'TIS THE SEASON

I love this day! – The Winter Solstice. From now on more sunlight, more cheer.

I love this holiday season too. I have been blessed with a Santa Claus Christmas since my childhood. I know that’s a blessing I don’t share with everyone, a fact which makes me sad. But the music and the memories make me glad as well, along with deep gratitude to my family. I especially love the fact that MPR’s classical station plays so much more choral music during this period.

I love realizing that I’ve made it through another year with good health. If all goes as planned I’ll enjoy another healthy Christmas with my family in a few days.

It’s the Holiday, really. I wish joy for everyone, however you celebrate the coming of the sunlight.

And wouldn’t it be glorious if our thoughts of peace were to become more concrete in 2012? That’s my wish.

FUN AT THE ADLER CAFÉ

Last evening I had a good time first enjoying a potluck feast and then with the chance to chat with Adler folks and friends on the topic of forgiveness. (I sneaked in a bit on Mrs. Job as well.) What a neat group! I understand that a common comment at the end was “It’s necessarily complex.” That it is. Lots of discussion followed my suggestion that “to forgive is to accuse.” After it was all over, one person asked whether it’s possible to forgive someone without their knowing that you have even accused them, to say nothing of forgiving them. The answer? – an unhesitating “yes.” Forgiving is basically for the forgiver.

While we were chatting after the session was over, one woman conveyed her thanks to women of my generation for the work we had done for women. It got me started – remembering when my daughter at 13 couldn’t switch from her pediatrician to a woman physician because one was not available – women were not allowed residencies at the local hospitals. Then I went on remembering – no women pharmacists, anchors on the evening news, reporters from all over-including war zones, police officers, mail carriers, military personnel, fill in the blanks. Certainly there were no women in authority on CSI (but then, I guess there was no CSI.) The point? Change happens, best observed when we look back. Back when Lou, the Italian Catholic, married me, a Swedish Lutheran, it was a mixed marriage. Today it would hardly qualify.

The lesson? We best understand what we’ve been living through when we look back at it. Sort of hopeful, I think.

HELP OTHERS KEEP THEIR DIGNITY

           

Sometimes clients attribute their own wisdom to me. I think that was the case recently when a client told me she found it helpful that I had said it’s important to help others keep their dignity. I’d like to believe I said it. I certainly agree with it.

Some behavioral stuff that’s important in following through on that is focusing on the other and, though it sounds like an oxymoron, doing that by making no “you” statements, as in judging, but rather using “I,” as in recognizing and expressing my own feelings and opinions in a respectful way -- taking responsibility for myself. Well, there are exceptions. I love receiving a “you” statement that suggests, as she did, that I had been helpful. It’s the blaming yous or the guessing-how-you-are-feeling yous that deprive others of dignity.

OK, that’s my thought for the day. Confusing? Hmm. Maybe that’s why I need clients to translate my psychobabble into English.

DEVASTATION IN CONNECTICUT

Thanks to my friend in Connecticut who feels fortunate to have access to power at her worksite. For those of us who aren't there, here's a sense of what it's like for those who are.

It’s now Day 6 with no heat, hot water, electricity, telephone...nothing!  This includes no gasoline at the pumps, food spoilage, and no stove for cooking. I’ve never seen such a storm (18-24” snow) such as the one we had this past weekend...actually I’ve never even seen snow in October.   What made this storm so deadly and the “perfect storm” was the combination of water-logged soil from Hurricane Irene, excessive moisture in the air, and trees fully laden with their fall leaves. Nature’s “gift” of hail; heavy, wet snow; icy roads, and (here’s another first) a thunder and lightning storm made for a truly apocalyptic night. In all my years in New England, I have never seen such horrific damage – not only did tree limbs break, but the whole tops of trees snapped off like candy canes.  Huge trees were uprooted and tossed about like matchsticks, ripping power lines from the poles, blocking roads, and destroying anything in their way.   The whole area now looks like a war zone, with everything closed.

IN THE INTEREST OF FAIRNESS AND FULL DISCLOSURE

This is Mr. McCabe's e-mail response to my previous posting re accusations of attempts to defraud and of lying - everything from this point on is a copy of what he sent, including his highlighting. (If it is confusing, most of it through my signature is a copy of my original correspondence with him which he has quoted.)

"OK,

I’ll just post your original email:

“ -----Original Message-----

 From: Mona [mailto:forgivenessoptions@earthlink.net]

 Sent: Friday, October 28, 2011 6:39 AM

 To: wpmccabe@wildoceanseafoods.com

 Subject: Double order

 Identified as customer ID 5017, I have a receipt for order #9045,

 dated 10:06 am, 10/20/2011 for the total amount of $23.43.

 I have received notice, however, that two orders have been sent, the

 other one numbered 9044. Also, my American Express Account has been

 charged twice.

 This is a surprise gift to the addressee and, unfortunately, you've

 already shipped it. But I don't want to pay double what I planned, and

 I don't want to burden them with a trip to return it. I'll notify my

 American Express account to withhold payment on the second shipment.

 Perhaps you can send Mr. MacGregor a self addressed envelope with

 which to return the other one.

 Please get back to me on how to handle this.

 Thanks,

 Mona Gustafson Affinito”

Our response will be posted as well.  Perhaps the next time you wish to “socialize” some correspondence, you will show your friends the complete dialog."

Forgive Wild Fresh Frozen Seafood for insult?

Forgiveness does not mean accepting abuse. Not having received the apology I asked for at the end of this episode, I'm sharing this story as widely as I can.

Anyone ordering from Wild Fresh Frozen Seafood should call within a few hours to confirm that only one order has been entered on their computer. The number to call is 800-980-2435   Or, if you raise a question, be prepared to be insulted.


Before I go on with the back story, I just noticed that he says I ordered Crab bibs. I ordered lobster bibs. I do hope he sent the right thing, or my gift recipient might be insulted. Fortunately he's a good friend so I'm sure it won't do too much damage.

This is the back story. I've emphasized some important lines in bold:

On 10/20/2011 I ordered a product for $23.43 and immediately received a confirmation for order #2045 - usual procedure when ordering on the web, I relaxed until I received notice on 10/27/2011 that two orders were being shipped, #2045 and #2044. My credit card had been charged twice.

            I assumed an error had been made. (I still assume it was all an error.) I sent an e-mail identifying the order numbers, saying, “This is a surprise gift to the addressee and, unfortunately, you've already shipped it. But I don't want to pay double what I planned, and I don't want to burden them with a trip to return it. I'll notify my credit card to withhold payment on the second shipment. Perhaps you can send [him] a self-addressed envelope with which to return the other one.

            Please get back to me on how to handle this.

Thanks,

Mona Gustafson Affinito"

In response I expected something like, “We apologize for the inconvenience. We will send a postage paid attachment for Mr. [  ] to return the extra item.” Instead I got an accusation that I was trying to defraud Mr. McCabe.

“Dear Monica, (Note the name change.)

You ordered two sets of crab bibs, we sent two sets.  We have no way of "charging your card" after you order..If you wish to return one, you will have to pay for return shipping. Should you feel that defrauding us of $22.43 is an appropriate response, we will challenge the attempted chargeback.”

            And then came the implied accusation that I’m a liar. When I responded that I had received only one receipt, he responded,”Regarding your receipt(s).  You got two.  Every completed order has an emailed receipt.  This function has never failed.”

             I’m willing to concede I may have hit the “finish” button twice, in which case I would expect I would have received two receipts. Then I would have called to cancel the second order before it was shipped. I’d also be willing to apologize for the error. The truth is, I never received the second receipt. Believe me, if I were going to start a career of fraud at this stage in my long squeaky clean life, I’d aim for something more than $23.43.

            Anyway, I told him to accept the $23.43, that I forgave him for the insult, and I’d like an apology. I waited for that before posting this. None was received, so here I am.

Mona Gustafson Affinito

http://www.forgivenessoptions.com

Empty Bowls

Thanks to my friend Anne Sinclair for sending this --

One way we here in Santa Barbara raise money for the Food Bank at this crucial time of the year is have  an "Empty Bowls" Event held on the first Sunday in November.  Local artists make bowls that the donors choose upon arriving.  Gourmet soups are provided by local restaurants and some of our SB notables such as the mayor, a popular columnist in the local Independent newspaper and actors (John Cleese) serve the soup.
Water and bread are also provided.  Every donation ($25) goes to the Food Bank.  It is a poplar event and last year the third sitting (200 servings per sitting) was added. There is also a silent auction of donated items and services.
Oh, and yes, the donors get to take their bowls home.

MORE ON EMPTY FOOD SHELVES

My friends who starred in my earlier blog re food shelves sent the following, with permission to publish it. It seems pretty obvious that the private sector is overwhelmed, not up to handling this systemic problem on its own.

For a third paragraph on the Food Shelves blog—we went shopping again and this week the shelves at the Food Bank were even more empty.  We were told that there had not been a delivery from a local supermarket in over a month.

Paragraph four—I’m writing a message in the monthly church news letter to inform the church folk of the situation.  I will suggest that if we brought just one food item whenever we came to church, it would really help to fill the food boxes.  Also, if groups that meet weekly or monthly did the same, it would be even better.  We’re starting that with my monthly book group—not a church related activity—but the members are community minded.

WATERCOLORS

A women’s retreat at Mount Calvary on Saturday, October 15, 2011 –

Let justice flow down like waters

Let the waters flow through my hands on the way to healing the world, knowing it won’t happen in my lifetime

Let my hands remain open, un-grasping sharing

Let me celebrate the wrinkles, the spots. Let them be my gifts to the waters of life and grace.

And then came the watercolors:

           

The little box of paints looked and felt delicious, like the new box of crayons on the first day of school

First painting – just play. What emerged was pretty, flowing pastels.

Second painting – send my prayer to God. Not so pretty. I tried hands reaching out. Ugly emerged.

Third painting – receive God. More lovely, flowing pastels.

No budding artist. Still, I brought them home. And they all looked better upside down.

As Job’s "friends" learned, we don’t have the power to control God with our prayers – only ask and maybe, in time, receive.

EMPTY FOOD SHELVES

While I was In Maine I accompanied my friends Harriet and Bob on the beginning of their monthly stint picking up food from the central warehouse to stock the shelves of their church outlet. The first step was to do an inventory of needs at their site. I don’t have words to describe what happened to the pit of my stomach when they unlocked the door and we walked in. EMPTY SHELVES! There were, I think, ten jars of peanut butter and a few sad looking boxes of pasta, with another few stray items. I didn’t even feel grateful that I don’t have to feed my family off such shelves, I just felt shame and intense sadness.

It was even worse when they returned from their expedition the next day to the warehouse. Those shelves were lacking as well. They intended to bring back enough supplies to fill boxes based on a list posted on the wall, but there would not be enough items to complete the list. On the day when the unit is open, people coming to pick up their share will find big gaps – even toilet paper was missing.

I learned in my High School English course that there should be at least three paragraphs here. But what should I put in this last one?

A WEEK IN MAINE

         

First days – cold, rainy, wrapped up in layers topped by raincoat with hood. End of week, bright sunshine, temperatures approaching 80. No matter the weather, being with good friends is always warm, with the collective ongoing struggle with a New York Times Crossword puzzle. On Sunday an organ recital deep-massaged our bodies at the Basilica in Lewiston. Of course, Freeport is a Monday stop for lunch and dropping a minimal amount of money  – a Nine West handbag on sale for $22.00 – but I didn’t even go to L.L. Bean this time – doesn’t seem right, somehow.  

What else? A fabulous exhibit of Edward Hopper paintings. I confess, I do like recognizing the subject. Dinner with more friends by the Maine shore with a view of their private island. Another time found me with my annual fix of boiled live lobster by the sea (indoors this time, though. It was one of the cold and dreary days.) As an invited guest for a class on the Hebrew Bible I found gratification that “Mrs. Job” had it pretty much right about the heritage of Jacob and Esau. Visiting the Shaker Village offered order, peace, and beautifully crafted products,

Somewhere around 1980 I flew in to Portland on Bar Harbor Airlines – six rows of single seats on each side, a cooler up front with choice of sodas if one chose to open it. Only one of my little Bichons could ride in his cage on my flight. The other one had to wait for the next trip.

.

More recently I flew into Portland on a cozy little plane with two seats on each side – maybe ten rows. Forgive me, I don’t know airplanes. All I know is that this time the rows were three by two and so long there were lavatories at each end of business class – and stuffed full. The waiting line for the rental car was forty-five minutes long, almost as long as it took the luggage to come out for the two big planeloads of passengers who had just arrived

Before I left the state a visit to a most amazing museum proved that Portland is not the small town I once thought it was. The harbor bustles with art displays and shops of crafty wares and interesting foods. The more things change, though, the more they stay the same. Maine is still the place to go for calm and quiet

OCTOBER 5, 1955, WINOOSKI, VERMONT

No coat needed. Only the balerina length wedding gown, the crayon yellow sun, the sweet, dusty smell of the brightly dying autumn leaves, Lou with his drugstore necktie to make up for the one he forgot to bring, and nineteen other caring people including Father Boucher. Lou's family had attended a pre-nuptial Mass, while the rest of us received a private communion at the local Lutheran church.

I think we both knew we were making a mistake, but we were committed, and remained committed for almost 20 years. A magnificent day in Vermont! Here I'm sharing my annual quiet remembrance.

LOVE/GRACE

http://www.forbiddenknowledgetv.com/videos/religion--spiritual-practice/spiritual-reality-near-death-experiences-2010.html#.Tn5N-tSuBgQ.email

Whether it's Heaven or a protective nervous system, these people experienced a life-changing event.

MUST I ALWAYS BE CHEERFUL?

This one breaks all kinds of rules – especially the one about keeping the blog entry brief. I promise to be less wordy in the future if you’ll stick with this one to the end.

For most of my life with my mother, and especially during her eleven years in a nursing home before she moved on out of this life, I perceived it to be my job to save up happy stories to tell her. I was pretty good at it too. She was totally shocked when I told her I was getting a divorce – no inkling there was anything unhappy in the relationship.

It got to be a habit. I have to store up happy things to tell. Well, guess what! I don’t always feel like telling happy stories.

Like, be careful what you ask for. I managed to refinance my mortgage at a reduced rate of interest, which meant my bank got a copy of the appraisal – a huge downgrade in the value of my home – so they had to reduce my line of credit by 75%.

Last evening, after several insomniac nights, I had no energy to do anything but watch the vigil for Troy Davis which ended in tragedy.

I decided to try one last effort to sell my books. Paid for a neat new website that connects with a neat new facebook page, this blog, and Twitter. I committed to a regular monthly fee. They are really great – very helpful. But I’m not good at selling – no movement.

I broke a kind of a rule for therapists – when the therapy round is done, don’t contact former clients. My e-mail contact with a former client asking how she was doing resulted in a response indicating she was doing well and asking about me. I sent a two-sentence description of what I’ve been up to and referred her to my blog for more information. She was hurt by what she perceived as a put-off, wrote me back in anger, basically telling me to get out of her life. My truly heartsick response was met with silence.

See!? I don’t feel like being cheerful.

Oh, but wait. What can I learn from this?

1)    Telling happy stories. Actually, I did admire Polyanna when I finally got to read her, but there’s another basic rule of therapy – honesty. My mother wouldn’t have been shocked at my divorce news if I’d been open with her all along.

2)    Hey Mona, I don’t feel sorry for you about your mortgage thing. You have a lovely home to live in, and the remnants of an equity line of credit. Just don’t forget those who have none of this.

3)    The execution of Troy Davis? I can only hope attitudes will continue to turn against the death penalty. I understand there is a generation change. Thank goodness for young people!

4)    Selling my books? Well I will try – this coming Saturday even. But. Mona, just be glad for the time you have to write and do what you enjoy.

5)    Hurting my former client? How many times do I have to learn to be careful with words. How easy it is to read them differently from the way they were written! I learned that back in the days of writing multiple-choice questions for my classes. I always took the test with them, regularly getting one wrong even though I’d written and reviewed them myself.

6)    The “rule” against connecting with former clients? I’ll continue to break it. So many wonderful relationships.

So, I guess my insomnia will continue for people living in terrible situations that I can’t fix, but for which I can continue to do my small part.

My High School yearbook said of me “All succeeds for those who are sweet and cheerful.” (What an insipid comment). Well, guess what!...

DO YOU TAKE BLUE CROSS?

I get it. I really do! But I also think it’s sad – almost to the point of being tragic. Here’s the call I got yesterday from someone looking for therapy. “Are you a psychologist?” he asked. “yes, I am.” I answered. “Do you take Blue Cross?” he said. I get this kind of call often, and this is not a complaint about me. I knew what I was doing to my potential income when I decided to refrain from becoming a provider for any managed care organizations once I moved to Minnesota. But here are a few things he might have said in the service of his own needs: I’d like to ask you a question about the kind of therapy you practice. Or, Are you still taking patients/clients? Or, I’m looking for someone who can help me with my depression/obsession/alcoholism/marital/child-rearing problems – whatever.

I told him I was not a Blue Cross provider, but that as a licensed psychologist my services are covered. I do not bill Blue Cross directly, however. I will provide a statement at the end of the month which you can submit. “OK, thank you,” he said, and hung up.

Now, here’s what strikes me as sad. The question had nothing to do with his health needs or with finding an appropriate provider for him. It wasn’t his health that was his primary question, it was his insurance company. Sometimes people stay on the phone long enough so I can help evaluate who – occasionally me – might be right for him, or whether the free initial consultation might be helpful, or whether I might have a sliding scale of charges, or even why I chose not to be a provider.

As I said. I understand it perfectly. People have to consider what they can afford. But if you go shopping for a blue shirt and find a pink one that doesn’t fit you well but costs half the price, does it make sense to make your purchase on the basis of price alone? Psychotherapy is nothing to fool around with.

On the other hand, maybe, once he had made contact with a Blue Cross provider, he would have explored further. I hope so, and I get it! But health care and insurance coverage are not the same thing. It’s that confusion that makes me sad.

MORPHING, MOLTING, CHANGING

Eda LeShan had the perfect metaphor many years ago. In order for the lobster to expand, it must leave its old shell behind and let another one grow that fits better, leaving itself vulnerable in the process. I guess snakes do basically the same thing. Those of us who’ve been around a while have probably experienced that vulnerability more than once. I know I have: when I left the full-time professor role to become a full-time therapist; again when I left part-time instruction, and now when the economy and my avoidance of managed-care have reduced my private practice.

There’s still writing, which I’ve tried, with moderate success; and my current tentative reaching out to doing personalized editorial proofreading http://forgivenessoptions.com/feeds/item/15/new-service-offered. Patricia Gitt gave me the idea and the opportunity, working on her new novel “ASAP.” It’s a good read. Check it out. If my work has really been effective, you won’t notice it, because your attention will be focused on her story. http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Patricia+Gitt&x=8&y=14

And then there’s that vulnerability thing. When I moved to Minnesota I pictured myself enjoying the leisure of sitting around and reading. I’ve finally been doing that some, but I have to confess, it feels weird – vulnerable, really. I appreciate the encouragement of friends and family to go for it. I’m working on it.

WHAT A HURRICANE CAN DO!

I cried, I really did, when I saw the clip of one of Vermont’s wooden bridges being washed away. I was glued to CNN both in the anticipation and in the aftermath of Irene. I’m awestruck at the efficient activity that saved so many lives, and wonder about the person I saw interviewed who chose to stay behind to surf because he believed all the precautions were hype, or the two kayakers who chose to risk themselves and the first responders who recued them. I am so sad for the ones who did lose their lives or their family and friends.

Mostly, though, I must confess I’m still stressed at the thought of what might have happened – but didn’t – to my daughter, husband, and guest as they endured the blackness of the night with the evil of the storm trying to get in. Only their Sheltie seemed to think it was fun. Indeed, one of the four downed trees did take out the bedroom end of their home. Thank God the young woman had evacuated the upstairs bedroom before the killer tree fell on her bed.

The memory of that night still haunts them. As far as I know the roof is still a gaping hole; the cloud of insulation and ceiling dust is settled into a mess below; electric power is still off; and the insurance adjuster has not come. The stream of folks stopping to take photos has probably tapered off, and they know the kindness of sympathetic neighbors. The darkness of night still hides lurking evil, reflecting the insecurity of what comes next.

But they are alive and healthy!  The thought of what might have happened! How grateful we are for life. That’s when we know what really matters. 

FIVE REASONS WHY PEOPLE DON’T BUY “MRS. JOB,” and a p.s.

(1) I made the mistake of leaving the Ph.D. after my name, so people think it’s a heavy academic tome – or maybe a self-help book. It’s not. It’s a love story.  

(2) People think it’s a religious treatise because it’s about biblical Job. It’s not. Yes, it is true to the events that happened to him in the biblical story, but it’s fiction built around those events.

(3) Some people think it’s a “liberal” tome, calling into question some biblical beliefs. It’s not. See (2) above.

(4) Many apparently think it’s about working people, or maybe the wife of Steve Jobs, because they don’t pronounce “Job” right.

(5) There are those who don’t buy it because they already have, and liked it so much they’ve been lending it to their friends. And that’s why their friends don’t buy it.

p.s. In reference to the previous blog: I've been getting messages from friends who smilingly complain they can't answer the questions. Thanks. That's the point.

p

X-WORD PUZZLES AND THOUGHTS OF FAME

 X-Word puzzles keep me company in my last minutes before sleep at night, but still I can’t stop my mind from humming. About what? How brief is fame. The thought actually cheers me up when I get bummed because I can’t manage to push any of my books into best-sellership.

Age and good memory (if one has one) help some. Try some of the recent examples from Will Shortz Ed. (2002). Monday through Friday Easy to Tough Crossword Puzzles. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin. By the way, I’m happy with Monday through Thursday – they leave me feeling moderately good about myself. But Fridays?! Sometimes I don’t know the answers even after I see them.

Try these. I gave some help with a few of them.

You’ll find the answers below. It’s up to you whether you want to cheat.

1) 1950’s Wally Cox sitcom

2) Anne Bancroft role of 1967

3) Clinton Cabinet Member – 4 letters

4) Mohawk sporting actor

5) Chuck of “Code of Silence.”

6) Flappers’ Hairdos – 4 letters

7) He sang of Alice – 4 letters

8) Sportscaster John – 6 letters

9) Adlai’s 1956 running mate

10) “I’ll Be Around” composer Wilder – 4 letters

11) “Gaslight” Oscar winner, 1944 – 7 letters

12) Noted traitor – 6 letters

11) Peace Nobelist Bunche – 5 letters

12) Kenton of jazz – 4 letters

13) Show for which Bob Fosse won a 1978 Tony – 6 letters

Okay, so you got them all right. My point still holds. One way or another it comes to an end.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

(1) Mr. Peepers; (2) (Mrs. Robinson; (3) Reno; (4) Mr. T; (5) Norris; (6) Bobs; (7) Arlo; (8) Madden;

(9) Estes; (10) Alec; (11) Bergman; (12) Arnold; (11) Ralph; (12) Stan; (13) Dancin

RECORD HEAT - COURTESY MY NIECE

My niece in Connecticut gave me permission to pass this on in my blog. I think you'll enjoy it.  

"I understand that you are planning to send us potentially record heat.  Please don't. Heat makes me want to cry. It pushes down on me and makes me feel as if I will never go outside again.  It swells my hands, makes me feel like I am not "up to things", or that I cannot possibly endure the challenges of the day. It alters my plans, encourages me to further procrastinate, makes me worry about my ability to make it in the world, suggests that I should give up on plans, makes it hard to think of any reason to actually open my door. I can't shovel it, throw salt on it, add clothing to make me more comfortable (and, lord knows there is a limit to how much I can take off), drive more skillfully, make creative structures from it or wage friendly battles with others, complain about the landscaping service and their plowing skills or those of the town, tell stories about past adventures, put on special foot covering to be comfortable and safer, alter my work plans to fit in with safety warnings, light a fire, bake or cook. And this with central air for which I am eternally grateful and paying dearly.

Heat makes me want to cry

Cold makes me search for a sweater or blanket."

REMEMBERING JENNIE

July 12 was the anniversary of my mother’s 1895 birth, the year before Sigmund Freud published The Aetiology of Hysteria. The fifth child of seven in her immigrant Swedish family, she was the first born in the United States and the only one to finish High School. She searched Titles for the City of Bristol, Connecticut until the birth of my brother when, ‘of course,’ she gave it up because she was now a mother. Fifty years after her retirement her work was remembered in the Bristol Press. I believe her bouts of depression were related to Betty Friedan’s “problem that has no name.”

Jean, my cousin once removed (or something like that) shared this memory, “I can still clearly picture your proud looking Dad and meticulously dressed Mother walking down the aisle at Bethesda Lutheran on a Sunday morning,” That basically says it all. From the beginning when they dated in horse and buggy, the church was the center of their lives. On the days when mother wasn’t sitting by her bedroom’s upstairs window sewing or mending, watching for my homecoming, she was greeting me as I joined her at one of the women’s circle meetings.

Mother’s day was predictable: breakfast ready for us when we got up – orange juice, coffee, toast and cereal or eggs and, for me, a spoonful of cod liver oil followed by a chocolate candy kiss to kill the taste. Lunch ready for my father when he came home for his midday break from the office, followed by clean-up and a nap. She was bathed, refreshed (as if she needed it – always clothed in a pretty dress and apron) when he got home after work. So was I when I was little – toys stashed, hands washed, clothes tidied.

Hallie and I picked violets for our mothers on Mother’s Day. My father frequently picked Lillies of the Valley for her from his beautifully kept gardens. Mother picked herself up when she was needed, like the time we went to the 1939 World’s Fair, carrying our packed lunch, and enjoying it, even though she had a terrible cold. Or when she came for a week to help Lou and me with our firstborn, or home-schooled me when I missed three months of third grade, homebound with chicken box and then whooping cough. Or when she brought me food and treats the weekend I hibernated in their study, finishing my thesis.

Mother achieved the end in 1975, but she’s been looking back at me in the mirror regularly for some time.

REMEMBERING HALLIE

These days my mother tends to look back at me from the mirror, but even more frequently it’s Hallie -- her quizzical smile. I hear her voice often too, usually when I make a stupid mistake or express a thought she doesn’t approve of. “Oh, Mona …” in her distinctive voice. How fortunate Hallie and I both were to live well into our adulthood in the houses we had known from our births. Back yards adjoining, we played, fought, shaped each other.

Today is the anniversary of Hallie’s birth, but she’s not here to celebrate it herself. She’s been gone since 2002. My daughter and I arrived at her home in Cape Cod right after she’d sat with her family for her last breakfast – a glass of prune juice – and asked when I’d be there. Back in the Hospice-provided bed, she energized herself into a hearty Hallie laugh when I recalled out loud some of the adventures we had shared. Then she was gone. Her body carried on until 2:00 a.m. the next morning.

Hallie grew up in a house filled with cigarette smoke. Her mother declared that she smoked because it was good for her asthma, a belief she had good reason for holding. See Tye, Larry. (1998). The father of spin: Edward L. Bernays and the Birth of Public Relations. New York: Henry Holt and Company, for the tale of how Bernays sold physicians and dentists on testifying in print to smoking's medicinal value. Hallie began smoking when she was 13.

Somewhere in the late 1980s she sought help in hypnosis which worked beautifully. She never again longed for a cigarette. But it was too late. When she died, the doctor declared amazement that she had survived so long with her lungs so badly damaged.

So, Hallie, today I'm celebrating the fact that you are still looking back at me, critiquing my behavior.

CELEBRATION AND COURAGE

Fourth of July and another year that I celebrated in good health, in a place of no bombed out destruction. The Minnesota Orchestra was inspiring on the Excelsior Green. The weather was perfect, as were the comfortable folding chairs I bought earlier in the day from Ace Hardware, with beverage holders for the frozen lemonade to go with the picnic supper. It was moving, honoring the veterans who stood with the songs representing their branches of service. The fireworks were gorgeous (as long as I kept my ears covered.) The crowds were calm and respectful. It was a great evening!

On our recent Holland America Line cruise, we Americans were outnumbered by the Dutch. Everything was announced in two languages, causing me once again to regret my poor knowledge of languages other than English. A majority of the Dutch were well advanced in age, as indicated by the walkers, wheelchairs, canes, walking sticks, and bent backs. But courage! Oh my. Nothing held them back. They made their way on all the walks, working their way up stone steps to enter old houses. Better than what I did. I figure if I’ve seen the inside of one old wooden house, I’ve seen them all, especially if I’m going to experience vertigo making my way down the stacked-up rocks that pass for stairs.

My father defined courage as doing that which one is afraid to do. I try to do that with important things. But for me, another part of courage, and of finally being a grown-up, is admitting I’m scared and avoiding unnecessary risks.

So what does all this have to do with peaceful July fourth celebrations and courage? My chiropractor reminded me that our Dutch companions were of the age that suffered the trauma of the Nazi occupation of WWII. On our last day we visited still-functioning windmills – the kind we think of as belonging to the Netherlands. Among other things, we learned that during the war the position of the blades sent messages like, “There’s a package to be picked up.” With gratitude for my annual good luck, I can only imagine the trauma and the courage of that wartime experience. – of any war. 

SELF-ESTEEM, SELF-CONTROL, AND MENDING FLAWS

The theme of Saturday evening’s sermon, honoring our celebration of Independence, was self-esteem. Of course this psychologist sat up and took notice. These are my reactions. Tragically, the concept has been badly misunderstood in the past decades! The result – narcissism, depression, inability to solve problems, poor appreciation of criticism, and probably more. Genuine self-esteem - based on self-efficacy – is developed by encouragement and recognition of one’s strengths, observation of one’s weaknesses, and the provision of tools for improvement. Or, as Adlerians are wont to say, having the willingness to be perfectly imperfect. 

Instead, too much parenting and education has protected developing individuals from any sense of imperfection, thereby encouraging an inflated and inaccurate sense of one’s worth, lack of tools for dealing with disappointment by self-modification, reacting instead with blaming and striving to correct and control others. Early in my own education and teaching, the value of tests and papers was the pointing up of errors and suggested correction, often painful, but accepted as part of the strengthening of one’s knowledge. By the time I retired from teaching, the goal for many students had become getting an A, anything less, in their opinion, being the instructor’s fault for failing to recognize their worth.

Basic to healthy self-esteem is the courage to recognize one’s own flaws and gain control over them. In summary, if we really love someone or something, we are willing to see it’s correctible faults and point them out, with hope for a strengthening of the honesty, integrity, self-control and consequent power of the object of our affection. Last evening we sang “America the Beautiful” which includes the words: “God mend thine every flaw; Confirm they soul in self-control…” 

THE TOP OF THE WORLD

On 6/20/11 I visited Hammerfest, Norway, purportedly the northernmost city in the world. There the Museum of Reconstruction documents the almost total destruction of the town by the retreating Germans in 1944. Only the small funeral chapel remained. It strikes me that back in the USA I was worrying about studying and proms. Question: What is the advantage of ignorance of the suffering of others?

It was relaxing on the Holland America Line’s cruise of the Norwegian fjords to hear so little news – only the basics in the daily New York Times summary. In fact, I find that I’m choosing music over news on public radio now that I’m home. But in Hammerfest in 1944 the focus was on working together to restructure their town and lives. In fact, it’s interesting to note that it’s the Museum of Reconstruction, not the Museum of Destruction – emphasis on the positive -- cooperation.

What if we all allowed ourselves to be aware of the events of the world: slavery, poverty, unjustified imprisonment and torture, mass murder of populations, prejudicial treatment, pollution of our world, enforced ignorance? Would we find it intolerable? Or would we be more cooperative in working to reconstruct?

HOLD ALL CALLS. JUNG WAS RIGHT

My brain is swollen tight up against my skull, and my heart is about to break my ribs. No. It’s not a medical emergency. It’s just time to retreat to my introvert for some recovery time. I’ll tell you why, and then I’m withdrawing until I feel like getting back into the extraverted fray again.

Swollen heart. I spent time this past week with my college roommate and her husband – in Maine. Even had a whole lobster, gift of other Maine friends. Overlooking the water, of course. Oh, and a brief swim in a very cold lake. But it’s the friendship that counts. And that continued with a trip to New London for a Connecticut College reunion. (It was Connecticut College for Women then.)

We don’t look like our yearbook photos any more, and widowhood is almost as common as toothpaste, but zoom in close and there is community warmer even than it was when we graduated. “Wise Women” was the theme, and that we should be – lots of experience to ripen us. “Mrs. Job” and my forgiveness books were included in a signing at the bookstore. No surprise – I was the oldest author there, but in the group attending were rows of the CC scarves that mark our class. Would that everyone could have such a rich store of friends. OK. So much for the heart.

As for the swollen brain, I’ve been deep into getting to know my magical website – still not released to the public, but the work of some very clever people. I have more to do on my part, but I need time out. Remember Jung’s opposites? Every once in a while the extravert has to retreat for replenishment. I’ll be back before too long with the bells and whistles (well, sort of) of my new web site.

WE DON’T FORGIVE TORNADOS

Why don’t we feel the need to forgive natural disasters? Certainly they wreak havoc every bit as horrible as what people do. I’m thinking the answer to that question might shed some light on forgiveness.

Is it that a hurricane attacks randomly, so victims don’t feel personally offended? But so do terrorists attack randomly.

Is it that we lose faith in our ability to predict what will happen? What a challenge to our sense comfort and control. Certainly natural disasters shake predictability to the core, just as murder and mayhem do. Yet we don’t feel the need to forgive the earthquake.

Is it that we attribute responsibility to the human offender? But certainly we know that the tornado is responsible for the devastation being suffered.

Maybe it’s a matter of morality. We expect human beings to follow some kind of moral code. Only if we choose to blame God for the natural disaster do we have the same expectation of the earthquake.

            

So, does it boil down to blame? The first step in forgiveness is to blame the offender. To forgive is to accuse.

            

Oh yes, one last piece – shame. Why do we find the little personal offenses, like a friend not speaking to us, so hard to forgive? Shame?

            

Just asking. What ideas will you share?

FORGIVENESS IS AT THE BASE OF THE MRS. JOB STORY

            Forgiveness has been my public emphasis lately, but let’s not forget that behind the Mrs. Job story is a biblical story of forgiveness. In brief, Job was from Edom. Edom is another name for Esau. Esau’s inheritance was stolen from him by Jacob (and his mother). Jacob went off to live with Uncle Laban while Esau, in anger, took a second wife, the daughter of Ishmael (the attributed source of Islam).

            Jacob, some fourteen years later, finally got Rachel’s hand in marriage, after being duped into marrying Leah first. (My heart goes out to Leah.) Returning home from his long sojurn with Laban, and fearing Esau’s justifiable rage, Jacob courageously sent his servants and family on ahead of hem, But Esau surprised him with a welcoming embrace. Now that’s a forgiveness story.

            So, deep in Job’s family background was a spirit of forgiveness. That’s my take on it, anyway

Mona's comments on forgiving abusers

Recently I was interviewed about forgiving an abuser. Click on this link if you would like to see the result.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/7994389/tips_for_forgiving_an_abusive_spouse.html?cat=5

Well, this is different!

Vanity and Mrs. Job. That's what this is all about. But then, I do believe we need a light touch every once in a while.

http://www.facebook.com/note.php?created&&note_id=10150254740335041&id=150195330040#!/notes/skin-authority/our-royal-face-of-the-week-mona-affinito/10150254740335041

What I told the TV about forgiveness

            I was energetically talking to the TV as I watched an episode of “Forgiveness: A Time to Love and a Time to Hate” which was presented recently on PBS. (In fact, I just ordered a copy of the DVD for my library.) It’s really well done, with its emphasis on the complexity of the issue.

            So what was my frustrated ranting? “Look at my ‘When to Forgive,’ I shouted,” It’s based exactly on that complexity, which is why it’s not called something like “The Miracle of Forgiveness” which the publishers wanted originally. The point is to recognize the reader’s specific situation and the possibilities available for an appropriate and moral response.

            My frustration?  “When to Forgive” isn’t in the hands of so many people who could be helped. The same goes for my “Forgiving One Page at a Time.” Want to know more? This link will take you there.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Mona+gustafson+Affinito&rh=n%3A283155%2Ck%3AMona+gustafson+Affinito&ajr=3

The More Things Change; The More They Stay the Same

            I’d be old-fashioned in the classroom now. Oh, I did innovate. In my last course I used weekly e-mail exchanges to receive and give instant feedback on brief papers. In the 60s, I contributed to a TV course where we lectured on screen and evaluated progress with traditional methods.

            But recently I heard of a web course based on two principles: Socratic method and Games theory -  as in games like World of Warcraft.

            In the 60s, our team entertained classes of 125 students with an assortment of slides and movies displayed on the big screen as we lectured in the traditional way – early version of powerpoint?

            Then there’s SCSU itself. We had no glossy magazine like the college produces now, or “Southern Life,” the campus newspaper, which inspired me to write this.

            What caught my eye was research Bill Sherman (psych department) did with Michelle Vancour (public health) extending her doctoral study of academic moms to the study of men in academia.

            Now here’s where things stay the same. “These men ‘don’t feel the same level of guilt about going to work as moms do.” A father might say, ‘I don’t like to travel because I miss my kids,’ rather than feeling guilty about leaving them, as mom’s do”

            “One key difference in how the men and women in their studies view work/family balance. Dads compartmentalize, saying ‘This is what I’ll do and this is when I’ll do it’ whereas moms try to find bits and pieces of time to fit everything in. ‘Women don’t just turn off one thing and do another,… they multitask.’”

            Guilt and multitasking. Been there; done that. Still trying to train myself to compartmentalize.

           

SURVIVAL OF THE COOPERATIVE

THE AGE OF COMPASSION?

Recently I awoke wondering if I was depressed. I still don’t know whether I was, but I did know I didn’t want to sit and stare into space, much as I wanted to. That would result in guaranteed depression at the end of the day. So I read a book – I mean a print book – which I had sitting on the top of my pile: Frans deWaal, “The Age of Empathy, Nature’s Lessons for a Kinder Society.” I do recommend the book. His 2009 thesis revealed in the preface is so hopeful:

“American politics seems poised for a new epoch that stresses cooperation and social responsibility. The emphasis is on what unites a society, what makes it worth living in, rather than what material wealth we can extract from it. Empathy is the grand theme of our time, …”

Then I received the latest report from the Southern Poverty Law Center. “…more than 1000 hate groups – a record number – are now operating in our country. And armed, antigovernment militias mushroomed for the second year in a row.”

Just an example of the negative evidence that could have sent me back to bed depressed. That’s when I called on the technique I learned years ago from my college roommate – with some modification – Twenty years from now I’ll see what was really going on as we were caught in the eddy of change.

There must be a nice six-word phrase to convey that sense of anticipating what today’s maelstrom will have calmed down to mean twenty years from now.

For more on deWaal’s book, click here for my review on amazon.com. I’ve titled it “Survival of the Cooperative.” You’ll have to scroll down to find it on page 2.

http://www.amazon.com/Age-Empathy-Natures-Lessons-Society/product-reviews/0307407772/ref=cm_cr_pr_btm_link_next_2?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=0&pageNumber=2

While I’m at it, take a look at the review of my classmate’s book, Lois Spratley, “Transatlantic Triangle.” I’ve titled my review, “Love and Nostalgia – A Darned Good Story.

http://www.amazon.com/Transatlantic-Triangle-Lois-Spratley/product-reviews/0595224539/ref=sr_1_2_cm_cr_acr_txt?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1