Domestic Psychology

just because you can, doesn’t mean you should

// March 8th, 2012 // No Comments » // people, politics

Every election day, I go to my community polling place to vote. I know with complete certainty that the workers have diverse political viewpoints, but not because we talk about it in that setting. One of the workers always recognizes me and asks about the children. While standing in line, most of us joke about food, weather, pop culture, and everything except politics. Somewhere in the line is one of my neighbors. My children play with classmates whose parents are waiting their turn to vote. Before I leave the building, I always see school administration keeping a quiet eye on the voting activity in their facility. Voting is a pleasant gathering of the members of my real-life community.

On this year’s Super Tuesday, the exceptions to the rule were out and about.

While most of us made sure to wear nothing political, avoid political chatter, read the sample ballot before entering the voting area, and have our ID ready, some people arrived ready to express dissatisfaction with anything and everything. An older woman accused the young man sitting at the registration table of trying to steal her social security number. Someone else lectured the worker because he didn’t like the check boxes asking if voters want an R or D ballot. One person in line complained that she shouldn’t have to wait, because she “has a life.” A woman shrieked that poll workers don’t deserve to get paid for making her wait in line and then she went to the workers’ break area and ate a worker’s lunch.

I don’t know if the disgruntled voters were really distressed because they didn’t like the choices on the ballot, hate that the machines have dials instead of a touch screen, or just had low blood sugar from skipping breakfast. I know for certain that the rest of us were merrily enjoying the privilege and responsibility to vote while the poll workers politely accepted the abuse that they did not deserve. Are the workers adults capable of coping with difficult people? Yes. Are people allowed to behave like that at the polls? Yes. Does that make it right? No. Just because you CAN be a jerk to employees at the polls, or anywhere else, doesn’t mean you SHOULD take your issues out on them.

One man offered a photocopy of his license as his ID. When the poll worker recited the acceptable forms of ID, the man calmly pulled his license from his pocket. He wanted to better understand the new ID law and he did so without being rude or creating a scene. If he had skipped his breakfast, maybe he would have taken his disapproval of the ID law out on the poll worker. The poll worker would not have argued. The poll worker would only call the police and a giant fuss could have interrupted everyone else’s ability to vote. It would have accomplished nothing.

While the viral video of the TN soldier, who has an acceptable military ID if he shops in the Commissary, was an obvious planned protest of the voter ID law, the poll worker he harangued really did NOT deserve that abuse. That behavior should have been saved for the halls of the elected Tennessee officials. Should the workers quit to protest the new ID law or something else that elected officials have concocted to fix problems that don’t exist? Only if they don’t want to work the polls in the future. Working at the polls is more than a job. It is an important part of the election process. Don’t make the workers feel as miserable as you feel. Let their sense of pride and pleasure in being a voter melt your icicles.

New York randomness

// November 1st, 2011 // No Comments » // people, travel

New York could have saved itself a lot of money by not installing crossing lights. No New Yorker heeds those lights. They cross by some kind of intuition. I assimilated and crossed without hesitation when there was no traffic, but I was less confident when there were moving cars. My solution was to follow the lead of the person wearing skinny jeans. Regardless of what they are wearing or their age, never follow two people holding hands. People holding hands in New York are in a love haze and they will walk for miles to get nowhere.

- – - – - – -

“Are those old-fashioned water containers on rooftops in case of fire?”
“I don’t know.”
“What embassy is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“What is that sculpture?”
“I don’t know.”
“For someone who claims to be a New Yorker, you don’t know a lot.”

- – - – - – -

On the other hand, I paused to take a picture of one of the amazing window displays in the city and when I turned back, Sarah was in a group debating subway routes.

- – - – - – -

Having witnessed the functional purpose of the scarves that New Yorkers wear as fashion accessories, I wonder how they deal with smells and germs on subways during warm weather.

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Metropolitan Museum of Art > Frick > MoMa

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Not knowing Spanish in New York felt rude and inconsiderate. I’m sorry.

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Small child reading ad on the side of a bus: “Beavis and Butthead.”
Nanny: “Just say Beavis.”
Child: “That’s not what it says.”
Nanny: “That is ALL you will say.”

- – - – - – -

Do people in New York not need the rare and endangered public bathroom because they walk off all fluids or are they perpetually dehydrated?”

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OH in crowd watching Naked Cowboy: “I think he’s gay.”

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“One of the Beatles died there. Why are you crying?”

- – - – - – -
If I lived in New York, I would be one of the clipboard people who answer questions in Central Park. I could never get tired of Central Park.

D is the new R

// August 3rd, 2011 // 2 Comments » // people, politics

My father is an extremely conservative, white, Southern Baptist male. He also loves Drudge Report and has a 1950′s attitude about race and gender. Tomorrow, he is driving to what Newscoma lovingly terms as Hoots for the funeral of his cousin. My father will be one of the most liberal people at that funeral.

Today’s Democrats are yesterday’s Republicans. There is a Bachmann in every Southern Baptist congregation. Our country is tilting furiously as the oligarchy fight to separate themselves from responsibility. Using the Southern Strategy to gain control of the country for maximum greed, many Americans now endorse the dismantling of social services and the infrastructure that helps us work toward safer air, water, food and pharmaceuticals.

Social media makes the world feel small, but it also makes it easy to forget that there is a large portion of the world who are not political junkies plugged into the Matrix. Most people could care less about the back and forth in DC. Do you know why the President asked people to tweet their elected officials? Because nobody else cares.

Those of us who want all children fed, clothed, sheltered and educated regardless of their parents’ place of birth or employment status are the minority. We need to stop acting shocked when our fantasy of a healthy, educated populace gets dealt political blows.

We have a choice. We can act like emo teenagers blaming a President who is constrained by the reality of being black in America and help get a Koch owned politician elected OR we can elect politicians who are not bought and paid for by lobbyists. We can give our President intelligent team players who care about ALL Americans or we can rage against the good guys because they had to compromise with racist, sexist creeps and corporate overlords.

Realistically, the best and brightest thing we can do for the future is to educate all children and raise our own children to care about others.

Angry Bird Brotherhood

// November 5th, 2010 // No Comments » // gaming, people

At one point during our DC visit, we ended up riding a bus instead of the child-preferred Metro. The bus was hot, crowded and a bit stinky. Multiple languages whispered in cell phones or to seatmates. A familiar game sound across the aisle made Doug’s head spin and in a millisecond, a dozen people on a bus were discussing Angry Birds. It united people who were more diverse than an old Benetton ad. Every last one of them smiled and talked excitedly about a game that is loved by even the five-year-old member of our family.

The next day, I watched a heated political conversation on Twitter become a love-fest between cons and libs as they tweeted about green pigs and yellow birds. Walking through the DC airport, I weaved in and out of Angry Bird sound effects coming from every direction.

I think that someone should nominate Angry Birds for a Nobel prize. It seems to have a bonding effect on people that doesn’t exist anywhere else. Angry Birds is an instant community builder. At the same time, someone needs to form an Angry Birds political party. They can lobby for things people want, like Angry Birds reacting appropriately to a phone being tilted.

Wasn’t expecting THAT

// November 4th, 2010 // 1 Comment » // people

Before we left for DC, we had multiple conversations with the children in an attempt to prevent problems. Although the most repeated topic was what to do if you get lost, we also talked about big city manners and safety. “Always look both ways.” “Don’t kick the seat in front of you.” “Use your inside voice.” “Don’t walk away from your stuff.”

Our second day there, we walked toward the Metro in our too slow pace that didn’t improve no matter what we tried. As we neared the intersection where we had to cross the street, I surveyed the organized chaos. Marked and unmarked police cars, multiple police dogs, curbs filled with a seated audience and a heavily uniformed officer carrying some sort of sealed canister. I guessed they were disposing of meth or meth lab materials. We continued on our journey unphased. I don’t think the children noticed anything except the street signs they were counting as they touched them.

Later that night, we reviewed our day’s adventures. I said we saw a drug arrest of some kind and our hostess went to check the story out on their neighborhood blog. “That wasn’t drugs. They were cleaning out a house and found grenades.” Grenades. Not once did we consider grenades in our conversations with small children, the girl teen or other adults. I’ll be sure to add cannonballs to our next safety chat.

Life lessons

// September 10th, 2010 // No Comments » // life, me

Are you a teen or twenty-something who blinks your eyes, sticks out your bottom lip or whatever to get someone else to fix life’s little annoyances for you? Stop it. If you don’t, you will someday be a middle-aged incompetent, whining in the auto parts store aisle because the do-it-yourself wiper blade reference machine is broken. Trust me when I say that it’s not a good feeling to be too old to have someone else offering to help, but lack the skills to fend for yourself.

Car keys

// September 6th, 2010 // No Comments » // people

Groom: “I really need to get my keys back from Doug.”
Me: “Umm, yes you do.”
Groom: “We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us and we’re anxious to get to our hotel.”
Me: “I’m sure you are.”
Groom: “Soooo, where is Doug?”
Me: “He is still here. Somewhere.”
Groom: “Umm, I think I’ll go look for him.”
Me: “You sure you had enough to eat?”
Groom: “Yeah, I think I need to find Doug.”
Me: “Go sit and relax. I’ll send Doug to you.”
Groom: “Goodnight Cathy.”

As the groom walked away, I could hear him thinking that Cathy is incoherent after a few glasses of wine. I was thinking that Doug had better find the lost car keys soon.

Buster

// June 12th, 2010 // 2 Comments » // life, people

The unofficial supervisors of our cove have always been the seniors who quietly monitored everything from the bug-free safety of their screen porch. They have been here longer than anyone and know decades of stories about the people and buildings in this wooded cul-de-sac. While his wife always sweetly charmed everyone, Buster stoically kept a distance from much of the world’s silliness. For reasons I never understood, Buster tolerated our big, loud, messy family with a patience that others couldn’t believe. He snickered when Doug decided to remove our sidewalk even though the pile of concrete still sits in the side yard. He grinned when Doug tried to cut down a tree and succeeded in mangling a very large ladder in the process. He just shook his head when our house gained a moat to fight the basement flooding.

All of the children in the cove use Buster’s yard as a shortcut. They treat his driveway like a bike ramp. On summer evenings, children chase fireflies everywhere in the cove, including Buster’s carefully manicured lawn. Besides watching the adults and children as if we we were a reality show, Buster and his wife fed our dogs. In exchange for the delicious treats, Molly would peek in their windows to check on them. She was very much a part of their family.

Then, Buster got sick. He fought it, but it got worse instead of better. He moved from the screen porch to the living room to a hospice bed. A steady stream of family and friends kept vigil as he became increasingly frail. He stopped leaving the house except when Doug did something odd. When Doug put a small tomato garden where most people would put a flower bed, Buster made the exhausting trip across the cove to get a close-up view of our shenanigans. When Doug wrangled a large snake into our backyard forest, Buster came outside to peek at the commotion. We half-joked that if we could be more entertaining, Buster might rebound from the terrible sickness that caused him constant pain while making the simple act of breathing a struggle.

It wasn’t our antics, but his beloved wife of 61 years that kept Buster going. When he was satisfied that she would be lovingly cared for, Buster finally left. One stormy night this week, his children stood in the rain and watched as Buster was gently taken from his home for the very last time. I sat in the darkness and watched the peaceful ceremony. Molly didn’t run across the cove to look for treats and collect love pats. She stayed by my side and supervised as our cove patriarch left.

For weeks, we have discussed what we should do to honor the memory of someone with quiet dignity and importance. I suggested planting a tree in the center of the cove. Doug tilted his head and told me that Buster said there used to be a tree in the middle of the cove. Buster had it removed. A memorial tree was vetoed. When the funeral services were scheduled for the same day we planned to begin construction on Amy’s playhouse, I was prepared to delay our project out of respect. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that putting on a show was exactly what Buster would have enjoyed. So, that is exactly what we did.

Goodbye Buster.

CVICU waiting room

// May 27th, 2010 // No Comments » // health, people

Three quickies:

1. The people in this room aren’t just family and friends. Everyone in this room is a former or future CVICU patient. As someone who is conservatively a good 15 pounds heavier than they should be, I am willing to be annoying by saying that everyone in this room is or will have their health affected by lifestyle choices. While the waiting area in other hospital spaces is diversely populated, this room is filled with heavy and obese people. The trash cans overflow with McDonald’s bags. Funyun and Cheetos wrappers are scattered everywhere. My own idea of fun is sitting, listening to music and writing. I am the poster child for sedentary hobbies. The obese man eating a Big Mac reassured me that he’s had CABG surgery twice and it didn’t change anything in his life. He is a former AND a future patient.

2. CVICU has two waiting rooms. The private CVICU waiting room is an isolation box. The walls are bare and the room has no television. Cell phones don’t work and the hospital’s wi-fi refuses to cooperate. The room temperature is so low that ice cream would not melt on the table with the magazines from 2003. The main CVICU is the place without secrets. Teenagers in jammies, fresh from the shower, play games on cell phones while their hair dries. A woman makes multiple calls to give concerned people updates while complaining about the “Bearden pusherman” who she blames. Strangers weave in and out of each others’ conversations with words of experience, compassion and reassurance. Sometimes, the layers of human suffering get too dense and everyone laughs at something that really isn’t funny. “They threatened to put a lien on her condo over a $40 fee she can’t pay because she is unconscious? Ha-ha.” In the evening, a group of homeless adults wander through in search of an empty recliner for an evening of safety. They know the main waiting room is better than the private room.

3. The Whip It soundtrack and a cup of caffeine are your friend in the CVICU.

it’s a marathon, not a sprint

// May 13th, 2010 // No Comments » // life, mental health, people

There has been far too much death, illness, injury and loss in the social and IRL community that surrounds me lately. In every instance, people have swarmed to support those in need. Then, they slowly drifted to other places where they felt more needed. I’m going to tell you a secret about women. When there is a crisis, adrenalin or something deep inside that they don’t even know is there, kicks in and they do what has to be done. Just as things start to slip back into the new normal and the village of support vanishes, the anvil of reality crushes their soul and pins them down. Life changing events don’t have start and stop dates. They happen and change everything from that point forward. We need to change how we respond to these events. Instead of moving as a wall of support from one crisis to another, we have to spread out and hold hands, like a giant safety net. Check back in on people over and over again. Go the distance.