Shortages – Day 83

Photo Credit: Willfried Wende

The shortages we are dealing with during this pandemic are definitely interesting. They do not compare to times like World War II when rationing controlled so much. I remember a friend telling me how she and her husband were able, unlike most people, to make pan of fudge once a month because they did not have children and that left them with enough sugar rations. In this pandemic, the supplies generally exist, but supply chains have been interrupted and some things have just been in such elevated demand that the manufacturers have yet to be able to keep up.
Toilet paper: I hear that one is getting better; I can at least pass the aisle in the grocery store and see it not be completely empty. At first I was baffled, because the shortages seemed beyond what would be created by hoarders. And I was right. Turns out there are two different supply chains, one for home use and one for commercial/industrial use—you know, the kind that comes in huge rolls and shows up in restaurants, gas stations, and many workplaces. The demand for the kind for home use jumped by about 40 percent, and the suppliers weren’t prepared. Beats me why the stores didn’t just add some of the commercial quality to their stock; people were surely desperate enough to buy that.
Soup: I still have trouble getting most of the soups we like. That one baffled me till I started thinking, lots of people now have kids at home and soup is a great go-to that saves money. I was baffled because it is canned and keeps forever, but there is a limit to how much backup supply warehouses will make room for.
Sidewalk chalk: I stumbled on this when I was thinking about how kids are bored and chalking on sidewalks is one good activity. (My mother used to encourage all the neighborhood kids to draw chalk pictures on her sidewalk.) You can still find chalk, but the really good stuff is out of stock everywhere I have looked.
Jigsaw puzzles: Who knew? Suddenly now that so many people have extra time on their hands, they are buying up these puzzles. How do I know? I tried to find one, and about the first ten or so I was interested in, could not be purchased in-store or online. I felt this urge to do a jigsaw puzzle, when the last time I did that was 1995.
Quilting fabric: Long-time quilters have hit the motherlode. Suddenly we all need masks, and quilting fabric is the best thing to make them from. I thought I would make a couple masks, and it was like the jigsaw puzzles. The remaining fabrics were in very short supply.
Hand sanitizer: We all know why that keeps selling out.
Rescue dogs: My dog died in January, and I wanted a little time before picking out another one, and I do like the idea that it’s a rescue. Enough things happened that by the time we started looking it was late March. Humane societies were emptying out. Who could have predicted that one? Family after family decided that now they had the time to properly train an animal…and having pets is also good for anxiety. Which is pretty abundant these days.
It is quite a change from every other time I was looking for a pet; most of the dogs I have had in my life have been offered to me before I had a chance to start looking. One even found me by following my car down the driveway to the street. The problem back then was being able to turn down the excess offers.
Anxiety: No, that is not in short supply; that underlies everything. Don’t know about you, but I feel like I am an actor in a bad movie and I don’t know my lines or anyone else’s or what will happen next or how it will end. I do know that I have good emotional resources, and I do see this bringing out the best in a lot of people. One thing I am certain of: There is and always will be a high degree of kindness in the human race. Hopefully we can all focus on that part, to help us live with the uncertainty.

Day 26

Counting the Days

Day 26.  I have been keeping time more by the number of days since restaurants, bars and several other businesses were shut down.  Of course it doesn’t all stem from just one day; my memory is that the first big clue this pandemic was being taken seriously in Ohio was when spectators were not allowed to attend the Arnold.  Most of us started self-quarantining (or at least spending a lot more time at home) after restaurants and bars were ordered closed—for sit-down service anyway—at 9:00 in the evening on Sunday, March 15.  Most of us who are not considered essential workers, anyway.

We now have a temporary culture where it seems everyone is either working 80 hours-plus per week, or they are at home with very little to do.  And in the background, there is little change in the number of people are getting sick and/or dying of the same causes that existed prior to this pandemic.  Yet their funerals are having to be postponed and loved ones are having to do their grieving without an immediate funeral and without having lots of people around for support.  

Who knows what kind of world we will come into when this pandemic no longer rules so much of our lives?  It will be interesting.  About one thing I feel certain:  It will not be the same, and it should not.  The way things were has led to the way things are now.  I have always been a believer in learning from my mistakes, and I am hoping that our leaders learn from this crisis, that they emerge with better ways to prevent the spread of diseases for which no cure currently exists.

There are some behaviors that have emerged from this crisis, that are well worth holding onto.  We are not new to rising to the occasion when there is a crisis, and it uplifts me when I see these kindnesses.  Many people have organized to sew non-medical masks for those who need them, especially grocery workers and others who have regular contact with the public.  Others have provided meals for people who cannot earn income due to the restrictions.  I was especially heartened when I saw that several nursing home workers right here in Licking County actually moved into the nursing homes to be available to their residents, and to ensure those residents were not subjected to the risks of having a rotating staff who spent time between shifts…well, doing what we would normally do, most of which involves exposure to the outside world.

Here is my greatest hope:  Let us emerge into a world that is more consistently kind.  That has gotten us through the bad times, and it will make the good times even better.

Ruth Van Wormer, a Friend of a Different Generation

Ruth and her husband Marvin

Ruth and Marvin Van Wormer

Ruth Van Wormer was the mother of my best friend Jo, and Ruth was a best friend of a different generation.  Her house was the kind of place we all wanted to spend as much time as possible.  Her husband Marvin was one of the dearest men you could ever hope to meet, a conscientious objector who did alternative service during World War II.  He was a researcher in the Minnesota Starving Study.  This study involved research toward the end of the war, dedicated to figuring out how to feed the large number of people in Europe who were perilously close to starvation  For the rest of his life, Marvin could not stand to see food go to waste.

Ruth was the world’s best cook, bar none.  (My apologies to anyone else whose cooking I also love.)  We could appear by surprise at dinnertime, and she would come up with a delightful meal on the spur of the moment.  She also sewed all manner of clothing and decor, including a wedding dress for a classmate of Jo’s who proceeded to elope before the dress was finished.  (The marriage didn’t last much longer, as I recall.)  She must have sewn Jo’s wedding dress too, though I honestly cannot recall.  She was a master at knitting and needlepoint.  I still have the knitting needle case she needlepointed during her best years.

Helen Winnemore’s, a long-established shop in the German Village area of Columbus, was the beneficiary of her love for artistic paraphernalia.  Her children and then her grandchildren inherited some wonderful decor, and can think of her every time they look toward those items.

And what a conversationalist!  She was so wise, and versed in so many topics.  When I called to talk to my age-mate Jo, there were times I almost wished Jo would not be there, because I would wind up having about a 20-minute fascinating conversation with Ruth.  

As the adoptive mother of her two children, Ruth became an outspoken advocate for all children.  She was an integral part of the team that started the day care center at North Broadway United Methodist Church, which is still thriving today.  She told me with pride how one mother came to them explaining that she and her husband had checked out 17 day care centers, and if her child could not be accepted that that particular one, she would not be returning to work.  The other 16 just didn’t meet this mother’s standards.

Ruth left this world so many years ago that I cannot recall the exact year, though I can pinpoint it to the early 1990s.  Her husband and her daughter Jo followed during the ensuing years.  I miss them all.

There was one problem that hung over Ruth for most of her life, one that made many people instantly think less of her.  She never could manage her weight.  This beautiful woman suffered so badly due to body image issues.  Her doctor was always telling her that if she didn’t lost weight, it would be an early grave for her.  She lived into her 80s, so I am guessing she won that argument.

In her later years, Ruth had a smaller appetite, and a smaller body.  In those years she looked frail to me; it just always felt like Ruth’s previous set point was the weight she was intended to be.  However anyone chooses to regard her weight, it did nothing to detract from the beautiful person she was, inside and out.  It did nothing to detract from the powerful positive influence she had in so many lives.  It took nothing from who and what she was.

But it brought her underserved sadness and frustration.

My hope is that we can one day—soon, I hope—live in a world where people come in all shapes and sizes and everyone can just be the size they are.

Paying It Forward Matters

supportive

Hand in Hand

I once bought my father a plaque that said “Those who bring sunshine into the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.” Bringing sunshine into the lives of others, paying it forward…however you word it, it refers to passing along the good we receive in this world. I have always been a fan of the concept, since long before we used that phrase.
In my years as a younger single mom, my parents helped out in so many ways, and I felt so bad that there was no way I could ever repay them. I was told “Just pass it along” and I took that suggestion very seriously. That likely has a lot to do with my choosing to work in the counseling profession once I had the opportunity. Years earlier, a good friend of mine who was a career social worker told me “You are already doing this for free; you might as well get the education so you can get paid for it.”
One of my own personal ways to pay it forward, was to provide a listening ear whenever people came to me with their problems. And I tried to always have a kind word, to offer some encouragement. I didn’t always follow up with these people—who can, really?—but I felt it was safe to assume they would pass on kindness to others in whatever ways they saw fit.
So imagine my horror when I saw the results of a couple of my “projects” and the people “paid forward” more bad than good. It felt like my best efforts had just gotten sucked into a black hole! I am not sure I realized prior to that, how very important this concept is.
Not to worry. In the scheme of things I would consider it a mere annoyance. And I would likely go to similar efforts even if I could foresee that negative end result. It was a good lesson in doing what feels honorable and then letting the chips fall where they may.
After all, there are way too many extreme examples of people doing the right thing and never seeing it paid forward in their lifetimes, sometimes for nefarious reasons. One prime example is Raoul Wallenberg, who saved the lives of tens of thousands during the later stages of World War II, and later died in a concentration camp. He of course saw that he was saving lives at an unprecedented rate, but in the chaos of the war he probably was seldom able to learn the final outcomes of his heroism. Yet the results of that heroism will benefit many in generations to come, and I am trusting that many others will feel the need to live a good life as a testament to his moral courage.
I do like to believe that the goodness we all spread in this world will be multiplied, that there won’t be someone—or at least there won’t be too many people—putting a stopper in it and deciding the giving ends with them. Maybe I will do well to hold onto that belief. Because being kind to others feels so good, and being unkind feels so awful—that I am way too selfish to change my ways.
That’s right. I do these things because I am selfish. Let that sink in for a minute. It’s a good kind of selfish, in my humble opinion.
And you know what? Someone who behaved badly in the past could accidentally turn their life around. There is always that hope.

Parenting – It’s Not a Competition

Kelsey 2019 w dog

Photo Credit:  Anna Dobbs Applebaum

Parenting – It’s not a competition.  What a concept, I know.  Yes, it is a huge undertaking, and yes it is critical to how your children turn out, how they feel secure and loved (or not), whether they grow up with good physical and mental health.  Of course it matters.  Every bit of it matters.  But so many parents see only their mistakes, and spend far too much time beating themselves up over every single one.

I was at a training recently that discussed attachment, among other things.  It has long been known that infants and young children decide whether the world is a safe place, based largely on how their caregivers respond to their needs.  Luckily, most of them decide it is a safe place and go on to live fulfilling lives.

But here is the part that was new and intriguing to me:  Those slight breaches, the times when a parent or other caregiver is distracted or sad or angry—when the parent reaches out again, comforts the child, heals the breach—some breaches are actually beneficial to the parent-child relationship, because the healing is part of the connection.  And without those breaches, what would there be to heal from?  (Okay, I am talking minor breaches, not outright abuse or neglect; that is critical here.)

When my son was tiny, I had a wonderful friend Beth who had a Masters degree and a Phi Beta Kappa key—all the trappings of extreme intelligence and accomplishment.  Beth told me something I will never forget:  The most important thing you can give your children is You.  Yes, You.  Another parent might make more homemade goodies, keep a cleaner house, give the best birthday parties…and that is great.  But that is them, and that is how they bond with their own children.

You have no need to compete.  Hug your children.  Listen to them.  Help them process their emotions, I’m really big on that one.  Compliment them.  Protect them.  Help them feel loved.  If your children feel loved, they are likely to see you as the best parent in the world.  (At least when they are little; teen years may be a bit more challenging.)  Those are the things that will bond you to them.  Doing your best is important; trying to measure up to the standards you think others set is not.

My wonderful friend Becca MacDowell told me a great story about comparing yourself to others.  Becca was a single mom raising two young children, working full time, and had pretty much given up on her attempts to attend college classes in the midst of all that.  She turned on the TV and watched an episode about a single mother of four who had decided to become a doctor.  Of course Becca felt totally inferior, having given up on college courses with “only” two children to raise.  She watched the entire episode, feeling worse at every turn while this woman was regaled for her tenacity.

Then at the end of the show, guess what?  It was casually mentioned that during this entire period of Mom’s medical schooling, she had turned over total custody and care of her children to her mother/their grandmother.  Kind of obliterates the whole story line of raising four children while you pursue a dream, doesn’t it?

The point being, we don’t know anyone’s whole story but our own.  Comparisons can be very destructive.  Are you supportive?  Do you do your best?  Are you there for your children?  

Give yourself a little credit, okay?

Body Image

Your body is fine

Loving your body

Way back when my sister was about 7 years old, our older brother was taking a very pretty classmate to a graduation dance. My sister was so impressed by this girl, especially since she was wearing a satiny dress that my young sister brushed her fingers against and said “Ooh, you feel just like my Dacron pillow.” This beautiful teenagers immediate response was to miss the compliment and apologize for being too fat. (Which she was not. At all.). This happened decades ago, and even then, we (females especially) had conditioned ourselves to constantly apologize for our size, regardless of whether it was an actual issue to anyone else on the planet. I suspect this has changed, but only for the worse.  Body image is a problem for too many of us.
When we are little we just use our bodies for things like running, stretching and playing and don’t think a lot about it. We give them food and exercise on a regular basis, just because that feels right. Assuming we are not raised in a highly oppressive environment, we don’t spend those early years sitting around worrying that we are too fat or too thin. We think often about our next opportunities to exercise, but we aren’t thinking in those terms: It is about climbing trees, swimming, running, bicycling, sledding, skating, building a snowman…So it is fun instead of a duty.
Then teen years and adulthood have a way of taking hold. Not that those are bad years; I certainly enjoyed my teens and the adult years that have led to where I am now. And there didn’t stop being some things I did for pleasure that also happened to provide good exercise: dancing and walking in the woods come to mind. But I also attended classes designed to encourage me to keep moving. Again, that is not a bad thing. Plenty of friendships are made and good conversations started while people roll up their yoga mats. And the ones who stick it out tend to be either very disciplined or in love with that particular way to keep your body moving. I vote for doing it for enjoyment, rather than taking it on as a chore.
Likewise, a great deal of nutritious food is truly enjoyable, yet a lot of the enjoyment is lost if you choose that diet simply for the physical health benefits. I know, we want to enjoy our food and we want to choose foods that will enhance our health, and we commonly can do both. So let’s, let’s enjoy movement that feels good and food that tastes good. And let’s try to not constantly measure and critique our own bodies in the meantime.
One of the joys of getting older is, competing for the best body becomes pretty pointless. We can enjoy our bodies for what they do, for how they serve us, rather than constantly comparing and focusing on where these bodies fall short.
Let’s think like children again. Let’s think like my sister did at age 7. Let’s enjoy the great feeling that comes from throwing our self-consciousness aside. In her book “Some Body to Love”, Leslea Newman suggests writing a love letter to yourself as a step toward becoming more comfortable in your own skin. Let’s start now, can we?

Do It Like a Girl–A Genius Girl

Basic Algebra at age 7

No Fear of Basic Algebra

When I took a recent trip and stayed in more than one perfectly nice hotel, I found myself having difficulty leaning far enough over the sink to be able to see well enough to apply makeup. The only hotel that didn’t have this problem was one that provided a portable makeup mirror. Why is this such a problem? I am a woman of perfectly average height, 5’4”, so it makes no sense that I should have to stand on my tippytoes just to get a good look at my own face. Then it occurred to me: I’m guessing no one asked any woman how this arrangement worked for the people it was supposedly designed to accommodate.
Women got the vote in 1920, and yet we are still not asked often enough for our opinions in male dominated areas, such as the design of buildings. I am not proposing that every third woman become an architect (though we could certainly use more women’s influence in the design of these hotel rooms), but it does seem we could use more programs along the lines of We Code, programs that encourage girls and young women to research nontraditional fields.
The first step is realizing we can do it. And realizing that if we do it like a girl—a genius girl—that is a compliment. The movie “Hidden Figures” depicts three black women who started out as genius girls, who were at the top of their field yet had to constantly prove themselves. They helped pave the way for the rest of us to take our own ideas seriously.
Part of knowing we can do it, comes from breaking a task down into simpler parts, learning step by step and not letting the enormity of the total task overwhelm us. The girl pictured in this blog, my friend’s 7 year old daughter, is doing basic algebra. Algebra? Isn’t that for high schoolers? Well, not the really basic form. She is looking at things like 5 + x = 7. Just subtract 5 from 7 and you have x. Her dad helped her cut it down to its simplest form. This is a child who will not be held back by fear, and who has already discovered that learning is such a joy. I congratulate her dad on conveying that to her, and I hope this early learning stays with her, that she does not become timid as a teenager, that she does not lose her nerve.
This mastery of concepts is beautiful, and our young girls need to be encouraged every step of the way. If we encourage enough girls and women to pursue these nontraditional fields, maybe the day will come when an average height woman can put on makeup in a hotel bathroom without having to twist, turn, and stretch to accommodate herself to some male’s idea of great design.

Tattoos and Their Context

bird and empty cage

tattoos as body art

I grew up in an era when tattoos were basically verboten; at least they were severely frowned on in polite company.  The only way anyone of my acquaintance had tattoos was if they had been in the Navy or in prison.  Body art was totally looked down on.  So you can imagine my surprise when it became mainstream.  And it is not just younger people who are utilizing these services.

With the increase in tattooing, there has been a corresponding increase in the quality of tattoos that are available.  Competition among professional tattoo artists today is to do the best job, to show the world that you can be counted on to produce a quality product.  And to do it with clean needles and good quality ink, of course.

There are specialists who volunteer their time to alter tattoos the client has become ashamed of, such as white supremacy symbols, to turn them into angels or other equally pleasant and inoffensive symbols.  Some use tattoos to aid in adjustments to body issues, such as decorating a mastectomy scar and the surrounding area with the beauty of a well considered image—something meaningful to the recipient.  Some do not decorate so much as tattoo an image of the nipple that was surgically removed.  These all strike me as incredibly therapeutic.

Tattooing is no longer the result of someone’s poor decision making while drunk and in a blackout.  (Or at least that is how people explained bad tattoos back in the day.)

I still don’t have any tattoos and probably never will.  But that is no longer out of an aversion to the practice.  So many years have passed without my body being inked, and I have dealt with enough bodily changes as it is.  But my attitude toward others getting them has changed dramatically.  Sometimes clients explain to me the significance of their tattoos and it helps me to better understand their situation.

And sometimes I just enjoy good art, whatever the canvas.

Here is what came as a shocker:  For some individuals, these tattoos have a dual purpose.  The pain involved in the tattooing process sometimes satisfies the desire a person might have to cut or otherwise self-injure.  Who’d a’ thunk it?  It it socially accepted, no one labels you crazy, and you get to choose a nice design and decide where you want it on your body—sort of a permanent monument to overcoming your emotional suffering.

Note that I am not taking a stand on this; it’s just an observation.  But it does seem to help some people avoid self-injury.

Now if only we can have a world with so little emotional pain that there is no temptation to inflict physical pain on oneself for relief.  If we can have a world in which people only get tattoos because they are eager to use their bodies as a canvas, to display their most meaningful art.

The Therapeutic Value of Pets

Gerardie with dog

For the love of a dog

Even in my early years, I used to love reading the newspaper’s advice columns, not so much for the answers as for the questions. Every time a teenager was featured complaining about life, my mother would say “That child needs a pet.” She was a big proponent of the idea that if children could get outside of themselves by caring for an animal (or a number of them), they would be more compassionate people, that pet ownership was therapeutic. I of course tended to not listen to my mother, but I did take advantage of her tendency to allow various animals to reside in and around our home. I am told a cat even crawled into my bed one night to deliver kittens—though I have no memory of the event.
One of my very favorite stories involves a family friend who did research at The Ohio State University, involving dogs who he insisted be treated well. His boss wanted him to have the dogs de-barked and our friend adamantly refused. The office was located directly above a residential unit for disturbed children. One day, while the dog was barking above the unit, a child who had not spoken for six months said “Can I play with the doggie?” I love that story— this child hadn’t even seen the dog!
Animal lovers are getting more of these critters placed than ever before, despite the facts that living space is becoming more limited for many. And professionals are realizing their therapeutic value. Therapy dogs are not just German Shepherds for blind people any more; many are used to help with panic attacks, or to alert owners to impending seizures, to let diabetics know when their blood sugar has taken a dangerous dive…the benefits are extensive, as are the types of dogs utilized.
Then there is just plain ordinary pet ownership. You love your pet; your pet “gets” you. We can all benefit from that comfort.
(About the picture I selected: That is my young friend Gerard, who has recently started training dogs and appears to have quite a gift for it. Don’t you just love the look in that dog’s eyes? I know I do.)

Taking a Break

Emmet 2017 02 in treeNot too long ago, I became very ill, for a very short time. My fever lingered, though, and I took the opportunity to stay at home, away from anyone I could expose to whatever had hit me. I was lucky; I didn’t have an employer threatening loss of my job and I was not heavily committed to activities in the outside world. But it also felt to me like I should not be out among people while it was likely I was still contagious.
Prior to the advent of antibiotics, it was not at all unusual to see Quarantine signs on homes where one or more family members had a serious illness, and that sign would remain till the danger of contagion had passed. Quarantine in homes is clearly no longer the norm; we have depended on antibiotics to stop diseases in their tracks.
Illness is definitely not the preferred method for getting people to take a break. However, in a country with such a strong work ethic, we do need to fit breaks into our schedules. Maybe we can recall things we did as children: climb that tree, go see the neighbor’s new kitten, chat with the people closest to us about nothing in particular, enjoy a cup of hot chocolate, go sit in a quiet corner with that book we have been wanting to read…
We are actually more efficient, more productive, more creative when we allow ourselves enough breaks. So let’s indulge ourselves, without apology. Let’s not wait for an illness or injury to be the reason we are sidelined.
Maybe, just maybe taking a break will make us kinder. Maybe we will even smile a bit more. Maybe we can even laugh like that adorable little boy in the tree.
Maybe enough people taking a break will even make the world a happier place.