What else is there to say?
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
Sad News
Sunday evening, our daughter, Annie, shared some very sad news with us: Jim’s cousin’s youngest son died in a motorcycle accident on Saturday. He was 25.
What else is there to say?
What else is there to say?
Tuesday, May 8, 2018
SWIM!
I’ve continued to think about my campaign to end whining in my life. “Stop whining!” developed into “Stop whining, Mary!”, then “Stop whining immediately, Mary!” and finally: “Stop Whining Instantly, Mary!” I love acronyms and I love swimming. “SWIM”. I love the feeling of moving through the water; I want to move through life.
And what have I been whining about? My inability to read and retain information. Last week, I had a break-through. Jim and I were driving his sister, Mary, (the original Mary Johnston) to O’Hare airport in Chicago. They were talking about books. Instead of envying them, unable to join in the conversation, I quietly listened, enjoying their knowledge and appreciation of good writing.
Where did my disability come from? I remember quite clearly, 22 years ago, when I first started taking a psych med, feeling dull and slow-thinking. I could only read comics in the Boston Globe, no articles and certainly not a book. Kay Redfield Jamison, my hero memoir-writer, describes a similar symptom. My ability improved and I don’t have clear recollection of the intervening years. About ten years ago, I told a woman at DBSA-Boston (Depression Bipolar Support Alliance) that I struggled with reading. It was all I could do to read my scriptures. She smiled and said, "I'm glad you can read your spiritual writings." I hadn’t appreciated what I did have. She had just returned from Israel and had brought back small gifts for her friends at DBSA. Even though she hardly knew me, she gave me a small, translucent stone with the word “miracle” etched in it. Perhaps looking at the stone would help make a change in my life.
I appreciated her optimistic attitude and, over time, reading has gotten easier.
I’m at the point in my life (I’m 61), that I can’t say for sure what causes any of the problems I deal with. Back in 1995, when I was 39, I could see clearly that the psych med changed my thinking and abilities. Later I learned that manic depression is a progressive disease. The psych meds keep the symptoms at bay. Is the underlying illness contributing to my symptoms? I have a harder time reading when I’m depressed.
And now, in my sixties, age starts playing a role. If my symptoms worsen, perhaps it’s the age-factor.
Whatever it is, and it must be a combination of factors, whining does nothing but slow me down.
Each time my son Matt suggested audiobooks, I resisted. I won’t be able to remember what I’ve heard; I will get distracted and miss things. But, when I stopped whining and to took his advice, I was excited with the results. Listening to an excellent narrator read with energy and expression, I am able to follow and retain. As the weather improves with the change of season, I look forward to long walks accompanied by great ideas and literature.
And what have I been whining about? My inability to read and retain information. Last week, I had a break-through. Jim and I were driving his sister, Mary, (the original Mary Johnston) to O’Hare airport in Chicago. They were talking about books. Instead of envying them, unable to join in the conversation, I quietly listened, enjoying their knowledge and appreciation of good writing.
Where did my disability come from? I remember quite clearly, 22 years ago, when I first started taking a psych med, feeling dull and slow-thinking. I could only read comics in the Boston Globe, no articles and certainly not a book. Kay Redfield Jamison, my hero memoir-writer, describes a similar symptom. My ability improved and I don’t have clear recollection of the intervening years. About ten years ago, I told a woman at DBSA-Boston (Depression Bipolar Support Alliance) that I struggled with reading. It was all I could do to read my scriptures. She smiled and said, "I'm glad you can read your spiritual writings." I hadn’t appreciated what I did have. She had just returned from Israel and had brought back small gifts for her friends at DBSA. Even though she hardly knew me, she gave me a small, translucent stone with the word “miracle” etched in it. Perhaps looking at the stone would help make a change in my life.
I appreciated her optimistic attitude and, over time, reading has gotten easier.
I’m at the point in my life (I’m 61), that I can’t say for sure what causes any of the problems I deal with. Back in 1995, when I was 39, I could see clearly that the psych med changed my thinking and abilities. Later I learned that manic depression is a progressive disease. The psych meds keep the symptoms at bay. Is the underlying illness contributing to my symptoms? I have a harder time reading when I’m depressed.
And now, in my sixties, age starts playing a role. If my symptoms worsen, perhaps it’s the age-factor.
Whatever it is, and it must be a combination of factors, whining does nothing but slow me down.
Each time my son Matt suggested audiobooks, I resisted. I won’t be able to remember what I’ve heard; I will get distracted and miss things. But, when I stopped whining and to took his advice, I was excited with the results. Listening to an excellent narrator read with energy and expression, I am able to follow and retain. As the weather improves with the change of season, I look forward to long walks accompanied by great ideas and literature.
Wednesday, May 2, 2018
Worst-case Scenario
I was first introduced to cognitive behavior therapy (CBT) by David Burns, in his best-seller, Feeling Good, where he identifies10 cognitive distortions. I practice all of them on a regular basis, despite years of 'understanding' their negative effects. Fortune-telling, a subset of Jumping to Conclusions is perhaps my favorite.
Last week I spent a beautiful spring day in New Jersey with my sister Maggie, who lives in southern California. We visited our disabled brother, Mike, at a LTACH (Long Term Acute Care Hospital) in Newark, then drove 22 miles south to our parents’ grave in Perth Amboy, provincial capital of the colony of New Jersey. We planned to meet another brother (we have four), Carl, for supper at Ruthie’s Bar-B-Q and Pizza, in Montclair. Susan had told Maggie that parking was tight. As I drove the 26 miles north on the Garden State Parkway, I struggled to talk myself down. To avoid rush-hour traffic, we planned to arrive at Ruthie’s 2 hours before our date and take a long walk in the lovely township of Montclair. If we parked in their parking lot so early, would someone from the restaurant notice us walking away and call a tow truck? My attempts to quiet my mind failed, so as we got off the parkway, I admitted my fears to Maggie.
“You always go for the worst-case scenario, Mary.”
I was taken aback. I recognize (sometimes) my modus operandi, but I didn’t realize I was so transparent about it.
As it turned out, there is no parking lot at Ruthie's and we parked on the street. Checking my GPS, we found Eagle Rock Reservation and drove to the 9/11 memorial with it's stunning view of the NYC skyline.
Back at Ruthie's, we again parked just across the street and enjoyed a lovely supper with Carl before I headed back up to Lexington.
What's your quirk that is obvious to everyone around you? (or at least to those who love you)?
Last week I spent a beautiful spring day in New Jersey with my sister Maggie, who lives in southern California. We visited our disabled brother, Mike, at a LTACH (Long Term Acute Care Hospital) in Newark, then drove 22 miles south to our parents’ grave in Perth Amboy, provincial capital of the colony of New Jersey. We planned to meet another brother (we have four), Carl, for supper at Ruthie’s Bar-B-Q and Pizza, in Montclair. Susan had told Maggie that parking was tight. As I drove the 26 miles north on the Garden State Parkway, I struggled to talk myself down. To avoid rush-hour traffic, we planned to arrive at Ruthie’s 2 hours before our date and take a long walk in the lovely township of Montclair. If we parked in their parking lot so early, would someone from the restaurant notice us walking away and call a tow truck? My attempts to quiet my mind failed, so as we got off the parkway, I admitted my fears to Maggie.
“You always go for the worst-case scenario, Mary.”
I was taken aback. I recognize (sometimes) my modus operandi, but I didn’t realize I was so transparent about it.
As it turned out, there is no parking lot at Ruthie's and we parked on the street. Checking my GPS, we found Eagle Rock Reservation and drove to the 9/11 memorial with it's stunning view of the NYC skyline.
Back at Ruthie's, we again parked just across the street and enjoyed a lovely supper with Carl before I headed back up to Lexington.
What's your quirk that is obvious to everyone around you? (or at least to those who love you)?
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