Whole and Present

     Maybe, like my family, yours needs healing for the holidays, more than anything else. We can bring about change, as difficult or painful as it seems. Family time need not be just a time to "deal" with relatives. My family is contentious, like so many. It seems, we so often reflect how we deal with the world in how we manage our family relations. With family, however, bad behavior may be heightened by bad manners. Hurts tend to be deeper and the anger we suppress in the interests of "getting along," festers. So it came to pass this year, some family members were "avoiding" each other, unwilling to attend our annual Thanksgiving celebration. Without judgment, here is my plea.

     "Of all of us, I'm the least likely to stay silent on any topic. I hope you will indulge me this time, as I feel I must speak my peace. May it be authentic and from my heart. Here are a few things I find remarkable. Seated around our holiday tables of the past, present and, future are unique reservoirs of education and intelligence, not to mention qualities such as civility. As a group we possess an astonishingly large reservoir of creative talent, as well. Why, then, would we settle for divisiveness and dysfunction?

     My plea is for everyone to come to the Thanksgiving table in gratitude for life, love, sustenance, beauty and the freedom to enjoy them. For a moment I lost track of my great friend, Adil, in the bloody chaos of the terrorist attacks of Paris. After a terrible night I did find him. He had gone to bed early, after a long day. He has a booth in Montmartre. From it he sells his paintings of Paris and Heidelberg to passersby and tourists. He shares his space and swaps stories with other artisans and merchants there. Drifting off to sleep, Adil was awakened by the sound of an explosion, followed by others. Adil knows (knew) some of the cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo. He was very much affected by the attacks on Charlie Hebdo and the killings in the Jewish hypermarket January 7, 2015. Now he struggles through the aftermath of a fresh nightmare. We cannot know what tomorrow will bring. Let us live in the moment, whole and present.

     Gene and Rosann have made us all welcome to their lovely home and table.  Maybe we could each choose to make the McCullough home and table a safe place for each and every person who comes to Thanksgiving. In the interests of convocation we can choose not to say one word of past hurts, bitterness or anger to anyone. We can choose to love unconditionally for a few hours. To do so, I believe, is the essence of gratitude. It can also be a starting point for a spirit of true reconciliation to take hold. Reconciliation is not forgiveness, nor does it forget. Rather, It is an exercise in relinquishment. It does not deny wrongs on either side. Rather it takes no side. It calls a halt to animosity, to begin. Then it calls us to seek healing and reconstruction, not restitution.

     I'll gladly start. I relinquish hurts of the past absolutely. I am grateful to have met and known Gene. I am grateful to have been his wife and the mother of his children. I am grateful to Rosann for loving Merritt, Margaret, Colin, Ryan, Cole and Aidan as more than a stepmother, as a mother. My gratitude for my children and grandchildren is boundless. You are all remarkably intelligent, talented and generous. To my grandsons, I find you to be, each in his own right, handsome, bright and wholehearted. More important each person around our Thanksgiving table is the owner of a lion's heart. Contentious we may be, but the world finds us independently courageous and generous to a fault. Be this to each other.

“Kintsugi is a pottery technique. When something breaks, like a vase, they glue it back together with melted gold. Instead of making the cracks invisible, they make them beautiful. To celebrate the history of the object. What it's been through. And I was just... Thinking of us like that. My heart full of gold veins, instead of cracks.” ― Leah Rader, Cam Girl

     
     This year, alone, some family members have striven to return to school and work. People have moved, built and rebuilt homes. Some have chosen to make enormous changes and strides in careers. Others have overcome terrible injury and illness. We have managed our pain, collectively and individually. We have done so with courage and integrity. At the end of 2015 and into next year, let's heal hearts. None of us can judge the others. None of us is better than any other. None of us struggles harder. We are a company of excellent people, each of whom has come a long way. Respect everyone, criticize no-one. Mohandas Gandhi said, “Hatred is not the enemy; the enemy is fear.”
     I hope everyone will come to family Thanksgiving in the spirit, as well as in the flesh. If not I have no expectation. Rather I will count you there in my dreams. Meanwhile this is no time for shame and blame. We have a common goal, but everything has its time, and each of us holds the key to the clock. It would do my heart good to see us together again. The family bread baker, I am casting my bread upon the waters."

A Year, Lost and Found

A friend, writing about the highlights of 2015, inspired me to write a post. I have felt the year slipping by me, almost since it began. I felt it was a wash. Writing always brings me back to a more mindful state. This morning is no exception. I follow the Chinese lunar calendar, so today, November 18, is an auspicious day to move forward. On that note here are my highlights for 2015.

-The early months of this year were unproductive in terms of professional writing. I did not manage to monetize my blog. The legal document processing business also suffered.
-January and February were physically draining. Arthritis and cold, dreary, weather do not mix well. I was, frankly, racked with pain, and living as a virtual recluse.
-Spring never came to Denver. It rained, man, it rained.
-One daughter is making a splash in her career. She has exceeded sales benchmarks, to be awarded as a Pacesetter and Silver Pacesetter by her employer. She is destined for management.
-Another daughter is changing her life and career, devoting herself to painting, rather than design, a tough transition.
-My son made enormous strides in his life. He is working on a degree, maintaining a 4.0 average in college. He has an apartment and his own truck. He makes time for me, shares his stories and his strength.
- Received an invitation to enter a prototype for a new publication in The Knight Foundation's innovative journalism category. My prototype, one of 800 entries, did not win, but generated a second invitation.
-Summer came and went in a flash. I took on two pro bono legal document challenges, a blizzard of paperwork. Both people both got off the hook for serious financial penalties. One dodged an impossible deadline.
-One takeaway for the year is to choose the mountain! Death on some mountains is, not merely painful; it is a waste.
-My year has also been marked by family divisiveness. We seem destined to remain a rigid, contentious and unforgiving bunch! My daughter complimented me for having the ability to write people "carte blanche." No, it is simply that I have learned the hard way all it takes to truly reconcile.
-Still striving for better answers to chronic inflammatory disease, to share with blog readers. In the process I've discovered a world of information and some very compassionate people.
-November's national and international news has been particularly grim. The dreadful, events in Paris, were personal. I lost track of a close friend. The day after the terrorist attacks, I was relieved and grateful to find him, safe and sound.

Prayer, desperate prayer, seems so simple, but it’s a step rarely taken by those in family conflict. ~Erwin W. Lutzer, When You've Been Wronged: Moving From Bitterness to Forgiveness

Finally I am so grateful to my family and close friends for their love and generosity, for shining a light in dark times. Our lives seem to be forever marked by violence. Terror has cast a long shadow everywhere in the world. Cruelty and brutality are the order of the day. It is that time when we need the voices of sanity and compassion.

Oprah Power

Where is your gratitude?

Despite the humor intended in the title of this post, I am truly disgusted. Of course Oprah Winfrey is a proponent of gratitude! The primary issue I address here is my gratitude and that of my neighbors, although Oprah inspired me to write it. You see, my original intention and hope for this blog was to inform seniors, their families and caregivers. It was also to empower people; only a tiny percentage of the world's people, even of the world's wealthy, have Oprah Power.

Most readers who follow my blog will be familiar with some of the issues facing tenants of public housing. I happen to live in a comparatively nice-looking LIHTC, a highrise near downtown Denver. To my astonishment (not to mention the amazement of some of my neighbors) the building and landlord were featured on Denver's Channel 9 News recently. I say we were astonished, because, although this is reasonably attractive housing, it was touted as a progressive solution to public housing woes. I wrote two newspeople at Channel 9, two women, Adele Arikawa and Kyle Dyer, to express my surprise at the coverage, and to voice my concerns. Their reply? The single tenant of this housing with whom they spoke expressed her profound gratitude for her apartment. With regard to the issue of segregating the tenants of the tax credit set-aside portion of the property from the tenants and all of the amenities of the adjoining portion of the development, the tenant said she was aware of the situation, but has no objection on the grounds she is grateful for her home!

I have heard this standard applied previously; indeed, by this landlord's site manager on another publicly subsidized property, a senior multifamily Section VIII.  Gratitude was Manager Ginny's trump card, and she played it continuously, with impunity! The housing had originally been developed under the auspices of the Archdiocese of Denver and/or Catholic Charities and Community Service of Denver. When the complex opened its doors, as Higgins Plaza, it was managed by vowed Catholic nuns. As such gratitude for this shelter is virtually compulsory. (-Have an issue with bullying by your neighbors or the management team?  Are maintenance and repairs are mediocre at best? Have you long suspected the Manager of stealing the property of elderly tenants, transferring to long-term care, deceased or dying?) Where is your GRATITUDE? My own son-in-law, while I was protesting my unhappiness in living at Higgins Plaza, alluded to life under one of the City's bridges as my unacceptable and only alternative!

By the measure of gratitude I submit to you I am a generally grateful individual, hence the name of this blog. By the measure of gratitude for "the little things," Oprah is remiss, to reduce this to the ridiculous. If memory serves, the unredoubtable Ms. Winfrey protested the treatment she received as a member of the public entering Hermes. Apparently Hermes felt she was mistaken to enter the store. A clerk advised Oprah she could not afford to purchase so much as a handbag in the store, so the story goes. In any case Oprah did not care for the presumption behind the statement, nor its racist overtone. Hermes, on the other hand, appeared to feel she should have been grateful not to have been immediately barred from its store.  See: http://www.nbcnews.com/id/8338268/#.VkI0V66rRQY

You know the rest of Oprah's rather public issue with Hermes. No, Oprah was not sufficiently grateful to step foot in Hermes. Her gratitude for haute couture proved insufficient to overcome her expectation not to be followed, questioned and insulted, by high fashion's presumptuous bigots. Unlike the rest of us, Oprah had the luxury of publicly proclaiming her objection. Although we are told, as residents of public housing, the landlord cannot retaliate against us for voicing our concerns, legitimate or otherwise, it is absolutely not true. My former close friend and neighbor was effectively evicted and sued for unlawful detainer for disagreeing publicly with the landlord's new non-smoking policy and the manner in which it was introduced (and enforced.) The man's responses were inappropriately couched, but he should have had the right to express his objection and, for that matter, his annoyance, within certain limits of acceptability. The landlord could have insisted he keep it appropriate, not insulting, but, instead chose to evict, leaving him devastated. He lost a great deal of property, and has returned to his previous homeless state. He is a disabled American veteran. We should be grateful, and be able to demonstrate our gratitude for his service.

The Civil Rights Movement, it wasn't just a couple of, you know, superstars like Martin Luther King. It was thousands and thousands - millions, I should say - of people taking risks, becoming leaders in their communities. ~Barbara Ehrenreich

When the site manager at Higgins Plaza stated that "as a recipient of a housing subsidy, you should be grateful for shelter. My response was swift and clear. I said, "My financial status and arrangements are absolutely private. My housing subsidy neither removes any of my rights, nor does it negate my expectation that my housing will be decent, safe and secure, in decent repair and reasonably clean. Your company is accountable for adherence to federal law!" I have said the same things in my current tax credit housing. The sad thing was my willingness to move into housing under the control of the same landlord and management company. Be assured it is due to the scarcity of affordable housing in this city.

It all depends, I suppose, upon whether shelter is or is not considered a human right. It depends on one's view, also of the civil rights of Americans. Bottom line ... segregating people by income is egregious. Segregating an entire portion of a development by income is unlawful, if that portion of the development is a separate building and populated by a preponderance of the ethnic minorities in the development. This condition creates "disparate impact," and it is against the law. Perhaps one woman in this LIHTC is not at all concerned about being unable to swim in the pool, use the health club, or sip a cup of coffee in the courtyard of the development. That does not make it right, not by any standard.

So I ask, am I grateful not to be under the Cherry Creek bridge with my little dog and what remains of my belongings? You tell me. Am I grateful for America's tax credit program, which is notorious everywhere in the Nation for promoting segregation? You tell me.

Nail Biter

After a Summer hiatus, it's time to get back to blogging. We live in an over-anxious world; the personal control which accompanies financial security teeters on top of a hat pin.

One of the women I count among my friends, is a neighbor of six years. We began talking as new neighbors, grew interested in each other's work, families and social lives. We are separated by a generation, Marti is young enough to be my daughter. We are dissimilar in personality, although, each of us, in her way, outspoken and independent. Marti, however, is someone who suffers from an anxiety disorder, and knows it. She has had treatment in the past, but nothing, so far has been consistently successful.

Marti is a hard worker, diligent and painstaking. She is a pleaser; it is part of her professional persona. She is a catering supervisor, both working for an international corporation and for a small, but highly successful, local caterer. It is a stressful, unpredictable, business. Tastes, the fortunes of clients, trends in food, entertaining and marketing  ... all bring new meaning to change as the only constant. Perhaps not the best choice of career for a nail biter, but, the reality of the workplace rarely meets the ideal. Most of us, let's face it, work to pay for life's necessities, not to mention, most are only a paycheck away from temporary shelter. 

Marti, however, worries about everything. A Colorado native, for example, she worries about Winter coming. So when she came to me, to ask whether my document processing business included living wills, trusts and powers of attorney, I might have guessed she would jump right in, only to back-pedal furiously shortly thereafter. Here is my personal confession. In spite of my customary lack of fear,  I have done this. At 75 I had no living will, no advance medical directives, no powers of attorney in place. The reason was no reason at all -- no, it wasn't pure procrastination. It came down to dread at the acknowledgement, not so much of death, but, of catastrophic injury or illness. What terrible words are limitation, relinquishment, incapacitation ... isn't death preferable, in other words, to ultimate indignities and dependency?
Marti says she's "not ready," and I don't blame her. However, I hope she will reconsider. She is a divorcee, with one child and one grandchild. Her former spouse died recently. His protracted illness and lack of preparation for the end of his life cost his son dearly.
   

Emotional Extortion

Whew! We're truly never to old to learn from our mistakes. Have you ever poured yourself into a relationship, only to regret you made the investment? People manipulate, often un-consciously. It is part of being human. On the other hand, if one day, you realize you are subject to repeated emotional blackmail, you may have missed the warning signs. Extract yourself expediently, and don't look back. The emotional extortionist hones manipulation to an art form. Here are some indications you are dealing with and, quite possibly, empowering, your puppeteer.

We are speaking of an individual who does not merely want you to do and say what he/she wants and expects. This is about he or she "who must be obeyed." Do you have the feeling nothing is about you; the planet orbits around your demanding other?  Fail to comply, and the issue ceases to concern right or wrong; you are loved, if you do, damned, if you don't.

The Half Apology

An extortionist rules by guilt, even while offering a half-apology.  Mr. X says, "I am sorry, I had such a brutal day at work;" in one way or another, he's unwell, exhausted, ill, hurting, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. You get the point. If you nail him for his ugly outburst, it is "Shame on you. I was suffering!" It isn't Mr. X; it is your expectation of self-control that is in error. 

Forget the apology. Of course it is neither heartfelt, nor unconditional. So what is the answer to this? Be clear. Tell Mr. X you aren't buying what he's selling, and you are entitled to a sincere apology. Consistently let someone who deals in what I call the migraine excuse that ill health and pain are commonplace events. Other people suffer from one thing or another, but do not use any level of pain to excuse outright abuse of others. I have been known to point out that "I am sorry," even in a contrite manner, cannot excuse saying and doing certain things." Once out, you cannot put a toad back in your mouth. 

Zero Accountability

An extortionist is rarely accountable for his/her actions. Any misbehavior is generally followed by, "If you hadn't done what you did (or said what you said,) I would not have acted as I did: "You made me do it." The message is obvious; you are the guilty party. Do not take on the guilt, not even subconsciously. Call the individual to account for his actions, make it clear and consistent. Have as a rule of thumb that no-one can make another person do what he would not do.

Selective or No Memory

The extortionist often disclaims any recollection of his or her statements. "I did not say that." "I don't recall saying anything like that." "I would never say such a thing." "What I said was just the opposite." Ms. Y promises to have her completed project on your desk by 8:00 in the morning. She procrastinated right to the very end, and the pressure is on her to perform. The next morning, 8:00, 9:00, 9:30 pass, but the project does not appear. Ah, but, it is you who has a bad memory. Again shame, shame on you! By the way, if you have no witnesses or material evidence, Ms. Y walks, leaving you to hold the bag for the missed deadline. Lesson learned: Make this extremely difficult for Ms. Y to repeat. Document, document, document -- write things down immediately, date and time them, put them in a timeline.

The Wages of Sin

An extortionist makes you pay, in addition to eroding your credibility with others by maligning you. The wages of emotional extortion are guilt. A master manipulator, close or not, has a mystical ability to perceive your guilt triggers. Given a chance, he or she will reduce you to a puddle of melted, watery gelatine. Never say, "I am sorry you feel this way," or words to that effect. Point out that, for example, your abuse of their generosity and friendship, is the other person's perception. It is also something you intend to discuss no further. Make it clear you will not take on the onus of false accusation. If you are feeling generous tell your accuser, you hope he/she will come to a different conclusion or understanding. If not, "Belay it," is good enough. As for your own character, or soul, the contents are between you and God.

A note to anyone who lives daily with a passive-aggressive partner or family member: Statements such as, "Don't worry about me! If you prefer the company of your friends, go ahead and spend the evening with them," my standard reply was ever the same. "Dinner is in the oven, enjoy! Have a good evening." In other words, I am not worried about you. I am doing as I choose, and I am doing it free of guilt or remorse.

Comin' In From Behind

Moaning, barely audible utterances, eye rolls, death-ray looks, door-slamming, head slapping... all of these and more, are in the passive aggressive repertoire. It is all back-of-the-house, rather than front-of-the-house. There is no such thing as direct eye contact or a forthright statement. The passive aggressive does not have the courage to be up front. A direct attack, if it does occur, is for dramatic effect; the attacker hopes it will prompt solicitous reactions. "Are you okay," we ask. Can I do anything for you? Soon you are seen as the aggressor.

If an extortionist manages to provoke you, and you lose control, you are officially in his corner. He is the one in control. As difficult as it may be, try not to flip your lid. Take a minute, and compose yourself.

If all else fails, some extortionists won't stop at scaring the bejesus out of you. So long as they can shock you and/or onlookers, nothing is off the table. I got a call at dawn this morning, from a tearful, nearly hysterical sister. "My brother threatened to kill himself. I called 911. Could you check, to see whether the dispatcher sent anyone... more tears. I was not the person to call. I said, "-Suicide? I'll believe it, when I see it, and, "I can hear the commotion as we speak, so the EMTs are here." She rang off, to call someone to do something. Her brother is fine. She may never be the same again, but her brother is fine.

Incensed and Incendiary

Make no mistake, wheedling, adult tantrums, guilting ... are no challenge for a true extortionist. The ultimate weapon is rage. When I said, recently, I see no need for me to have further involvement in this matter, what came back was ugly. It began innocently enough with a "How dare you," but descended into name calling and maligning my character ... at a glass shattering pitch. This was followed by a blitzkrieg of vulgar name-calling. And, of course, my statement of disinterest in getting involved in an ongoing conflagration, which did not involve me, ended up as "forbidding" the extortionist to speak to me. Nor will an emotional blackmailer stop with attacking you directly; he/she will go everywhere to everyone who will listen.

Threats of physical violence are another matter. Walk away, unless you happen to be currently a martial arts master, even then, walk away. Get rapidly into self-protection mode, and report the problem immediately. If, this time, no damage was done, an attack was launched on someone's person.

Mind Yourself

Mind your own emotional wellbeing; it is every bit as important as physical safety. Have you always suffered shaky self-esteem, or are you always appeasing others? How badly do you really need to be needed? Have a long think about how you interact with others, and whether you invite manipulation. Seek professional help or coaching, if need be. Absolutely do not spend a single sleepless night over the speech or actions of emotional extortionists.

Behind A Wall

   

Behind The Wall

Please forgive my rant and what may seem an unreasonable expectation. Stop characterizing people as bipolar, or assigning other psychobabble labels to human beings. While we know labeling is not diagnosis, it is a deadly sin. It inflicts enduring harm to the self-esteem of the victim, and is the tool of character assassination. With a complementary tip of the hat to people who are exhausted with political correctness, there is a movement afoot to change the language we use in reference to mental health issues, including professional terminology. In any event it is time to scuttle amateur psychiatric diagnoses. Whether in the heat of anger, or in everyday conversation, pasting a label on another person is a 'below the belt tactic," one of those hurts neither easily, nor soon forgotten.

      What prompts me to post this is the experience of a good friend, who is surviving a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. (He prefers the term Manic Depression) We agree that most lay people have no idea, when they use the term bipolar, what they are saying! Some folks actually believe it is  a minor imbalance, inconvenient, not devastating. Used improperly psychological terms mischaracterize people who do not have the disorder. Perhaps worse is diminishing suffering, as well as the struggle to be well. Don't misunderstand; there is nothing wrong with expanding your knowledge of Psychology. Nevertheless, while no lay person would diagnose another with lung cancer, it seems few hesitate to offer serious mental health diagnoses.

https://behindthewallstories.wordpress.com/

“There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you're high it's tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones. Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people. Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced irresistible. Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one's marrow. But, somewhere, this changes. The fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friends' faces are replaced by fear and concern. Everything previously moving with the grain is now against-- you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.”
―  Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unique Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

     If someone shares the experience of his or her professional diagnosis, experience or survival with you, stifle the tendency to offer your expert opinion. Even mental health professionals and social workers, who are credentialed in their own fields, should stop short of judgments and recommendations beyond their pay grades. It is nonsense, damaging nonsense. Other terms have also become so popular as to be trite. Is there a junior high bully on the Internet, who doesn't know how to throw the occasional Mental Health Bomb? "You are a sociopath," texts the bully. "What would you know, you freaking Narcissist," replies her target. And so it goes.

     The worst labelling applies to the most complicated of diagnoses (and perhaps the least understood,) Schizophrenia. I have lived in close contact with people who have experienced and survived various mental health diagnoses, many, struggling with a diagnosis of Schizophrenia. Karis Community in Denver, Colorado, provides housing and services to people who have dealt with mental illness,long term. I'd rather say they are in the process of becoming survivors. It is a wonderful place, an accepting environment and, for many clients of its program an opportunity to step into new lives. We lived across the street from Karis, in the Congress Park neighborhood. We visited, took our dogs for "Dog Day" celebrations, got to know the residents and staff. Some of us became donors. All of us benefited from the privilege of being part of the Karis Community.

     I was and am so grateful not to have lived in my parents' era. Psychotherapy was off the table for them. Seeking, even, professional advice for anything that could be construed as weakness of character, spinelessness, was to be avoided at all costs. Of course nearly anything and everything did reflect on one's character, so shame was a given. Perceived excess, along with sadness and anger, was pure self-indulgence. Certainly gossip was rampant, so we kids were taught never to discuss family business, above all, not with family. Divorce was not a subject to entertain, not among Catholics. The local priest and confessional were the only acceptable recipients of private information. Even then it was selective. Adults seldom confessed to addiction and abuse. Bruised inside and out, our mothers and grandmothers went to mass, and shut their mouths. If anyone asked about a battered woman's face, a door had most certainly come off its hinges and leapt into her face.

     The link below provides alternative descriptives for amateurs and mental health professionals, alike:

http://www.hogg.utexas.edu/initiatives/language_matters.html

 Language and the way we use it has immense power. It also carries with it enormous responsibility ... changing language is a defacto way to change perceptions for and of people living with mental health diagnoses.

In The Absence of Love

       I had another terrible night on top of an unproductive day. My neighbor, R.R., becomes daily more anxious. He is having to cram a life time of memories, and the physical makings of his home, into boxes and crates. He must figure out what to leave, give away and trash. It is affecting me daily on a subconscious level, even when I am not there to witness or help. Out of desperation he wastes time attempting to redress the wrong he has suffered. This is not the time to hold the landlord accountable; it is the eleventh hour. He must move.
      Meanwhile I pray my R.R. will focus, the move will go unexpectedly well, and the losses will not break his heart. Most people who get to tax-credit housing, have already endured considerable loss (it shows more in some than in others, but this is the last resort, before homelessness for many.) Caring in the face of what seems lifelong disappointment can be an insurmountable challenge.

      I have been where my neighbor is today. Decades ago, in the wake of a bitter divorce, in the absence of love, we sold our Boulder home. Six years into single parenthood I broke. The large house and property in Boulder, Colorado, had become a black hole into which I poured hard labor and money. In addition the property, situated at the base of the NCAR Mesa, regularly bore the brunt of catastrophic wind storms. Clinical depression took a firm hold on me. Neither crisis intervention, nor psychiatric treatment relieved a crippling emotional paralysis.
     I had put my teaching career on hold at the worst possible time. Demographics were changing everywhere in the nation, not the least in Boulder County. Public schools were closing their doors, as student populations dwindled. My eventual solution was to downsize, and return to a business-related occupation. Fortunately I was able to land a job in a downtown Denver stock brokerage, Douglas and Company.  We rented a townhouse outside of town.
     The townhouse was small, so much of our larger household had to go to storage. The couple at the mom and pop storage facility, who seemed so sweet, were elderly sharks. They immediately tasted blood in the water. They waited patiently for the inevitable. Things went well for a few months. 
The end of my dream job came with brutal certainty. One morning a line of grey-flannel cutouts presented themselves at the front desk. I peered out of the window of my office, wondering, "SEC or Feds?" In no time flat the CEO and his partner lost their licensure. The doors closed within weeks. My last paycheck went for rent, groceries and school supplies. A local French restaurant hired me to work evenings as a dinner chef.  
      While I waited for my first check from the restaurant, Mom and Pop cut the bolt on my storage unit. They auctioned the contents just as a payment deadline approached. It was total devastation. Every scrap of my parents' furniture from prewar China vanished. Gone were photographic albums, framed art works, art objects. Worse my children's clothing, furniture, books, toys and photos went with the rest.
      It was by no means over. We had to vacate the townhouse. My beloved Irish Setter went to a pair of graduate students, who lived in the mountains. We moved to the only place I could rent, a trailer in a rural town between Boulder and Denver. The day we moved the drive train of the car broke. I wondered how far we could sink, until we discovered a black rat carcass under the kitchen sink of the trailer. My Siamese cat took care of the rest of the vermin. We disinfected like mad, but an epidemic of Bubonic Plague in the trailer park made headlines throughout the Southwest.
      I eventually went to work in the Trust Department of Colorado National Bank. It proved too little, too late. Rather than see the two younger children further deprived and endangered, I relinquished primary custody to their father and his new wife. My elder daughter and I made a home together, but she began to suffer emotionally, as displaced children do. The younger children went to private schools. They had all manner of advantages, but spent years in family therapy with parents, who lacked the most basic parenting skills.
       I hope R.R., who is relatively unencumbered, and who has a loving family, will fare well. I shall miss him -- he is a bright, kind, funny, man. In the end we can counsel and care for each other, but life takes us down lonely pathways. Despite sadness and desperation this is a memorable time. We shared dinner night before last. A friend came to visit, a wonderful musician, who played his viola for us ... right in the midst of the packing boxes. Extraordinary!
      Reality checks for depressive symptoms are routine for me, even today. My solid footing will return -- it always does. Meantime I can be present for my neighbor, until he returns home to Anchorage.