Love and Storms

It seems that the Weather Channel will now be naming winter storms. Nice "get", WC...finding an unnecessary solution to a non-existent problem simply to get your little channel a little more attention. I will tell you, WC, that here in Maine, at least, you might need more than 26 names just to get through January. May I suggest Rusty and Nora....

I like storms...even winter ones. There is something exciting about tuning into the storm watch on TV and wondering how many inches will fall, how strong the winds will be, which pottery classes will be cancelled. Conan O'Brien joked that he's excited that he might hear, "Conan is expected to bring eight inches."

Winter storms do bring costs....the oil, the snow plow guy, the extra cheese curls I must buy to get through the power outages. And there's the shoveling all winter as the piles of snow get higher and higher simply to find a path so that Nora can get through and accomplish her missions. But the rush of wind, the first few ominous flurries, the hunkering down...basically just a part of winter in Maine and life as we know it. Although I complain sometimes, I know it's a part of why I live here. Like I said, I love storms...

Growing up in D.C., there would only occasionally be winter storm warnings. As kids, we would get excited with the possibilities of school cancellations, snow men, snowball fights, and coming back into the house, encrusted with snow, so that Mom could dismantle our frozen gear and give us a little warm lunch. But, most of the time, these storms would peter out or arrive as just a steady, cold rain. Yuck.
Disappointing. No fun. Not so here where I live now....if a Nor'easter is coming, it's a'coming.

The other part of winter storms I enjoy is when the storm passes and the sun makes a reappearance, producing a sparking, bright day, light reflecting off the new snow....my dogs bouncing and rolling around in fresh, fluffy drifts. Life goes on here after a storm...the streets and even the sidewalks are plowed, the snow is removed from Maine Street in dump trucks...and life goes on. We are then left with a sparkling reminder of where we live and, maybe, far more cheese curls than we ever really needed.

I think that storms are supposed to be just that....storms. The disappointment lies in when they don't measure up as promised...not measuring up to expectations...and not in the minor hardships they bring. We can weather a storm...the cold, the power outages, the shoveling...because it's what we want and it's what we are prepared for. But when Storm Lara or Storm Nancy produce only rain or slush or just a few insignificant inches, we might not admit it, but we know that we'll have to wait for the next storm to have any real, lasting fun.

I think that storms match and evoke the storms...the energies...inside me...inside us. Longing, desire, passion, enthusiasm...just wishing for a little external energy that will bring us alive...to our attention... to our feet. Life passes by too quickly and sometimes, without a reason to care, we begin to stop caring. Ya know?

Today, we just have overcast skies, a little drizzle, and unseasonably mild temperatures. Sigh. A lull between the drama of summer thunder storms and the energy of snow storms likely to arrive in just a couple short months. There is no excitement to this. Waiting....watching...hoping...that the wind will still pick up.

I know that others are out there looking out the window as well...feeling blah, feeling bored, even feeling lonely, just waiting for a little excitement and a good ol' lasting storm that will pull them to their feet for the wind, the snow, and the brilliant, crispy days that follow. And then, those disappointments from past, wimpy, disappointing wash-outs will disappear as merely a contrast to what can truly happen when nature's way...nature's energy...does its thing.

FBriends

Never before....not until the advent of Facebook....have people paid such attention to the numbers of friends they had. It amazes me sometimes to see that some of my Facebook friends number in the hundreds. HUNDREDS! Imagine the surprise birthday party! And the cardiac arrest from hearing "SURPRISE" from 586 people! And the cost of cake! And onion dip!

Well, these couldn't be all truly friends, right? Bragging rights maybe? I recently had ninety eight friends. Now I have ninety five. Yep...I decided to "unfriend" these...um...friends. Crazy, isn't it?
But I didn't do this dastardly deed without long consideration...and even marginal regret. Instead, I figured out that my Facebook friends fall into several categories...all having value to me in one way or another. And my choice to "unfriend" someone would be the result of that person not being true to his/her category. It really doesn't take much....

Friends who have been friends for years and with whom I would have contact regardless of Facebook.

Friends who I knew long ago...in whose life experiences, photos, etc. I have genuine interest, regardless of how often we actually communicate.

Friends who began as colleagues and became friends...a number of late night drinks at the hotel bar will do that sometimes. I am grateful for having them as friends.

Friends who are colleagues as well...with whom I developed really nice connections with, did favors for, and enjoyed relaxing times...and expected our connections to continue after the favors and relaxing times couldn't be continued. Just gave up two of these.

Friends who are colleagues whom I barely know...but share a common interest and professional network.

Friends who also have dogs!....what else do I need to say?

Friends who I actually met online....as in dating online...and made a connection other than that originally intended. Good people....makes me so happy that a couple have found true happiness.
Just gave up one of these.

I even have Facebook friends who are really not even on Facebook....they have no photo, just that creepy outline of a head. Do I wait? Do I run? Do I sit and look at the creepy head?

Like I said, I think all this is okay...legitimate friendships since Facebook as redefined "friend." And I will never ask my Facebook friends if they want to stay my friend or not, otherwise I will delete them. That is up to me...and if it's up to them, I assume they'll leave...or have left...anyway. Are you still there? Hey...wanna be friends?

The Illusionist

In a favorite episode of the wonderful sitcom "The Office," Michael Scott arrived at work wearing a silly fake mustache to cover a cold sore on his upper lip. Believing he now had herpes "duplex," as he called it, he felt it necessary to contact his recent, former lovers to let them know that they may have contracted the disease during their brief, ill-fated encounters. Through this process of revisiting his heart-breaking past, he discovered that none of these women had considered their relationships with Michael to have been of any real significance. It was the sentimental, narcissistic Michael who had magnified relatively brief attachments into magical ones that resulted in, for him anyway, tragic endings. While he had reminisced mournfully, these women had all moved on and had filed Michael away as merely a passing fancy.

As I will often tell my clients, I consider relationships to be nothing more than illusions. Sure.... relationships are many things. They're exciting, passionate, comforting, dramatic...even costly. But there is no actual "thing" that lies between them, only the manifestations of needs, wants, projections, shared memories and a biological need to find a mate for procreation. (see Helen Fisher's "Why We Love") This is not to diminish the power or impact of the connections we make. Nor do I suggest that relationships are not living, breathing organisms in themselves that must be fed and nurtured. It is only to say that, were relationships "real", then they would be viewed, valued and preserved as the same by two people from totally different histories and orientations. And they rarely are.

Remember the movie, "The Fly"? Well, some of us will remember that there were two versions, although I much prefer the earlier, 1950's cheesy one. Vincent Price has invented a machine that would transport himself to another machine. This is pre-Star Trek thinking, so it was a really cool idea. But oops...Vincent allowed a common house fly to enter the first machine and, when transported, we saw the body of a man with the huge head and...well, hands...of a fly. Ugly indeed...but manageable. It never was clear why this homely fly man would suddenly become violent as well. I'm guessing the fly had issues...poor thing...but it wouldn't have been a horror movie without some perfectly healthy victim being chased down by a...you guessed it....slow, plodding creature.

The second version gave us Jeff Goldblum...whom I find to be creepy anyway...suffering the same fate (probably not the same fly), but the creature that emerged was, with improved special effects, far nastier...more horrific...with lots of drool and humps and all that fly hair. Sad really. We could feel for the fly-man...man-fly.

Well, imagine the early stages of a relationship to be the first version. Rather than two people emerging as a loving, harmonious, HUMAN couple, we find a clear problem. It is possible that two people could walk away and retain their original form (the fly hopes so) or simply move on and chalk the experience up to a misguided flight (get it?) of fancy. Then, imagine relationships well into development to be the second version. All kinds of parts, DNA, pointy bristles and human things woefully woven together in such a way that extraction will be most painful or impossible.

With actual relationships, if there is an ugly monster to run or shield oneself from, it might not appear initially. Those needs and wants and projections can hide the evidence that this might be a mistake in the making. We see what we want to see, feel what we want to feel. And, meanwhile, the buzzing grows louder and more difficult to ignore as two people yearn to return to the fantasy of...the illusion of early perfection.

And so....two people meet. They pass the first "test"....acceptable appearances, they both like Fleetwood Mac and, hey...they both enjoy kayaking and long walks on the beach. Great...they begin. It turns out, however, that he (pronouns interchangeable) sees her as a potential life partner and starts thinking about a life together with romantic evenings of wine, fireplaces and, well, lots of Stevie Nicks. She, on the other hand, is merely seeking a temporary dalliance. She passes the time with long chats, flirtations, Stevie, and even sex, but really wants only to get it on and then...move on....never willing to sacrifice the illusions of freedom and something better down the road. He, ultimately, will not escape the underlying differences in agenda, and some horrific, fly-bite-night (heehee) ending.

Ah...but these are the risks we face in finding an illusion...a projection...that actually works. It happens. I even know people that, both honest and forthcoming, both true to their words and desires, work. I even admire these folks because I know there were a few flies in their ointments along the way. And those who are not what they seem...wanting only to seem like someone as opposed to being someone... will only find how elusive illusions truly are.

I have had a number of flies in my little cubicle...and the end result of those sci-fi blendings of lives have even worked out pretty well. A few tentacles here, a few bristles there...but all workable (shave-able?) We can learn from a them at the very least. One person of significance, with a propensity for lying, taught me to be honest. Another with the temper of an angry child taught me to be more patient.
And they both taught me to run clear of anyone who lies or has a temper. And, from both of these lasting illusions...these inadvertent flies, I escaped with my humanness in tact.

If only we could find some way of recognizing the realities behind these illusions while maintaining just a few for shear enjoyment, and work until we might actually have something. Otherwise, once the illusion is discovered for what it really is, the disappointment will only sting and linger...until it is repaired or until the next one.

Wicked Awesome

I have issues with words. I simply abhor terrible grammar and the trends by which improper pronouns and sentence structure seem to have become either “trendy” or perceived as correct. I’m not talking about slang or intentional laziness. I’m talking about journalists and other educated folks not knowing the difference between “she and I” and “her and me.” Then there are  the “irregardless” and “supposably” abrasive annoyances. I’m talking journalists here.

My other language peeve is the overuse of otherwise fine words. Everything seems to so easily be considered “iconic” or “groundbreaking.” But the worst offense me thinks (intentional, okay?) is the word “awesome.” Virtually anything someone really, really likes is “awesome.” 

Ever been to Yosemite or the Grand Tetons? Ever seen the California shore south of San Francisco or the Grand Canyon? I believe the word “awesome” was first created when someone...an English speaking pioneer...first pulled his pony up to the edge of the Grand Canyon and said out loud, “Wow, man...THAT is freakin’ awesome!” It likely echoed throughout the canyon and then Native Americans started using the word. “Mmmm....buffalo meat....awesome.” And the overuse probably if not likely began at that very meal.

Okay, I’ll allow a few exceptions. My dogs? Awesome. Great risotto? Yep. I’ve always thought that the view from an airplane window is most underrated, awesome one. And maybe...just maybe...there are a few certain interactions with a certain loved one when one might at least THINK.... “wow....awesome.” A magnificent symphony, with it’s intro theme, it’s quiet, reverent middle movement, and it’s thrilling crescendo, can be awesome. The anticipation, the building, the evocative changes, and the rush of a satisfying ending make up a most powerful, awesome, experience.

And for some reason...as I am prone to not only free association but also metaphor...leads me to memories with my mother. Prior to entering elementary school, in an effort to entertain me, she would drive me to the railroad tracks...a vantage point near our house where you could park literally feet from the rails. We would sit and wait in our big Oldsmobile and watch the round thing that had the lights. I think it was three green lights up and down that meant a train was coming. The anticipation was part of the entertainment of course.

The ground would slowly begin to tremble, long before any sign of the train. And then...and then...we would see the huge steely black steam engines approach. Sometimes there were two or even three engines coupled to carry an extremely long load. Those big wheels did keep on turnin’....smoke billowed out of the top...the ground shook. I can even remember the smells of the smoke and the hot steel. This is a memory that few will ever see again given the passing of these wonderful, AWESOME, machines. In the words of the talented guitarist and singer Norman Blake:

“Oh, if I could return to those boyhood days of mine,

 And that green light on the Southern, Southern Railroad      

  Line.”

But here’s the metaphor. Just as I’ve heard certain symphonies parallel life with their exciting, energetic beginnings, their pensive, reflective movements, and how it all seems to come together thematically toward the end, I might consider this train memory to preclude the experience of death. There is the waiting...is it coming? Do I feel it coming?” The body, like the ground beneath the steam engines, begins to feel a tremor...into a quake...and then the train passes with a roar and disappears into...well, like death, I never really knew. 

I looked forward to seeing the train. I don’t look forward to death...but it’s part of life and part of life’s experience. When I fly, I do prefer the window and the view and, as I’ve many times said, if the plane is going down, I want my final view to be a very awesome one. But I don’t want to crash just as I don’t want to die. It’s just that, in a very sad kind of way, it must be a very unique, awesome experience. I only hope that, just like the train, I’m headed someplace nice, that someone is watching for me as I pass by and that the destination has a great snack bar.

Death. Awesome. WICKED awesome.

Papers and Stuff

Someplace in my attic....

~My scrapbooks from early childhood...photos of Elvis cut out of magazines..Hershey Bar wrapper from when my girlfriend, Barbara, and I won the spotlight dance at a 6th grade shindig....a lock of my grandmother’s hair at age 64...still light brown...a straw from my hospital stay after having my appendix removed...

~Collectable cards....Davy Crocket cards...Elvis cards....Beatles cards...baseball cards...

~ My bachelor’s and master’s degree diplomas...something you just don’t frame and hang after earning a doctorate...but both full of memories and pride...

~ Letters and greeting cards...birthdays and Christmas....girlfriends....even letters that Barbara and I exchanged after she moved to Maine (from D.C.) during our early

teens....

~I have this quiz from my undergraduate statistics class....we had one every day and on this one, I got a 6....that’s 6 out of 100....oh, I got an A in the class, but from that point on, my friend Randy called me “scholar”...just couldn’t believe it possible to get a 6 out of 100...I’ve wanted to frame it next to my doctoral diploma...it’s up there someplace...

~ My dinosaurs...little hard rubber things...I played with them endlessly...and when I reunited with Barbara several years ago, I gave her a tyrannosaurus...her favorite... that we used to play with together...

~Files and files...client records...tax returns...it’s the law, but I mean really!.....

~Cassette tapes, VHS tapes, video cassette recorder...you get the picture...

~Pool cues and pool balls...had this gorgeous pool table in Massachusetts...just wouldn’t fit in the Maine house...sigh...

~Boxes...hmm, maybe I’ll have to return this appliance some day and I’ll need the original box....can’t be too careful....

~Interesting, er....antique items...bought at auction...love those auctions with the smells of mold, dust, and coffee...”wow...this will be interesting to put...um..I’ll put

it....someplace...”

~ Camping gear...haven’t camped in over 10 years...dogs love camping...it could happen again...right?

~ A state of the art Teac reel-to-reel tape recorder...yep...it would play for hours...but then again, my ipod will play for days...

In my spare bedroom...

~ Photo albums....remember those? Childhood....grad school...old girlfriends....photos

of gorgeous children I knew and loved during my pre-school teacher years...they’re all

in their early 40’s now....oh man...dogs...tons of dog photos...someplace there is a photo my friend Mike and me standing next to jazz clarinetist Pete Fountain...at the

D.C. armory...I’m wearing some stupid plastic lei around my neck...how’d that

happen?

~ A Canon 35 mm SLR...huge, heavy 70-200 zoom lens...it takes film...remember film?

~ Guitars....and cases....each guitar carries more memories than I could possibly

count...or even remember!

~ A painting given to me by an elderly woman I’d worked with years ago...she later

passed away and I worked with her husband through his grief and adjustment...when told about her painting, he said, “well...she rarely gave those away, so if she gave you one, she must have really wanted you to have it.”

And so, I could ramble on about how much these things mean to me...and they do. I could examine my “hoarder” side, but I don’t think I qualify for the television show...it’s all too organized and accumulated over too many years...I could put it on Craig’s List, but who wants my grandmother’s hair?

Instead, I’m mostly wondering about what to do with it all? I have no children...who would keep and treasure my things or simply say, “now what do we do with all this shit?” I could say, “when I’m famous, people will sell these things on ebay.” Ummm...that’s not going to happen either.

And concluding, I think, that it’s time to purge. Time to rid myself of...me. It’s all just stuff now....my stuff, but still just stuff. I can’t take it with me...and wouldn’t want to. Oh, there are my dogs’ ashes and they’re going with me. All in one place. (If you can, find the Twilight Zone episode, “The Hunter”) But everything else has no purpose anymore. What else do you do with things kept for “later” when there might not be a “later”? Huh?

Going once...going twice...going.

Dear Santa....

As you may know, Santa, it has been many years since I've written. In no way should you take this leave of absence as an indication of my lack of belief in you or appreciation for your past generosities. I actually still have a number of the fine gifts you've brought over the years...like my first stuffed animal, Bobo, and my first Martin guitar at 7, when my stubby little fingers were just learning to play. Thank you again.

Before I give you a list of what Rusty, Nora, and I would like this year, I want to offer a brief, general request. I guess it might be considered a suggestion even. I was just thinking that, instead of loading down your sled with big ticket items like televisions, computers, or blow-up Justin Bieber dolls, you might have a more lasting impact on families and children if you could bring a few million jobs and a government that actually works. The one we have needs a change of batteries fairly often and even the new ones don't seem to help. And, while you're here, could you load up Jerry Sandusky and his sick brethren, take them back to the North Pole, and leave them out where they can freeze their pathetic weanies off or get eaten by polar bears.

For Rusty:

~ Night vision goggles. I tell him that squirrels go to bed at sundown. But he's not convinced. I guess he's thinking we can't be too safe....that longer nights just give them more time to plan! He has smallish ears, so take that into consideration for sizing.

~ You know those really long fingernails like the Wolverine has? Well, he'd like a pair...so it might be easier to dig his lairs underneath trees and bushes...as well as for burying his rawhide bones, only to eventually dig them up when they're nice and soft and covered with dirt.

~ Don't ask me why, but for some reason he wants a Rocky and Bullwinkle t-shirt. Oh yeah...and a Cubs hat.

~ He was watching Martha Stewart one day and thinks it could be fun to have one of those large pastry squirter things...like for filling cannoli or stuffed shells. I think it's for his empty marrow bones. Where we'll get the lard fillings, I have no idea.

~ Finally, he'd like a new pair of footie pajamas...his nails have worn through his Marmaduke pair.

For Nora:

~ I know it could be expensive, but she would like dental implants. Poor girl has lost most of her teeth due to distemper and she would like to again enjoy those harder treats as well as look nice for her boyfriend, Mr. Jones. I tell her she is beautiful as she is, but she's a bit self-conscious about her teeth.

~ She wants an Easy-Bake Oven....thinks it could be a blast to make her own cookies.

~ An in-ground pool....but only about 3 inches deep. She loves getting silly in puddles and is afraid of the plastic Spongebob pool I got her. No diving board is necessary.

~ Tennis balls...can't have enough tennis balls.

~ Anything that squeaks...

For me:

~ Sox in the World Series and the Patriots in the Super Bowl.

~ One of those memory erasers from Men in Black so I can go on television, wave the thing at everyone and make them forget the Kardashians, Bieber, Lohan, and all the other talentless celebrities that clutter our lives.

~ A turnover on The View....keep Whoopi, can the rest. Add Meredith Vieira an Rachel Maddow ...you can choose the last one from Uma Thurmen, Cherlize Theron, or Ashley Judd.

~ A really good night's sleep.

~ New jobs...out of the public spotlight...for Al Roker, Jay Leno, Rachel Ray...oh hell...the list is just way too long.

~ A best selling book so I can give up this other career...no offense to my clients, but I'm spent.

That's about it. I have many things. I am blessed with perfect, adorable dogs...and a few wonderful friends. I really only want lasting health and good fortune for them and for myself. I'm thinking, while these gifts could be asking a lot, they might take the weight off of your sled...and off of me...at least for a while.

Thank you, Santa

Rick

p.s....I was Richard for a long time so I hope you'll remember me.

Walter

Let me tell you about Walter...I was thinking about him today while out walking my dogs...

At least we'll call him Walter.

Walter came to me as a client some years ago. He was a corporate big shot...I mean, the kind that rides helicopters to meetings and has that growly, marine lieutenant-type laugh that scares people. He was definitely not the type of guy who would ever have considered therapy except that his wife had left him...somewhat suddenly, although he quickly suspected the church choir director was involved. He changed churches.

Over time, I had sessions with Walter and his grown kids, from whom he'd been estranged, ending in tearful resolutions and new connections. Walter learned to cry. We had a very cool, honest relationship. He was a hunter and I would often encourage him to shoot animals with a camera, not a rifle. We'd laugh...knowing he wouldn't change that little flaw. Okay, big flaw.

Walter was retired...forced to retire due to a major heart attack. He had a pacemaker...and, from across my coffee table, across the room, I could hear that thing ticking like a cheap watch. It was mildly eerie. He looked healthy and was fairly active. But there was that tick...tick...

At one point, Walter was looking for office space in Boston for a charitable organization he worked with. Well, I had a friend in Boston real estate and connected the two. My friend did manage to find him the perfect space he needed and all were happy. The reason I'm telling you about this was...this. This same friend and I once drove up to Maine to an auction for a lake front cottage. And there...at the auction...and staying at HIS cottage next door...was Walter. And don't you know, Walter said to my friend and me, "let's go have a beer!" And, before I could answer, my friend said, "Sure!" And so, we went to this little country store/bar/video rental type place you find in the Maine woods and sat there on stools...laughing, talking, and, yes, we had those beers. The only rub is that therapists don't customarily have beers with clients. So, as we talked...laughed...I had a sort-of-good time as I sat there uncomfortable with this inadvertent ethics violation!

Therapy continued however. At great urging, I got Walter to attend a divorce support group I'd often given lectures to. (That's poor grammar, but you can handle it...you know who you are) He became a regular at the group and met a fine, kind, lovely woman to boot! Walter was in love.

Some weeks later....that day...he came into my office...smiling. It was late in our conversation that he said, "You know? I am feeling at peace for the first time in a long time...maybe in my life." It was her...his new love, his resolved family relations, his cottage...he was happy.

Prior to our next biweekly appointment, I learned that Walter had died. Heart attack. Gone before he hit the floor, they said. You would not believe the long line outside the funeral home. So many friends from so many circles. A respected, loved man. And there, in the receiving line, was not his ex wife, but his kids standing with his new love. I hugged her and whispered, "Walter really loved you." When I finally reached him lying there in his handsome well-cut suit, in his handsome casket, I leaned towards him and said, "Damn it, Walter! You let it beat you!" It's the way he talked. It's the way we talked.

So, what's the point of all this...this story. On short notice, I can think of two things.

First of all...to hell with all that therapist/client boundary stuff. Oh, I'm not going to sleep with clients or play golf with any. I CAN say that, when I heard that Walter....my client of several years...had died, I was very happy I'd had that beer. Yep. Sometimes, in our work, we meet and, yes...even LIKE people. I always liked Walter...hunting and all.

The other point is just this folks....TICK TICK TICK! Don't wait! My God...Walter found his peace and then died. I'm so thankful I helped him get to that point. So was he. Wouldn't it have been great if he'd lived longer? Or his peace had come sooner? But it didn't.

So...here comes the corny part. Go. Love. Give. Take. Now. Tick, Tick, Tick. One never knows....