Pats, Irishness & Bagpipes at Funerals

March 17, 2011

Dad was named after St. Patrick and he was proud of his Irishness though he was just as much English and Scottish and above all American. He made it to Ireland briefly during World War II, though he spent most of his three overseas years in England. Had it not been for the war, he may never have met his grandfather. 

Dad’s birthday was March 18, so St. Patrick’s Day just started the celebration in my childhood home. My parents were not big drinkers, but a little Irishness and the “wearin’ o’ the green” seemed to get the laughter rolling without a lot of alcohol. Shared laughter as a vital part of family love is one of the greatest gifts my parents gave me.

Dad was also a firefighter. The bagpipes at his funeral were as much for his profession as for his Irishness. The American tradition of bagpipes at funerals for police officers and firefighters stems from the our “potato famine” Irish immigration days, when many Irish immigrants could find no other work than the most dangerous professions. For awhile in the United States, being a firefighter became synonymous with being Irish. The bagpipe tradition has endured.

Interestingly, my father also chose the firefighter’s life for economic reasons. His family had a tough time during the Great Depression. He left school at the age of 14 to help support his family. After the war, Dad’s firefighter-brother-in-law sold him on firefighting as a “depression proof” career.

I was named after my father, so indirectly I too was named after St. Patrick. Until college, I was actually called Pat at school and Trish only at home. In high school (in those long lost days of only one land-line phone per household), boys would call up and ask for Pat; and (much to their terror) the next voice they heard was that of my father. 

With the start of college, I chose Trish for both public and private venues and ultimately legally changed my name from Patricia to Trish for consistency’s sake. I sometimes wonder if I’d have become a whole other person had my parents chosen “Patty” as the at-home nickname. Either way, it is a testament to the loving family environment my parents provided that, even in those break-away teenage years, I chose to become who I was in their home over who I was among my school friends.

Thank you Dad. You’ll always be the true St. Patrick in my life.

Whether or not you believe in an afterlife, it is a truism that our loved ones watch over us after they’re gone - at the very least poetically; and in our memories, most certainly psychologically. It is from them that we learn to love and learn to laugh - core skills of personal resilience. Love and laughter endure far beyond the death of any or all of the beloved.

By Trish | Posted in Family, Home, Personal History, Psychology | Tagged , , | Comments off

You are living only now, now and now and now… – Wendell Berry

February 4, 2011

“You think you will never forget any of this, you will remember it always just the way it was. But you can’t remember it the way it was. To know it, you have to be living in the presence of it right as it is happening. It can return only by surprise. Speaking of these things tells you that there are no words for them that are equal to them or that can restore them to your mind. And so you have a life that you are living only now, now and now and now, gone before you can speak of it, and you must be thankful for living day by day, moment by moment, in this presence.
But you have a life too that you remember. It stays with you. You have lived a life in the breath and pulse and living light of the present, and your memories of it, remember now, are of a different life in a different world and time. When you remember the past, you are not remembering it as it was. You are remembering it as it is. It is a vision or a dream, present with you in the present, alive with you in the only time you are alive.”
- Wendell Berry

via Whiskey River

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“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm…” – Haruki Murakami

January 12, 2011

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

- Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore

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“Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon.” – E. M. Forster

August 19, 2010

I like to believe we can all make that important connection – to nature, to each other, to the value and beauty of all life – the connection that lifts us beyond competition and savagery. Making the connection is the path to peace, individually and collectively. Sooner or later we’ll see it, by any variety of means – hopefully, before our mortal end.

The connection is there for all of us – in any language, on our own or with help, no matter what color our holy book or science journal. Some find the connection through meditation or prayer; some while contemplating a spectacular starlit sky or holding a child; some only after experiencing a dramatic injury or other traumatic event.  The connection exists whether you intentionally seek it or not.  Sometimes the connection serendipitously finds you. The connection exists no matter how you define God, and even if you consider God a fiction.  If we spend our lives squabbling over the semantics and details, we can miss the value of the connection altogether.

In this beautiful TED talk, neuroscientist Jill Bolte Taylor talks about her discoveries as the result of her 1996 stroke:

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More information about Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor and her book, Stroke of Insight, is available at DrJillTaylor.com

Special thanks to Larry Glover at Wild Resiliency who reminded me of this TED talk in a beautiful, candid memorial post he wrote after the death of his father: A Father’s Lessons on Living and Dying.

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The Judgmental Pontificator: The Elder You Don’t Want To Become

June 20, 2010

pontificate 2: to speak or express opinions in a pompous or dogmatic way -  merriam-webster.com

I had one of those interesting wonder-if moments after my post on quieting down. I wondered if conversational fatigue is a natural part of this path through and beyond middle age. After all, middle age is as much about attitudinal change and gaining perspective as it is about chronology. Doesn’t some part of the getting of wisdom involve developing a certain laissez-faire equanimity about a lot of things that seemed overwhelmingly important when we were younger? Perhaps, I thought, everyone quiets down as they age.

Ha!

Just circumstantial evidence supports the opposite. The very afternoon of my musing, I ran into Liz, the 80-year-old antithesis of my theory. I share a 90-minute, parking-lot conversation with Liz about once a month. Liz was a next-door neighbor when I was growing up in Seattle. She moved to this area after her daughter bought a property not far from us (one of those small-world serendipities.)

A contemporary of my parents, Liz is one of those people who NEVER stops talking (as is her daughter I’ve discovered). At this point in her life, Liz’s monologue is rife with a long thread of what’s-wrong-withs – what’s wrong with the world, the country, our small town, the internet and all associated technologies; and on down to her favorite subjects – what’s wrong with her children and grandchildren.

I do have to give Liz this much – she is a colorful and somewhat gifted orator with a well-developed (if consistently judgmental) sense of humor. She was a cocktail waitress in her formative years – back in the day when all cocktail waitresses wore – well, not much. Her bawdy, occasionally-profane tales boost my tolerance of her stream of complaints. With time and a change in my own perspective, she’s evolved from just a gossiping busy-body into something of a tolerable character. I like characters. (I’ve been told I am one.) When I run into her, unless there is something truly pressing, I give her my time and my ear. We always end our conversation with her invitation for me to come by for tea. I haven’t so far. I guess I’m not quite that tolerant.

I have to admit that for us quiet types, effusive blabberers can be a conversational boon – all we have to do is listen and nod occasionally and “conversation” takes care of itself. And although Liz is an extreme, she is certainly an excellent reminder that not everyone values quiet serenity as a life goal. (In fact, a little googling leads me to suspect quieting down as a function of aging is rare – just another behavior on the list of hermit idiosyncrasies.)

But back to Liz. As entertaining as Liz can be, I always feel a little sad when we part after a conversation. I always think I should take the time for tea; after all, it won’t be too long before we won’t be meeting in parking lots anymore. I’m saddened that she’s entered what’s probably the last chapter of her life so dissatisfied with the way things have turned out. I’m saddened that, given the very peripheral nature of our friendship, she confides in me as much as she does. Perhaps I’m the only safe forum she has for her complaints.

Perhaps she’s lonely. Her judgmentalism may have set her up for that. I certainly would not want to be one of her children – or grandchildren. It sounds like Liz tries to micro-manage her whole family, down to the smallest circumstantial details, often using financial rewards or threats as the pivot point. Many of the behaviors Liz disapproves of in her children are, in fact, part of my own routine. Liz doesn’t know that, of course. She doesn’t actually know me very well and when we talk, I don’t need to talk.

Unfortunately for Liz (and in spite of her occasional entertainment value), Liz tops my list as the kind of elder I don’t want to become: the judgmental pontificator. The source of much inter-generational divisiveness, the loudest pontificators seem quite certain that, having lived a certain number of years, what they’ve learned must surely be gospel.

I’ve got news. What you’ve learned through experience is not gospel – it’s just a chronicle of your experience within the circumstances of your life. Yes, we do learn from experience, but much of what we learn that way cannot be taught. By the time our children enter high school, most of what they learn is coming from their own experiences, not from our pontifications. Yes, they’ll still need a few more years of guidance, and parenting is really a lifetime commitment, but the rapid change of today’s world almost guarantees that many of our children’s life experiences will be very different from ours. Most of our pontifications later in life (certainly by the time our children reach 30), especially those in the realm of specific circumstantial formulas that worked for us, already don’t (or soon won’t) apply at all. Let it go. The world is not going back to the way it used to be. The happiest among us find ways to celebrate that, even participate – not continually denigrate.

There’s a word for the belief (or desperate insistence) that everyone else (including your adult children) should do things the way you always have, make the same kinds of choices you always do, and live their lives as a reflection of the way you live your life. You may think the word is caring, but it isn’t. Most often, the word that best describes those manipulative, mini-me expectations is CONCEIT.

The good news is it’s never too late to stop trying to change others, especially other adults.  It’s also never too late to consider changing yourself – the one part of the equation over which you have some real control.

Share wisdom if you’re asked, but skip all the petty circumstantial stuff – what car to drive, what clothes to wear, your preference for certain neighborhoods or professional choices.  The kind of wisdom to share is the stuff that holds up beyond culture, fashion and clique; the stuff they’ll need to survive the greatest changes and the direst circumstances – the health crises, natural disasters, wars and economic downturns -  the inspirational stuff like courage, tolerance, love and compassion. But even that kind of wisdom is best taught by demonstration not with a diatribe of empty shoulds.

Demonstrate serenity and acceptance. Demonstrate inclusivity, not exclusivity. Overcome judgment. Demonstrate peace. Demonstrate love without circumstantial conditions and expectations. If you can train yourself to consistently prioritize and demonstrate any of those (or even a couple of them), not only will you be happier and healthier, you’ll probably mysteriously discover you’ve also overcome most of your complaints about the way things turned out.  Don’t be surprised if your need to pontificate declines accordingly.

I’m not pontificating, mind you. All I really know is what works for me.

By Trish | Posted in Hermit's Rants, Personal History, Philosophy, Psychology, Silence | Tagged , , | Comments off

When the Quiet Quiet Down

May 30, 2010

Here’s one for the hermit researchers – or the shrinks. The wordiness of life has been bugging me more than usual lately. It’s been almost six weeks since I’ve written anything for this blog and I have to confess there were moments when I seriously considered abandoning the endeavor.  I’ve talked about these phases before. [...]

The Robert B. Parker/Spenser Memorial Read: A Life Well-Written

April 17, 2010

I was saddened by the news of Robert B. Parker’s death this last January even though I only started reading Parker’s mystery novels a couple of years ago. (I actually only started reading any mystery fiction about five years ago.) I so enjoy Parker’s style and wit – interesting, lively plots and the prominent use of dialog to advance story and develop characters. Just plain fun, escapist fiction -  though Parker was no literary slouch, having earned a Ph.D. in literature from Boston University.

Although, I hadn’t read all of Parker’s books, once I discovered Parker through his more recent works, I started picking up his earlier books when I saw them at used bookstores or garage sales, or to round out an Amazon order. Since I had most of them on hand already, news of Parker’s death prompted me to go back and start at the beginning of the Spenser series – The Godwulf Manuscript, (c) 1973. So for the past couple of months, I’ve just kept on through the entire Spenser series, in chronological order. It’s been extremely enjoyable – even rereading those I’d read quite recently.

Though each novel is written to stand alone as a crime novel, like most series in the mystery genre, a repertory of prime characters continues throughout. Apparently, the Spenser series is the most autobiographical of Parker’s works, and there’s an intimacy and authenticity in the evolution of these particular characters which shines through.

The main character, Spenser, is an intelligent, literate, ex-prizefighter, ex-cop turned private investigator – a tough, good-guy, wise-cracking thug with a big heart and who loves to cook. His long-time girlfriend, Susan Silverman, is a psychologist. The other most-constant character is Spenser’s best friend, Hawk – another ex-fighter toughie with noble intent – though Hawk’s activities and motivations often wander deeper into the realm of  illegal than his buddy Spenser’s.

As a psychology buff, I am naturally fond of Parker’s use of the dialog between Spenser and his psychologist- true-love, Susan, to effectively interject psychological elements into the resolution of each mystery. Parker often uses the same vehicle to comment on timely or newsworthy issues.

Within the gestalt of reading all of these books in rapid succession, I particularly enjoyed the dialog and evolution of the relationship between Spenser and Silverman as a reflective chronicle of the evolution of masculine and feminine stereotypes through some of the the most turbulent times of the feminist movement. As in life, there are no permanent or pat resolutions to the difficulties that surface, but, in my opinion, Parker did an excellent job showing us that the differences between men and women are as vital and important as our equalities. The Spenser-Silverman relationship flourishes because each honors the other’s individuality with compassion and a willingness to listen (plus a healthy thread of sexual intimacy).

It may have been coincidence, but repeatedly when purchasing Parker’s books, or reading them in public, I had women comment to me at how much their husbands or boyfriends liked Parker’s books. I hope this is not an accurate indicator of the ratio of Parker’s female fans. If so, it’s a shame, really. Though Robert B. Parker’s male protagonists are often violent and always extremely masculine, I perceive Parker’s message as, in many ways, strongly feminist.

Looking for Rachel Wallace, written in 1980, was a particularly pleasant surprise. I’m sure it was considered quite provocative when originally published.  The book juxtaposes Spenser’s competent, extreme masculinity against the radical feminist rhetoric of open lesbian, Rachel Wallace, who Spenser is tasked with protecting, and ultimately rescuing (using lethal violence) when she is kidnapped after firing Spenser. When thanking Spenser for the rescue, Wallace states: “You still embody much that I must continue to disparage. I still disapprove of you.”

Spenser’s reply: “Rachel, how could I respect anyone who didn’t disapprove of me?”  Rachel Wallace shows up briefly in later books as an valuable ally and friend to Spenser.

The character, Spenser, though masculine to the max, is likable, lovable and heroic – a life well-written.

Robert B. Parker’s other mysteries include the Jesse Stone series and the Sunny Randall series. I now plan to go back and read both of those series in chronological order as well. Character evolution through the progression of these series is part of the pleasure.

Robert B. Parker died of a heart-attack at the age 77, while writing at his desk – surely the most heroic kind of exit any writer would hope for.

If you are a Robert B. Parker fan (or even if you’re not), I highly recommend reading the touching, eloquent eulogy by his son, David, which was reprinted in its entirety in The Washington Post.

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“…the illusion hurts us, takes our peace away…”

April 2, 2010

“By nature, we do not perceive ourselves or others accurately. We magnify the importance of ourselves and diminish that of others. In the beauty of a clear night, however, we look at the stars and feel ourselves small, unimportant, and at peace. On an objective scale, we sense our insignificance. Somehow the realization comforts us. The return of the illusion hurts us, takes our peace away, allows us to magnify slights, rejections, and humiliations as others challenge the illusion of our self-importance with theirs. It is in our human nature that this be so; it is our task to transcend it.”

- Barry Grosskopf, Hidden In Plain Sight

via psychobabble

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“Political” Science

March 9, 2010

Much of the hoopla over the global warming controversy seems to be the “shocking revelation” that science is being used by (and thus ostensibly soiled and manipulated) by politicians. So? Science has always had a strong thread in and of politics, just like all other human endeavors, including religion. The only non-political human endeavor is probably solitude – and it’s only apolitical to the solitaire. As soon as one other wonders about or tries to find the  hermit, his solitude becomes part of a political debate. All human interaction includes politics. The more people, the more complicated the politics.

Science as the ultimate objectivity has always been an ideal not a fact. Scientists are human, too – with mortgages and egos and tuition debt, too.  Most research is at some level politically funded – whether the funder is the Catholic Church, the Exxon Corporation, or government. (We all know how apolitical government is. Right?) Who gets the money for what research – in our culture often a variable of potential profit in the research product – is part of the process. Unfortunately, money as the engine of research comes with a built-in corruptibility factor – sometimes very subtle, sometimes openly controversial, but rarely completely out of the picture.  Which is worse:  good science with bad intentions or bad science with good intentions?  Add to that debate “whose science” and “whose morality” then define “good” and “bad.” Yeah, I know.

Still there’s good scientists (and some not-so-good) working hard in their labs zealously pursuing “truth.”  There probably is even such a thing as “pure” science happening somewhere in some labs. But even the most ardent and disciplined objectivists among us are still subjective human beings. The process leading up to who gets a lab, how they design the experiment and who does what with any discoveries will always be a function of politics.  The “science” that reaches the masses will always have spin. Most of the “masses” wouldn’t understand the science if you spoon fed it to them straight from the scientist’s mouth. I have great respect for Al Gore’s intentions. I voted for him when he ran for President partially because of his environmental stance. I  have warmist leanings. I am not, however, blind to the inconvenient truth that Al Gore is not a scientist – he “just plays one in a movie.” But science without politics wouldn’t get very far.

And with well-established criteria for peer review and reproducible results, science tends to self-regulate. The global warming controversy really emphasizes the stability of the scientific ideal not its erosion. It’s the old torpedo effect of all human progress – we launch out of the tube in the general direction of our target, we stray off course, we make corrections.

Challenge and controversy have always been a part of scientific progress, whether the battle is between scientists and institutions, or scientists and other scientists. Today’s unavoidable transparency just makes the noise a lot louder and faster – out where we all get to watch and comment. And after all, it is science that brought us the internet – the vehicle of its own exposure.

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Global Warming Humming

March 4, 2010

Global warming (anthropogenic or otherwise) is a hard sell to anyone who’s freezing his butt off fighting the hardest winter he can remember. And though repackaging global warming as climate change is probably a wise move, it’s just human nature to let broader perspectives and scientific conjectures rest completely while coping with the immediacy of “what’s happening to me right now.” (If you haven’t seen Stephen Colbert’s recent comedy sketch about this, I highly recommend it. I particularly liked Colbert’s professor of peekaboo-ology.)

Climate change is almost a non-term here in Western Washington where the weather is so variable year to year, climate change seems almost normal.  Unlike the rest of the Northern Hemisphere, we’ve just had our warmest winter on record. Last winter we had our taste of the ice age.

But in spite of recent controversies which expose some extremely-careless or just-plain-bad science, there’s some good science behind global warming, too.  Weather extremes are integral to the theory, so discounting the whole idea because your butt’s cold today is definitely throwing the baby out with the bath water.

On the other hand, there’s some very smart people countering the theory and some very good science behind their counter claims. Ironically, the very reason we find global warming so hard to believe when our butts are cold mirrors the reason why global warming has rational skeptics. It really is difficult for us humans (including scientists) to stand far enough back from our tiny little lives to get accurate, objective perceptions. From a geological perspective, the global warming theory itself is just a report on what’s happening right now. Several decades of climate statistics do not necessarily make an arguable trend. Well, obviously it is arguable, but that’s not the same as provable.

But it’s the furor of this discourse that deserves applause. It means awareness of environmental degradation (whatever the cause) has whole-heartedly entered our public consciousness. A recent New York Times article pointed out that therapists are even seeing a trend in environmental issues as a significant cause for family discord. And as much I hate to see families in stress, the environmental dialog matters; and the things that matter most to us should be discussed (and sometimes argued about) in our homes.  An integral environmental consciousness – public and private – represents true progress.

I have warmist leanings.  There’s much more to the theory than whether you should be driving a Prius or a Hummer. But selling global warming as yet another variety of armageddonism is counterproductive and unnecessary. Extremes always create backlash. Most of the noise between warmists and their skeptics is not about whether humans are negatively impacting the environment,  it’s about how, what’s the timeline and what’s the fix.

Anyone completely devoid of environmental awareness at this point is either under-educated, living in impoverished desperation, or choosing to remain intentionally blind. Lack of education and impoverished desperation are both forgivable, and illiteracy and poverty must be addressed as part a holistic environmental dialog.  But intentional blindness, whether motivated by greed or just laziness, is no excuse at all.

But that’s another human foible, isn’t it – it often takes the noise of controversy to force our eyes open. It’s called awakening.

“When people generally are aware of a problem, it can be said to have entered the public consciousness. When people get on their hind legs and holler, the problem has not only entered the public consciousness — it has also become a part of the public conscience. At that point, things in our democracy begin to hum.”

- Hubert Humphrey

By Trish | Posted in Education, Family, Hermit's Rants, Nature, Psychology, Science, Weather | Tagged , , , , , , | Comments off