hibiscus I found that was similarly infected to the side of the driveway. It didn't take long to cut it down. I bagged the cuttings with plans to take them to the trash dump, not the green waste. I do not want to spread these mites to someone else.

            I found the sulfur powder to treat the hibiscus in the shed, took it inside, and read the directions. "Shake well before using. Mix the powder with air liberally.  Frequent light dustings are more effective than one heavy one."  

            I didn't go out immediately. I did some catch-up work on the updates.  I had worked on some from the week yesterday, but they needed to be reviewed today before sending them out.

            I had a session with D. He chose to continue working with the book Socks. I told him to start with the second paragraph on page 24. He had no idea what a paragraph was.

            I switched to the whiteboard on Zoom. I drew the outline of several paragraphs, a box with an indentation in the upper left-hand corner. I told D to find the word that fit into the indentation from the book. He got what a paragraph was. Let's see if he remembers it the next time he sees it. That is always the big question with D. I wonder if there was some brain trauma when he was young. Regardless, he's young enough to rewire.  If Bach-y-Rita could get his dad to rewire after a stroke, anything is possible. We have to figure it out. 

            He is doing better on comprehension in general.  When he read today, he read passages with feelings. It was amazing.  He still makes mistakes with word recognition. More importantly, he still makes mistakes with meaning. He will put in words that make no sense whatsoever.  He does that less frequently, but he makes at least one error in each session. 

            A comprehension issue came up where I had to tell him that I thought his answer was better than mine, although mine didn't change the sentence's meaning either.  The words were "This decision . . . "It referred to something that had happened in the previous paragraph.  I had to direct him to refer back. He wanted all the meaning to come from the words in the sentence we were working on. He did try to twist it into meaning. He failed. But when he did get it, I think he did a better job than I did. I told him of my error. I love telling children when I make mistakes, especially when they get it right. 

            Yes, I am making them feel better, superior for a moment, but there is a much more important lesson in that action than that: everyone makes mistakes. There is no shame in that. You acknowledge it and move on. You credit the person who did it correctly regardless of who they are. I'm modeling the behavior. I think it's important for everyone to have.

            We did a little work on the math. D told me how he was practicing, but he made the same mistakes he always does. He went through everything he was doing to learn those facts.  It does sound like he is making every effort.  He understands he has a problem with his memory. We had to figure out how to fix it. I gave him Mike's line, "It's a problem to be solved." You might ask why I would tell a young child that there is something wrong with the way his brain works.

            To begin with, there is. That's reality. D has a terrible time remembering things. Second, and most importantly, I want him to work with me to solve this problem. I have often told children that even if I can't solve their problem, someone in their lifetime will.  More importantly, the student is part of the problem-solving team.

            What was D.'s response to these comments?  He said, "I am so lucky to be working with such a nice lady like you." Whatever his problem is, it is only "A problem to be solved," and I believe there is a solution.  If not, and it proves insoluble, I will teach him how to deal with it honestly, which I believe will work the best for him in work situations when he is an adult. 

            Sadly, I can imagine teachers who think everything can be solved by effort without determining the correct action in the first place. Then these kids get bullied and told it is all their fault because they're not studying. Would you want to study the same material over and over and over when you can see that it makes no difference? 

            On behalf of the teachers, the idea that a problem like this could be neurological or cognitive is new.  The teachers in Ohio thought I was weird. I told them they would all be doing what I was doing in ten years. Neuroscience became relevant to learning when fMRIs could look in our brains and see which parts were firing when we performed a task. When the expected parts did not fire in children, those were the people who were having problems. 

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Musings:

            I previously mentioned that scientists developed a method for using imaging techniques to tell what people are thinking. When someone thinks of an apple, the object, not the word,  a machine can accurately identify their thought.

            While this development has a scary downside, it also confirms my BrainManagementSkills (BMS) theories.  In BMS, I help students identify which parts of their brains they use for sensory processing and memory. If the student has problems, I help them switch the part of the brain they are using to work better. This usually works, frequently quickly. 

            Over the years, I have identified which parts of the brain best perform a function. People who don't have problems with, let's say, visual perception consistently use particular parts of the brain; people who do have problems don't use those parts of the brain.  (This theory addresses issues with visual processing and memory and auditory processing and memory. I'm not even beginning to try and explain how it works in this musing.)  I remain open to the possibility that it works differently in different people but have never encountered such an example. This research strengthens my belief that we all use the same brain parts to perform specific functions.

Thursday, September 17, 2020

             I spent most of the day sleeping once I finished my morning walk and driveway yoga. I have no idea why I felt so drained.  I was a little concerned that I had Covid. (Reminds me of when I was young and fertile and had pregnancy scares.)

            A lady from Spectrum arrived to install a new modem on my lanai to hardwire my computer to ensure a stable internet connection. She told me not to do that but to order a mesh network instead.  This is the latest technology. I got on Amazon to see how much it costs - only $249 for the set I ordered. Given that I saved at least 50 dollars not having the new modem installed and would get money back when I returned the ethernet cord to Office Max, the mesh will cost me more like $175. 

            I couldn't go anywhere or do anything anticipating a Sears repairman the afternoon.  As I lay snoozing on the couch, he tore apart my cooktop.  He couldn't fix it either. He did manage to make a change.  Instead of the ignition on the three back burners clicking continuously when any one of them was turned on, it was now the two on the left in the back and the middle in the front. If nothing else, that change provided some information as to the problem. He ordered more replacement parts and made a new appointment. 

            Later that evening, there was another package from Sears. It looked like a new burner, but it might have been part of a kitchen faucet for all I could tell.  I don't think it would have solved the problem. It seems clear there's nothing wrong with the burner, just the ignition system. 

            The repairmen asked me if it was always that way. I told him I didn't think so, but I couldn't be sure. Mike had been the cook, the only one who used the stovetop.  I assume he would have mentioned a mechanical problem to me; house repairs were my department. I remember seeing this problem first when the young woman who lived here for six months pointed it out to me. The continuous clicking wasn't a problem except when a large meal was prepared for many people. 

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Musings:

            Hidden Brain had a program entitled "Secret Friends: Tapping into the Power of Imagination." It started with a woman who had problems reading, hearing Cher's voice in her head telling her that she was okay and to march on. The program interviewed a pastor who had regular dialogues with Jesus and conducted spiritual direction sessions with people as they consulted with Jesus. 

            I act/live as if God exists but have absolutely no need to know objectively if this is true or not. I don't think it can be proved or disproved definitively, and I find the question irrelevant. 

            I also argue that if there is a God, he/she is so generous to offer all these different ways of worshipping.  I don't believe there is only one true version of God.  The only universal principle I see in all religions is an ethical framework.  In certain regards, all religions teach the same moral rules of social behavior. Differences exist in the definition of God and how to worship. Unfortunately, many religions  include information relating to people who do not worship "the correct way." It does not include kindness.

            The Hidden Brain program made me think about versions of how to relate to God. Visions of God differ from completely internal, God within, to completely external. The consistency between religions is they all teach ethical behavior; God is always an advocate of ethical conduct.  I should put that in quotes because most religions are comfortable persecuting people who are not of their faith. We can find something in religious texts that says that explicitly. Although most of it says, God will take care of those who believe, God will also punish those who do not believe. If only people could leave it at that. I don't know if there is a religion that does not have blood on its hands "in the name of God." 

            Back to my original thoughts on the nature of God.  How much is God' in us," part of us, versus how much is God an external force controlling our lives?

            Buddhism says that God is within us and not a controlling force in our lives.  I am not familiar enough with religious teaching to know if any religion holds that God is just an external force controlling our lives, ensuring that things go our way if we're good and not when we're bad.  I suspect that was the original view of God as people struggle to survive in the face of nature's arbitrary impact on their lives. 

            I don't know at what point God became a source of psychological comfort. I know that is true in Christianity.  I know that the Protestants enlarged the concept of one's ability to directly communicate with God without an intermediary in the form of a priest. I believe Catholicism has incorporated this idea. 

            Again, getting back to who God is in our lives. The question is how much of our direct communication is from God and how much is our imagination.  I come back to the position that there is no definitive proof of God. That means that we can never be sure if we communicate with God or just our own imagination.  The difference, as I see it, comes down to the ethical framework. 

            The pastor interviewed on Hidden Brain described a situation where some image or information came through in the spiritual counseling session that did not seem appropriate.  The people participating in the session all agreed that Jesus would never say something like that and give advice like that. 

            People claim that this inner voice knows things they do not know.  It could be God, or it could be Jung's "collective unconscious,' or it could be our own unconscious minds which always know more than our conscious minds. Regardless,  if we communicate with our imaginations, tapping into Jung's idea of a "collective unconscious," or God, we have to take care.  

            I don't think I'm struggling with the concept of God for myself so much as I am struggling to find a way to see people's beliefs on a continuum. For myself, I use that inner voice in my healing work.  I always start with a prayer. 

"I ask the dear Lord to use the strengths and weakness of my personality for the purpose of love and healing. And to heal and transform me in any way that is beneficial for (the person's name).  I also ask that the work be safe, comfortable, easy, and effective."  

      I embed my work in what is beneficial for healing for the person I am working with and myself.  I don't believe if I do something harmful to myself, it can be good for the other person. I have to acknowledge and protect my own boundaries. I also don't believe that I can do good when I bully a client into doing something my way because I know more.  I only know what I know. I only know a system. That does not mean I know what's best for the client. As the client and I do this together, we will discover the optimal direction to take as we do the work.  The first order of business is always, "Do no harm!" 

Wednesday, September 16, 2020

             My phone rang a 3 am. Because I had slept for hours after my French Fry binge, I was up and interested. I was expecting it to be a scam, but it wasn't. The voice on the other end said, "Betty?" a clear indication that this was for real. Scammers always call me Elizabeth, the name on my credit card.  It was an officer from the Princeton Police Department answering my call. (He said nothing about the shriek he heard in the middle of the voice mail.) In answer to my question: The Princeton Police Department issues fingerprint cards and allows them to leave the premises with an ORI #.  Huh? Clearly, the rules of the Kona Police Department are not universal.

            Since the fingerprint cards were issued by the Hilo Police Department, Hilo being the county's capital, I realized they had to have completely blank cards there. They fill in their ORI number and send them over to Kona. They said they have blanks, and I can fill in my own ORI #. I'm willing to go over there and find out.  It will be a three-hour round trip. Unfortunately, the restaurant I really love, A Mexican restaurant with nacho chips, Rueben's, that never fails to please my palate, will be closed.  Oh, well. 

            On my morning walk, I worked on lifting my knees higher and pushing through more. The leg pain is almost gone, only a slight strain. I was able to complete 5,000 steps on the morning walk.

            I finally got a handle on myself and called my Microsoft support service to challenge their charges. Every time I asked a question, they answered me with gobbly-gook.  I told them they had to translate their techno-talk to everyday English. It's rude not to do otherwise.  

            I can't believe I'm the only person who doesn't understand what they say. I do think I am the only person or one of the only ones who will demand an understanding of what I purchased.

            The original agent told me that I needed a new Microsoft Professional package, a new operating system, and new virus protection. The operating system and the virus protection were for the computer's lifetime, coming with Mike's tablet purchase. The original agent triggered my doubts when I told me I had to order a new professional package subscription, telling me that Mike bought a three-year package. Wait! If Mike bought a three-year package, it would expire in 2021 since he bought it in 2018.  I woke up in the middle of the night with that brilliant realization. That's when I started challenging their sales pitch.

            Now on to the operating system.  Mike got a lifetime operating system and virus protection when buying the Microsoft Tablet Source as I understood their somewhat garbled information. Problem:  that lifetime operating system isn't compatible with current updates. This means if an updated version of the Microsoft Professional Suite came through, the tablet would not receive it. 

            The explanation is the package that came with the machine did not have an access key.  Without the access key, the new programs could not have access to the tablet. By analogy: the original 'lifetime' operating system is like a room without a key. You can't get into it to put in new purchases.  It is necessary to buy a package with a 'key' so you can get updates.  I will have to check on that.

            I had both the company owner and the man who originally sold me the two packages on the phone. I pushed until I got sense out of them. The owner finally said he would give me a lifetime subscription to the Microsoft Professional Package.  I told him, "I'll take it, but it was unnecessary." I wasn't pushing to get a deal. I just wanted a clear understanding of what was going on so I didn't feel conned.  I repeated this comment several times. I gave him the opportunity to rescind his offer. He didn't. I told him to send me a receipt, which he hasn't up to this point. 

            I had a tutoring session with D. His memory problems persist. He has trouble remembering th=/th/ in words like this, that, the, and they. He returns over and over to pronouncing the t separately from the h. Over and over, I pronounce the word pronouncing both the /t/ and the /h/ and ask, "Is this the way you say the word? If it is, you are correct.  If you don't, it's wrong. Listen to yourself. You speak English correctly. You can trust your pronunciation. Listen to what is." And then, five words later, we have to start all over again. He doesn't listen to himself. Although, in all fairness, he did do it differently once today. Once promises more to come. His comprehension went back and forth. Some of it may sense; some did not.  All and all, both his word recognition and his comprehension are better.  I wouldn't say he's cognitively slow, but I have no idea what is happening with this boy.

            I didn't have much time between D. and my work later in the day with M. M's mom sent me a comprehension passage she had previously worked on with her daughter. M's comprehension wasn't very good.  I thought this passage was way over a fifth grader's head. It was a difficult, dense, descriptive passage that switched randomly between main points, was written as one paragraph, and had at least two grammatical errors.  

            I started the session with M. talking about how it's a normal reaction to just shut down when something looks confusing.  I was going to show her how to crack the puzzle open.  I asked questions about every sentence.  I didn't require her to use the exact words in the sentence because her verbal expression skills are already well developed. 

            In response to the first question, she was prepared to repeat the whole sentence. I told her I needed her to give me just the words that answered the question. She caught on quickly. I didn't have to give that direction again. 

            After the session, I spoke to the mom briefly. She asked me how it went. I told her I thought it went well. The mom had been listening while she kept her seven-year-old son preoccupied so he didn't make disturbing noises.   She said she thought her daughter's comprehension of the passage was better. I told her I was not teaching her how to understand this passage;  I was teaching her a strategy for unpacking any sentence she couldn't immediately understand.  We are scheduled for half an hour a week, and I can't imagine her needing more than one or two sessions before her reading comprehension will satisfy her parents' idea of what appropriate performance might be.  I may want to do one or two sessions on her writing afterward. We'll see.

            Afterward, I left for town. Spectrum is coming tomorrow to install an additional modem or router box; I can't remember which one. I do know that I will connect to it with an ethernet cord. I wanted to have that cord available before the technician arrived. I stopped at Office Max. The ethernet cord is 25 feet long. Well, that calms my concern about needing to be close to the modem before I can hook it up with the cable. 

            Then I went to Target. I picked up some all-beef hotdogs. It's what I'm used to. I also looked for a new blender. The one I have, which Mike picked up at Habitat for Humanity years ago, is making complaining sounds.  I expect to give up the ghost shortly.  Most of the ones on display had super large bases, which means they won't fit into my appliance garage.  I saw one that looked good, a Kitchen Aide, but I couldn't find a price.  I had to ask an associate for help. She had to scan the barcode to find the price. It was on sale for $79, down from $99. Others were cheaper, but I decided this one suited my needs, and I like the brand. I'll hold on to it until I have checked what Costco has to offer. If there is something as good for less money, I will grab that and return this one.

            Then I headed for the bank. I had a check to cash and planned to get a $25 cashier's check to pay for my second fingerprint card from Hilo.  The parking lot was empty, but people were waiting out in front of the bank. I asked if it was open. They told me closed, but they were all Spanish speakers and didn't even try to say anything other than 'closed." Okay, I didn't know banks closed at 4 pm.  I never ran into this problem before. Something new every day. 

______-______-_____

Musings:

            I learned something extraordinary about the brain.  The image of an apple occurs/appears in the same spot in everyone's brain. They have developed imaging techniques to determine this. 

            This has nothing to do with the word for "apple." It has to do with the image. They have tested this cross-culturally.  They put a person in an imaging machine, ask them to lie still, and think about a particular object, i.e., an apple. The scientists then identify where in the brain that image registers. They have perfected the process sufficiently so a machine can read these brain images and correctly identify what the person was thinking of. 

            This is amazing, promising methods for helping people who have problems and absolute horror on how this can/will be used sometime in the future. The scientist who talked about it in a TED talk said not to worry; it will never be used to read people's minds against their will.  He explained that they only could achieve this mind-reading with a limited number of objects, and the person had to hold very still. Ha! This poor deluded scientist assumes that technology won't improve.  Of course, it will be used for evil as well as good.  Everything we have developed is. What a species! 

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

 Damon's 48th birthday.

            I was up by five and out the door for my walk shortly after.  Thanks to my friends, the Zim's, I bought walking sticks. They are life savers when my leg is feeling weak and cranky.

            There's a strap on the handles. John showed me how to wrap the strap around my wrist and loosen my grip on the handle. Because I am using the walking stick so often, I am learning why this is important. When I have a firm grip on the handle, the contact impact reverberates in my wrist. If I don't grip the handle but only have the strap around my wrist, I don't feel that impact when the foot lands on the ground.  Repeated impact on my wrist does damage.

            Dorothy told me about a friend who is depressed about her breast cancer; she feels her life is completely altered by this event.  Her friend's case is 'mild,' a little case of cancer. (Can you imagine? In the sixties, that was not a possibility.)  Her friend's tumor lines are clear; her sentinel node was removed was clear. However, she will have to be on a medicine with bad side effects, hot flashes one of them.  Many women stop taking it because the side effects are sufficiently unpleasant.

            It became clear that Dorothy's friend is having problems partially because she faces her mortality in a new way.  I know this sounds odd. How can an intelligent, self-aware, well-informed woman in her seventies not already know she will die one day.

            Well, do I have a story about that. When I hit menopause at fifty, I had a surprise wake-up call. Because I had lost a family member a year before I was sixteen, I realized that I could die at any time. But I hadn't realized that death was inevitable. Yes, I knew I was not immortal, but I also didn't know.  Today, I thought all the voices in my mind hadn't lined up. There was a stray voice that hadn't recognized my mortality. Indeed, my conscious mind was fully aware that I would die one day, but part of me didn't recognize that.  With the onset of menopause, I fully realized that the next major physical change would be death.  I wept.

            I did some quick work in the yard outside my bedroom because the gardeners were here today. I take care of that area. Not as well as they would, but good enough. I need to collect the palm tree 'leaves' for the gardeners to take to the dump. 'Leaves' is in quotes because a palm tree left is a good four feet long.  Not easily raked up as the fall leaves on the east coast.  Each frond is a leaf. I also did light weeding before jumping in the shower for my luncheon appointment with the young woman who lived with me for six months.

            Did she have a story!  She did a round of coffee enemas on a friend's advice and put her health and well-being at serious risk.  Now, I have heard that coffee enemas can be very beneficial, but one- occasionally. Also, this young woman does not smoke or do drugs. She is committed to not doing harm to her body. 

            Her friend advised her to do two coffee enemas a day with two tablespoons of coffee in each one. She felt somewhat odd after the first one and did some checking. "People who are very sensitive should use no more than a teaspoon of coffee." The young woman backed it up to one enema a day with only one tablespoon of coffee.

            After a few days of this, she wound up on the beachfront just outside the house, stark naked. She approached people and told them to give up smoking. When they didn't respond, she threatened them. Needless to say, the police were called. 

            They assumed she was stoned and hit her with Narcan. That shouldn't be used unless someone is on the point of death. It is a dangerous drug in its own right.  They kept her hospitalized for two days pumping her full of drugs. 

            A few days after she got home, she had another event. She found herself stark naked, walking on the double lines of a nearby road. A man stopped and told her to get in the car. She asked if he could give her his shirt; it would look like a mini dress. She was reluctant to get in the car but finally conceded. 

            As his car came to the stop signs at the top of the road, the police car made the turn onto the street.  If she had been caught, she would have been back in the hospital. I don't think the doctors accepted her explanation.

            The friend who recommended this procedure felt terrible. Truth be told, she could have died if she had followed the full prescription.  Her system couldn't handle an intense chemical change. He said he had never heard of a reaction like that. She had done more research in the meanwhile and found accounts similar to hers. 

            We ate lunch at a local beachfront restaurant with an excellent reputation. I once had a hamburger there that rivaled Annie's burger. When I requested a medium-rare burger, I got very, very well done the last two times.  What the heck? The French fries were out of this world.

            I was going to stop at Costco on my way home, but I was exhausted. I don't eat carbohydrates much. I think I was in my own chemical shock. I think I dozed off for a second behind the wheel. It was nap time when I got home. I had an upset stomach for the rest of the night.

            When I got up, I called Damon to wish him a happy birthday. He was sitting in the tub, answering everyone's birthday wishes. I sang him "the" birthday song. As some of you may remember, it sounds like caterwauling. We developed it to compensate for Mike's inability to sing. That way, he could relax, enjoy, and let loose. 

Monday, September 14, 2020

            I got up a 2am this morning. I had gone to be at 8:30 pm last night. By 2, I had had six hours of sleep. It's not too surprising that I was wide awake. I worked on my updates, read, and meditated. I went back to bed around 4 am. I wound up waking up at 6:30. I got up and went for my walk. 

            I called Dorothy first thing. She hadn't been up for conversation yesterday because she wasn't feeling well, upset stomach.  She thought she caused it by overdoing the veggies.  

            I learned something upsetting yesterday. My life has recently been filled with frustrations. I would say way more than I'm used to. I learned that my Internet connection is unstable because the Big Island infrastructure is inadequate for the number of people it services.  I want to do tutoring via Zoom and Google Meet. This means I can't give consistent service. Since everyone is on their computers these days operating remotely, the system must be strained big time. 

            I have been walking a different route and meeting other people as a result. I announced that I was looking for tutoring clients to a small group. Joe offered me his business card and told me to email him. His card said he had something to do with the media.  I told him that I was concerned about my unstable internet connection. He recommended hard wiring my connection to the Internet with an ethernet cord—another problem on its way to being solved. When I got home, I thought maybe he could help me with some of my other issues.

             The day was jam-packed. I called the vet to cancel Elsa's appointment to have medication put in her ears.  Her ears smelled just fine, indicating that they were not infected.  I called The First Hawaiian Bank, where I have my local checking account, to find out if they charged me for electronically transferred checks.  My new tutoring client wants to pay electronically rather than just send me a check, my preference. I was told the First Hawaiian charged for each deposit, confirmed by a six-dollar charge for each Square deposit made to my account. I wanted to check that this was not the case before I gave my routing number.  Hawaiian told me I was good; I had changed my banking plan after I discovered those charges.

            I called the Police Department to get more information on the fingerprint procedure. Wow, what a mess. It was so confusing I don't think I can explain it. The ORI code identifies where the print was taken.  If it only represents where the prints were taken and not the requesting agency, why couldn't the card I sent in be used? Something about every agency processing background information has different rules. OMG!  If I brought in a card from the requesting agency, could the ORI number be handwritten, or did it have to be printed as it was on their cards? Printed.  How could that be done? Are you ready for the answer? Typewriter. Given that most of the people working at Step-Up Tutoring are under thirty, I doubt many of them even know what one is.

            Then I called the state car insurance oversight agency. I got a               confused, contradictory message. "No, you don't need to call Progressive to check on each item." "Yes, call Progressive and check on each item." I spend about an hour on the phone for each item, and there are twelve items. 

            I spoke to this agent once before. I didn't recognize his voice, but I did recognize his 'spiel.'  He used to work in California. He said Progressive monitored their agents very carefully there.  There were no shenanigans. Here was a different story, not just with Progressive but with all the insurance companies. I'm confused. The renewal form must be issued from a central location, something that covers the whole nation.  It doesn't make sense that there is a different issuing agency for each state. 

            Sears called to ask if the ordered equipment had arrived.  The first Sears repairman who was here discovered that the problem hadn't been correctly diagnosed, and the equipment ordered wouldn't fix the problem. I had to cancel the appointment for the next day. Then, the packages arrived around 4 pm. Too late. 

            I found another seventy books in Mike's library and organized some others. I think I found an even more efficient method for locating the books.  I do two shelves simultaneously, going through every request sheet.  It went more smoothly.

            I had an appointment with J., the six-year-old boy who is having trouble adjusting to online schooling. His mother wants me to work on how he responds when he doesn't get what he wants.  I talked to him about my anger at the police department, "How can they be so stupid?" I told him how uncomfortable my anger made me. I talked about two ways of dealing with anger, spewing it out, which hurts others, and swallowing it, and hurting ourselves.  I asked him if he was interested in finding a third way. He said yes.  I could feel the relaxation surging through him. He said yes. 

            I took my requisite nap. When I woke up, I saw Jean had called. She had left a distressing voice mail asking if I had heard from Damon. California was in the middle of a bad fire season; Damon lives right next to Griffith Park. The fire could be a serious threat. I felt my heart sink. I called her back. She said Damon had finally called her. 

            Jean has a deal with Damon that he always answers the phone if she calls twice. He didn't. She got worried. Of course, she hadn't called Cylin and August to check if everyone was all right before contacting me.  Her excuse was that she didn't have their numbers at hand. She doesn't use the address book on her cell phone. She rarely uses her cell phone. She doesn't text. She is somewhat of a Luddite. Even Mike made some advances.

            I pulled out 20 more books and reorganized those shelves. The goal is to have all the books on the eye-level shelves alphabetized. All the books in the whole library with authors starting with A will be together, etc.

            Had an alarming awareness tonight.  When I stepped up on the ladder to work on the high shelves, I noticed it was a challenge for my right leg, my good one.  I am getting weak. My home has only one small step in it. There is no place I go that I am required to climb stairs. Yes, I walk up and down hills, fairly steep ones at that, but it's not the same.  I had to raise my foot higher than I  need to when climbing these hills to get on the step ladder. Then, from that position, I have to push myself up. It's a whole different ballpark.  I am resolved to doing several exercises that address this problem. 1) I will do plies. 2) I will raise my legs higher as I walk up the hill. I will do something closer to a dress march. 3) I will drive over the Kealakehe elementary school, where I volunteered when it was open, and climb up and down their good-sized bank of stairs several times a week, probably on the days when I don't do yoga. 

            I called Darby; she was up for joining me for my before-dinner walk.  She has told me that she feels like she's twelve when she's with me. She means that as a compliment. Despite my age, I was classified as one of her younger friends.

            That young man who slows down to greet me came by. Again, he slowed down. I had a chance to ask him if I reminded him of his grandmother. He said no, he was just a friendly person. Oh!  I now understand why people often responded in strange ways when I said hello.  People walking on a street in Manhattan have given me distressed looks as I made eye contact. It looked as if they were trying to figure out where they knew me from.  I see the difference now. Ivan, the young man's name, always made eye contact with me. Everyone waves when they pass me, but most people just wave and casually look in my direction. He is only the second person I have ever seen who does what I do.  I can see what it's disorienting. I guess for those who are downright paranoid, it must be pretty upsetting. My mother would have been such a person. She would have wondered what he wanted from her.  Nothing mom! Just eye contact with no chaser. 

             My leg hurt a lot. Again, I was afraid that this was it.  I tried the trigger point massaging gun.  It made some difference, but not much.  Besides the problem in the muscles around the hip joint, my back was bothering me.  Had I managed to straighten a back that could no longer be straightened? Has my pursuit of a properly aligned back left me up with a need for back surgery? We'll see. Then I braced the ball of my left against the one step there is in my house. I stretched out the muscles in the back of my left leg.  Bibbity- bobbity- boo. All the pain was gone.

______-_______-________

Musings:

            I'm working with a six-year-old who quickly dissolves into anger when he doesn't get what he wants.  His mother said, "Don't we all feel that way?" Thinking about it, I concluded the answer to that question is "No!"

            I say that because I have noticed differences in my reaction to not getting what I want. The good old-fashioned one of having my whole body tightened up in defense persists. I'm not suggesting that it's totally gone.  I feel it a lot these days in response to the political situation. While my response does me more harm than good, I also think it is an understandable response. My vision for the direction we are going, not only for this country but also for the world, is not good.  I think we are heading for self-destruction. I don't believe that we can vote our way out of this situation.  My vision is one where my life is in danger. But I have two other responses to not getting what I want. I can only hope and pray that I can develop my inner wisdom enough to apply it to what I believe I will have to face in my lifetime.

            The second response to not getting what I want is a momentary tightening reaction and then allowing curiosity to dominate, allowing me to wonder how I will benefit from this alternative plan. Maybe I will learn something new. Perhaps I will meet somebody new. I'm open to the possibility, which means I am willing to explore the alternative rather than go to ground over the change as this boy is doing.

            The third response is excitement. I wonder where this is going to take me. I'm on an adventure into the unknown.  How will this turn out? Curiosity is the dominant emotion.  

            That last one was my response to Mike's death: I was on a new adventure.  How was it going to turn out?  Clearly, I didn't want Mike to die.  We were doing very well as a couple. 

            This makes me remember a period in our marriage that wasn't that good.  Easy affection and laughter were gone.  Here was something I wasn't prepared to live without.  I considered leaving Mike but concluded that he was a really good person, and I had no place else I wanted to be.  I let go of what I wanted and resolved to find a way to make myself comfortable.  

            Spoiler alert: the dead air between us cleared up shortly after I came to that conclusion. Maybe not such a spoiler alert. When we want something too much, when we hang on too tightly, we block the possibility of the very changes we want.  Shortly after the dead air period broke, I shared my thoughts about leaving the marriage with Mike. He said he had had the same thoughts and came to the following conclusion: "She's a really good person, and I have no place else I want to be."

            What's weird as I look back at that period is that we never sought marriage counseling.  On previous occasions when we were annoyed with each other or in outright conflict, we sought out help, but this dead air episode never triggered thoughts of marriage counseling. Why didn't we respond that way to this most serious threat to our relationship?