It Takes A Village, a Family, and A Whole Lotta Insanity

(That almost rhymes).

Won't make excuses, except for this: Took a year off.

Literally. Took the year off work, off blogging. Returned to the student life and studied something entirely different. No education, no therapy. No hospital.

Turns out, studying midlife is not studying at 19. No night-after-night-awake-until-2am. No running to the library whenever I darn feel like it. Elder Princeski, Always the Imp and

Blondini Boy (who, incidentally, has grown out of those blond curls) need me to look up from those books once in awhile. They can't be expected to understand what's so exciting about all the fine print piling up on the dining table. Even if colorful maps are sometimes involved.

And then, there was the recent Coming of Age Celebration, aka the Bat Mitzvah. (Because we all know how a twelve-year-old is, um, practically an adult. Never mind).

By now a majority of the neighbors have hosted one or more of these events, and this

is what stands out: The child's parents stand up and -- along with happily fawning over their child, and thanking everybody for coming -- praise the community at great lengths, for making the event a reality. It always sounded kind of exaggerated, and I couldn't understand what the big deal was.

Now I really do get it. Elder P & I had this vision, to celebrate at home with a kind of garden-block-party, and my neighbors did every imaginable task to make this thing a reality. An abridged list:

Helping Elder P plan a special Bat Mitzvah tefilla. Sitting with me to plan out the menu, the shopping list, the time table, the program. Hosting our family for a relaxing Shabbat lunch the week before the event. Lending hotplates and water kettles, projector lights and electricity cables. Lending two hours at night, and again the next day -- in the blazing sun --to help That Guy install those lights and electricity cables.

(Pause for breath). Approaching neighbors and asking them to lend all the above (& more), then delivering it to our doorstep. Permitting us to close off the street for the evening. Making salads and fruit plates. Translating and printing Elder P's talk into English so our family could enjoy it. Going out -- at the last minute -- to pick up the food. Taking down the signs after the event (thank you, whoever you are!). Moral support. I know there's more, but I've already forgotten.

One of my neighbors has actually opened a Gama"ch in memory of her father z"l, lending out serving dishes, tablecloths, candlesticks and more so that her neighbors can hold events at home. She came two hours beforehand and set up all the tables, too. What a huge help.

What goes around also comes around. By purchasing our drinks at the makolet (local grocery store) instead of the [less expensive] chain supermarket, we received an offer to store the drinks in his jumbo-fridge until right before the party.

We hired one neighbor to make high-end

desserts, giving her much-needed publicity (and the desserts were fantastic! If you want her number, drop me a line). Another neighbor, all of fifteen years old, is a professional-grade hair stylist who, as you can see, turned Elder P into a true Princess.

E, the son-in-law of friends and a young father raising two young kids while growing his new photography business, was hired to take pictures. We employed yet a fourth friend to provide the entertainment, including individually tailored instruction for the kids and a funny & original juggling performance for all our guests. (Elder P loves juggling, and this was a special surprise in her honor). Three neighborhood teens were hired as kitchen managers and waitresses, and they worked.

We love having such talented friends, and being able to give them our business at such a happy occasion.

And then, there were my parents. The morning of, I sent them a fourteen-item list, Which of these could you help with?, expecting them to chose two or three. They choose ten, and then ran around schlepping stuff from late afternoon until early evening when the party began.

And yes, it was worth it! Elder P had the time of her life, so did the neighbors, and I'm thankful. בשמחות!

Keep the balance,

ALN

Do Good to Feel Good, Part II

Now I'd like to play a couple rounds of Devil's Advocate.

Let's put it on the table. Is there such thing as too much giving? After all, some of us are already helping people. All. The. Time.

We volunteer at the retirement home, we bake for the neighbors. Perhaps we run a little NPO on the side that distributes funds and clothing, or join every other community hesed committee, or run off to a wedding hall in the middle of the night to pick up and distribute the leftover food.

Or maybe we do some or all of the above, PLUS we've found our life's calling in one of those pointedly-named Helping Professions --as a social worker, therapist, nurse or charity office manager. What could be better? We are assured an opportunity to help others, every day, and often in the most moving and meaningful ways. We take care of others' bodies and souls. We sooth mental anguish and relieve financial burdens, advocate for the disenfranchised and restore human dignity. We do all of this without pitying or patronizing.

So is there such thing as helping too much? We love our life's work because it is life-giving, meaningful, significant. We believe our professional role is right and yes, a kind of moral obligation. But we often resent the conditions: Low pay, little recognition, case overload, stressful work environment.

I'm thinking about yet another phenomenon. How do you do it, how can you work here, with such sick kids? someone will query in admiration. Kol haKavod (Bravo!), that's amazing! They don't get it. I can do this work because love this work, and when I'm doing it, my life feels meaningful and significant.

The problem comes later, when I get home. Sometimes it hits me, how sick those kids really are, and I am exhausted. Weighing me down are all the patients I didn't have time to work with. The parents I didn't get back to. That uncomfortable exchange with a short-tempered staff member. The feeling of being constantly on call -- encouraging, empathic, organized and authoritative -- but not too authoritative. These things can all but wash out the day's many successes.

Worse, I often find myself unable to regroup and focus by the time I've finished my commute home. My own kids need me. They need someone to give them lunch and watch their gymnastics practice and blows their noses and help with their math homework. They don't feel my own need to go to the bathroom and then sit down for five minutes, alone, over a hot drink. Whatever went on in my day until now is completely irrelevant. They expect focused, energetic Mommy, ready to go and full speed ahead.

The work itself is not the problem, it's maintaining my strength to give and give, all morning and afternoon, and then give again into the evening. It's keeping up the required enthusiasm at home to do all the day-to-day tasks, with the patience my kids deserve from me.

Sometimes I fantasize leaving for a well-compensated, "normal" office job, or locking myself away in my studio, "arting" around all day. I imagine opening a small craft business, or private therapy work with a limited number of clients. But getting down to it, I know I would only do such a thing if I were to reach the conclusion that the price had gotten too high, that I could no longer keep up both ends of the giving spectrum, and that giving at work was always at the expense of giving at home.

And here's where I have to admit it. For all its difficulties, hospital work gives me a sense of status and accomplishment that, for whatever reason, I cannot always seem to muster at home. Maybe that's the fallout for some of us girls who grew up in the Seventies on Sesame Street and Free to Be... You and Me. Or maybe it's just that at work, I'm an experienced professional, a figure of authority, a source of knowledge and understanding, while at home, I'm "just" Mom.

Their only Mom. Full speed ahead.

Keep the balance,

ALN

____

For more on why we help one another, this is another interesting NYT piece, especially the part about the role of the sclera (whites of the eyes) in human altruistic behavior.

Do Good to Feel Good, Part I

Here it is (again), this time via the NYT: Scientific evidence that giving works.

And let's face it, we know this. We all know it, from the inside. Giving promotes health. Thinking about others promotes health. (Thanks again, Prof K, for your insightful reminder).

The article's examples there are numerous. Here's a personal favorite:

An array of studies have documented this effect. In one, a 2002 Boston College study, researchers found that patients with chronic pain fared better when they counseled other pain patients, experiencing less depression, intense pain and disability.

Anyone who has been chronically ill, or who has spent time among the chronically ill, will readily note that a sick person does not want to be the focus of people's help and attention all the time; she wants to listen to others and be there for them. In other words, she wants to feel normal, and being able to help others restores our sense of normalcy.

Unless you're a celebrity, being the constant focus of others is not a normal state of existence. I'm not convinced it does much good for celebrities either, with their constant complaints of telephoto lenses sneaking ou from behind the trash cans, and all those pop songs lamenting the paparazzi. But heck, it's a living.

Turns out that being stuck in your own misery can lead to somatic harm.

By contrast, being self-centered may be damaging to health. In one study of 150 heart patients, researchers found that people in the study who had more “self-references” (those who talked about themselves at length or used more first-person pronouns) had more severe heart disease and did worse on treadmill tests.

I believe it.

I don't usually do this, honest, but I'm even going out on a limb and referencing Dennis Prager's take on happiness, flippant as it sounds, since I think he's got something too.

(I do take issue with his use of the term moral obligation. I don't usually view the use of antiperspirant as a moral obligation either.... a social obligation, maybe, but moral? An exception might be when working with people, such as those on chemo, who may be exceedingly disturbed or nauseated by strong smells. And on Egged buses during the summer months -- OK, that might just be a moral obligation).

Call it CBT, call it common sense, call it a serotonin-inspired warm fuzzy feeling -- the evidence has long been out there. Actions determine mood, and not the other way round.

Keep the balance,

ALN

NOT A HYSTERICAL HEADLINE!

In a few more days we will overstuff our suitcases and head for home.  The kids have been asking, begging, really -- When are we coming home?  They miss their friends, and the ease of access to those friends.  They miss our animals.  So do I.

I am torn.  I want to get back to normalcy, to routine -- not that summer vacation is the time for that, but never mind.  I miss my friends, our neighbors.  Reading all the latest "ideological conversations" (in the words of one neighbor) via community  listserv does not quite satisfy.

There are things here I will miss.

The cool weather, and the rain.  

Public parks, open farmland, trees.  

The convenience of buses, trains, and the Underground.   

People who wait patiently while others disembark from buses, trains and the Underground.  

The Science Museum, the Natural History Museum, the National Gallery.  

Every type of bird in the garden.  Squirrels.

Electric sockets with built-in switches.  

Trees.

What I will not miss:  Histrionic headlines preceding dumb-downed, hyperbolic newspaper pieces that preempt rational analysis and deter all optimism.  

There are real reasons for worry here.  Swine flu is spreading, a few have died.  Thousands are ill but most will recover after a few days and without hospitalization.  Newspaper headlines only inflame the panic. So when a young man gone missing in Katoomba, Australia was found alive and healthy after nearly two weeks in the wilderness, I took that as encouraging, hopeful, a reason for national celebration.   

Yet a Kew station news poster screamed, "DAD CHASTISES SON FOR HIKING ALONE!"  I mean, really. What a lost opportunity.  I see this type of thing posted on mortar boards, morning and evening, and think, Hey, Londoners, why do you do it to yourselves?  The constant cloud cover isn't enough? 

Not much balance there.

ALN 

Don't Have the Answers, But Glad You Asked

The Challenge:  Describe your job in one sentence or less.

My Answer:  My job is to listen to kids.

OK, so sometimes "listening" comes in the form of watching them draw, or joining them as they play, or helping them surf the net, or just sitting nearby while they read.  And, of course, the kids I listen to are sick, or are recovering from being sick, or were sick in the past, or are sick again.

Leave out that last part about the sick kids, and replace what's left with the additional cleaning, laundry, dishwashing, fetching & carrying, and we've just described the Second Shift, a.k.a. The Home Front.

I admit it:  Part of me has been waiting for years for my kids to get a little older, so we could start having some real conversations, the ones that extend beyond "Why can't I have a cookie? But why?!?"  It seems that time has arrived, and the questions have been rolling in.

Elder Princeski will be ten soon, and her questions tend to reflect her newly-developing empathy and Theory of Mind.  Always the Imp has just turned six, but her line of questioning (once she gets past all those unreasonable demands resulting from her sugar addiction) has always pushed the envelope, amplifying her imp-like attributes.

Yesterday afternoon I decided it was time to euthanize the poor goldfish who, having displayed multiple signs of illness for nearly half a year (and had long since been placed in isolation from his healthier peers), was now showing acute signs of imminent status change. 

Elder Princeski took an interest and even assisted.  We used an ice-water bath, recommended as the most humane method by Dick Mills in You and Your Aquarium (London: DK), while Always hid herself away until the deed was done.  Later, of course, there were thoughts and reflections on the matter, which surfaced today during Shabbat lunch.

Always the Imp:  Mommy, when you die, I want to keep the whole house for myself.  But I don't need the things inside it, you can give those to somebody else.

Me:  [Which Left Field did that one come out of?  Oh, maybe it was the fish...] Why?  Do you want me to die soon?

Always:  Of course not, but when you do, much later, when I'm already big...

Elder Princeski:  Mommy, I don't want you to die for a long time... but when you do, I'll keep the things inside the house.  I won't need the house itself because I will be married and my husband will buy me a house.

(Short discussion on the topic of religious vs civil inheritance laws.)

The conversation then evolved into a series of questions about Grandma (that's my 95-year-old grandmother -- see here), wondering how much longer she would continue to live, and if she wants to live much longer, and whether, were she to become very sick, dependent, and pain-ridden, she would choose to die (from what she has told me in the past, I wouldn't put it past her).   

We did our best to answer all of these clearly and honestly, with equal measures of optimism and realism.

Then there were questions about death itself.  What does it feel like?, and Does it hurt? and Do people know they're dying?   I told them about the reports I had read on near-death experiences, in which people described feelings of well-being, comfort, and being reunited with lost loved ones.  I told them that no one could prove whether these things really happen, but that many people felt and believed that this is what had happened to them.

Throughout this conversation, my internal voice was asking how much of an influence my Day Job was having here on the Home Front.  I think about death a lot, because I encounter death a lot, and so it is on my mind --  sometimes at a frequency that surpasses what I would consider to be a level of healthy denial.  

I try to keep that to myself, at least around the kids, but as they grow older they develop an awareness of what I do for a living;  Elder Princeski has even accompanied me to work events a couple of times. Sometimes they ask questions about work, and while I don't shy away from answering, I try to keep my answers short and to the point.  

The thing is, kids know about death.  They think about death.  They wonder about it, and they have questions.  At a certain point, they lose their dog, or their grandfather, or their neighbor, or their parent, and they learn that death can't be avoided.   

All of this obligates us to invite their questions, listen to their concerns, and share some answers -- gradually, thoughtfully, and straightforwardly.  Which we tried to do this afternoon.

Suppertime brought with it a whole slew of questions, this time about Down Syndrome, its causes and effects.  For another time...

Keep the balance,

ALN

Finally, Finally, Finally

Ahh, how I wish I could stick to this writing business -- and all the other things in my life -- with regularity, enthusiasm, and a clear head.  I look around in jealousy and wonder at all the regular bloggers, and I know darn well most of them also have lives (Read: families, jobs, friends, hobbies households) that slurp their time down to the last drop.

I owe a big thank you to Ricki's Mom, who tagged me with the Honest Scrap Award nearly a month ago and I'm only getting a response together now.  In general, I owe a big thank you to Ricki's Mom because I find her writing interesting, honest, inspirational and empowering, and hers is one of the first blogs I run to when I've fallen out of the blog loop and want to get back on it.

Rules:  Ten honest things about me, then pass it on to seven bloggers.  Honestly, I dunno about the second part.  I wish I had the time to read seven blogs these days... but let's give it a go:

1.  I've been through almost every version of vegetarianism that there is (excepting, perhaps, fructarianism, which is just a little overboard for me).  Lacto-ovo, lacto, vegan, even juice diets.   For the past decade or so, I've come to terms with a lacto-ovo-pescetarian diet.  Works for me.

2.  I believe in balance.  Not a new concept to you, my readers, but how does it manifest in my life?  Example:  I consider myself an observant Jew, and cover my hair, but usually wear trousers -- as opposed to skirts -- because it's much more comfortable for me, physically and emotionally.  (This may be because I did not grow up in a religious household, but then again, maybe it wouldn't have mattered either way). 

3.  For an American, I use way too many Britishisms in my speech.  Probably the influence of That Guy I Married.  He's from London.  Not his fault.  

4.  I spent hours of my childhood either up in trees or down among the weeds and bushes.  I used to pet the bees I found there.

5.  My family is multi-cultural.  By this I mean that I have an Indian sister-in-law.  I have joined her family in their place of worship (they are Sikh, strict monotheists) and despite the many difficulties and challenges of intermarriage, I feel a certain kinship with them that is hard to explain in words.  (And they have the most beautiful clothes -- they have given me several outfits).

6.  I love to dance, and I don't mean folk dance.  Hip-hop, modern, street dancing.  I shut the blinds and open the windows and crank up the MP3 and go nuts.  Also while cooking.  I get chopped onions & garlic all over the place.

7.  Two years ago I decided it was (past) time to start reading in Hebrew.  I don't mean signs and menus, I mean books.  Novels.  Nonfiction.  It demands more concentration but -- I know this sounds crazy -- when I read in Hebrew, I get this feeling of the juices flowing in a different area of my brain, and I like it.

8.  I am ever grateful to RivkA  for getting me started in the blogosphere.  Before I read her blog, I hardly knew what a blog was.  Once I read hers, I thought -- what a great idea!  Now I'll be forced to write, my family will have automatic updates about my life, and I might even develop a modest fan club.  All for free.  What could be better?  (Then I discovered the catch:  I actually have to write regularly, and not just think about writing).

9.  I work with sick kids all day, of all different ages and cultures and sizes and shapes and intellectual capacities.  I've been doing this for quite awhile now, and I think I've got the basics down by now.  So why am I always wondering whether I'm doing the right thing with my own kids?  It's a mystery.

10.  Working with those very sick kids, for so many years has probably skewed my view of life just a bit, in that I tend to view life as a very limited thing, to be cherished and pushed to the fullest, every second.  Which is why I am in a constant, sleep-deprived and hypo-caloric state and cannot get enough of what this world has to offer:  family, work, hobbies, etc, etc.  Just dangle it in front of me, and I will probably try to pack it into my already-bursting schedule.  

Which reminds me, I have to go back to studying now (I have an anatomy-physiology exam on Thursday), push Always the Imp along on her bike, make supper, plan a work presentation, and book a trial lesson with the guitar teacher.  Among other things.

I really can't do seven right now, but can we settle for Coffee and Chemo, SuperRaizy, Shilo Musings, Here in HP and The Rebbetzin's Husband?  You're all it (and if you've already been through a round of this, please forgive me... I'm behind the times).

Keep the balance,

ALN

PS:   Mother in Israel -- you too!

Re-Awakening

What a funny feeling -- four weeks off-blog, and now, the ironic sting of returning to this virtual world of real people...  a feeling that this corner of my life has dropped out from under me.  Now there's that expected-nevertheless-surprising squeak of the gears as I try to slide my way back in.

Winter is here, rain is not (not in Israel, not nearly enough of it), but the microbes are back in full, and my two-week battle with bronchitis was there to prove it.  Tune in for my forthcoming work, An Ode to Rythromycin.  

No question, this was my psycho-somatic response to the usual stress at work and the unrelenting scrollbar of daily activity, against the ever-nearing backdrop of our country at war.  The verdict is quite clear:  if I do not learn to pace this hectic life-schedule multi-tasking thing, I will inevitably engage in a forced vacation, and last week was it.  I was in bed, or flopping over onto some sofa or other, for the entire week.  Did not recognize myself.

Even odder, for the duration of that week, nearly everything was input.  Instead of writing (or blogging, as noted), I read.*  Instead of practicing therapy at work, or art in the studio, I went over books and articles about therapy and art.  And I ate regular meals, ones that I had taken time to prepare.  A-B-C's for most, a notable accomplishment for me.  I barely opened the computer, and within three days found myself drowning and spluttering in an email effusion that nearly required a Cyber Coast Guard bail-out.  No blogging.  None.  Not even blog-reading.  It was the printed word, read off of authentic, bleached tree-pulp products.  

Freedom, in an odd way, but also a strange pang of loss and absence... and a return to my original question:  

How does everyone find the time?  

Please, send the magic pill on over.

Keep the balance (or -- you've been warned -- your body may do it for you),

ALN

____

* Namely, אישה בורחת מבשורה -- Until the End of the Land (2006) by David Grossman (I only found circumstantial evidence of its availability translated in English), and How Doctors Think (2007/2008) by Jerome Groopman.  I have thoughts on both, but not for now.

Keep Sane, Keep Creative

Welcome to our studio.  

Just a reminder from your local art therapist to keep your body nourished, your mind active, and your soul flourishing during these difficult and stressful times.

Pictured here are Always the Imp and her good friend GG developing their watercolor skills.

Always came away transformed by the creative process.

Earlier today, she returned from her after-school art class (wouldn't want this shoemaker's daughter going barefoot!) with an original, double-spouted tea set, pictured here during this evening's hot-chocolate-based clinical trials.  

Not to worry, she drank from both little teacups, while Blondini Boy expressed his acute disappointment at having his chocolate milk relegated to the same-old plastic cup.

Keep healthy, keep safe, keep creating.  Keep the balance.

ALN

Hurray for Proactivity

Go visit Treppenwitz... he gets right to the point.  (Over-simplified summary?  Put up, or shut up. But read the post).

Occupation As Balance

(No, not that kind of occupation.  I truly, honestly do not know how to address that topic in this forum, or with which vocabulary, and so I leave it aside).

Why I don't call my good friends more often than I do?  This evening I picked up the phone and dialed my friend N, and rediscovered how fantastic, how comforting it is to have those conversations and compare the day-to-day... The freshly-discovered gutter leak in the newly-purchased house;  the parallel laments over negligent school systems long-overdue for an over-haul;  our mutual agreement that the Obamas' extended family support system will only benefit them as a young, busy, professional couple preparing for the next busy stage in their lives... and on and on.

The conversation reaches that inevitable topic:  work, motherhood, how to do it all and keep the guilt minimal, the multi-tasking maximal, and everything in between relaxed and stable enough to keep everyones' lives together and whole and enjoyable.  

N works a much longer day than I do and gives her husband A a lot of credit for his super-husband abilities, especially in recent years, but reminds me of what it takes to reach household stability.   Sometimes one of them is down, sometimes the other.  But they know to take it in turns.  Both she and A cannot both let themselves feel drained.  

Or, as N put it, If that space is occupied in the house, then I know I can't be there... That is, she understands she has to stay upbeat and hold on to the energy level until A can get it back again, and then she can let her end drop a bit and let him pick up the slack.  

It's not always going to happen.  Within our own four walls, I know there's no guarantee that the two of us aren't going to hit some kind of simultaneous slump;  it just might happen, and it sometimes does.  We both get tired, cranky, past our peak.  Then maybe it's time, as it was last night, to just go upstairs and hang the laundry together, instead of trying to figure out whose turn it is.

Occupation as balance?  Maybe, if we can just hang on and take it in turns.  Hang in there, N.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Back from Be'er Sheva

I have every intention to continue posting about my recent three-day inservice down south, despite having returned several days ago... what can I do?  Life has continued -- studies, work, family -- it's all still there, but the stories I heard at Beit Yatziv are waiting to be told.  Stick around...

ALN

We Already Do (and You're Welcome to Join Us!)

I just wanted to weigh in with SuperRaizy, and so many others (she lists some), regarding women's participation on Simhat Torah.  

In our community (as in RivkA's), which shall remain nameless to protect the fully involved, women dance with a sefer Torah.  This year I had the privilege of dancing with a sefer Torah in front while carrying Blondini Boy on my back, an experience I hope he'll never forget.

Following the hakafot (dancing with the Torah), we have a community kiddush, complete with a reproduction of the beit hamikdash constructed from cake and candies by the kids of the community.   

Then, in parallel to the regular Torah reading in the beit haknesset (synagogue), women who choose to participate, meet in the garden of a private home for a women's reading of Parashat v'Zot haBracha.  When we finish we return to the main reading for the children's aliyah (again, refer to RivkA's post -- only we certainly remembered the candy this year, and way too much of it if you ask me) and all the rest.

Then we have a community picnic / barbeque in the park next to the beit haknesset for some excellent, jointly prepared food.  What a wonderful way to share the cooking on the last day of a slew of holidays!

It's not without its complications... The sefer Torah we women take for the hakafot is the only one of three that we use, since its donors do not mind that women dance with it or read from it.  The  donors of the other two sifrei Torah disapprove of the idea and we honor their request.  Also, both of the retired rabbis in our community do not approve of the women's reading, and have voiced their disapproval, but not in the form of psaq halacha.  

(Addendum, 28 Oct:  Please see this post which corrects an inaccuracy).

It took many years for these customs to become status quo around here, but now they are. The girls (and boys)  of our community will certainly grow up thinking it's the status quo. Call it Facts on the Ground...?

Keep the balance,

ALN

Border Issues

I don't blog politics.  Why is that?  Maybe because there's no trace of balance in politics, making it a lost cause from the start, as far as this blogger is concerned.  I also prefer not to compare apples and oranges, but in this case I'm living, or have lived, close enough to each of these situations to feel the relevancy.

I am referring to state borders and the fences that demarcate them.   This piece appeared in last Tuesday's NY Times, with an accompanying slide show. I found interesting the photo below, showing the simple barbed wire that later progressed into a taller, chained-linked fence, and which is now on its way to being a double fence separated by a no-man's land. 

Pat Nixon, the former first lady, at a dedication of Border Field State Park in 1971. "I hate to see a fence anywhere," she said. 

I know next to nothing about the former First Lady's politics or belief system, but I believe that she did hate to see a fence, probably because it reminds her of the suffering that has always accompanied the building of border fences -- the splitting up of families, suffering of children, economic upheaval, sickness, and loss of hope for the future.   

Seeing the fence would put her human, emotional side at odds with her intellectual understanding of the need for such a fence, and the ramifications of not having one. Forty years ago, the U.S. could only begin to imagine the effects of a mass illegal Central American immigration on the state and national economy, health care and education systems, water needs, and many, many other sectors of society.

So by now you've probably figured out the other border that comes to mind what else I'm thinking about... the wall (alternately referred to as a fence, since in places it does alternate between the two) marking the boundary between pre- and post-1967 Israel, and clearly visible from our house.  

(This view is actually from our neighbors' back garden, since it's clearer than the one from our balcony).

I remember the days before the wall was completed... the multiple car and animal thefts, the helicopter searches for potential terrorists in the valley below our moshav,* the afternoon shut-down of the mall in the city a few kilometers away due to terror warnings (apparently the bombers reached the mall, realized something was amiss, and were caught by the border patrol as they tried to cross back over the border).  Make no mistake:  I am happy the wall is there, because I know that without it, our lives were directly threatened.

I'm aware, as Mrs. Nixon was, that we pay a human price every time we demarcate a boundary and reinforce a border, and also that we pay a different price, both human and economic, every time we don't.  For years we have continued to live for years with a boundary situation that does not fit into a neat category, about which we as a nation have not reached a consensus, and concerning which most of the world feels an obligation to judge us, time and again, despite a naive and simplistic analysis of a very complex situation. And if that weren't enough, we are being "led" by politicians who cannot seem to get their personal or national priorities straight on the most basic of levels.

When I first read the NY Times article, I felt a moment of, Ah!  Take that, California, before you continue to condemn us for protecting our country and its citizens.  

No, this is far from a new issue.  California, and the entire U.S., have been dealing with immigration issues for years, long before President Bush, and long, long before 9/11.  Despite the numerous differences, do we have something to learn from U.S. policy?  Perhaps, but -- bottom line -- most of their considerations are still economic ones.  As much as economics has a direct effect on people's lives, for the most part in the U.S. it isn't considered to be an issue of national survival.  (Well, maybe these days it is...)

As for our multiple difficulties over here, I'm trying to keep a long-term perspective;  after all, with 158 years of statehood under their belts, even California is still trying to figure things out.  

I'm not sure if we should find that scary or reassuring.

.שבת שלום

Keep the balance,

ALN

_____

* In case you're wondering, our moshav was incorporated by Jews of North African descent in 1964 who chose to come to Israel but wanted little to do with the state's policy of dumping them upon their arrival in what was then the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night).

Eight Days to Go...

A thought for today, and the next eight days, care of Aish haTorah:  Reality check as balance.

This version is in English, and this one in Hebrew.

גמר חתימה טובה

Shabbat Shalom,

ALN

Receiving is Giving, Part 2

This is a tough one, yet another of those therapy issues with no clear-cut answer:  the subject of thank you's.*

I used to feel really uncomfortable when a patient, or more likely, his parent, thanked me after a session.  They don't owe me that, I would squirm and tell myself.  I'm just doing my job.  

What flawed thinking, on many accounts.  Here's why:

Giving Strengthens.  Human beings were not created to receive without giving, and no one in her right mind would choose a position of constant receiving, nor the sense of powerlessness, hopelessness and utter dependency that would follow.  One of the first phrases my kids ever uttered was Self.  SELF!  and with good reason.  By learning to express their own independence, my kids were strengthening themselves and their feelings of independence and humanity.

Receiving is Giving.  I addressed this a bit in my original post.  For hospitalized children, and especially their parents, saying thank you is one way they can give, in a setting where they are constantly on the receiving end:  Countless medicines to fight the disease and the pain;   Food delivered on a tray;  Clean sheets with the hospital's name printed on it.  Even every-day tasks, the ones that characterize a "normal" life -- such as cleaning the floor, cooking pasta, folding shirts -- are no longer an option.  To this add endless non-profits and tzedakah organizations who, despite the most wonderful intentions in the world, sometimes increase the families' feeling that, yet again, they are the objects of someone else's generosity.** 

 

A simple thank you is a way of giving, of re-establishing feelings of identity and wholeness, and of expressing love for self and others in the form of gratitude.  To accept a straightforward thank you with honest appreciation is to move toward restoring the balance between giving and receiving.

I'd Like to Hear It.  As for the professional, it's nice -- maybe even necessary -- to hear thank you for one's efforts, at least some of the time.  Who, after all, doesn't want to be thanked, even while she's punching a clock?  Work is work, and seeking some sort of recognition or appreciation, in addition to a salary, is nothing to be ashamed of.  For most of us it would be false modesty to deny this.  When I came to that new understanding, it became so easy to hear thank you, smile and reply "Your welcome," sometimes followed by, "it's my pleasure" or even, "Thank you too, for sharing your ideas with me."

Yes, there is a hospital story to go with all of this, but that'll have to wait for a later post...

Keep the balance,

ALN

_____

*For those of you wondering why I suddenly have so much time to post, it's becauseI have been stuck at home with the flu for three days.  I'm already feeling much better, but it's too much of a risk for kids with low blood counts to be exposed to my viruses.  At one good thing is coming out of it... I have time to write.

** No wonder so many families, upon finishing treatment, run to establish an NPO of their own, in a worthy and understandable effort to reestablish the sense of give-and-take equilibrium they felt prior to their experience with illness, as well as trying to help others benefit from the "insider" knowledge they have gained.

Back to Balance... Or Not

Ah.... it's good to be back.  

The school year is in full swing, the kids are back in school and I'm back at work.  Finding time for it all --  blogging included --  has become the task of the season.  How dare you go to work instead of blogging?  deadpans Dad.  Even Mom, who doesn't fully get the blog thing, called a few days ago wondering whether I'm still alive, for lack of published evidence.  

Returning to the Jblogosphere after over a week's hiatus feels something like jumping back onto a nonstop spinning carousel;  it's simultaneously thrilling, dizzying and weighted down by false starts.  As much as I've missed it, there has been plenty to keep me busy around here. Included below, an abridged record of the flurry, a kind of back-up disk for my sleep-deprived mind:

Things to Do Instead of Blogging

1.  Back-to-School Night (known in Israel as an asifat horim, lit., "gathering of parents"), one for every minor inhabiting the household, and sometimes more.  (RivkA explains it here in all its glorious detail).  Even the daycare centers here hold a back-to-school evening, usually in order to spell out the additional charges they request, for everything from toilet paper to art supplies to enrichment activities.  These events are painfully long and drawn out and can drag on for three hours.    This year, as a balance- and sanity-preserving measure, I skipped the preschool one altogether.  I hope they'll still let my son graduate.

2.  Working in the art studio, making paper and carving linoleum prints for greeting cards.

Here they are, drying on the mini-blinds:

Close-up of the same print as the one up on top, in a different color palette:

Supplies (Carving knives, water-based printing inks, soft-rubber brayers, carved linoleum printing blocks, card samples)  The art table is a low-budget home-made model:  an old wooden door on a frame of leftover construction wood.  Works for me.

My friend Q has a large studio where she makes handmade paper of amazing quality.  A few years back we added on our own, much smaller studio to our own house, but a full work schedule meant it often sat unused.   Going back to my artwork is probably adding years to my life.  At least that's the feeling I get from it.

Indoor plumbing repairs.  Particularly unsuccessful new hobby;  definitely sticking with my day job.  Note the bucket under the studio sink.  Guess why it's there...

Scheduling my kids' extracurricular schedules.  Another less successful venture.  In keeping with Israeli tradition, my kids are now signed up for various after-school creative ventures.... only problem is, the schedule is still new and I keep forgetting to send them on time...

Catching up on Srugim and other stuff.  I'm up to episode 12, and I'm wondering how things will hold together now that the geographic focus has spread out beyond the Swamp itself.  Last night we watched the first couple hours of the BBC's Pride and Prejudice, which follows the book down to nearly every last detail (which is why it takes about six hours to watch.  (I'm just amazed that we have such a detailed historical record of all those line dances... and how did they manage to get their hair arranged so neatly with no running water in the house?).

Work, work, and work.   More work.  Don't know why this one's so far down on the list, actually.  Time-wise, it's way on top.  Lots to do:  Strengthening our connections with the families, designing a class schedule for the school year, helping our new staff members find their way, meeting with medical and mental health staffers, inviting patients' schools to meet the department.... the list is endless.  Despite this, I'm still making every effort to leave work on time.  Balance, balance.

Dancing around the living room, music on full volume.   I do this with the kids, but between you and me, I would do it anyway.  (Just ask my former roommates -- Friday afternoon was Disco Time in the kitchen.  Remember Cate Blanchett in Bandits?  Only she, as always, looks amazing, and I look like, well, never mind....).

Getting some sleep.  Only kidding - I just added that one for Mom.  Amazingly enough, even without blogging I haven't managed more than five hours a night.  I'm still waiting for someone to invent a pill with no negative side effects...

All the other stuff:  Laundry  Dishes  Cooking  Homework help  Bedtime   Stories  Wiping noses (and other places)  Commuting there   And back   Shopping  Phone calls  Hair cut  Bank statements  Emails  Visiting neighbors  Shul meeting  Cleaning aquarium  Guests here  Floor clean  Food ready  Table set.... Go.  Shabbat.

(Speaking of keeping the balance...)

Shabbat Shalom,

ALN

Wrapping Up Early

I was just talking to That Guy I Married, going over our plans for Shabbat and wrapping up the week.  Why do I feel I can wrap up the week by Thursday morning?  Because (drum roll....) I HAVE A DAY OFF WORK.  Yes, you heard correctly.  This year, I'm getting Thursdays off.  Yee-ha!

Why is this such a big deal?  For one thing, it took me a few years to convince myself, and then my boss, that this is a matter of mental health.  I don't want to name names or label labels, but it turns out that over the years I have displayed what one could possibly refer to as workaholic tendencies.*   So say my friends, my parents, and a few of my colleagues - not the physician colleagues, of course, for whom 12-hour days mean they're just getting started, or for software engineers, for whom all-nighters are just another day at the office.

And then there's my father-in-law's cousin's wife, T, who also happens to be our neighbor, and who can be seen some evenings mobilizing the baby carriage with her left hand, while conducting lawyerly business through the mobile phone in her right.   She is a warm and wonderful friend and mother, and was a high-powered DINK career-woman for years until baby-boy came along.  After returning to work, she spent the next few months asking the rest of us how we manage to do this thing we do, leaving work on time to pick up the kids, organizing trade-off child-care arrangements with husbands and relatives, and generally carrying on our lives with not a minute to spare.  I'll tell you, T:  We don't sleep much.  But you knew that.  Just wait 'til you have to attend a parent conference at the kindergarten, like the one I ditched yesterday evening because, well, basically, I'm sick of them.  You'll run back to evening work meetings in a flash.

I'm hoping that the day off is only the beginning of the process of, well, separating from my less-than-balanced tendencies in favor of some normalcy, if such a thing exists.  Some things aren't gonna change;  I still try to get to work early, 7:30-7:45, so I can get some work done in peace, and because, fact is, in order to be taken seriously in a hospital, you have to be seen early and often (and sometimes late and often).  Early in the morning, when most of the kids are still sleeping, and before all the nonessential personnel and outpatient families have arrived, there is a kind of quiet that hangs over the department and lets me arrive more slowly and prepare myself --  body and soul -- for the coming day, from within a peaceful moment and not a flurry.  

An additional repercussion of getting an early start?  It encourages me to leave work on time, infinitely easier said than done in a world where there is always another sick kid to work with, another parent who needs assistance acquiring a private teacher at home, or just a listening ear, another physician who requests that we strongly encourage her patient to finally get out of bed and into the classroom. There is always that kid I didn't reach today, the social worker I forgot to call back, that staff meeting that drags on and on, until that hour I'd saved for him at the end of my day has long since passed.  

That's when thoughts of my own kids start creeping into my head.  They lurk and curl around my brain, tugging me toward my locker to gather my things, pack up my workbag, and head toward the stairs.  They are relentless, consistent, comforting in their insistence that a colleague might be available to help this child or that parent, but at the end of their 8-hour school day, I'm the only one my kids want, and expect, to see.

Keep the balance,

ALN

_____

* The fact that this term attracted no notice from Blogger's spellcheck leads me to believe that I am far from the only one to need it.

A Close Second

Today, the second day of school, was a problem-and-solution day, of sorts.  

The problem:  Keeping the balance.  

The solution:  Well, we'll see...

Yesterday, all of my kids -- evenly spaced as they are -- entered new educational frameworks, each one different from the next.  That Guy I Married played super-Abba, taking off a whole day of hi-tech fun (and hi-tech salary) so he could see the kids off in the morning and be there for them in the afternoon.  This left me free to play slightly-above-average, severely-underpaid educator-therapist team leader, coming in to work on the opening day of the school year.  

(I know people like to harp on teachers over some misinterpretation of our "extended-vacation" status over the summer months.  For the record, I, and many others in the [special] education system regularly work through most of July, and often into August.   Special ed. can't wait around for September, nor can hospitalized kids. When we're not physically present at work, we're often writing up student reports, running after medical and para-medical staff members, and going over lesson plans for next year. This summer I took advantage of a portion of my optional summer holiday to visit family in California).

This morning, I had a little talk with myself, hemming and hawing and debating (What about this patient? What about my meeting with the head nurse?  What about-- ?).  Then I remembered:  This year, I've already committed myself to the challenge of finding more of a balance. Case closed.

I left work an unheard-of (for me) three hours early, to pick up my little one from pre-kindergarten. (In Israel the first day of gan (kindergarten) ends at 10:00, the next day at 11:00, purportedly to get the kids used to the system more gradually.  Or maybe it's to allow the teachers some relief from their young charges' constant state of eardrum-bursting hysteria throughout the first week of September -- you be the judge).  Over the years I had gotten used to being at work on the first of September, and not being around for my kids' first day of school.  I'd even managed to quiet that What kind of mother are you, anyway?pang of self-serving guilt that I now realize is basically useless for dealing with the situation.

Having shown up at the gan mid-morning, I'm still stuck in the floaty, foreign-body feeling that can accompany an unusually abrupt transition from work to home... my little boy, meanwhile, had been witnessing the arrival of his friends' parents, and is now clearly relieved to see me.  I ask if he wants to give me a quick tour of his new gan, and he proudly leads me through the door and into the mess of of toys the kids have left behind, dispersed and abandoned across the floor.  

As we exit the building, I get a work call from a patient's insistent, persistent parent, who has now contacted me daily for five days in a row, regarding a problem that, as I have explained to her numerous times, is not within my professional jurisdiction.  NO!  my head shouts at her.  You will not interrupt me now... I have left work and come home, to my own kids and my own business. I am off-duty.  Leave. Me. Alone.  Out loud, I firmly remind her that I will look into solving their problem and update her within the next few days, but meanwhile she must wait.  I buckle my son into the car and drive him home.

A couple hours later the school bus has dropped off my newly-minted first-grader, who, predictably, has forgotten to get off the bus at the afternoon day care.  I soon understand that had she remembered, I would have missed it all, that wide I'm home! grin, those eager gushes of Mommy, today we had math class, and the teacher gave us homework, and I need another notebook like this one, and... welling up and overflowing out of her as she plunges her hand into the depths of her new purple wheelie backpack and, with a gratified smile, presents me with a stapled bunch of worksheets.

She and I sit down together at the dining table and color in linear arrangements of animal pictures to show which ones are in front, which are behind and which in-between.  We compare and support each other's tendency to color outside of the lines, or to use the "wrong" color on purpose.  She is super-satisfied with this activity, and I secretly rejoice over her satisfaction, and at our united commitment to imperfection.  There'll be plenty of time for her to follow all the rules, but not today.   

And so, in the end, I was there, touring my boy's new gan, sharing my daughter's first homework assignment of the year.  Yesterday I missed the first day of school, but today I came in a close second... 

Keeping the balance?   Absolutely.

ALN