Domestic Psychology

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.

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“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.”

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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.

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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.”

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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?”

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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.

Breaking Bad and other stuff

// April 12th, 2010 // 2 Comments » // people, television

If you spend an hour talking to anyone who works in social services, the subject of meth will somehow work its’ way into the conversation. Between that and the presence of meth in the local news, I imagine that I am surrounded by meth labs, dealers and users who are still functioning well enough to blend. They are in our families, offices and neighborhoods. We just don’t know it yet. It’s not just who are they that is bewildering. Part of me is curious how people collect the ingredients to make meth when I can buy alcohol easier than I can buy Sudafed. I am equally mystified that chemistry is being successfully accomplished in a state with an average ACT score of 21 and a 71% graduation rate. The media’s focus on mobile meth labs makes me wonder why there aren’t cars and vans exploding on the Interstate daily.

If I really wanted to understand, I would use my Google-Fu to find answers. Maybe I like being clueless enough about the seriousness of it to be able to say “meth lab blowing up” every time I hear a loud boom in the neighborhood. Maybe I don’t want another thing to worry about. I only know that I am content knowing that I don’t know. For now.

Without enough knowledge to pick at the inaccuracies, I find Breaking Bad a bizarrely fascinating show to watch. Meth is a major character on the show, but it is really a show about people falling down and the consequences of their choices. The characters’ choices ripple across everything and everyone that they touch. The free-fall of their lives from the moment the lead character first stepped off the cliff is like a train wreck that can’t be stopped. If the series happened in reverse, the characters would be vile, but the writers have carefully crafted frail, anti-heroes. At the end of last season, I said that the main character’s wife would have to become bad in order to survive. This season, she is tumbling down a mountain of her own, but she is also climbing to the top of the fire ant hill that is her life. It’s not pretty, but it’s good television.

It’s a lot more fun to watch pretend characters answer the “what’s the price for your soul” question than to see it happening in the real world. Too many bloggers with opinions and ideas grew weary of being hungry and declared themselves social media gurus. Instead of original ideas, those gurus now sell unicorn poo and publish freelance articles in the newspaper for their clients. Too many well-intentioned politicians find themselves strangled by the tightrope of doing what it takes to stay in office under the premise of making up for it with other legislation. Ultimately, we learn that we don’t have one Indecent Proposal pricetag, but a cafe menu of soapboxes that we are are willing to climb down and leave empty for someone else.