The other day I had just hauled my right leg with its bone-on-bone knee into the front passenger seat of the car. The door itself was uncomfortably too far away from my reach to close it, so I was struggling as a pedestrian passing by smilingly and gently pushed it closer to my reach. That was a much-appreciated random act of kindness. And there were two things about that gesture that were kind. (1) He moved the door close enough so I could easily accomplish my goal. (2) He moved it just close enough so I could easily accomplish my goal.
And that’s the point I’d like to make here. Every time we offer help we are sending the message that help is needed. Sort of like the story of the boy scout who took an old lady’s arm and guided her across the street. Punch line – she didn’t want to cross the street. I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, but sometimes helping may be an insult – like giving clothing to a poorly dressed person who, from his or her point of view, was doing just fine.
It may have been ten years ago when I didn’t yet qualify as “old-old” that a dear, kind friend of mine took my arm to help me walk to our mutual goal. Maybe it’s the Swede in me, but I didn’t like it. I still don’t like it when someone implies that I can’t do it myself. But I love that friend and appreciated her generosity, so I told her I was okay on my own and promised that when the time came I would let her know I’d like help. These days I do ask, especially for stepping off a curb. Or if we need to make progress more rapidly than is possible at my unaided pace.
I’m trying to make a point beyond my own situation here. It’s just a warning to be careful. Sometimes helpfulness is intrusive. Remember, the unspoken message is “You need help.” Offering an arm is different from grabbing an arm. Holding a door open doesn’t carry a message of someone’s inferiority. Offering to help someone struggling carrying too many packages carries the message “I’ve been there, and I would have liked help.” But maybe that person sitting alone really is longing for company. Or maybe he’s just enjoying the verbal silence.
So, let’s do something kind, not only today but every time the opportunity presents itself. Just let’s be sure it’s kind.
Just sayin’
OBSERVATIONS AT VALENTINE’S DAY DINNER
In my last blog I talked about my [delayed] birthday dinner at the RH Rooftop Restaurant in Edina. I’m trying to keep my entries short, because that’s the kind I prefer to read. So I saved this observation for today. When we arrived I noticed a table of six young women having a good time together. (“Young.” I guess anything between nineteen and thirty-five qualifies as young from my point of view. Maybe even forty-five – who knows). All I know is they were six young women sitting together having a good time. My comment to Doug? “I love seeing that. Back in my day if we didn’t have a date for Valentine’s day we sat home feeling sorry for ourselves.”
It reminded me, by contrast, of a time several years ago when our travels took us to a place where we were dining on the night of the local high-school prom. Seated there was a table of four girls with their dates. I deliberately didn’t say “four boys with their dates,” because it was so clear the guys were primarily there to make the girls dress-up party possible. To state it bluntly, the guys were clearly being used as the girls basically ignored them as they primped, giggled happily, and chatted. It reminded me a bit of Marable Morgan’s 1973 Total Woman’s advice on how to get and keep a man – an economic necessity. No skin off my nose, but I felt sorry for the guys and their somewhat lost, silent, and confused look dressed in their rented tuxes. Frankly, I much preferred today’s version, including the couples there who did, indeed, look like they were enjoying each other.
So that’s what happens when you take me out in public. Like it or not, I’ll be observing, thinking, and talking. (And I do believe Doug had a good time too.)
My son took me out for dinner to celebrate my birthday on February 14. My birthday was in October, but we never do find time to celebrate birthdays on the right date. The restaurant was my choice, so I accepted a friend’s suggestion and we went for the first time to RH Rooftop Restaurant atop Reservation Hardware in Edina. Others advised us to go early to first enjoy the beautiful furniture in the store below. I don’t know if black and white are always “in,” but that’s my preference and that’s what we got to see as we wandered through before heading for the restaurant and its beautiful chandeliers. Much as I love my own furniture, I knew it would seem schlocky when I got home. It did, for the first five minutes or so.
At the restaurant I had a glass of delicious wine, chosen from a long list with the help of the wait staff. Price, $20. That’s OK. Doug was paying and it was the least expensive. I think it was even better than my favorite red from Trader Joe’s which, served by myself at home, costs about $3.00 a glass. I didn’t need a full bottle, but one was available from the list for $363.00. To begin with, Doug and I shared a charcuterie board of prosciutto, cheese, and grapes, followed for me by a perfectly prepared petit filet (as close to rare as legally possible) with separately priced asparagus on the side. For dessert I chose a decaf cappuccino. I’ve learned to allow myself to enjoy such luxury even though my mind does go to people enjoying a shelter meal, or even dumpster diving in the cold.
So what’s this got to do with relative deprivation? Or, in this case relative advantage? Well, here goes with a couple more stories. Back in Connecticut, some twenty-five or more years ago, one of the women in my little Lutheran church was aglow with having gone out to dinner with her husband the previous evening– to Friendly’s. Google it. And I remember thinking everything is relative. There really are different levels of creature comfort and – a least those of us who are contented — choose to compare ourselves with people in comparable circumstances. About the prices in the thousands I’d seen at Restoration Hardware before we dined, I had no thoughts of jealousy, or of wanting to acquire sufficient funds to re-furnish my apartment. It was just out of my range of comparison.
And another story. Back in Connecticut I had a client who was enjoying newfound success as a contractor, loving to take friends out to dinner and buying hundred-dollar bottles of wine. Then came the recession of the time and he grieved, comparing himself to where he had been. Relative Deprivation.
By the way, I do have another Friendly’s story. One day after Lou and I had split I took myself out to lunch at Friendly’s. Absolutely thrilled! “Almost like being a real grown-up,” I thought. Or there was the time I bought myself a present of a pretty teakettle on the spur of the moment, approaching the check-out counter like a little kid at Christmas, not wondering if it would be OK with anyone else. In this case comparing myself to me, recognizing the relative deprivation I had been allowing myself to feel.
And therein lies an answer to the question, why is no one apparently concerned that a billionaire is at work cutting away funds designed to help those in need? He and those in his category are just too far out of range for comparison. And why we don’t spend much time comparing our daily lives to the very needy? It’s just plain characteristic of humans to operate within a small frame of reference. Relative Deprivation/Relative Advantage.
If I know my followers as I think I do, you’ll like this book as much as I did. So many things to ring our personal bells.
ONE STOP WEST OF HINSDALE, by Valerie Kuhn Reid
I absolutely loved this book. I loved the total honesty of the content and I loved the author’s style. If I were still wearing my psychology-professor-hat I’d be suggesting it as supplementary reading. I even love the short chapters that made it easier to set it down when necessary even though I wanted to keep on turning pages. There are so many things that vibed with me, and I’ll mention some. But I ‘m careful not to give away important things that are more effectively discovered with an element of surprise. Here goes with just a few. There’s the importance of caring fathers in a girl/woman’s life, and the influence of the first few years of life in sealing some lifelong characteristics. I know too well the potentially confining superego of a Lutheran atmosphere and the related stoicism. (I’m personally happy for friends and therapy that helped relieve me of that restrictive tightness.) I know – and eventually taught – the depressing “Problem That Has No Name” that stunted the lives of women of our mothers’ generation for which the treatment varied from horrifying to stupid. I recognize the role-reversing protection of one’s mother. I have also seen the crazy-making of alcohol addiction in reaction to situational stress. I felt the intense sadness of a family torn apart and the relief of forgiveness. And I certainly identified with the salvation of owning a brain that needs feeding and activity. I feel that I really “know” the author now, and I can’t imagine that wouldn’t be true for anyone who chooses to read this book, which obviously I highly recommend.
I am a Democrat and I really want to help, but I can’t afford to waste my money on ineffective commercials and interviews. For some reason that I do understand, (but don’t like), no one wants to hear my psychologist’s eye view. But here goes anyway
Reason Number One: People want to see strength in their leaders, and we in the US live in a society that equates strength with masculinity. So electing a masculine person to office is a no-brainer. And Masculinity, for fairly obvious reasons, is equated with maleness. Therefore females still don’t qualify in our culture. Besides we have a long history of thinking in terms of opposites, especially opposite sexes. So, the assumption goes, if men are strong, then by definition women are weak. So women are out because they are seen as the “opposite” sex, i.e. weak as opposed to strong. Moreover, our frontier culture tends to think of strength in terms of physical ability so the support of violence in language and actuality feels good. And the elderly are out because, quite literally, aging does reduce physical strength.
To tell the truth, I think it would be fun to sit with some Ad men and turn some of that information around to appeal to folks who want to see good stuff get done.
Reason Number Two: There is another strong side to the US culture. We see it in the daily stories of people rushing to the aid of their neighbors. Physical strength is good, but so is the strength of shared community, kindness, gratitude, forgiveness, and peace. I waited during the whole campaign to see stories of real people suffering or enjoying victories. Instead I got numbers and generalizations. I’m not a political scientist or politician, but I do know about jargon and I often find it boring. In this election the opposition did a great job of using plain, ordinary language and applying it to things folks care about in their personal lives. But what I saw in Democratic commercials were jargoned intellectual arguments – boring (and effeminate?). How about stories of effects on real people, like women suffering the agony of pregnancy denied the aid that health workers are not allowed to give, or mothers trying to find an apartment they can afford with the two jobs they hold down while raising three kids, or the joy in a child’s eyes when being recognized for something they did well, or the grief in losing one’s home to flood or fire. It’s an old rule in creative writing, “Show, don’t tell.” Make me see what it looks like when people in poverty suffer expensive illness because they’ve been denied regular preventive care. Tell me the stories of the people and families seeking shelter on our borders. Give me a reason to see the very real strength in seeing the positive that can be done. Don’t just leave me with the opposition’s lies told with confidence – no ifs, ands, or buts — denigrating other people. Most folks don’t really get excited by explanation of the process of scientific method or polling procedures. Show me.
Oh my gosh. Do I really dare publish this? I guess so … I can’t just sit around and watch tragedies happen.
SURVIVING THE HARSH SEASON
One of the things I enjoy here at the Waters of Excelsior is the weekly writing group. This week the question to be addressed was “On these days, how do you kindle the fire inside of you? What keeps you going, warms your spirits, and insulates you from the creeping chill. What lines have the power to comfort and warm your heart.” The following is what I presented in the midst of beautiful presentations about warm fireplaces and playing in the snow.
I know I’m supposed to write something sweet and heartwarming here, but I can’t get past the metaphorical storm brewing day and night and promising a long stay. Outside my consulting room in Connecticut I used to have shelves of books available for borrowing. One title has stuck in my head over the years, waiting, I guess, to come back to say it for me now. “The opposite of Everything is True.” (William A. Crisman, January 1, 1991). Around the world there’s starvation, flooding, burning, warring, killing, even suffering for lack of gynocological care. When something goes wrong it is always someone else’s fault for which the best treatment is insult, destroy, kill. If I were still wearing my professor hat I’d have to watch my back, because the very things I’d teach are declared illegal by those in power. For Empaths like me the pain is intense. OK, I’ll stop before I become a Debbie Downer, the exact opposite of what I want to be.
So how do I ignite the positive fire that insulates me from the creeping chill and sleepless nights? At least six ways. (1) I know the route we’re on leads eventually to a new world of community care and love. In the meantime (2) I treat the news like caffein – avoid it after noon. (3) Support the news outlets that aren’t owned and controlled by the billionaires. (4) Sign appropriate petitions. (5) Do my best to follow the Rabbi from Nazareth who gave his life to teach us the way of love; and (6) open myself to spread love like a virus.”
Of course I’d love to hear your reaction.
Since when does a government have the ability to control biological facts. Get real! Gender is not dichotomous. It exists on a continuum. Facts are facts. It is not true that everyone carries a simple XX or XY chromosome pair that grows straight into a female (the biological priority) or male. Try XXY or XYY. Or a simple X. Don’t bother with a single Y. It’s not enough to maintain life. And then there are things like androgen insensitivity and other potential developmental factors that introduce different developmental processes for the embryo/fetus.
No, I’m not an expert on fetal development. Neither does election to political office make one suddenly knowledgeable about human anatomy and physiology. Sorry. Election doesn’t make one into a god who can change reality with a simple declaration. The government can’t simply decide there are only two genders.
And besides, it’s just plain cruel to deny people the acceptance and care they need just because reality doesn’t jibe with an unreal, simplistic dichotomous approach to life.
And what do you care anyway? What skin is it off your nose?
Could we please just get down to the real issues in life and clime?
Just so you’ll know, I’m getting more reading done these days since I discovered that my body likes occasional rests on my back since I got another — this time minor — compression fracture (I have no idea how). L2 this time. I’ve come to picture my back as a long tube filled with wet sand, still keeping me upright, though, and appreciating at least a half-hour a day of walking.
But now down to business
This amazing book certainly doesn’t need more reviewers, but I’m pressed to describe how impressed I am by it. It’s a mystery story page-turner, except it’s not fiction. From environmental injustice monitored by zip code to systemic inequality and shocking (but I am no longer shocked) governmental insensitivity. In my ninth decade I’ve finally come to accept that those who are elected to serve us often do not, unless it is in the interest of their careers and the well-being of those like them. Truly a horrifying reality.
But there’s more. The courage of Dr. Mona, the caring pediatrician, the persistence in spite of efforts to shame and destroy her, the beautiful description of the careful use of scientific method, the attempt to refute science in favor of the dollar, the almost victory in the end, the failure to follow through completely. (Apparently there are children still bathing in lead-damaging water.)
But there’s even more: the source of her courage in her intellectual and active roots as part of an immigrant family, comments on irrational war and the loss of homeland, making a married life and family with a fellow Pediatrician. (As someone who made a career in addition to home and family despite the cultural pressures against it, I was especially appreciative of that aspect of her story.) One couldn’t help noting the drain on her personal health. And just plain heroism displayed by her active partners. I’ve recommended this book to our Waters of Excelsior book group.
1/26/2025
I just finished writing a review of our Excelsior Water’s book club’s latest choice, James McBride, The Color of Water. There are so many things I promise I’ll write about, and put off, but today I screwed up my courage to share a book review that reveals probably more about myself than is wise.
It would be superfluous, even maybe pretentious, to write a long review for a book that’s been reviewed almost 11,000 times. But I would like to share my reaction -about stereotypes. I admit I was always pleased when I had Jewish students in my class. I believe without exception they appreciated learning and thinking, playing with ideas, often creatively enjoying the arts, dedicated to learning beyond a basis for establishing a paying career. I firmly believe it’s an integral part of Jewish heritage, even for a woman whose experience in her own Jewish family was bitterly negative. It certainly was evident in her skill at finding free cultural experiences for her large growing family and affordable ways to see them (and herself) through excellent schools, even graduate schools and outstanding careers.
I also enjoyed the very personal demolition of stereotypes about poor black folks. Her experience with her black husbands, family, and friends was outstandingly welcoming and supportive – even loving — in spite of other people’s confusion about where she “belonged” on the color chart. A bit of mutual distrust and rejection of people of a different color, even as she apparently sometimes almost passed for black.
Beyond stereotypes, there’s no doubt that Ruth McBride Jordan was herself beyond stereotypes. What she accomplished through her home life was so much more than most. Being a bit OCD myself, I was almost jealous of her ease in dealing with the chaos of her large family, and the almost military assignment of leadership based on the birth position of her children.
Maybe most of all I admired the author’s description of his own young manhood and the career he eventually created for himself out of the chaos. I loved the accounting at the end of the universal successes, though different, of his siblings. It’s fun, as a psychologist, to play with the elements of each person’s self-construction.
Mostly, there’s no doubt the author’s mother was an exceptional human being, worthy of her son’s loving tribute.
My long-departed brother Harvey, eleven years older than I, might be called a grammarian. His ear was attuned with perfection to the spoken and written word. Even as I write this I wonder where he might have edited my first sentence. But he was also sensitive to the understood meaning and sound of words, so his conversation was always attuned to the language of the person/people he was with. He knew that language conveyed much more than information, bearing the burden of expressing emotion, attitude, even judgment and elitism. In other words, his choice of words conveyed respect. I think of him often now as I read article after article suggesting reasons why the most recent elections went the way they did. I understand the accusation of elitism as I find myself wondering what such words as the following really mean: liberalism, neo-liberalism, populism, oligarchy, conservatism, progressivism, hegemony. I find myself asking why folks can’t use plain and simple language. And then I realize they think they are. Every one of those words, and others mentioned here, carries a slew of meaning – to the people using them. They’re jargon. Well defined meanings well understood within the circle that uses them
How do I know? Because I use psychological jargon. I talk about the jargon effect in my current hope-to-become-a-book manuscript. For example, try behavior, behaviorism, subject, stimulus, conditioned stimulus/response, unconditioned stimulus/response, generalization, discrimination, extinction, spontaneous recovery, control, conflict, depression. They sound like “real” words, but what do they mean when one of “us” uses them? Do others hear what I assume they mean?
Or what if I had gone on to major in English? Would I immediately understand words like global anglophone literature, fragmentation, discontinuity, narrative form, perspective, protagonist, realist, verisimilitude, syntax, core narrative assumption.
So here’s my plea, and my plan. I didn’t major in political science, or literature, or you name it. But I spent a lifetime learning and teaching psychological jargon. So let’s try to translate our language into clearly understood “real” words that won’t raise the “this is elitism” hackles of the listener.
monagustafsonaffinito 