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?

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.

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)?

Stop Whining!

No, I’m not talking about bereavement. I will be bereft of our son, David, until I die and meet him again.

I’m talking about some other whining in my life, specifically having to do with the side effects of taking manic depression medications. (For another post: why I hate the term ‘bipolar’.)

It has to do with subscribing to audible.com, after months or years of another son recommending it to me. I recently finished my third audiobook, A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute. I saw a PBS miniseries back in my late teens and later read the book. I thoroughly enjoyed revisiting it. Listening to it brought me in touch with Mary Hazen. The one who wasn’t afraid of mania or depression, who didn’t have to worry about drug side effects.

What would she think of my whining? She would have no tolerance for it. So why should I? Habits are hard to break, but I’m ready to live onward without this one.

Wish me luck! I’ll let you know more about it next week.

Patriots' Day 2018

Yesterday, the third Monday in April, Massachusetts and Maine celebrated Patriots' Day. The Lexington Minutemen held their annual reenactment of the Battle of Lexington.

As has been our tradition since 2003, Jim and I invited people to park on our property. Our yard is the perfect place to park and walk to the Battle Green, where colonists gathered and awaited the arrival of the red-coated army early in the morning of April 19, 1775. Our Sunday night was very cold and full of sleet. By 4:00 a.m. it had changed to heavy rain and, as expected, we had a small  turnout: 30 cars. (We have the capacity to park 65.) 

At 3:30 a.m. I was in the kitchen, making 2 gallons of hot cocoa and preparing for our breakfast guests. The reenactment takes place at 5:30 a.m., as did the actual battle. However,as a concession to the modern American custom, we now celebrate Patriots’ Day as a Monday holiday.

Despite the rain, about 100 people came for breakfast. They carefully wiped their shoes, so the floors hardly got wet at all.

I’ve been thinking of our history with David. By Patriots’ Day in 2014, David had been at Walter Reed Military Medical Center for 27 days. He didn't tell us not to go, so we returned home for Patriots' Day. Jim posted a picture in the living room of David, smiling and sitting up in his hospital bed.

By 2015, David was living at home and very sick. The stem cell transplant had failed over 10 months before. We went ahead with the breakfast. In 2016, we had the first Patriots’ Day without him. Matt ran the Boston Marathon later that day, raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Since 1897, the Boston Marathon has been held on Patriots' Day. (The first modern marathon was run in Greece just the year before.) Last year, R'el ran for LLS.

It's a relief to have the Patriots’ Day breakfast over. I enjoyed it, but the preparation and execution takes a lot of time and energy. It’s pleasant to be one of the ‘old-timers’, sharing a bit of town and national history with people who are interested enough to arrive at our yard between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m. It’s also pleasant to take a nap in the afternoon and then savor a full night’s sleep.

The Gift

The Cambridge Stake choir and orchestra presented their audiences with a gift this past weekend: Rob Gardner's oratorio: Lamb of God. With practice, prayer, and the wisdom I wrote about on March 20th, I sang in the choir with just a few tears. When emotion would start to well up, I’d stare at the back wall, focus on supporting my sound, and concentrate on the gift.

The copyright arrangement included permission to stream the performances live on Facebook and leave the video up until 11:59 p.m. on Monday night.

Monday morning, I spent an embarrassingly long time identifying the timestamps of my appearances for my family. My silver hair and face were occasionally on camera, hovering behind the pewter-grey post of a floor lamp.

Early in the evening, I listened to the entire piece with Jim, then spent the rest of the evening working on my computer while listening to my favorite parts for hours on end, knowing that the next day the video would be gone. As I listened, I let the beauty of the music and message wash over me and my pent-up emotion flow out in tears. It was my turn to be moved and gratefully accept the gift.

One of the disadvantages of performing is that you don’t get to hear the production. At my skill level, I'm absorbed with technique: counting, coming in at the right time, singing the right notes and words, attending to dynamics and phrasing. What a luxury to spend the evening opening the gift, over and over again.

Oratorio Next Weekend!

April 7 & 8, 2018, I will be singing in the choir of Lamb of God, an oratorio by Rob Gardner. I blogged about it two weeks ago.

If you can't make it to 65 Binney St. in Cambridge, Massachusetts (near MIT and the Red Line Kendall Square stop), watch it live here:

http://bit.ly/LambofGodCambridge