How on earth did I get to this place anyway?

There is a concept called internal or external locust of control.  If you are a word collector, a more psychoanalytic way of saying this is alleplastic or autoplastic.  The both mean the same.  Do you feel a sense of control over your life and destiny (Internal locus of control or autoplastic) or do you feel as if life happens around you and are just a victim of your circumstances (external locus of control or alleplastic).

I think I have always felt that I pretty much get to decide what happens to me.  At least I did until I got diagnosed with MS.  Now I realize that the only thing I really and truly get to control is my response to given situations.  Of course, you can and absolutely should plan things.  Do what you can with what you have from where you're at every moment.  Then sit back and hope that all your ducks are in the right row and that the  best possible outcome will happen.  But also, expect that some of your ducks will wander into a different row and that something unexpected will change everything.  Hey!  It happens!

But this is supposed to be a blog about my journey up to now.  So make with the wavy Scooby doo backward-in-time-lines, and here we go again.

My first job in the "field"  was as a summer relief worker a Day Care Center.  The day Care was a part of the children's home run by my Dad.  He really struggled with having me work there (nepotism and all that), but I applied, and, Bob's your uncle, (Look it up, its a real expression), I was hired.  I got to be the  summer relief for the teachers and the cook while they were on their vacations.
 I started as an aid, then cooked for a month, and finally had my own classroom.  I think I was 20. The best things about that job were that I got to go to the pool everyday, so my hair was platinum blonde and I was so tan.  I have funny skin.  I am pretty white.  (Shockingly Caucasian.  I glow in the dark.)  But, I get a pretty good tan.  I guess I shoulda been born in California.  Here is me at my sister's wedding that summer.

Me and my sister,  She is the gorgeous one and I am the short one with the platinum hair and killer tan

  I also really liked being the cook, because I got first dibs on everything.  The real cook had planned the menu before hand and had super easy stuff for me to make.  We also got donations for afternoon snack.  It was usually stuff like peanut butter cracker or applesauce, but once we got boatloads of Twix Bars.  That was a little dangerous for me. I really like sweets!

The kids were the real best part of that job.  They were all cute.  I had a few favorites,  There were two sets of twins.  Both sets were boys.  One set were named T-Wani and D-Wani. We called them T and D and they were ALWAYS in some kind of trouble.  The little girls were no angels.  Once they were told not to put water in the sand tray, but the sand mysteriously got wetter and wetter.  The girls were taking big swigs of water in their mouths and spitting on the sand to get it wet.  EWW! But very resourceful!.  I have pages of pics of those kids.  they were all great kids.  I still remember their names even!  In hind site, I can see which kids were probably being neglected and which were potentially victims of abuse  It warmed my 20 year old heart when the kids asked to go home with me, but now I would see it as a pretty significant warning sign that maybe there was a reason they didn't want to go home.

It's funny to think of them now.  That was 32 years ago!  They are all grown up with kids of their own....  maybe even grand kids!
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Overall, I think the Day Care was a pretty tame intro into the world of direct service.  It gets a lot hairier when you see the big picture and become a little less naive about people's intentions
But that will have to wait til next time!

So til next time, farewell to social services until after graduation from UMKC.

A  life worthwhile

I struggle with the question of what makes a life worthwhile.  Or, more specifically, what makes my life worthwhile.

In college, my friends and I would buy The National Enquirer just to look for the most outrageous stories, (Years before the internet and Stumble Upon!).  I ran across a story about how much the human body is worth,  As in: how many precious metal and  minerals are in there or what could you get for selling all you internal organs.  Stuff like that.  And I know that car companies have a dollar amount designated for each human life so they can get a ratio of how worthwhile it is to recall a part on a car versus getting sued and paying settlements. And,  if you are Betty Grable, you can say that just your legs alone are worth a cool million!

So I guess, if nothing else, you can say that every life has a dollar value.But I am more concerned about what makes our conscious life worthwhile.  I absolutely believe that an alive person is worth more than a prematurely dead person.  I absolutely believe that everyone breathing the same air and having the same energy burning in their bodies is connected and contributing just because of those things.  I would tell my clients that very thing  I would tell the parents of a special needs child that very thing.  I have told people that had a son is killed in a gang shooting or who's sister is dying of MS because she has no insurance those very things as well.

So why am I different?  Who do feel the need to validate my existence with achievement and impact?
Sometimes, that is even what keeps me from writing! I rail against feeling that I "have to" in order to feel worthwhile!

So I have decided that I will stop trying to fight the the need to validate myself by reviewing small ways that I may have impacted on the world.

When I wrote my essay for grad school, I got all dramatic and soppy and wrote something about only needing to impact on one person to make the hard work of getting a degree worth the effort.  I'm surprised they let me in!  However, if I really felt that way, I have to see if I have made an impact n that one person, and if it was truly worth the effort.

So in future posts,  (to keep you in suspense,)  I am gonig tp review my life's work and identify interesting cases.

Have a writing goal gives me the motivation to keep it up, as well!

mid life crisis part 36

When I am not in front of the computer, the ideas are ready to be thought and placed on the page.  When the page is available, I can think of 25 (non-productive) thing I would rather do.

Today, I am just going to put words down in a free form way, and hope for the best.

I am completely aware that my weird sort of mid-life crisis is well underway and shows no sign of dissipating any time soon.  I am ambivalent about my practice, and I don't trust myself to become a writer.  I have to quit thinking that I can override the MS fatigue, the inability to walk, my numb hands,...my depression and become something or someone else.  I am not reinventing myself in the game.  I am prematurely exiting the game.  I am calling what is happening, an early retirement, but it is really, a physical and emotional inability to keep on keeping on.

So I am probably going to let the practice, as it exists now, die a lingering death.  So now what?  That the question and I am allowing the confusion and not-knowing-ness to be my current reality.

I am aware that a big chunk of the failure to thrive of my practice has everything to do with this attitude.  If I am not putting the intention and effort in making something happen, it won't happen.  The problem is, that I don't believe it will happen for me.  I believe that even if I put in a lot of effort to make it happen, that somehow, it wouldn't happen anyway.  I hear about therapist's who run into a perfect deal with a referral source, by chance, or they get recruited to a group practice or a dream job because they are so out there and so good at what they do.  That kind of thing doesn't happen to me.  Or maybe it does, but I'm not able to see it, because, maybe I'm really not the therapist I always hoped I was.


So who I am I without that role?  I have been attached to the role of "Therapist" for so long, that I am not sure who this new person is!  Maybe, I can reframe for myself and see this as an exciting new adventure into the unknown.  Or I could quit being sappy and just decide that I am tired and am just moving into a lazy ass resting mode.

I'm always going to wonder about a whole plethora of what ifs, missteps and wrong decisions along the way.  But the bottom line is, this is where I have landed.  It is not so bad.  Dana is successful enough that I no longer have to worry about how we will pay the bills.  Any fear or anxiety is all ego feeling as if I am not leaving my mark on the world. Or , at least, not a big enough mark,

I am going to quit with lingering doubt and anxiety and let thing play out.  You know, things have always been playing out.  Things are always beyond our control.

I like those quizzes on Face book.  You know, What state should you live in?  Which famous dictator were you in a past life?  and my fave Which Harry Potter Character are you?  I always get Luna Lovegood, even if I try not to!.  I stumbled upon  quiz on Stumble Upon that was a little different.  You were supposed to answer questions regarding how you would feel in a variety of situation.  The last question was "You are lost in a deep fog in the woods.  What would you  do?"  My response was, to move forward slowly and enjoy the mystery.  The question said your answer indicates how you feel about death.  I love my answer.  I am going to choose to use that answer , not just abut death, but about ythe rest of my life.

I am going to move forward slowly and enjoy the mystery of what comes next

Here are some pictures from DC, just as I promised!

Botanical gardens.  Ellen (who looks just thrilled to be there!), me and my Mom in full 70"s regalia

Me and the Capitol.  I am the one in red

Me, my Dad (My skinny dad,), and my brother ready to boogie board!

Me, my brother and Ellen in front of The White House

The Washington Hilton and pool

Just a word about these pics.  No doubt about it, I was thin and almost athletic looking, although I never was, and never will be that.  That red tee shirt, worn with gym shorts, (which were a stylish thing at the time!  I swear!), was from The Pooh Company which you may remember from earlier posts.  My hair was not always that blonde, but it got pretty bleached out every summer

I should be doing paperwork or something else productive for my private practice.  But, I have had so many conflicting feelings about my career, that I think I will save the heavy thinking for some other day, and write a little more about family vacation memories.

This one is from when I was 13, so the memories, while still probably not exact, are a little more fleshed out.  I have rather visual way of memorizing.  While it is not "photographic", it does recreate memories as little Super 8 films in my mind.  Maybe that is how everyone's memories work!

Our trip to Washington D.C. and the outer banks of North Carolina was memorable for other reasons as well

1).  This was our first family vacation without my sister.  She was working as a tour guide at the Capitol building and or was touring with the Lion's band (Marching band.  Not cool garage band btw).

2).  I have pictures from this trip

3). My Dad was working (sortof)

The reason we were in DC, was because my dad was a delegate to the General Synod, which is the  governing body of the United Church of Christ.  So he spent most of his time in meetings while we were there.  The conference was in The Washington Hilton.  It's claim to fame is that it is the same hotel that President Regan stayed when he got shot several years later.  The place was huge!  And it had a great pool.

One of the reasons I remember so clearly that I was 13, was due to an incident at that pool.  I was reading The Exorcist.  I was too young to see the movie, but I could read the book!  I was sitting on a lounge chair by the pool when this...hippie chick, I guess you might call her, came to sit in the next chair.  In hindsight, I am pretty sure she was under the influence, but maybe she was just a spaced out, in-the-groove kind of girl.  She was in a bikini that was a little too small and she lolled languidly on her towel.

She struck up a conversation.  She asked where I was from and I told her Jefferson City which she, of course had no clue where THAT was.  She asked what I was reading and when I told her, she said, "Wow! That's really heavy!"  I'm sure she made some small talk and then she asked how old I was.  "Your only 13? Wow!  You really have your shit together for only 13"  That was the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.  She talked some more about stuff I do not recall, but I do remember her telling me that I should meet her brother and that I would like him because he looked just like Jesus.

Because my Dad was working, sort of, my Mom, brother and I did all of the touristy things.  We were hanging with another women and her daughter.  I know the daughters name was Ellen because I wrote it one the back of some picture with her in it.  We went to The Smithsonian, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, all the usual stuff.  I love that we were in an actual city because, despite it's name, Jefferson City is not one!

The rest of that trip accounted for our real vacation.  One where my dad didn't have to work.  For this phase, we drove to the outer banks of North Carolina.  We did some touristy things like visit Kitty Hawk, but mostly we hung out at the rental cabin by the shore and swam and hung at the beach.

I want to put up some pic, but the scanner is being obstinate, so look for them in another post.

I could write more about vacations and trip memories,but I am going in a different direction for awhile.  Be prepared to shift again!

 I already fell off the "write everyday" wagon.  Here is my excuse.  On Saturday, I actually saw client which took up most of the day and had me away from a functioning computer. Then we were trying to go to this Italian place for dinner. My car had a flat tire, so we were taking my husband's car.  I drive a Nissan Cube.  Don't laugh, it is really roomy on the inside.  Even my 6'2" father says it is easy to get in and out of that car.  We were driving the Honda Accord instead.  Significantly nicer, but not nearly as easy for me to enter.  When I was maneuvering my way in, my son (who has no trouble climbing in the back), slammed his door shut with my pinkie finger still in it.

It is amazing how many thoughts go through your head in a split second.  After the initial,"Oh my God!  What the...? That really hurt"  I thought, "Oh.  My pinkie is in the closed car door."  Then "I'd better not move, or I will break/tear off my pinkie"  The thought were not in any particular order.  they included "Damn, I wanted to go eat out." " Damn, I don't want to go to the hospital." " Oh look, my necklace fell off.  I'd better wait til my finger is free before I pick it up.".  I heard my husband yell at Eli to open the door, which he did.

When my finger was free, I got in the car and took a look at my poor little pinkie finger.  I was interesting to see it sticking out at a right angle to my palm. I reached down to smooth it back into place with my husband yelling "Don't touch it!"  But too late.  I pulled on it the tiniest bit and it really and truly just straightened itself out like a good little soldier.  I wiggled it around, bent it, and compared to my other pinkie.  It wasn't even swollen!

We went ahead to the restaurant, discussing how we thought we would be on our way to the ER rather that eating fish tacos and chicken mole. (The Italian place was packed. so we ended up eating Mexican)  My son said, "There's rubber around the door for a reason  My husband said, Yeah, to keep out the rain!"   I guess that cushioning for a wayward finger is strictly a fringe benefit.

If I were am Evangelical Christian, I'm sure I would think that the fact that my finger was not severed or smashed was proof that all that prayin' and church-going was the reason.  However, scientifically, I am sure that it was probably not all that uncommon of an event.

So all of that to say give me a break for not writing.  The poor little guy is still pretty sore and stiff.  I just glad it was only my pinkie!

Here's what I've noticed. 

My post have three, maybe four, distinct themes: waltzing down memory lane, kvetching about MS, professional type topics, or religion.  The last two sort of go together, so it's really just three.  Oh yeah, I get political sometimes, too but not very often.

Since it continues to be a major deep freeze right now, I think I will stick with memories of warm climates.

My mom clarified that New Orleans and Texas/Mexico were, indeed, one trip.  In New Orleans we stayed with my Dad's cousin, John and his family.  Relationship-wise, that makes him my first cousin once removed, and his kids, James and Christa are my second cousins.  There''s a lesson in familial relationships for ya!

I'm pretty sure James was a toddler and Christa was an infant,  I remember John's wife, Beth, pushing a baby carriage, so someone was an infant!  Beth was so beautiful to me.  John was a professor at Tulane at the time, and they lived in a beautiful walk-up brownstone-y apartment (my memory may completely off here.)  I thought they were the epitome of cool!  I remember that we bought a boatload of gulf shrimp for dinner, and I think we had enough for everyone to have a whole pound to themselves!  I'm sure that was the only time I got completely stuffed after just eating steamed shrimp!

I'm not sure how long we stayed, but it was long enough to have breakfast at Brennan's.   I had something call eggs sardou  (according to the Brennna's menu that is:  crispy artichokes, Parmesan creamed spinach, choron sauce)   Even though it was breakfast,we had banana's foster for dessert.  Boy that make me want to steal the cookbook my mom brought back and I'm sure she still has somewhere. ( Watch your cookbook shelf next time I visit, Mom!)

I also remember Bourbon Street.  While I remember trying to divert my gaze from the debauchery of naked girls swing from the upstairs windows, I mostly remember that I found a little shop that was playing the soundtrack to the Wizard of Oz!  The shop clerks must have thought I was a weird , white girl shop-lifter or something, because I just wanted to hang out in the store and listen to Dorothy and friends made their way down the Yellow Brick Road!

After new Orleans, we went to Texas.  We went to Brownsville where my dad grew up.  People there called my dad "little Bobbie " even though he is now 6'5".  From Brownsville we made a quick hop to Mexico for just a few hours. It was very touristy there and we shopped a bit then ate lunch.  You know how the water quality is just a little suspect in Mexico?  My dad insisted that the restaurants that catered to tourists probably had water that was just fine, so I didn't hesitate to drink away.  I thought the waiter looked a little surprised to see this very obviously Caucasian family asking for more agua.  I don't know how long it took, but I know we were at a museum when it hit me.  I spent a whole lot more time seeing the bathroom than anything cultural.  My dad insisted that is was all the fresh oranges we had been eating that were wrecking havoc with our systems.

Going through the border check coming back to Texas also sticks with me.  My sister and I had bought some marionette puppets.  One of them was a mustachioed mariachi player.  I kept singing the Frito bandidto jingle (which I am sure was suspiciously racist, but it was the 70's and we were from the midwest!) until I am sure my parents wanted to throw me out the window. I'm pretty sure I would have kept singing that little ditty right through the border check if my parents hadn't stopped me.

My parents  had bought a case of wine in Texas before we went into Mexico.  I think there was a moment of touch and go when they weren't sure whether or not the border patrol would either confiscate it or make them pay a huge fine.  Oh, the excitement of being an outlaw and sneaking an American domestic product in and back out of Mexico.

These posts say more about the nature of memory than they do about actual events.  Maybe I'll write about that sometime!
But, next time, I am venturing in Washington D.C.