Blechhhhhh! to ...I Feel Better. Protection and Strength to You All.

 I feel compelled to write and put it out there on my blog for probably nobody to see. I left Twitter and can't post this there. Why did I leave Twitter? Because I got so very tired of the waiting for justice that just doesn't come. I felt strung along and along and along. I was tired of constantly being outraged at this or that. Being on Twitter, it was in my face all day long. Why is Marjorie Taylor Greene still in Congress? She is a vile and obscene human being; why on God's green Earth is she allowed to grace our revered halls of Congress? It's mind blowing. Mitch McConnell, the embodiment of evil grins gleefully how his only job is stop everything President Biden wants to do. It's all so damn sad and terrifying.

What happened to the Greatest Generation mentality? Why don't we care about our country and the greater good of all? It's all me, me, me. My rights. My, my, my...

We lost the "We."

What a strange time in history. I do think we are all "battle" weary. This is a battle, a battle against COVID, a battle against false information, a battle for normalcy, decency, goodness, democracy and simply, a battle of good vs. evil.  Good vs. Evil. 

Evil lurks subtly and loudly. We are getting hit in all directions and we don't even know it. From the faux patriots flying their flags off their Ram Trucks proudly displaying their white supremacy, to the cyber attacks, misinformation articles attacking our brains and prompting those readers to act in ways they never have before in their lives (ex. Jan. 6th), and then there is the Havana Syndrome where our diplomats are getting attacked with illness. 

It's a new war. There aren't soldiers shooting at one another, it's a spy, stealth attack that gets us from within. 

When are we going to wake up, come together and unmind-eff ourselves? Evil forces have been so easily messing with our brains via social media; it has been to damn easy for them. There have been no reigns, no barriers to stop them. We have been lab rats and the evil experiment was a success beyond their wildest dreams! How else could a diaper wearing scum bag drug addled mobster become president? Smoke and mirrors made him look larger than life. They even made him up like Malibu Ken and posed him as this successful business man that cared about you. I'm angry. I'm angry that America was toyed with, I'm angry that he served his full goddamn term and a half million people died of the corona virus under his useless watch. 

I'm veering off course here. I'm just sad and weary. I think I'm not alone here. With the Delta variant looming, I'm bracing myself for the horrible anxiety and moments of sheer panic that this virus could kill me. I'm totally vaccinated but you never know. And that is the fear, the not knowing anything for sure.

I'm sad because my boys live far away due to being in the military and it is hard to stay connected in a real meaningful way. Texting and calling aren't enough for me. I need to see them in the flesh. I need to have dinner with them and if they get married and have kids, I want to hug their babies. So, there is that sadness.

Work is work. Unsatisfying, and at times miserable. Am I too old to change course? It feels like it is.

I stopped running due to my degenerative bone disease. Why accelerate the inevitable? So, running is done. I bike, yoga, swim and walk.

Boy, this is turning out to be a depressing diatribe. Sorry about that. I can be quite funny, but here you'd never know that. Ask my co-workers about a joke I tell in a thick Irish brogue; I don't know what makes them laugh more just listening to me talk in my brogue or the joke itself? I like to make people laugh. I hate to see other people be sad.

What the heck am I babbling about?

Well, I babbled here. Do I feel better now?

Sigh. I guess I do. The birds are singing out of my window and there is a sweet cool breeze blowing on this July Sunday. I have my Summer Breeze Pandora station playing and at this moment, this very moment I feel a bit peaceful. So, maybe...

I had to let it out. Spew on my pity pot and get it out. Then, now, it is time to get up and get out.

Do something. Get up and do something. Here's a Hawk Feather to you on this Full Buck Moon to offer you all protection and strength. My hubby found this biking and felt it was important to offer and share.

Okay. I'm out!

Peace.

Susan

We Need To Do Some Mind Sweeping

 A part of me craves for the time without the internet, without our cell phones (which you might as well glue to our hands), no computers, no thousand stations on our TVs, and whatever else has really changed our brains and life. 

It truly has changed us.  I have trouble sitting down and reading a book, something which I truly loved to do. Nothing seems to hold my attention long enough. Why? Is it because I’ve become accustomed to the rapid fire headlines on Twitter? Maybe. Why do I need to constantly look at my phone? Twitter, email, news, weather app? Why do I do that? Is it to fill space, empty spaces of time? I hate what the cell phone has done to young people how they are constantly looking down at them rather than looking out to the world or in to someone’s eyes.  What have we all been missing?

Are we truly living? 

On the flipside, we have gained much knowledge and our worldview became expanded. We are all connected and need each other to keep this earth going. We can connect with people from all over instantly and that is really cool.  On Twitter, I have learned much from the people I follow but have sadly, learned to be wary of anyone that brings me down or too far afield.  The web has too much power and influence and bad actors have taken full advantage of that. This is the part where I don’t know how we get out of it. 

The evil force of disinformation is a powerful consuming beast.

Can’t we recognize that this is truly our biggest threat? How disinformation can trigger, trigger, trigger until it drives people to do horrible things? We need to shut down social media sites until we can figure out how to sweep them free of the dangerous influencing articles, posts, and ads.  Mine sweep it all ! 

Then we can enjoy the new technology, enjoy meeting new friends and learning of different cultures, and rid ourselves of the emotional monkeys that have been heavily perched on our shoulders for way too long. 

Can you imagine this? Imagine feeling worthy and loved and not filled with outrage and hate toward another? Imagine that. 

Well, if we can’t make this happen, we have to find a way to do our own “Mine/Mind Sweeping.”  We have to be careful who we communicate with, be protective of our egos and find the joy.  

Find the joy and when you do, make more of it.  

Peace and joy to you! 

Simply Susan. 

"Maggie May" Used to Echo In Our Family Basement

I stood in the basement of my childhood home. A couple of boxes of old Math Textbooks were all that was left. The circa 70's finished basement with its tiled floors and brown paneled walls complete with the must have built in bar was barren-much like my heart felt at that moment. Every last scrap of life built up year after year, milestone after milestone have been removed. God, it was like shoveling more dirt on the grave burying it for good. Stab. Man, it hit me in the heart how easily it all was tossed, cleared out. Wiped away like a dry eraser board went the tangible memories. My eyes started to burn and fill with my salty tears, first slowly and then in a rush. Damn. My siblings hauled it all out in no time at all and it felt, disrespectful. It felt like there was no moment to say, I don't know.... What would I want to say? It just felt so cold, callus, hardened how quickly our lives, remnants of our life became dust to sweep away on the cold basement floor.

I used to roller skate to Rod Stewart's "Maggie May" on the cold basement floor when it was gray concrete. My sister and her best friend's Barbie apartment complex was down there that they made piece by piece with every little miniature piece of furniture. In our teen years, my sister and I claimed the basement as our apartment. So, from childhood playground to sacred living space where the reverberating echoes of giggly laughter and serious conversations dissipated into the ether.

Deeper in the basement, the unfinished section where the oil burner was and my father's workbench stood loaded with old computers, typewriters that produced high school book reports, my mother's old Singer sewing machine that gave her such grief with the temperamental tension, tools, tools and more tools, coffee cans filled with nails and more old books....cleared away. Just like that, gone.

I remember the one and only time my father got mad at me. I was watching him work with a hot glue gun and a soldering iron at his workbench He was always fixing things himself. I was fascinated by it. He warned me not to touch it. What did I do? I touched it. I remember a good blister on my finger from it. This was the only time I can remember my father spanking me, one firm swat to the hiny.

My mother passed away in 2006 and my father, at 85 just last month. My sister, brother and I are moving swiftly in clearing the house readying it for sale. There is no time to process; there is no time to ease into the idea of saying good-bye to our childhood home; there is no time to digest that my father is not on this earth any longer. When I do have time to process it, I feel a punch in the gut pain.

I stood there in the basement, and I opened one of the math books. There was his beautiful swirly handwriting of his name and the name of his college. It must have been what he used to learn to be a math teacher at college. His large perfect cursive were the windows to his soul. Handwriting is full of personality and my father's large, precise, fancy script handwriting matched his fun, zesty and yet, attention to detail personality to a tee. I found among the boxed books my mother's nursing licenses, first her Licensed Practical Nurse and then, her Registered Nurse.  Damn. These were hard earned, something I didn't really appreciate until now. We were tossing it out. I kept those.

I know memories are not in things; they are in your heart and mind forever, but yeah, no. Memories are in one's life's work, the day to day planners with personal notes to oneself, a favorite shirt, a favorite mug, plate, bowl, the pens one wrote with, the music listened to, the books read, ...Memories are tangible.

My family house is now empty. I guess this is my ode to my family house. It wasn't always peaceful in that house, and as a matter of fact, there was quite a lot of pain and heart ache in that house. Yet, it was my house, the one I grew up in. I just didn't want it all dismissed so ...easily, irreverently. I respect the life lessons learned there and at the root of it all, love won the day. Love carried us all through, especially in my father's last dying days where us siblings who were distant and detached for so many years, finally got it together and found each other again when facing the foreignness of death.

So, I guess, now that I wrote this and gave my house its due, I can release all the physical tangible memories, ones that I didn't keep to the universe. I picture me holding a pearly white dove and tossing it upward watching its wings spread and flap toward the sky.

I feel peace like the sweet exhale you express when you clap close a favorite bedtime story leaving you feeling sleepy and satisfied as you kiss a child a good night's sleep.

The Pity Pot

The Pity Pot

My grandmother would never tolerate it when I was whining about this or that. She wasn’t haven’t any of it. She would say get off your Pity Pot!

Ouch.

It got me every time. Harsh, Grandma. Harsh. There was to be no feeling sorry for yourself around her. And , that was a good thing. It shook me out of my stupor and got me moving.

Well, the poor me tendency is still there as if I got dealt a bad hand. When in truth, most situations are of my own making. Why don’t I have a book published? Why can’t I stay home and write an advice column? Why is everything we own breaking and costing us a fortune? Why can’t our bank account be abundant and ever flowing?

This is the litany of Whoa Is Me that runs through my head again and again.

I can change this tune; I really can. It is all up to me. I have to get off my damn Pity Pot and do something! I’ve always said, “If you do nothing, nothing happens. If you do something, something happens.” So, expect nothing if you do nothing. Expect something if you do something, be it good or bad. The point? I have to at least try.

It’s much like Wayne Gretsky’s quote that goes something like this: It’s 100% certain you will miss the shots you don’t take.  Get it? Hockey reference. Take a shot. You have a chance of it going in. If you don’t at least take the freaking shot, it will NEVER EVER go in!  So, for God’s Sakes, take the damn shot, Susan!

Geesh. How’s that for a message to me?

 Take the shot.

Take the shot.

Take the shot.

Try. Try. Try.

Try what, though? Ahhh. That’s the hard part, eh?

Until next time, for ideas to get off The Pity Pot!

When Life Stressors Are Spinning Out of Control, Try This

Do you have a stressed mind that will not shut up?

Lately, the stress of world events, politics and personal worries become tilt overload for most people.  I know politics alone make me absolutely crazy and leave me feeling dumbfounded, exasperated and helpless.  On top of that, I am going through one of those major life stressors that rock you to your core and leave you feeling like a deflated ball; my father is in Hospice losing his fight with cancer. This has been the most challenging time in my life that often leaves me mentally and physically drained.

I know there are so many like me that have their own personal burdens that they are carrying around as well. I want to share with you what has helped me tremendously.

Art.

Creating art is a form of mindfulness, which is focused attention.  The troubled world melts away when you are creating. In that moment, all that exists is what you are doing. And, what you are doing can be many things. Art comes in many forms, thus known as The Arts. Creating and expressing oneself can be through sketching, painting, writing, singing, dancing, knitting, working with clay, photography and more!

When the brain is on fire running on all cylinders and you just can’t calm it down, what works for me is turning to art. It works every time. Art is a form of mindfulness in every brush stroke or pencil mark that diffuses nervous energy into the current task at hand, creating- thereby, quiets the incessant chatty mind.

#artheals #art4mentalhealth

Check out these hashtags on Twitter and you will see many submissions of art to help break the stigma associated with Mental Health. I participated with Art Therapist and St. Xavier University Psychology Professor, Nicola Demonte in the mission of breaking the stigma associated with Mental Health through the Twitter hashtag campaign #art4mentalhealth. Even though we were in two different locations, Chicago and New York we posted events and art online. The coolest thing was to see all the different participants who posted.  We had Refugee Art Project who used art to release their pain and feel a little joy through art.  Splashes of Hope are artists who paint murals in hospitals and waiting rooms for families in prisons to relieve anxiety and evoke a cheerier atmosphere in what can be certainly scary and unpleasant circumstances. There were artists who are homeless getting their amazing work posted and advertised for them through a group called Art Lifting to better their situations and at the same time use art as a means of healing. I certainly benefited from posting my art as I painted or sketched whenever I felt so distressed that I didn’t know what else to do make myself feel better. The pencil to paper focused concentration wipes the chatter away like a squeegee on a windshield.  The distress drips away into the ethers, every single last noxious thought as I sketch, sketch, erase, and blow.

I sketched during blizzards. I sketched when I was frightened and horrified by tragedies around the world, such as the Paris Massacre at the Bataclan night club.  I shared music videos that marked an emotion that matched a news event, whether it be hopeless or hopeful that I felt others would appreciate. Music is especially powerful. Art helps. Art heals and is available to everyone.

It is a magical balm.

The other night my husband showed me a brown trout as he has been jonesing for fishing. Bam. That was my object du jours. I sketched a brown trout as it had been a difficult day with my ailing father. Somet days are better than others with my coping ability with his terminal illness.

  

It’s nothing fantastic, but that wasn’t the point.  The point was I needed relief from my own busy mind and faulty nervous system.  And, you know what? It helped. It really did.

It is a message of this much I can do to ease the pain. I can create something. I feel better.

Give it a shot. Color. Paint. Squiggle. Doodle. Knit. Create. I did, and I am telling you it set my emotions free.  It unleashed the untamable beast.  Isn’t there a quote, “Music soothes the savage beast?” See? It’s a tried and true, time tested healer.

You may find yourself on a new artistic adventure like me! #art4MentalHealth

Even with writing this article I am releasing and expressing my emotions. I am breathing easier because of it.

Create on, my friends for your good Mental Health! 

It's Not A Wonderful Life..Waiting for George Bailey

It’s Not A Wonderful Life – Waiting for George Bailey

Perplexed. Flummoxed. Aghast. Horrified. Waiting.

I still can’t get over it.

Donald J. Trump is our 45^th President. He is presiding in the hallowed halls of The White House.  You can’t take it back.  He is number 45 and kids will have to remember his name when they memorize all the presidents of the United States from here forward.  Ouch. It still stings to type or say it.

I see Speaker Paul Ryan shake the President’s hand and wonder to myself and to him, “How could you?” 

                                                    Photo by REUTERS/J. Scott Applewhite/Pool

I would have thought the Access Hollywood video would have been enough to stop the Trump Train from rolling down the tracks any further; it should have removed him from the Republican Pack.  It didn’t.

His association with an White Supremacist website, investigation into Russian ties, his not releasing his tax returns and his supposed lack of paying taxes, conflicts of interest profiting from the presidency, name calling, inappropriate disparaging of women heard on the Howard Stern show, on and on I could go that make him so wrong for the presidency.  

Yet, here we are. 

I am waiting for the “A-ha” moment.  THE MOMENT of the Awakening…

In “It’s A Wonderful Life” the Christmas Classic where a desperate George Bailey suffers financial hardship after his Uncle Billy “loses” the bank’s money (Old Man Potter steals it) and Old Man Potter has the upper hand on George and the little quaint townspeople of Bedford Falls charging exorbitantly high rent, foreclosing homes and threatening to close the Bailey Family Building and Loan, George is faced with a decision.  

Old Man Potter figures it to be better to have this smart bright young man on his side then as his enemy and lures George to come to his office.  Old Man Potter invites George to have a seat, and smoke an expensive cigar. George does and is feeling confused, off kilter in the lion’s lair. Old Man Potter spells it out.  He offers poor old George an enticing job with a big fat salary that will allow him to take good care of his family with plenty of money to spare, to even go on a vacation, perhaps. George has always longed to travel and see the world.  George imagines not struggling and is blown away by the offer, but he isn’t sure.  He reluctantly agrees to sleep on it and shakes Old Man Potter’s hand. When their palms touch skin to skin and release, it hits George like a lightning bolt; he stares in horror at his hand, the sullied hand that shook hands with the town’s oppressor; he swipes his hand on his jacket as if that would cleanse his debased skin.  He woke up! There is nothing to consider here. No! Not on your life would he ever stoop so low to work for a corrupt bully like Old Man Potter.  George Bailey would rather scrap and sweat his way through life honestly with integrity then accept a penny from a villainous heartless miserable Old Goat the likes of Mr. Potter.

                                                          photo credit: somewhere on the internet compliments of Frank Capra's, "It's A Wonderful Life"

To All Of You that stand behind President Trump and dutifully clap with each outlandish, perhaps, unconstitutional Executive Order that will harm humans, families, animals, our land, parks, water, and our liberties or Bear Witness to  potentially dangerous and/or reckless conversations in person, by phone or otherwise, I ask you this:

Which one of you is going to be brave and stand up for the goodness of America and its people? Who will be America's George Bailey to stand up for human decency and say, “No. This is not right!”?

Well?  Where and who is our George Bailey? 

We The People are waiting….

Daryl's House: Sweet Salve For My Soul

Rob Thomas, Johnny Resznik, The O'Jays, and on and on it goes.....all play in this gorgeous Connecticut Farmhouse studio.  They play Hall and Oates songs, and they play the visiting artist's songs with the infamous Daryl Hall twist of his vocal style.  It is magic.  It is beautiful.  Daryl Hall is the coolest chillest dude that welcomes all musical artists to come play / jam with him and his talented talented band.  Man, they all can play and sing and the pure joy they share together is so infectious. Geez, I wish I could sing with them, play the guitar with them.  I love to sing. I do.  I always did.  I sang Marie Osmond songs, I sang Linda Rondstadt songs. I sang and sing everything.  Guitar? I played when I was in 6th grade, minimally.  It sure looks like fun, though.  They play, they sing, they cook and share a dinner together.  Who could ask for more?

Daryl Hall is a beautiful soul who welcomes everyone into his house.  He plays every genre, music style with openness and sheer appreciation of simply, this...music.  Making music together is important.  Making music together is a gift.  Making music together is living life.

Daryl's House and the magic they create there is music to my ears! and food for my soul!

Give it a listen, people! 

I mean, look a their happy faces!

Blizzard? Make a Garden! Clay Play

So, I took my own advice and reached for art on a gloomy nerve wracking day feeling anxious with the Blizzard of 2017 bearing down in its full fury upon my house.  With the news being what it is, excruciatingly painful and scary as hell, as well, I was feeling beyond nervous and pent up with emotions bubbling to the surface that needed to be released.  

I had an old package of clay that I bought for my boys when they were younger and reached for it.  I had always wanted to play with clay to see what I could do, what I could mold with my hands, so I clay was the medium of art I chose!

Additionally, I have been missing my grown up boys, newly flown from the nest as they both joined the service weeks a part from each other.  It has been difficult for my husband and I as we had to let go of their boyhood, our parenthood, feeling a horrible sense of loss...I know. I know.  It isn't necessarily loss in a physical sense, but then again, it is.  They are not here.  They are not dependent on us any longer... It is a hole.  Sometimes, it really hurts, hurts bad.  I see a picture of them younger on their little bikes, or the picture of all us at the Cliffs of Mohr Ireland snuggled up against us tightly in the cold wind, all of us smiling.... God, why does that hurt so much?  I miss it.  I miss our closeness.  We all are still connected, still close but life turned with a click of a switch. Well, in a matter of months.  Boot camp was hell for us, as we dreaded what was happening to our babies...and it was happening to our babies.  Boot camp is boot camp, hell.  When it was graduation day for both, I felt like we were helping them escape from prison.  It has been tough... Another thing in addition to the mourning of our boys' youth, we are mourning the loss of ours.  We aged in massive acceleration mode.. I suddenly, am, well,...old.  I am looked upon as an older female now... it's weird. Everything got weird.  Hair loss, deep wrinkles, bones and muscles hurting when I do too much in the gym and extraordinary fatigue.  What the hell happened?

Again, like a switch was flipped. Click.  Time moved in a giant leap.

Yeah, so all of these feelings are swirling in me at once, in addition to my father failing as well.  And, he is failing seen so clearly in his withering body. This, too is weird and is heart wrenching for me.  Heart wrenching and tough to stare right in the face the cold reality of the inevitable.  My mother passed suddenly and unexpectedly.  There was no chance to think, anticipate or prepare.  This, is different, way different.  I am seeing it slowly happen and it hurts.  It is like peeling a bandaid off very slowly and you are almost at the end of what's still stuck on ready for that last yank, ripping it off altogether...  That's where we are at with my dad.  I feel like I've stuck the bandaid back on again and again and it has stayed on for as long as I can manage to re-stick it.  But it is falling off and ...

I can't even finish that sentence...

Back to art.  So, I pulled out the clay, rolled up little pipes of colors.  I pulled out a napkin as a placemat...and plucked some pink ..some green... It hit me. Flowers... I made a big flower like a Gerberia Daisy.  Then I came back thinking of a stone mosaic floor they uncovered in Turkey that looked like a painting. I thought of taking little dabs of clay and making a mosaic of a garden... it didn't actually turn out to be a complete mosaic..maybe the clouds and sky a bit, but I made flowers and more flowers, and grass and soil and rocks... I had fun with it.  I kept adding and adding.  It isn't any thing truly fantastic or anything, but was pleasing enough to  me that for a while....all that I thought of was just making flowers. And that was the point of it.  

Escape.

Art was my escape hatch of my own emotions for a while.  I gave myself a break from myself.

It was what I needed.

Everyone should play with clay once in a while.

24 Days......Can this really be happening?

I really can't wrap my brain around that in 24 days, President Obama is no longer President and we inaugurate a crazy unstable demagogue.  I can't even print his name.

He never should have made it this far.....at all.

I am so completely stressed, nervous, horrified, terrified. disgusted and ysad.  This person acts and reacts vehemently, violently, immaturely, without any sense of decorum or dignity.  A president-elect who declares a nuclear arms race via Twitter is completely horrifying.  I'm terrified.

I have a strong feeling that I am not alone.

I can't give this guy a chance because of all of his words spoken, his tweets t, and this is all BEFORE he is even THE PRESIDENT.  How can I give him a chance when he failed so many times in his bullying words during the campaign, his revealing and disgusting display via audio and visual tape of him being a newlywed yet readying himself to kiss a Soap Star and bragging about grabbing women by the genitals because he is a celebrity. How can I give him a chance? Why?

I want the minute he is inaugurated for him to be impeached for every constitutional violation, and every hostile act he incites - enemies, the dismantling of the UN, NATO, NAFTA, nuclear war - game over.

That's what I think should happen.

The Weight of The New World - Is This America? Really?

Boy my shoulders ache.  No wonder.  I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, a worry of the world falling to pieces in front of my very eyes!  I never thought in a million years that the country that I live in, that I live in could be like other distant countries with tyrannical leaders.  How arrogant of me to think that, that kind of evil power hungry nonsensical madness could happen here in America.

Why not here?  We have humans inhabiting here like anywhere else on this globe.  Time and time again, there have been insane leaders at the helm throughout history and you often wonder how could the people of that country let that happen?  How could such an individual only looking for power and ego stroking could end up in the position of leader of an entire country?

I remember thinking, what did the German people see in Adolf Hitler? How was that screaming scary man with a stubby little mustache charismatic? That's what they said, that he was charismatic in the way he spoke.  He spoke. The people listened.

With our current President-Elect, it astonishes me, puzzles me that people listen to him speak.  He speaks so simply, with a small arsenal of vocabulary, repeating awful things, outrageous things, and disparaging so many individuals; the people listened.  Congress and the Senate may have whimpered a little and did a little tap on the wrist, saying that was not appropriate or spoken in a way that wasn't appropriate.  But no outright outrage, no real damning condemnation and so, the campaign moved on.  This is not allowed and will not be tolerated.  Nope.  The show went on and continued and continued, with more and more outrageous stunts including parading Bill Clinton's accusers to the Presidential Debate to seal the deal in ultimate lack of decorum and humiliation of another.  Gloves were off and the people watched with blood lust.

And here we are in America, now with a President-Elect that is terrified of the Press, most likely because he can't answer questions with knowledge and can't handle one iota of criticism.  He knows the Press would skewer him on every level, conflicts of interest, crazy outrageous inappropriate Cabinet picks, Pay for Play Cabinet picks (you donated to my campaign; you get a job), Russia, Tax Returns, Brand Trump This, Brand Trump That, White Supremacy, Asking for lists of the EPA employees who support Climate Change, Asking the State Department for all Gender Equality agencies....what's with asking for lists of names?  This feels really creepy.  Are we in a censorship, rounding up dissidents-like dictatorship?  It feels like our freedom is being squashed and the walls are closing in.

What did Trump Supporters think Donald Trump could do for them?
He is a bully.  He is crazy.  He only cares about himself and his family.  He doesn't even care about Melania....clearly, freshly married, when you are the most in love with your new spouse, you wouldn't want to even look at someone else, let only kiss them or whatever.... He only cares about his needs, his wants, his name.....  Look at his cabinet picks.  They all will benefit from Donald Trump and fatten their pockets with the money train that Donald Trump will certainly reap.

We have lost Public Service.  We have lost peace. We have lost manners, politeness, kindness - human decency.

We have become a tyrannical state.  America has fallen.

My shoulders hurt from the worry.   I worry for the world as history repeats itself with tyrannical dictators but the rules have changed, the technology has changed and the weapons have changed.

God Bless America.  May good prevail over evil.
Because, really, my shoulders can't hold up this heavy weight much longer.

Loss. Pain. Empathy. Emotions on High Alert. October 6, 2016 snapshot of feelings

Wow.  It has been rough waters.  I never knew it would hurt this bad sending my boys off to the Coast Guard - Boot Camp.  It's a punch in the gut kind of hurt.  Like someone took a pair of scissors, no more like an axe and chopped that cord of childhood and yanked our children from us.  As if they are pulled far far away like lost at sea drifting farther and farther away.  Appropriate metaphor.

Firstly, cut off communication with the military.  I don't know how they are, really are.  I can't call, text.  I can write, but at first there was nothing for the first 3 weeks.  The communication is delayed.  A week old by the time we get the message. My two sons went three weeks a part and every single day I worry how they are.  There are blog posts by a company member of each unit that gives a pretty clear picture of the hell, physical and mental abusive hell they are going through. They aren't loud enough, they aren't fast enough, they aren't neat enough, they are the laughing stocks of the camp...they are forced to do things for long periods of time until their arms shake, until their ass hurts, until they sweat all the sweat out of their bodies.

As a mom, we yearn to soothe their hurts, their sorrows...can't and we have to swallow back that knee jerk instinct to make things better, make them feel better.  Can't.  Cord cut.  Snap!

Coast Guard Boot Camp Mom - Deep Darkness to Glorious Light! Part 1

The shock and awe happened for me, Mom, in the Family Briefing Room in Fort Hamilton on Swearing In Day.  There was an endless loop of images from Boot Camp in every military division, Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines showing the crawling on the ground with weapon in hand through the dirt, jabbing a bag with butt of a rifle, a drill sargeant walking up and down the barracks calling out orders, all expected stuff UNTIL the Coast Guard video came up.  The Coast Guard video had the volume turned so low, we could barely hear, which probably was done purpose because the entire video was mostly these vein popping Company Commander screaming so loud in the recruits faces, sometimes grabbing them by the chin, again and again, screaming so loud (even volume turned low) my husband and I sat there horrified and filled with great anxiety and fear for our son.  Our youngest son, 18 wondering what the hell is he getting into?

It was a hurt like no other.  The video in the Family Briefing Room was shocking as all other branches of the military, even the infamous Marines Boot Camp looked expected and reasonable. The Coast Guard was the only one that looked almost...I hate to say it...Abusive!  Bullying to nth degree, something I've always stood up against.  Be a Upstander not a Bystander... and here I have to clench my teeth and be a Bystander and let them torture my son.  That's how I saw it.

My son stood in the Oath Room and raised his hand in the same room Michael Murphy stood in, which by the Captain mentioning it, who thought we would all feel prouder by hearing those words, actually, made it more traumatic to me... uh, Michael Murphy is no longer on this earth and sacrificed his life.  So, with heavy heart and tears, our son hugged us and said, "See you in 8 weeks!"

That night my husband and I cried and felt awful.  We felt sick to our stomachs.  My husband even called the Recruiting Officer to complain about the video in the Family Briefing Room and how the volume was turned low and it showed nothing but the horror of CC's looking like sadistic bastards screaming the hell out of the recruits.  The Recruiting Officer said he hasn't seen it and said this phone call was like 3 parents' worth of phone calls...  We layed it on hard. It was horrifying to us.

We had son #2, 3 weeks later go through the same thing and guess what?  No video of Boot Camp in the Family Briefing Room  They had channel 10 playing. Interesting, huh?

But back to son #1.  That night, I saw an article of a Marine Drill Sargeant who put a recruit in an industrial dryer!  It was in the New York Times.  It turns out the recruit was of Muslim heritage and the DS assumed he was a terroirist.  Well, the recruit was running away from the DS and leaped to his death.  This DS was obviously a sadistic bastard and took his power and abused it.  Exactly what I feared!!!!  I couldn't believe this article came out after I saw that video, after I let my boy go to Boot Camp.... I felt so sick...a punch in the gut sick.... I was filled with hurt, regret, guilt, everything dark and despairing....

I felt no pride. None.

On top of that, there was picture of him getting off the bus on FaceBook where the CC was yelling in the face of the guy in front of him and my son's face looked filled with fear and terror.  I cried again.

What have I done?  The darkness killed me... I sank so low....so low.... it was scary.

My friend, Robin whose son went through Marine Boot Camp tried to help me through.  She promised me that he will get through it and I will feel pride.  I said, "No.  I feel so guilty.  Due to our financial circumstances, I feel like we gave him no choice but to go to the military.  We couldn't sign for any loans as our credit was crap...I felt so guilty.  I felt like a loser, a failure. and I hurt for my boy and what he was going to endure.  And I was so afraid I was going to lose my boy, my boy's heart and soul and that he'd come out a robot with no emotions...."

Robin kept trying to console me and assured me...he will be okay. I will be proud.

And then a beautiful thing happened.  With tears in my eyes, at work, a mother came in with her daughter (in a Pediatric doctor's office) and she had the simplest sweetest silver anchor ring.  I said, "What a nice ring!  Do you have a child in the service?"
She said, "No.  I just love the water."  I'm not going to lie, but I kind of was disappointed because I thought if she had someone in the service, it would be like a sign or something..a sign from above.
She said, "I bought it in Cape May, NJ."
Robin and I both looked at each other. "See?" Robin said.  "What are the chances that she bought it in Cape May, NJ....where your son's Boot Camp is!"
I smiled and felt assured.

Then, incredibly, the Mom came up to me and told me..."See if it fits." She handed me the ring.  I said, "What?"  She said again, "See if it fits."
I numbly slipped it on my left ring finger and it fit.
"It's yours. You need it more than me."
I cried. "That's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me!"
I said, "Are you sure?  You're not going to regret it?"
She said, "Nope. It's yours."

Robin and I both teared up.

I have not taken that Anchor Ring off yet. It's on my middle finger so you can see the Anchor as clear as day

Our first letter from him was beautiful. He was good.  He was okay. He even gave advice to his brother who was going to be there too.  He said letters help a lot.  That's all my husband and I needed to hear. We wrote to him every day. We even boy silly Halloween stickers and sea life stickers to brighten and lighten their mood.  Every letter got better and better.

Then we got the call that he was "reverted" - set back a week....  OH, God.  The one thing my son told his brother, whatever you do, don't get reverted...and HE got reverted.  We do not know why. He sounded awful. It was a quick stunted phone call that he got set back a week and is in a new company with a later graduation date.  Bye.

Ughhhhhh. Another punch in the gut.  A week longer there in hell!

(to be continued....)

The Cost of Crickets? $388

The dreaded "-----" appeared on my cable box.  My husband, with a defeated exhale informed me, "Our cable was turned off. We can't pay our $388 bill until next week." Sigh.  It was not so much the lack of TV and internet that got us, it was more the cold realization that we do not earn enough to pay our bills. We work so hard, are educated but are in debt up to our eyeballs with jobs that never paid off.  Ugh. Student Loan Debt. Salaries are not where they should be to cover the cost of living in these expensive technological times.  I was paid more in the 90's!  So, ouch.  Ouch to our prides. Humbling.

These are indeed hard times.

 Now, hold up.  I know what you are thinking..."You think no T.V. and internet is hard times? Wait until you hear what my family is dealing with....."  Or, other horrific tragedies, which are sadly occurring all over.

I know.  It could be so much worse.  We have had our health scares, that thankfully, turned out okay. Our parents are hanging in there with their health issues.  Exhausting, but we are doing what we can.  But let me tell you, money problems create such enormous stress that lead to new health issues.

It hurts.

Anyway, I do want to move on about crickets....

As a result of our "Radio Silence", last night my husband and I were sitting quietly in our living room and we both heard the sound of crickets.  Eee. Eee. Eee. Pause. Eee. Eee. Eee. We heard a distant dog barking.  The cheeps and screeches of the night birds and squirrels. We heard a muffled voice in the darkness.  We both felt the same thing.  We were transported to another time and place.

It reminded us both of summers upstate where my grandmother lived on a lake and Pete's grandmother lived along a river.  When I was a kid visiting my grandmother's house living on a mountain with Babcock Lake as her backyard,  the TV had three semi decent channels and they were always snowy and painful to watch. We gave up after multiple attempts at adjusting and jiggling the antennae and shut the friggin' TV off.  So, my grandmother's large picture window was the center of focus facing the dark lake with spots of golden light from the houses dotted along its edges.  Crickets, bullfrogs, and occasional voices echoed across the lake.  I felt snug and cozy on my grandmother's couch wrapped in her afghan while she sat in her late husband's golden clothed rocker doing the Daily Jumble. We were in our nest enveloped in the sounds of an Upstate night.  I never felt safer.

My husband recalled, back when he was kid, they didn't have any reception for the TV as they were in a trailer perched on banks of the Oswegatchie River deep in the Adirondacks woods. TV?  No way were you going to get any channels there.  "Cards! Board Games!" Pete remembered and said out loud.  "Oh, we had such laughs playing cards and games."  And he remembered all the sounds of the darkness outside the trailer, night birds, dogs, crickets, splashes of late night swimmers jumping into the dark river from the dock across the way with all the laughs and exclamations that came with it. The sounds were sweetly muffled across water and mountain air.  He, too felt snug, safe and happiest with his Nana, laughing with his family while playing cards inside their lit up trailer, a golden beacon amid the deep woods darkness.  He drank that in, smiling.

My husband and I sat in silence.

The quiet brought my husband and I back, I mean, we were there,  to these wonderful memories with all the sounds and loving warm feelings that came with it.  That was priceless.

Actually, it cost $388.

Dutchess Kate's New Gig Meets Iron Claw Bear Trap of Heroin

Two headlines collided.

Long Island Newsday smacked us in the face with the sobering fact that  Heroin overdoses surge on Long Island. Duchess Kate Middleton has a new editor job with the Huffington Post UK to bring awareness and break the stigma of seeking help for mental health issues in young people with her Young Minds Matter campaign.

Bam. I instantly saw a connection.  I have ideas on this.

Mental Wellness Starts Young

In the ABC News article,
"Duchess of Cambridge Raises Mental Health Issues as Guest Editor of Huffington Post UK" By LAMA HASAN  and CAROLYN DURAND Feb 17, 2016, 9:51 AM ET http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/duchess-cambridge-raises-mental-health-issues-guest-editor/story?id=36995120

photo via ABC News article

 

she touches on what I think the root cause to iron claw bear trap grip heroin has on our young people: unresolved childhood issues and poorly developed coping skills to stressors in their early life. Duchess Kate hits the nail on the head as she says below:

“What I did not expect was to see that time and time again, the issues that led people to addiction and destructive decision making seemed to almost always stem from unresolved childhood challenges," the mum of two stressed.

“And it was also clear that with mental health problems still being such a taboo, many adults are often too afraid to ask for help for children in their care,” Kate continued. “It is time for this to change.”

 

Breaking the stigma of mental health issues and seeking help for mental health issues is happening, but obviously, thanks to Newsday's hideous death knell too slowly.  I have been involved in a Twitter campaign, #art4MentalHealth to show how The Arts in all its forms (music, paint, sketch, dance...) make wonderful tools to assist with depression, grief, stress, PTSD and so much more. This simple hashtag #art4MentalHealth lets people know that Mental Health is a part of a person's Overall Health and Wellness.  It's okay to help yourself feel better and it is okay to ask for help to make yourself feel better.

 

Even Michaels, the crafts store is embracing the "Adult Coloring Book" as a form of relaxation practicing what is known as mindfulness. Of course, they are making money on the latest "trend" and that is okay.  Adults are scooping it up.  I hope teens and college students are, too! Mindfulness is when you are deeply focused on the task at hand that lets you enter an almost meditative state to quiet your mind and your thoughts.  When you are coloring, sketching, painting, knitting, or creating in any form, you are practicing mindfulness.  The world and all of its worries melt away.

 

This is good that a big giant that is truly connected to the community (they are there for every school project, every season and celebration) is embracing this easily accessible and affordable tool.

 

But, is it enough?

 

No.

 

Look at Matt Davies latest cartoon in Newsday today, Feb. 19, 2016.

Is this a sick twist on Supply and Demand?

 

Make It Public and Accessible

 

I think the problem is that young people or even adults, for that matter either don't want to seek help, are afraid to seek help, or don't find it easy and accessible to seek to help.  When I think of AA or NARC meetings, I think of cold metal folding chairs in the incense/moth balls infused basement of a church.  Hey, I am proud of the people going to the support group sessions and the facilitator conducting the sessions, but do people have to go underground to seek help? What if we made it more public, out in the open? You don't have to skulk in the dark shadows.

 

What if these meetings were in a Starbucks-like set up?  Comfortable and cool.  What if it was within an existing store? What if Micheals, the craft store took their involvement in Wellness the extra mile and started the Crafts Café & Chat? 

image by Susan Day-Holsinger

Classroom to Cafe 

 

Sorry, Michaels but your classrooms need some TLC and design makeovers.  Rather than the cramped unappealing narrow classrooms they have squeezed in the corner of the store, create a good sized Café where customers can make their purchase and relax and use the products to create, while they can talk to other customers or social workers, psychologists, art therapists if they want to.  Or they can snuggle in a comfy chair with his or her legs tucked under contentedly scribbling or knitting.  Put up paintings of nature, or photos that are pleasing to the eye.  Make it hip, make it funky, but make it. Have signs up with helpful information about depression, coping with stress and that professionals are nearby if they want to talk or make an appointment.  This isn't a perfect plan, but it's to start bringing the help out in the Public for the young and old right there in their community.  No sign up.  Just walk in.

 

Another great value to these gatherings is the healing balm of connectedness to other human beings.  It is so important to not be alone and have a place to go and be amongst other people.

 

Funding: Calling All Billionaires

 

On another note, one of our Presidential Candidates would like to make America Great again and has repeatedly said he has billions of dollars.  Wouldn't it be great if he would donate to Michaels to make this happen?  America is not feeling so great right now...

 

The Mental Health Cafe

 

 I would also love to see the MH Café, Mental Health Café pop up everywhere and be like an open studio for healing and sipping lattes.  There's another good GoFundMe proposition.  I see stat clinics, such as CityMD popping up across Long Island.  Wouldn't it be awesome to see CafeMH's?

 

With heroin, being so nefarious in its relentless grip on the American people (it is EVERYWHERE), you would need In-Residence treatment to detox safely under good medical care.  I know there are waiting lists for these... Can the Kardashian Family that has people in their own inner circle suffering physically and mentally put some of their fortunes into creating clinics across the country?  We don't need any more iPhone Game Apps.  America is suffering and this is where they can really make a difference.  I'm all for succeeding in Capitalism, but when you have more than you could ever need, here is something to invest in that can be near and dear to a lot of people's hearts.

 

 

Breaking it down.

 

1. Break the stigma -All Lives Matter, Duchess Kate, The Obamas, Twitter Campaigns

2. Accessibility - Bring it out in the Public's Eye vs. not hidden in a basement.

3. Funding/ through a Corporation like Micheals and people that have more money than they need.

4. Create an MHCafe

5. Start the Conversation - Parents to their kids, family members young and old, and articles like this one.

 

I have ideas and that is all I can personally offer at this time.  I toss the ball out there.  Who is going to catch it and run with it?

 

 



by Susan Day-Holsinger, MS
I am an amateur artist, an advocate for #Art4MentalHealth and for Health and Wellness, earned a Masters Degree in School Counseling 
@simplysusandh

Freedom Comes With a Price…Our Respectability Racing to The White House

We've had messy, snarky and mud slinging campaigns before but this is different.
This is unfiltered off the charts nasty verbal spewing that hurts Americans and this tactic is winning.

I want to get mad, scream and yell, “Have you all gone mad? Why are you listening to the ravings of a crazy bully that says whatever pops into his head?”

Well, this is America. We have Freedom of Speech, which unfortunately means freedom to insult, bully and say whatever the hell you want to say, unless you say something that Donald Trump deems unfair or unbecoming to him.  He will boycott you or have you thrown out.  Freedom of Speech is a one way right in The Donald’s world.  But people seem okay with that.

Why is he running? Why are people listening? This is America where dreams are made of... anyone can grow up and dream that one day, he or she can become President of the United States of America. This is a good thing.  We don't have to have a blood line to rule the land.  This is one of he main tenants of America's foundation, to have an elected leadership to get away from a  tyrannical monarchy.

But...

It comes with a price.  In America anyone, as long as they are a born  U.S. Citizen, can run for President.  You better cough up that birth certificate, though.  We have former body builders, action heroes and actors as political leaders and governmental officials because they can. Now, we have a Business Mogul, most famously known for his Trump Towers on the Vegas Strip running and leading in the polls for President of the United States.  Good God. This is real and it is frightening. 

When will the people of the United States wake up and realize that Donald Trump is an entertaining,  calculating, wealthy marketing genius filming himself with all the right props (lately it’s The Holy Bible to appeal to the Evangelicals) that makes great T.V., but would make a God Awful President.  He would not make for a leader of our country with having to follow protocol and due process working with the Congress and the Senate.  That would probably frustrate the hell out of him.   Whoo Boy, if they didn’t like Obama when he invoked his Executive Powers, wait until Donald Trump is in the White House.  He is going to have to be reminded that he isn’t a King, and it isn’t an episode of The Apprentice where he can fire anyone, well, he can, but he can’t fire other countries’ leaders if they seem unfair to him or speak to him in a manner that he didn’t like.  He is used to running his business empire not an entire country with our system of government. 

photo via blog.triblive.com

Iwo Jima and 9/11 - Two powerful images to remind ourselves that this is no reality show.

I don’t think the American people who are wooed by his “differentness” really grasp the gravity of what it means to have him running one of the most powerful countries in the world. Funny, Britain and Ireland sure do.  They were voting to have him banned from their countries as they understand very well how inappropriate and vile his words and actions mean in the world theater.  They understand and do not like it at all.  Do Americans get that to be President, you have to be dignified, diplomatic, moral, unbiased, non-racist, and gracious?  You will be Commander In Chief in charge of all our military and make tough decisions that affect the lives of our soldiers and their families and face the repercussions that will affect all Americans.  It will require him to THINK before he speaks and acts.  There will be no back pedaling. "I love women.  I love Muslims. etc.."

I understand how Americans crave something different and how they are entranced and entertained by Trump’s antics.  He almost gives them permission to be little bullies on the ball field, to embrace their inner racism and fears of things and cultures they do not fully understand.  He allows that freedom, the freedom to be mean.  He unleashes the beast, the very worst in Americans.  I hate to even say this, but it reminds me of the days when Germans were enraptured by Hitler’s charismatic speeches and we all know how that turned out.

The current frontrunner is a kitschy outlandish brand and stations like CNN are promoting IT tirelessly. CNN, stop it.  Please, just stop.  I haven’t seen one John Kaisch rally on CNN and the New York Times just endorsed John Kaisch.  Will we see him now?  Most people barely know his name.  If candidates, such as John Kaisch, would be followed around as much as Trump, he might actually have a shot at the presidency.  But he isn’t saying anything outrageous to get TV air time.  He isn’t boycotting any event because someone will not treat him fairly.  He isn’t tweeting insults or comments to gain extra attention. Oh my God.  He is acting normal, presidential even.  Snooze. Boring…. Sorry, Americans. John Kaisch isn’t newsworthy next to the other guy.  I hate even saying his name, because then I feel, I am playing into his hands and am therefore, promoting him, too! 

Our American values have bit us in the butt; our land of the free and home of the brave has allowed for a grotesque circus for the highest seat in the land.  Hey, America. This isn’t the show “Naked and Afraid,” though that is exactly how this election is making me feel.

Well, I can only hope that in the end, somehow someway, the system will work and the best candidate will win.  (If not, we may need to re-think this who gets to run for president thing.) 

God Bless America.

(Can I say that? Is that politically correct to say these days? Hey, I have Freedom of Speech. So,… yes. I can.)

Nighttime Sketches...need to add Paint!

I leafed through The New York Times Sunday Styles section of an old edition looking for inspiration to sketch and I found this.  It grabbed me, pulled me in.  Her laying down, intensely staring at the camera got me.

I sketched.  It needs color to make it even more dynamic and more me. I love color, but it is the hardest part once the sketch is done to apply paint. Will I ruin it?  One wrong stroke and it's over!

Here is another The New York Times Ad inspiration, which I like to call "The Comfy Sweater," which when the world has gone mad, we all need to climb in the soft tent of a big sweater to escape for a while for comfort.

I practiced the art of Mindfulness while sketching both of these to give one part of my brain a rest while the other part was completely immersed at the task at hand.

 

I love taking a blank white space and filling it with something, anything...That is art, such as an empty stage, unfilled seats in the theater suddenly becomes a cacophony of sound, movement, an interplay between actor and audience. Magic. My work doesn't have to be brilliant- Art of The Old Masters- fantastic; it just has to be intriguing, pleasing to the eye and wondrous to the mind.

 

 

The Adventures of Bass Man

Working on a book with my husband.  It's the "Off Season" and fisherman get itchy!  They watch YouTube videos, Facebook videos and some like to crack open a book to read when they can't fish.  Pete wakes up at the crack of dawn all season long and smiles just as big if he catches a tiny fish, a squid, sea robin, blue or the coveted keeper striped bass.  It's as it's the first time every time and the selfies are the same...the crazy eyed look and huge smile; it's pure happiness.  His love of fishing is infectious and I get it.  And, I know it is more than fishing to him..it's the sea, salt, sunrise, sunset, and time to let off stress and talk to his father and Pop.  When he catches, he points upward in thanks as if he was divinely assisted in the catch.  He wishes on shooting stars, rarely for himself, usually for me, which is the definitely the sweetest thing a husband can do.

So, I'm inspired by this fun pic he took and tweaked with an painter app.  It struck me that he looks like a super hero.  He is my super hero.

Let's see where this book takes us.

Fish on!