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