Merry and Happy and all that Holiday JOY!!!!

I had a wonderful Hanukkah and a nice Christmas as well. We spent Christmas with Jedi’s family on the east coast. Since he parents are divorced we split our time between Virginia, where his dad and step-mom live and Maryland, where his mother, her boyfriend, and Jedi’s Nanny and Papa live. The weather was overcast, but not too cold which was a nice change from the snow I was dreading.

At his father’s place we got to see their pet rooster, Cluck. He was there during a past visit, but had yet to be adopted by Jedi’s dad and step-mom. Now he’s a full fledged member of the family, getting up early to eat a smorgasbord of insects that inhabit the large plot of land where he lives. When Cluck first arrived he was a mess, he looked to have been in a cock fight since he was missing most of his tail feathers and had scabs on his breast from multiple injuries. He looks much better now, his tail feathers are filling in and except for a few hot-spots on his wings his coat is nice and shiny.

Thankfully this year the weather was very mild for an east coast winter and I made do by removing my insulated liner from my ski jacket and just used the outer shell as a wind breaker. No crabs to pick this time either over upteen million glasses of Yuengling beer. Strangeley enough I think that after having jumbo sized blue crabs in Ocean City, MD this summer that I am spoiled by their shear size and sweet tastey meat and would have a difficult time settling for the mediums.

I got some great gifts from Jedi, my family, his family and some of my friends too, my two favorite gifts being boardgames, Scrabble Deluxe Edition and 80s Trivial Pursuit (VERY FUN). My sister sent me some beautiful earrings and I received one of a kind glass earring and necklace from my best friend, her husband, and their adorable little boy who I sometimes baby-sit for. I have a scandalous amount of gift cards for everything from Starbuck’s to Barnes and Noble (those won’t last long). I hope you, dear reader, also had a memorable holiday season filled with love, health, and happiness.

Book Review: Depraved by Harold Schechter

In this tour de force book chronicling the devilish actions of turn of the century serial murderer and con-man H.H. Holmes we find out not only about his devious deeds, but the brilliant mind that was able to juggle so many scams before he was caught. Reading about Holmes reminds me a lot of the charming depravity of Ted Bundy. Both were selfish, self-serving psychopaths who are unable to empathize with their victims.

The earlier part of the book is far more fascinating then the end since it deals with Holmes’ crimes and his co-ordination of many wives and mistresses. He appears to have been an irresistibly attractive catch for any woman of the era. He had many properties including his architectural monstrosity called the Castle, he marketed his own natural remedies from his own pharmacy, and appeared to be a self-made man. The later part of the novel talks about when Holmes is finally brought to justice (after many murders and other conspiracies for personal gain). I admit that the courtroom drama in this section read rather dryly (the only exception being when Holmes tries to represent himself in court a la Bundy, very interesting).

This is my first reading of a book by Schechter, who is a prolific true crime writer. I also have his novel, Deranged, which tells the horrifying story of Albert Fish, a fiend of monstrous proportions. I’ll be reading that after finishing the 4th Dark Tower book by Stephen King, Wizard and Glass (these books just keep getting better and better-major kudos to Mr. King).

angry Angry ANGRY!!!!!

I just scrapped up the right rear quarter panel and door of my car because some idiot was taking up my lane when I turned the corner in the below-ground parking garage at my work. If I hadn't cut the turn sharply he would have hit me head-on. I am thankful, of course, that no one was hurt, but ticked that the guy driving merely looked at me shrugging sheepishly before driving off while I had to put my car in park with the hazards on and get out to look at the damage. Oh, well, I just have to think G-d will address this little faux pas with him in the future.

It just makes me so mad because this was obviously a preventable incident. All it would have taken is someone driving slower and paying a bit of attention. I guess having this happen on top of someone vandalizing my car last year by carving the "F" word into the driver's side quarter panel in 8 inch high letters makes my car look terrible. On the bright side, the car is paid off and runs fairly well...so I guess the glass is half full...

Most of all I wish you Love

My love for my boyfriend grows, day by day, month by month, and year by year.

Who taught me about love?

About the breadth and depth you can feel for someone else? About experiencing yourself through their reactions and interactions with you? About finding peace and solace in another, a brief respite from solitude, a friend to be depended on, a hand to hold.

It is my grandparents and parents I think of when I think of love. Both my mother’s parents and my father’s parents were married for many decades and seemed to have great respect and admiration for their partners. Having experienced the atrocities of WWII probably made them grateful to be able to spend time with loved ones, to be able to see them safe and alive in the United States. They were also incredibly brave for bringing children up during uncertain times. Having experienced two world wars is enough to make a person weary and frightened of the future. In a world where the holocaust destroyed millions, people were still showing their hope and belief in the human race. Having children is to me the most personal and concrete form of hope that a person can express. It is their way of contributing to a better future, their way of saying that through all of our actions, together we can make a difference.

Love is a difficult word to define. In the dictionary love the noun is defined 28 different ways. I’m not so sure I could do much better then that. Mostly what I have learned and tried to personify is the idea that love leaves room for errors, mistakes, imperfection, love is not about judging, but more about accepting, supporting and encouraging. I want my boyfriend to be the best person he can be, I also want to help him explore his thoughts and feels and find different interests and new goals to set and achieve. My love should have elements of patience (an uphill battle for me always), persistence, a humongous sense of humor, thoughtfulness, kindness, and compassion. I want to be my boyfriend’s best friend, I want to be his safe place to be vulnerable, I want to be the person he shares laughter and tears with. It’s a tall order being in love with someone. I am so grateful that I know what love can be.

Beatiful story that I wanted to share

Christmas Story – courtesy of Mike and Scarlet (and also Dave Z)

SIMPLE WHITE ENVELOPE

It's just a small white envelope stuck among the
branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas -- oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass
the usual shirts, sweaters, ties, and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended.

Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church.

These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings
seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a
sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms
and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was
alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear,
a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.

Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And
as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in
his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of
them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but
losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike
loved kids -- all kids - - and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball, and lacrosse.

That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went
to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.

On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.

For each Christmas, I followed the tradition -- one year sending a
group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another
year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to
the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope
became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing
opened on Christmas morning, and our children, ignoring their new
toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted
the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents,
but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end
there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer. When
Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I
barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an
envelope on the tree, and in the morning it was joined by three
more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed
an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always
be with us.

May we all remember those friends and loved ones who
are the givers and understand the true meaning of
Merry Christmas.

Happy Hanukkah to All!

I have had a wonderful Hanukkah so far, we even had a night to celebrate with friends on Sunday. To be honest, Hanukkah is not my favorite holiday, I am much more interested in Passover and Thanksgiving (perhaps that has more to do with the family and food elements then the holidays themselves, but they have always been my two favorites). However, the fact that I have yet to make traditional latkes with sour cream and apple sauce makes it feel like Hanukkah has not really started.

I admit, I am a creature of habit and often equate celebrations with the menus I grew up with. Blintzes, roast chicken, and latkes for Hanukkah. Apricot chicken, honeyed carrots, matzo ball soup (homemade chicken broth), and brisket for Passover. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and Dad’s delicious gravy for Thanksgiving.

Perhaps when we are on the East Coast later this weekend I will have the time to indulge in making latkes and blintzes, but I think one thing is for sure, there will be no lack of food during these holidays.

Exciting News

My softball team from work won their second play-off game last night!

What a great feeling it was last night to see our group of guys and girl working together to make plays, hit well, and offer encouragement to eachother. I am just thrilled to have made it this far in the season, especially since I have never played softball before as an adult. In January I will continue playing as a fill-in for another league not associated with my work. I am imminently proud of myself for sticking with it and not giving up because I am not a very good player or giving into my depressive feelings so they prevent me from going to the games. It feels good to follow-thru on something, plus I think the tiny bit of exercise I am getting is helping with my “down” mood. Anyhow, just wanted to share.

Death

A dear friend of mine is mourning today because it is the anniversary of a tragic death in her family. Our conversation this morning and a recent car accident that took the life of one of Jedi’s clients has sparked my own thoughts on death and the rituals and rites we incorporate into our lives to make the passing of our loved ones easier to bear.

Being sheltered from the early deaths of my mother’s parents, I was scared by the mystery of the funerals which I did not attend due to my age and the traveling involved. To this day I still regret not being surrounded by others to share my grief and most of all not being there for my parents and aunt and uncle to witness them pay their respects. It is something I think about almost weekly, funerals truly are for the living and they are an integral part in the grieving process. At turns I feel comforted by my own belief that in death we all come together in heaven and I will once again get to hold pets I cherished, speak with relatives who passed on, and have the time to sit back and review all of the blessings of my life. Other times I am frightened of the unknown in spite of my strong faith in G-d and heaven and feel full of questions about the afterlife that has no readily available answers.

Perhaps I am a fatalist, perhaps I developed my mostly peaceful feelings about death after seeing several high school friends choose to end their own lives. When a friend passed we would gather at a local eatery and talk at length about all the good things they contributed in our lives, we would bathe ourselves in the happy times and maybe not feel so helpless and sad. The anger was something I found myself holding onto though. I was angry at the person, angry at G-d, and angry at myself for not being able to do anything to change the outcome. At some point I realized the anger was ruining my love for the person who had passed. It was polluting my memories so I tried to see their death as being inevitable, as being a call from G-d to stop their pain and bring them home to heaven. Now when someone dies I believe it is inevitable, that no matter the cause of death it is G-d’s will and therefore I do not feel as angry and helpless as I used to. Whether it is natural causes, illness, accident, suicide, or homicide I have known people who died from all these categories, the truth is that people die. Death is integral to living and to live to our fullest we must acknowledge both sides of the coin, we must accept our mortality and let it be our guide to loving those around us with ferocity.

I hope to write another post soon addressing the Jewish rituals surrounding the dead and dying soon.

Star Sightings at Sushi

On Tuesday night we celebrated my friend’s birthday at a sushi restaurant in Studio City that I have not been to in a very long time. I arrived at the restaurant ahead of the rest of the group. Upon entering I noticed that there was only one table occupied. I looked over and saw that it was occupied by none other then Maurice Benard who plays Sonny on General Hospital. Now, I don’t watch soap operas anymore, but GH used to be an obsession for me. My roommate in college got me hooked.

I admire Mr. Benard not for his acting ability (although he was fantastic as Desi Arnaz in the TV movie Lucy & Desi : Before the Laughter), it is his for his courage in admitting on an episode of Oprah that he suffers from bipolar disorder. Mental illness is still such a stigma in society that I was amazed to see such a high functioning actor who admits to having the disease. His bravery helped me come to grips with my own mental illness. I will be forever grateful to him for “coming out” as bipolar since it made me recognize that people with mood disorders can lead fulfilling and meaningful lives.

So, this sushi place is one happening joint because who should walk in next, but George Clooney, another personal hero of mine for his tireless advocacy to bring attention to the atrocities in Darfur. Strangely enough I also saw an episode of Oprah where Mr. Clooney spoke out about the Save Darfur rally that took place in Washington in April 2005 (hello, why has the U.S. still done nothing to help the people of Darfur caught between viscious warlords? I get so angry about this!). He is outspoken in his criticism of U.S. politicians, a trait I often find annoying in celebrities, but for some reason, probably since I agree strongly with what he is saying, I admire his eloquence and bravery in calling legislators to task for their actions. Be it Rumsfield and Bush for the Iraq war or the U.N. for not acting more rapidly to help the people of Darfur, Sudan, I find his candidness refreshing and heartening.

Our Troops: A Mental Health Crisis

This morning I heard a very troubling report on NPR about mental health treatments for soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. Soldiers returning from overseas are suffering nightmares, increased anxiety, inability to cope with the stresses of returning to civilian life, and many other symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. When they then seek out medical attention to treat these symptoms there are long waiting lists and even if they get an appointment there is no guarantee that their commanding officers will allow them to attend. Commanding officers at Carson Military Base told their soldiers that when they are in training they must be persent at all times and cannot have the time off to see mental health professionals. Is this appalling to you as it is to me?

Even worse is that some commanding officers view men that have attendance problems or trouble following orders as malingerers instead of realizing that these are symptoms of suffering and emotional instability. They actually believe that the soldier is faking PTSD so that they will not be sent back to active duty in the Middle East. It is almost 2007 yet it seems to be more like the middle ages when we are seeing this sort of tragedy and rush to judgement against those who need mental health help most. The stigma fostered by the armed services (in my opinion based on reading many articles and speaking with friends and family in the military) puts us back in the stone ages. Soldiers who need help are seen as weak or disgraced, a dangerous and short-sighted assessment by untrained, insensitive commanders and peers.

I was at turns angered, frightened, and flabbergasted by the army’s lack of mental health treatment available for our soldiers who served in a war zone. These men have death and destruction burned into their retinas, screams echoing in their ears, they are dealing with the effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder on their own and I find that appalling.

This is a tragedy two-fold in that the person coming back from the serving in the middle east does not get adequate care so their families are left trying to cope with the anger and sadness that person has.

Suicide rates have risen in soldier populations both in the states and those still deployed. The link to depression, PTSD, and suicide are medically proven. Years from now we can expect to continue dealing with the fallout from inappropriate or inadequate mental health care for our troops. Until we start treating people who seek out mental health with the care and concern that their bravery warrant we will continue to see the consequences of the fear, aggression, sadness, and despair these men are feeling acted out via suicides, domestic abuse, and violence in our neighborhoods.

Book Review: The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression by Andrew Solomon (audiobook)

This book is both a personal story of the author’s struggles with depression as well as a primer for people who are not familiar with the clinical aspects of the disease. It is chalk full of medical information that is first explained in terms that are not incredibley lay-reader friendly. Fortunately, Solomon is able to give examples from many walks of life that serve to illustrate the many difficult to understand and relate to emotions, actions, and physical symptoms that characterize depression. This is an extremely dense read, if I had read it instead of listening to the book on tape, I would have never finished it (perhaps a testament to my own loss of focus while experiencing depression).

Part of being vigilant about depression is being well informed and Solomon is very thorough in his overall view of depression, sharing not only the horrors he experienced during his own bouts, but also showing how depression is viewed in other cultures which serves to illuminate the continued stigma and undertreatment of it. The most heartwrenching chapter in his book focused on the Inuit or Eskimo people of Alaska and how they have the highest rate of suicides among any depressed population studied. It was eye-opening to learn how some cultures do not have the language to talk about their dark feelings, how it is considered inappropriate to bring your sadness and anger out in to the open to begin the healing process. You do not share these emotional and physical burdens with those around you because you should be stoic. I cried listening to the chapter on the undertreatment of depression in our homeless and drug addicted communities. How they are denied treatment since they are pre-judged as being failures due to their homelessness and drug abuse which are seen as problems and not the symptoms of mental illness.

I leave you with this quote from the text:

“There is a moment, if you slip or trip, before your hand shoots out to break your fall, when you feel the earth rushing up at you and you cannot help yourself, a passing, faction-of-a-second terror. I felt that way hour after hour. Being anxious at this extreme level is bizarre. You feel all the time that you want to do something, that there is some affect that is unavailable to you, that there's a physical need of impossible urgency and discomfort for which there is no relief, as though you were constantly vomiting from your stomach but had no mouth. With the depression, your vision narrows and begins to close down; it is like trying to watch TV through terrible static, where you can sort of see the picture but not really; where you cannot ever see people's faces, except almost if there is a close-up; where nothing has edges. The air seems thick and resistant, as though it were full of mushed-up bread. Becoming depressed is like going blind, the darkness at first gradual, then encompassing; it is like going deaf, hearing less and less until a terrible silence is all around you, until you cannot make any sound of your own to penetrate the quiet. It is like feeling your clothing slowly turning into wood on your body, a stiffness in the elbows and the knees progressing to a terrible weight and an isolating immobility that will atrophy you and in time destroy you."

As a side note, “The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression, has won {him} fourteen national awards, including the 2001 National Book Award, and is being published in 22 languages. It was also a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize.“