The Shooting in Arizona

Mental illness knows no gender, no politics, no rhetoric. It just knows what the irrational brain knows. 

As people across the country, in an attempt to understand, start blaming certain public figures, blaming teachers who didn't ask for an evaluation, blaming parents who didn't do enough, let us at least stop to ponder that this shooter was ill. Do we really understand this kind of mental illness? Do we understand paranoia, delusions, and these strongly held irrational beliefs? 

It is a tragedy when someone is able to kill the innocent and fulfill their delusions. And it is also a tragedy that one can be mentally ill in this country, over 18 years old, and still have the "right" to live crazy. Perhaps the laws should change-- not the laws of free speech, not the gun laws, not the free press-- but the laws that allow an adult who is psychotic to remain that way, tying the hands of all who might change his trajectory.  

the boy becomes a man

It chokes me up.

Lunch with my son.

Trying to plan his international move in eight months. I thought that it would be easier to have a son move than a daughter, but it's not. The move is temporary, perhaps a year or two. The distance is long. 26 hours is an eternity for me on an airplane. Realistically, he may never come back. What is it that those in recovery say? One step at a time.  

But then there are plenty of ways to communicate. I will teach him to Skype. We'll always have email... Laptop... air card... but there is no substitute for a hug from my baby.

I didn't realize that the empty nesting would involve concentric circles of further distance. Feeling weepy today.

the ADHD of the TV networks

The major television networks (NBC, ABC, and CBS) are driving me bananas. They film a new show. They promote a new show. They start a new show. Then before I know it, they cancel a new show. We are only a month into Fall Premieres, and already the networks are canceling shows.

Many shows in television history would have never had the chance to become successful with this type of jerky reaction to the first two or three shows. I will pull out the geek card and suggest that Star Trek would have never been the enormously successful franchise that it still is today if ratings were the only factor. No spinoffs. No merchandise. No fims. No books. No Borg. Good heavens. Give some of these shows a chance!

the Text Twist and Family Tree Maker obsessive in me

In general, I don't understand the draw of video games. It seems mindless. There isn't any tangible accomplishment. Most of the teens and children who compulsively play video games are not productive in other areas of their life. Then I found an game that I like. It's called Text Twist. I had a period in time where work was slow, so I tried it. Six letters appear on the screen. The goal is to see how many words you can make from those six letters. If you guess the six-letter word, you get to go on to another round. I feel like I need a 12-step program some days. And at other times, I say I am not addicted because I can walk away for a whole month without turning it on. My score is 800,000. I feel like I need to hit 1,000,000 before I walk away. Addict behavior for sure! I have learned something about myself in the process. I need to work on learning more words that start with vowels. 

And then I found Ancestry.com and Family Tree Maker. I have always had a curiosity about my heritage. Now I have a software program that is like crack. Every time I find a person, it leads to another and another. I started with family documents and written history. There were almost 400 names, dates, and descriptions just within the documents I had. In just one short month, I have amassed over 1000 ancestors. This program/web site is amazing. It is productive, but yet, a fantastic diversion. It has given me insight into who I am, a hodge-podge of nationalities and wandering souls. I cannot ever see myself on a boat across the Atlantic, in search of a new life, but most of my ancestors had that courage and fortitude. I have 6 kids. Right now it's all about a good night's sleep and sensible shoes. I can't imagine having 10 or 15 children. One particular gr gr great grandfather had 24 children, most of them living into their 80s and 90s in the 1700s. These were strong and determined people. Many more of them were highly educated than I realized. One side of the family has remained for 6 generations in the same county in Ohio. I guess that means they like each other? they are good people? not the type of family you need to run from? I am in an obsessive, researching, geek nirvana right now. Love it!

the fat-tastic week

Ok, so tired about fat prejudice... 

It is possible to be overweight, 44 years old, and have a PERFECT cardiac stress test. Of course, going to have the test, I was mistreated. Normally the whole fat thing doesn't bother me. I look at the women in my family and add my understanding of genetics and accept reality. Sometimes genetics does equal fate. I am glad. I would rather be the chubby girl who lives in a family of chubby girls who live into their 80s and 90s in generations going back to the Highlands of Scotland. I deal with some inherited tendency toward OCD, toward alcoholism, and toward kidney stones. On balance, I am glad that my forefathers and foremothers were intelligent, educated, and interesting people. They didn't care much about their size. They contributed. They lived long. I am blessed.

When I went to the clinic to have my cardiac stress test, the nurse pointed to the treadmill, making a gesture similar to The Price is Right. Over here we have the "treadmill". Have you ever seen one of these before? We are going to have you "walk" on in to see how your heart reacts. They we will speed it up and quickly take some pictures. She was so patronizing. I go to the YMCA three times per week. I ride my bike 2-3 times per week as often as the weather in Ohio permits. Despite all of this I AM STILL A BIG GIRL. I actually own (and USE) a recombinant bike. I know that my abs are in there somewhere, but I don't define myself by muscle definition. 

Anyway, if you are fit and beautiful and lean, awesome for you. I just happen to not be. Stop treating me like I eat Ding Dongs all day long and don't know what it means to walk. I go to the beautiful central Ohio metro parks every week of the year. Sigh.... If I could get thinner somehow, I would. But there is no point being depressed. I might as well embrace my fat-tastic self! Given the current political climate and push toward nationalized health care, those with prejudice will be writing me off for sure. They will raise my rates. They will attribute higher risk to me. And they will certainly not have a box on the forms for fat but healthy. The last acceptable form of prejudice in America... 

the didgeridoo and the buddha

There comes a point in the lives of identical twins where they choose to live separately. My twins are 22. They have always lived together, at home, at their first apartment, and so on, often sharing a room even when given the choice of separate rooms. When they decided a few months ago that they would have separate apartments for their last year of undergraduate college, I was a little surprised. Last week they started the bro-vorce process. Who gets what? Whose books are these? Which DVD is mine? The funniest moment was when we were standing in the driveway and sorting through all of the clean clothes. I am guessing that two brothers don't usually stand in the street sorting boxers and arguing over the only pair of black socks. It was pretty funny!  It's a twin thing. 

They have split things amicably, although two unassigned things remained, the didgeridoo and the buddha. The didgeridoo is from their sister when she volunteered in Australia last summer. At the time they thought it would be fine to share... no need to buy two. And the buddha statue has been around awhile, too. I don't even know who gave them the buddha, but it is pretty cool. So they decided in the dude-vorce to split custody. One has the buddha. The other has the didgeridoo. They are going to meet in the middle and swap now and again. It made me proud as a mom to know that they were each being sensitive to each other in these last few weeks. It's as if they each intuitively knew how the other was feeling. Of course they knew. Why didn't I think of that? They have spent two decades knowing what each other was feeling, thinking, and doing.

I asked one brother today how he was feeling about this new situation. He said, "I have seen my brother every day. He is only a block away, Mom. Don't worry." Then I asked the other brother how he was feeling. He said, "Mom, don't worry. I see my brother every day. He only lives a block from here." I guess hearing it in duplicate is all I needed. Like most things in their lives, if I heard the same thing from both, I felt like it was settled. 

the writer's spaz

I have heard people talk about writer's block. But I have never experienced it. I actually experience what I call-- the writer's spaz. I have too much to write about. I have too many opinions. Today I want to write about health care reform, bulging taxes, kids in college, the cost of dog food, my frustration with a wayward adult child, the latest book I read, a trip to see The Addams Family on Broadway, the economy, the child left unattended in the neighborhood, and my photo archiving project. Mostly I keep lists of all of the writing prompts and ideas. I am highly organized in my approach. And I am a terrific archivist-- not the typical scattered writer.

My spastic writing accelerates as a result of two important anniversaries approaching. My wedding anniversary with my first husband and my kids' father, and then two weeks later the anniversary of his death. Those few weeks in mid-September and early October are difficult for me. Perhaps if I write about that a bit earlier than usual this year, I will help me to refocus on the other things happening around me. It's complicated grief. When he left, we divorced, he remarried, and he died all in a timespan of months, it sent me into an arena of grief that most people do not experience. It is a form of illegitimate grief. Most people think that my love for him should be replaced with anger or apathy. Most people think that the betrayal should instantly end my love. It didn't happen that way for me. I do not stop loving instantly after 20 years of loving continuously and completely. I owe my children a complete picture of their father, not one jaded by some months at the end. I am promising myself a longer period of reflection this year. I am also promising myself some time to take photos in the park and ride my bike. And I am giving myself the grace to get through the next 30 days one day at a time.