For better, for worse, and maybe just for now, San Antonio, Texas, is my home.
Just got here, and not quite sure about anything much except that it will be memorable and some kind of an adventure that I likely will love a lot. Already getting there.
It’s been emotional to the extreme for me, but things are beginning to settle down some. I’m remembering to say no when I should, mostly. I’ll get better at it. I’ve been so exhausted that I couldn’t get out of my own way. And I’ve been spontaneously crying. But that’s lessening as I become less exhausted. Oh, don’t worry, I admit I do that kind of crying anyhoo. Just not so often and not in such weird places usually! I can be such a baby sometimes. This is the first time I’ve left behind someone with whom I did not want to part, not one bit. And like he’s told me more than once, “You’re such a girl.” Yup.
Immediately, my granddaughters have become accustomed to me being here. Jossie and Aidenne have no problem holding my hand when we are in parking lots, etc. It’s such a treat! They are not surprised to see me at their school any more. Aidenne loves to help; she was great at showing me the way through the best (and bigger, really, than any I’ve seen) grocery store in the world: my one and only favorite of all time, HEB. (Things evolving as they do, the store is an HEB Plus. Like in women’s clothing, I guess. It’s Quite Large.)
I’ve made just one meal so far for my daughter and her family, but it seemed to be a resounding success; I am heartened by my welcome and the ease with which I will become part of their daily lives. My son-in-law, man of few words to most, has been practically verbose in making me feel welcome. I’m a fortunate girl.
Today I found out where the nearest library is and looked it up online, only to be reminded that Texas libraries completely rock: They are open SEVEN days a week, people! I missed that when I was in Florida, had barely even remembered that I once had that luxury at my fingertips. Guess where I’m going first thing tomorrow?
And I took a bath this evening. A real bath. While everyone else was out to supper. It was so luxurious …
Now if I could just find what box I put my sheets in, I know I’d sleep just a little bit better.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, September 23, 2011
Friday, June 25, 2010
PTSD: Worse Than Death
But Does It Have To Be?
This is in response to a blog that is emailed to me. I will email it to you upon request.
Yes, it is nothing short of tragic the mental and emotional horrors that can consume one after experiencing war. The additional tragedy is that men, mostly, turn to alcohol or drugs to cope with their inability to speak about what happened, thus beginning the personal slide into a life that likely leads to crime of some kind or another, affecting so many others, whether they become criminals or not.
At its best, their lives are spent trying to live every day with the experiences locked inside them, cutting them off emotionally from their families and friends, possibly for fear of what will happen if they let it out. Families cope with the dramatic changes in their son, husband, father by seeking to help, only to be castigated by the one whom they seek to help. "You don't understand" and "You don't want to know" is the refrain. When families suggest seeking counseling, they are told to mind their own business. Men shut down more and more as time passes.
At its worst, resentment builds at home with terrible consequences. Violence against loved ones occurs repeatedly, emotionally, physically, as men are unable to cope with normal living. Seeing their family's hurt faces is a reminder that they aren't doing what they should, but they are at the point of feeling only anger then. Families split with deep, long-lasting societal consequences.
It is a sad commentary on our society when most men feel it useless or humiliating, even unmanly, to seek help for emotional and mental crises. They get instant relief by becoming drunk or high, but it's only a short-lived fix as evidenced by the increased need for more of their escape of choice. While they are getting this fix, family and friends are first filled with concern, worry and sometimes fear.
Society does send mixed messages, as does the military. There are trained people in all walks of life who can help with post traumatic stress disorder, but there is still a stigma attached somehow—or the perception of—and the fear of losing their jobs or respect of their peers if it's found out they are seeing a psychiatrist.
The military and civilian worlds need to help reduce this stigma. TV shows like "Army Wives" (Lifetime) and "The Unit" (CBS) are helpful but I'm not sure men make up much of their audiences. Even with the best-laid marketing plans, it's going to take a long time, with a lot more casualties piling up at home.
Why is it so hard to ask for help?
This is in response to a blog that is emailed to me. I will email it to you upon request.
Yes, it is nothing short of tragic the mental and emotional horrors that can consume one after experiencing war. The additional tragedy is that men, mostly, turn to alcohol or drugs to cope with their inability to speak about what happened, thus beginning the personal slide into a life that likely leads to crime of some kind or another, affecting so many others, whether they become criminals or not.
At its best, their lives are spent trying to live every day with the experiences locked inside them, cutting them off emotionally from their families and friends, possibly for fear of what will happen if they let it out. Families cope with the dramatic changes in their son, husband, father by seeking to help, only to be castigated by the one whom they seek to help. "You don't understand" and "You don't want to know" is the refrain. When families suggest seeking counseling, they are told to mind their own business. Men shut down more and more as time passes.
At its worst, resentment builds at home with terrible consequences. Violence against loved ones occurs repeatedly, emotionally, physically, as men are unable to cope with normal living. Seeing their family's hurt faces is a reminder that they aren't doing what they should, but they are at the point of feeling only anger then. Families split with deep, long-lasting societal consequences.
It is a sad commentary on our society when most men feel it useless or humiliating, even unmanly, to seek help for emotional and mental crises. They get instant relief by becoming drunk or high, but it's only a short-lived fix as evidenced by the increased need for more of their escape of choice. While they are getting this fix, family and friends are first filled with concern, worry and sometimes fear.
Society does send mixed messages, as does the military. There are trained people in all walks of life who can help with post traumatic stress disorder, but there is still a stigma attached somehow—or the perception of—and the fear of losing their jobs or respect of their peers if it's found out they are seeing a psychiatrist.
The military and civilian worlds need to help reduce this stigma. TV shows like "Army Wives" (Lifetime) and "The Unit" (CBS) are helpful but I'm not sure men make up much of their audiences. Even with the best-laid marketing plans, it's going to take a long time, with a lot more casualties piling up at home.
Why is it so hard to ask for help?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Death lives!
I’ve been watching a short-lived gem-of-an-HBO series using Netflix: “Dead Like Me.” It’s a quirky, entertaining little show, well written, tackling the ever-interesting subject of the after-life.
Ellen Muth stars as George, an 18-year-old, life-avoiding girl who is working the first day of her first job after high school graduation as a file clerk at a temp agency when she goes out during her lunch hour and is killed by a space shuttle toilet seat plummeting to Earth. As you can imagine, she is pretty much blown to smithereens and her mom, dad and 11-year-old sister have to pick up the pieces of their lives and try to go on. But the story isn't about them.
Immediately after death, George finds that she’s a grim reaper, part of a small group of reapers headed up by Rube, played by Mandy Patinkin. She’s known as Toilet Seat Girl, thereby confirming my own suspicion that at least the writers of this show think like me: Life is no different after high school or death. Most people don’t seem to change. (Did I say high school equals death?)
The reapers must take the souls from bodies of people about to die and they do it after getting a name, time and place on a Post-It note from Rube, every morning at a pancake house where they meet.
I'm just saying, hilarious.
They make their way to the place, find a way to discover the person there who is scheduled to die and run their hand along an arm or shoulder, drawing the soul from the body. A moment later, whatever is scheduled to happen to that person takes place and they lead the just-dead person away from the scene and toward his or her “light.” Each reap has a twist of its own.
One kicker: George is a reaper in her hometown, something that is unusual even by reaper standards, and she gets to check in on her family every now and then. She is seen by the living, has to live and work among them, earning money for her expenses as if she was alive.
But reapers don’t look like themselves to the living. George takes advantage of this to visit her family, pretending to be somebody else and see how they are dealing with her death. This is not encouraged by Rube as it can wreak havoc with your focus. There is one day a year—Halloween, natch—when they are seen as they looked when alive.
The stories are great and ironic and interesting. The series ended all too soon, as the good ones all do.
Ellen Muth stars as George, an 18-year-old, life-avoiding girl who is working the first day of her first job after high school graduation as a file clerk at a temp agency when she goes out during her lunch hour and is killed by a space shuttle toilet seat plummeting to Earth. As you can imagine, she is pretty much blown to smithereens and her mom, dad and 11-year-old sister have to pick up the pieces of their lives and try to go on. But the story isn't about them.
Immediately after death, George finds that she’s a grim reaper, part of a small group of reapers headed up by Rube, played by Mandy Patinkin. She’s known as Toilet Seat Girl, thereby confirming my own suspicion that at least the writers of this show think like me: Life is no different after high school or death. Most people don’t seem to change. (Did I say high school equals death?)
The reapers must take the souls from bodies of people about to die and they do it after getting a name, time and place on a Post-It note from Rube, every morning at a pancake house where they meet.
I'm just saying, hilarious.
They make their way to the place, find a way to discover the person there who is scheduled to die and run their hand along an arm or shoulder, drawing the soul from the body. A moment later, whatever is scheduled to happen to that person takes place and they lead the just-dead person away from the scene and toward his or her “light.” Each reap has a twist of its own.
One kicker: George is a reaper in her hometown, something that is unusual even by reaper standards, and she gets to check in on her family every now and then. She is seen by the living, has to live and work among them, earning money for her expenses as if she was alive.
But reapers don’t look like themselves to the living. George takes advantage of this to visit her family, pretending to be somebody else and see how they are dealing with her death. This is not encouraged by Rube as it can wreak havoc with your focus. There is one day a year—Halloween, natch—when they are seen as they looked when alive.
The stories are great and ironic and interesting. The series ended all too soon, as the good ones all do.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
In A Moment
It seems to me that people are all caught up with their technology, and I wonder if they are really present in their own lives any more. Gone are the days when you drove to or from work and either prepared yourself mentally for your day or wound down from the events at the office and looked forward to your evening at home. It seems people are either talking or texting with their cell phones while driving and I wonder what the long-term effects, if any, there are going to be.
Will people end up less relaxed? Unable to truly enjoy silences or park their bums on the couch for an extended afternoon of movies, classic TV or a handheld book and cup of tea? I think people are already showing signs of being more stressed than not. Most people I know are always tired. I don’t remember people always being tired when I was in my 20s and 30s.
I was wondering if taking pictures or videos at get-togethers lessens the enjoyment of the actual event. Looking for that great shot and hoping to get the best moments might be removing us from participating.
Because I live so far from my daughters and their families, I love that I get to see so many pictures of their days, movies from their special events and even being able to see them in real time on the computer. Living hundreds of miles away and still feeling involved as a mom and grandmother is a real gift that my mother did not get to take advantage of just several short years ago and it must have been abysmal for her mother when she moved to a completely different country, way back when air travel was not in most people’s budgets, never mind the price and quality of overseas calls in that era.
By posting pictures and videos on places like Facebook, you get a wider group of people able to enjoy the moments you’ve digitally caught and they post feedback and similar stories—I think we might actually be able to enjoy those events even more, being able to relive more of the best moments more often. Different moments stand out to different people and we might be getting more of the actual event with the addition of the digital version.
My granddaughters are 4 and 2 years old. Saying “cheese” for pictures is an integral part of their everyday life. I wonder what they think of saying that word and smiling for the camera as compared to eating cheese, which they both love doing and likely happens daily as well. I think I’m going to have to ask them what cheese means and see what those two brilliant, clear-thinking, unabashed girls have to say.
It sure is easier nowadays to go on a long trip with young children, what with the portable DVD players, hand-held games and more available to entertain them. Are they going to be able to entertain themselves when they are alone? Will they be missing out on using their imaginations? I used to think that maybe it would be detrimental; now I’m not so sure.
One definite improvement: I haven’t heard of today’s kids ever saying, “Are we there yet?”
Will people end up less relaxed? Unable to truly enjoy silences or park their bums on the couch for an extended afternoon of movies, classic TV or a handheld book and cup of tea? I think people are already showing signs of being more stressed than not. Most people I know are always tired. I don’t remember people always being tired when I was in my 20s and 30s.
I was wondering if taking pictures or videos at get-togethers lessens the enjoyment of the actual event. Looking for that great shot and hoping to get the best moments might be removing us from participating.
Because I live so far from my daughters and their families, I love that I get to see so many pictures of their days, movies from their special events and even being able to see them in real time on the computer. Living hundreds of miles away and still feeling involved as a mom and grandmother is a real gift that my mother did not get to take advantage of just several short years ago and it must have been abysmal for her mother when she moved to a completely different country, way back when air travel was not in most people’s budgets, never mind the price and quality of overseas calls in that era.
By posting pictures and videos on places like Facebook, you get a wider group of people able to enjoy the moments you’ve digitally caught and they post feedback and similar stories—I think we might actually be able to enjoy those events even more, being able to relive more of the best moments more often. Different moments stand out to different people and we might be getting more of the actual event with the addition of the digital version.
My granddaughters are 4 and 2 years old. Saying “cheese” for pictures is an integral part of their everyday life. I wonder what they think of saying that word and smiling for the camera as compared to eating cheese, which they both love doing and likely happens daily as well. I think I’m going to have to ask them what cheese means and see what those two brilliant, clear-thinking, unabashed girls have to say.
It sure is easier nowadays to go on a long trip with young children, what with the portable DVD players, hand-held games and more available to entertain them. Are they going to be able to entertain themselves when they are alone? Will they be missing out on using their imaginations? I used to think that maybe it would be detrimental; now I’m not so sure.
One definite improvement: I haven’t heard of today’s kids ever saying, “Are we there yet?”
Thursday, September 17, 2009
You Raise Me Up
or Men Will Be Boys Practically Every Time
I have long thought that the custom of bringing up boys differently than girls is completely out of whack—tragic, even.
There are a million little and large ways we do it.
For instance, many responsible parents teach girls about home economics and boys about yard economics. Many parents, without even realizing it, teach girls that looking good is important. We praise girls for being able to make themselves look “pretty,” by making their hair look pretty and dressing them nicely; we reinforce the importance of it all and give them a reason why by telling them to “go show Daddy.”
We teach boys that being active athletically is the way to go, providing them our favorite sports balls from birth and spending time teaching them to play. We praise boys for winning and, when we are parenting well, for trying very hard to win. Many of us use and overuse the phrase, “boys will be boys.” That phrase does such a disservice to all of us.
Girls are read fairy tales, stories involving princesses and princes, frogs, and magic mirrors. Girls are told that men will rescue you if it’s true love, that we might actually need rescuing. We read to our daughters that we are the victims of bad men and jealous women and how frogs turn into princes with a kiss. Boys are read books that foster interest in things like space and science, sports and math. Stories including frogs that we read to boys don’t include kissing them.
That frog-turning-into-a-prince story is encouraging girls to be sexual in the hopes that men will be transformed by their love. What a load of hogwash! Is it no wonder so many marriages fail? I’m not talking just divorces here: Many people stay together in failed marriages for fear of any number of things (another subject entirely!) and don’t have the joy of true partnership.
We teach girls how to anticipate and accommodate. We expect them to act emotionally and be nurturing, putting other’s needs ahead of theirs. We teach boys to do what they must in order to be the best. We expect them to man up, act like a man, be tough.
Parents, yes, good ones, raise their children by gender.
Here women sit around waiting for true love, when men don’t have a clue—they never were read those stories; they don’t know what they are supposed to do.
I think we need to be more thoughtful about the way we parent. I raised two daughters—wonderful women, both—but I unwittingly did the gender thing. I didn’t realize it; I wasn’t thoughtful enough at the time, but lucky for me, they are much more thoughtful than I was. They are figuring out much of this stuff on their own.
I think instead of being gender-driven, we should raise our children to be people, the best people they can be. Teach them to be imaginative, kind, thoughtful and foster a love of reading so strong their minds can’t possibly remain shut to the infinite possibilities.
I have long thought that the custom of bringing up boys differently than girls is completely out of whack—tragic, even.
There are a million little and large ways we do it.
For instance, many responsible parents teach girls about home economics and boys about yard economics. Many parents, without even realizing it, teach girls that looking good is important. We praise girls for being able to make themselves look “pretty,” by making their hair look pretty and dressing them nicely; we reinforce the importance of it all and give them a reason why by telling them to “go show Daddy.”
We teach boys that being active athletically is the way to go, providing them our favorite sports balls from birth and spending time teaching them to play. We praise boys for winning and, when we are parenting well, for trying very hard to win. Many of us use and overuse the phrase, “boys will be boys.” That phrase does such a disservice to all of us.
Girls are read fairy tales, stories involving princesses and princes, frogs, and magic mirrors. Girls are told that men will rescue you if it’s true love, that we might actually need rescuing. We read to our daughters that we are the victims of bad men and jealous women and how frogs turn into princes with a kiss. Boys are read books that foster interest in things like space and science, sports and math. Stories including frogs that we read to boys don’t include kissing them.
That frog-turning-into-a-prince story is encouraging girls to be sexual in the hopes that men will be transformed by their love. What a load of hogwash! Is it no wonder so many marriages fail? I’m not talking just divorces here: Many people stay together in failed marriages for fear of any number of things (another subject entirely!) and don’t have the joy of true partnership.
We teach girls how to anticipate and accommodate. We expect them to act emotionally and be nurturing, putting other’s needs ahead of theirs. We teach boys to do what they must in order to be the best. We expect them to man up, act like a man, be tough.
Parents, yes, good ones, raise their children by gender.
Here women sit around waiting for true love, when men don’t have a clue—they never were read those stories; they don’t know what they are supposed to do.
I think we need to be more thoughtful about the way we parent. I raised two daughters—wonderful women, both—but I unwittingly did the gender thing. I didn’t realize it; I wasn’t thoughtful enough at the time, but lucky for me, they are much more thoughtful than I was. They are figuring out much of this stuff on their own.
I think instead of being gender-driven, we should raise our children to be people, the best people they can be. Teach them to be imaginative, kind, thoughtful and foster a love of reading so strong their minds can’t possibly remain shut to the infinite possibilities.
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