Vacation Snapshots

1.  Get Out of Town:  Literally

I can count on one hand how many times I've shared pics of myself, or my family, or my home. Actually, there are none.  And we're not about to start now.

For years it's been really hard getting away for vacations, this year worse than ever.  All summer long patients talked to me about their trips, things that went wrong, what went right.  Rain forests.  Africa.  Mexico.  I'd listen and wonder, "How do they get to do it, get away like that, and I can't?"

The rule has been that when we do go, our vacations aren't vacations.  FD is on the phone with patients, other doctors, nurses, lab techs.  I'm checking messages, too.  We have micro-practices, and although there's coverage, letting it all go never seems possible.

Plus, the get-away is to see kids, grandkids, in-laws of kids, an exertion that simulates a vacation in many respects.  But isn't.

United to Israel

To air out more often, it seemed prudent to start a business with a psycho-educational mission.  Educate people in other cities about abuse and neglect, what a number it does on one's mental health.  Not exactly getting away from it all.

My nephew made it possible to get away, however, by not staying single. If you have a chance to go to a nephew's wedding, you don't blow it.

You try not to blow it.   To say that we almost blew it is no exaggeration.

But we got on that airplane above.  When you leave the country, travel very far away, even if it is to see relatives, you are on a real vacation.

If you're me, reunions make you just a little self-conscious.  Friends and family, people who haven't seen us for years, are probably shocked to see so many more creases in my skin, a little bit of a craggy look. Without "work" it can happen to anyone.  Whereas FD still has baby skin.

People are forgiving, in any case, don't mention things like this.  I've always said that by not looking good, other people think they look good.  What better gift than that?

2. Will He Make It 30 Years?

Even far away, news travels.  Jerry Sandusky!  Going to jail for the duration!  30 -60 years.  He'll die in jail!  And still, he tells us, he's innocent of abusing young boys.

Jerry Sandusky, throw away the key

We can only hope that those institutions with "everything to lose" (seriously?) under the pall of a scandal like his, think twice before covering one up.

3. Stripped of Sir

Jimmy Savile, not a Sir

Speaking of falls from grace.  It is nice to know that another sexual predator, "Sir" Jimmy Savile, has been outed as one, although he's quite dead.  The Brits can't strip Jimmy of his title for his crimes, but as they lowered him below the earth, he automatically lost it.

Technically we don't call people who sexually abuse adolescents pedophiles.  A pedophile is an adult who is sexually interested in children under the age of twelve.

Jimmy Savile was an ephebophile, an adult who is sexually obsessed with and sexually assaults young people between the ages of 13-17 (18).

Consider that your psycho-education for the day.

Savile, a British television star, is guilty of at least 30 counts of sexual assault, and more appear to come to light daily.  First women came forward, now men, too, are saying that he raped them as young adolescents.  The story is too gruesome to repeat on a clean blog like this.

If I stayed away from television, from stories like these, it would be okay.  But seeing Law and Order and CNN with foreign language subtitles is a nice way to reinforce a second language.

4.  Losing Ground

Why not just a little more about me.

Before leaving, no question, the nerves were frayed.  No day a good day.  The feeling?  Like I'm slipping.  A descent, a loss of grounded-ness,  Being grounded is everything to a therapist, it is the essence of Yoda.  When problems build up, as they do in middle age, sandwiched, as they say, we tend to sense it dissipating, as if the ground is literally crumbling beneath our feet.

We become less like Yoda at the end of the day.  And everyone depends upon us to do an imitation, certainly, during the day.  Being grounded is why they come.  Why bother with a therapist who isn't?

Don't ask questions when yours tells you she needs to get away, even if it sounds like an extended absence.
Throw her a party.

And don't envy the money she will spend to go.  She's supporting the world's economy and the economy of the United States, each and every day, with her taxes.  Nobody in this profession ever gets out of the middle class.  The first candidate to fix this gets my vote.  .

5.  The Western Wall in Jerusalem

Ah, there is nothing better than walking toward, approaching, coming close to this.   Perhaps you understand, have an idea.

The Western Wall-HaKotel

This is the holiest place in the world. Thousands come here to pray.  They put names of sick friends on little pieces of paper, squeeze them into ancient cracks and crevices of the Wall, hope their prayers are received, then answered.  It is a local call in Jerusalem.

Only a few hundred yards away, people eat and drink, buy and sell religious objects. Things probably went down differently well over two thousand years ago when millions made holiday pilgrimages.   Kings, queens.  Everyone had to see what was happening here.

The Judean Hills at dawn

6.  The Land

Those are the Judean hills on your left. Pretty obvious why cultures clash over this land.

 There used to be a commercial for cigarettes that referenced Marlboro Country. And a beer commercial about God's Country, maybe Wisconsin, probably.

They got that one wrong.

Electric Car

7.  Going Green

The pic on the right is what you see on the dash when you charge up your electric car.

Why isn't Israel polluted?

People actually buy electric cars, not just hybrids. Of course, the tax exemptions help.  It is like driving a real car, without the exhaust or the noise.

But don't get stuck in traffic.  That's all I'm going to say.

A Kosher McDonald's

8.  Don't Super-size Me

If you live in this country you have to join the army after high school. There you learn to stay in shape, and to eat right, generally, which is why everyone, young and old, seems thin and can eat at McDonald's.

McDonald's in case it is lost on you, is not kosher anywhere else in the world. I don't think.

And no, I didn't eat there.  Are you kidding me?

9.  Coming Home

Sure, sure.  I'll come home.  Just not yet.  You wouldn't want your therapist insufficiently, not totally, grounded. 

therapydoc

Snapshots

Hi. This is Dr. ____. I won't be back in the office until Thursday, Oct 23. James _____ is on call for me. If this is a life threatening, do not call James. Call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room.

As long as I've taken off 10 days for holidays (days so holy and yet so obscure that my kids' college professors think they're making them up) I thought maybe you'd like some snapshots of my in-town vacation.

Most of the children flew in with the exception of one near term (K"H) so she can't travel. We took a lot of video so she wouldn't miss much, especially at the zoo.* And a few snapshots.

But a therapist's snapshots are different, I think, than normal people's snapshots. Maybe not.

They go something like this:

My granddaughter (2) hasn't seen her cousins who are just a little older than her for a few months. She used to see them every day and played hard with the boys.

Her father insists that she needs a nap. She chooses Bubbie to put her down, but the youngest cousin wants to come along to sing her songs. He climbs on her bed and they're talking.

"You can go upstairs," he tells me. "I'll protect her."

Another:
If you recall, Blue, my main fish, has new friends, Nemo 1 and Nemo 2. He's become aggressive since they set up permanent residence, and torpedoed N1 and N2 into submission early on in their relationship.

Terrified, in search of another sea (shelter), the clowns read the writing on the coral wall and declare a necessary move to another tank or they will die. Very histrionic of them.

Anyway, I move the clowns to another tank and they're happy, back to clowning around. But my son-in-law can't stand seeing Blue alone in a 55 gallon tank.

He's proactive, surprises me with more pals for Blue.

So everyone is in the living room admiring 3 new fish, a dog puffer, another that likes to handfeed, and a fragile little yellow tang. Blue is adjusting and the fish and children are getting along swimmingly. My son-in-law tells me that the vitamins will be coming in the mail.

Apparently (we now know) garlic is good for fish, as are other expensive nutrients. My father, very pleased to hear about the garlic, says, "I could have told you about garlic."

You can take the kid out of Eastern Europe. . .

This is a family reunion. We talk for hours and hours into the night, not so much about fish. All together we occasionally break into strange songs that fit our conversations, such as, What if G-d were one of us. Just a slob like one of us.

Another pic.
We're lunching at the dining room table talking about why marriages don't work anymore and why some people seem so disappointed; why others are breaking engagements two weeks before the wedding.

My first degrees are pontificating about what people should be looking for in a partner. You should look for (this), you should look for (that). Finally I can take it no longer and say something commanding, something like, "I have something very profound to say. Really profound."

Somehow it is silent at the table and they're all looking at me. This is the first time in my life this has ever happened. I'm freaked. But I continue,

"Here it is. Here's the profundity of the day. I'm telling you that it is a truth. A powerful truth."

'I didn't know what I was looking for until I found your father'.''

In unison: Awwwwwww.

Number 3 Son picks up on process. "That was so like your father (not present at lunch); the way you did that, got everyone's attention, spoke really, really slowly, then said what you thought to be the most profound statement in the world."

Ha, ha, ha. They all laugh.

Another.
"Bubbie, will you play Sorry with me?"

Okay.

Before we start his younger brother joins us. Soon the board is trashed. The littler guy isn't interested in Sorry.

"I don't want to play," he says, kicking the board again.

I suggest that he and I play Memory while I play Sorry with his brother. We do this, play the matching memory game to my left, Sorry to my right. And because both bore me to tears, a passable version of Spider (one real deck of cards) is ongoing in the middle.

There's a lot you can do if you have enough floor space.

Another shot.
The kids buy 2 boxes of Crispix. I buy one box. FD buys another. My pantry is hardly big enough, but there are enough Crispix now to feed an army. (See photo below. )

Why do we do this?

Another snapshot.
FD brings a bag of dried apricots to the family room where I'm straigtening out the wreckage. He takes one out and offers it to me. "Eat this," he insists.

I try it. "This would be better dipped in chocolate."

He raises an eyebrow.

I take the bag from him and rummage through the refrigerator, find chocolate frosting left over from the only cake I have made in ten days, eight of which have been holidays. At some point we have lost track of how many dozens of cookies we've frozen on paper plates in food storage bags soon after baking, working under the assumption that unless cookies are eaten directly from the oven they should be eaten directly from the freezer.

Brownies ditto.

I bring the melted chocolate to FD, dip an apricot, make the offering.

"Well, these are better."

Another.
I go to the synagogue. It's a really happy holiday, a dancing/singing kind of holiday. All the young people bring their babies and catch up on pregnancies. I look from one face to the next, try to catch a baby's eye. Any baby will do.

And another.
My machetainista** comes over to see the grandkids before they leave. I tell her I won't decide who to vote for until November 4.

She's aghast. How can I be on the fence? She goes into all the reasons I can't be on the fence.

But still, I'm on the fence and yet Barack and Michelle, even Joe Biden and viber*** won't stop emailing me, neither will someone named Carson.

Why should it matter? I live in Illinois.

And another.
"Bubbie, do you have any Wacky Mac (disgusting boxed macaroni with powdered, processed cheese)?

Well, actually, I do.

"Yes!"

Another.
"Will you stick the boys in the shower?" Empath Daught begs me. She's trying to pack up to go.

"Well, sure."

In a flash the two little guys are stark naked and giggling. I direct them to the shower and they march in obediently, wash and have the time of their lives. I don't have to do a thing. They come out clean.

Another.
FD shouts to me as I pull away from the curb at 6 a.m to take them to the airport. "Don't make any sharp turns." He has packed 4 suitcases into the trunk. Shot cords are holding it closed.

He should know I'm the kind of driver who rarely changes lanes.

Sharp turns?

At the airport I read his text. "Don't make any sharp turns. I mean it."

Or this one.
Empath Daught, S-i-L, and progeny are at the airport. We're finished with those hugs, the ones that make people stop, stare, and feel.

I'm in the car pushing buttons for sad music to get it out of my system. I look for the kind of music that FD hears and asks, "Why do you like this?" I end up listening to the song, Now I have everything.

The gas gauge is very low. It always is when I'm nowhere near home. The same thing has happened only a few days before, I'm lost driving to Midway Airport, dropping off my son. I'm not really lost on that trip, just feel lost and take the wrong highway because in our last moments he brings up something we should have discussed before these last moments, but mutually avoid.

I fill the car with $10.00 cash at a Marathon and he can't understand why I don't just fill it up, and I can't explain it to him, can't explain it now.

But this is a different time, a different day, different departure, and I fill up the car and am seeing the sun rise as I swipe my credit card. A woman about my age is leaving the mini-mart with 6 packs of cigarets and she drops them onto the seat of her white convertible Miata and I think, "This can't be her sports car."

But maybe it is.

Hi, this is Dr. ___________. Please leave me a message. If this is urgent, please try my cell phone _________. If this is an emergency and you don't hear from me and can't wait, don't wait for me to call back. Call 911 or go to the nearest emergency room.

therapydoc

Okay, here are a couple of pics.



*Seriously, that one of the apes? OMG, a real crowd pleaser. I have to put it up on Youtube.
**A machetainista is the mother or step-mother of a daughter or son-in-law.
***Viber is wife in Yiddish, rhymes with why-her