This particular good mood started when I started telling Melissa just how badly I was doing. This was at least a week ago and my pain had gotten worse for sure. The stress of every day life was adding up as well. I decided to find a plan that would deal with stress and all by solving various problems and doing as much as possible on my own. The idea was tried and true: move through the various elements of my life and organize them. Surprisingly, Melissa rejected the first step or two in the plan. According to her, I was in too much pain already.
This was true but I didn't want to admit it so I included fighting through the pain as part of the plan. Melissa rejected it again and reminded me that I was unable to fight through the pain of lying in bed. Lying my head on the pillow gave me a migraine complete with extreme light/sound sensitivity and inability to speak. How did I expect to manage physical labor?
This could have gone badly at this point because I was frustrated. My body and mind have failed me even if it's not my fault. My beloved didn't stop there. She went on to describe how she didn't want to be a cause of extra pain for me and she didn't want me suffering extra pain for any reason. It also helped that she wasn't volunteering to take on avoidable pain of her own. We've both learned to respect pain in our 40s.
After that, it became easier for me to enjoy myself again. It wasn't a matter of pain relief. My skin lesions that seemed so close to healing a week ago peeled down to raw, red skin while what my doctor called circulatory issues in my legs have ballooned back up. They are quite painful but the strangest thing happened. Madeline stopped stomping all over my sore place and launching herself into the air using her back claws on the sorest places. She curled up or stretched out for naps that didn't hurt me and she's gone back to following me around the house the way she did like a kitten.
Writing has gone back to being the great enjoyment that it was once before. Despite my teeth continuing to get worse, I've started enjoying food and drink more again. Part of it is the chance I've had to share a few meals with Melissa recently. Some of these were as great as if we ordered off the menu at a five star restaurant. It was all about the conversation.
Have I mentioned that Melissa is all kinds of wonderful? She decided to get me a cell phone since none of our landline phones actually work. I suspect that the reason for it might have had something to do with my recently increased level of pain and my difficulty dealing with the feelings of intense loss. I've admitted that I grew up with a strange sort of aspiration. My dream was to be like my grandparents and Grandmom Mahoney in particular. Pop Pop (Mahoney - I don't remember knowing his Stapleford counterpart.) was someone I admired as much or more. I just never considered myself capable of working as hard as he did. It took me what I remember as a long time to sit in his chair when he wasn't there. Then he had his heart attacks and I came to know and love him.
Grandmom Mahoney (just Grandmom to her face just like Grandmom Stapleford) was one of those figures who influenced me so much that I'm not sure where it stops and starts. Like her, I cope with a long illness by sitting in a comfy chair and reading favorite books. Okay. I'm not quite that limited thanks to Melissa. My beloved wifey (who turned 45 today) has gotten me good tech stuff. First, it was the tablet which made my favorite books light enough to read plus lit them so that I could read them in bad lighting. Next, I was connected to Facebook even when I hurt too much to come upstairs to sit up here at the PC.
Limited as it was, I was able to stay in touch with people I'd lost in previous decades. I don't care that it makes me a weirdo. I want my time sitting with friends telling old tales. "Do you remember that time you handed me that note to deliver to my best friend in my first two years in high school so that she could deliver it to me? After so many girls felt that crushing my heart was their duty, you were the one who realized that what I wanted was friendship." "Please stop. This is embarrassing." "Okay. Stopped."
Somehow, I don't think that will happen and I have an idea of why. I'm the weirdo and forgetting people is the normal thing to do. So, Grandmom and Pop Pop met terrible ends more than a decade ago not even recognizing each other. Somehow, Grandmom seemed to recognize me but there are so many Johns in the family that it's hard to be sure. I know that I could have conversations that fit into most of her life. I knew who Jack Benny was and I knew about the origins of that expression, "filling your dance card." Then I saw why my Pop Pop was in another room because he didn't react to my presence at all. That's not a request for sympathy because he was like that with everyone. I wish things had been better for him. I wanted to go on one of our walks down at the beach.
A lot of my current friends are trying to console me by saying that those who have abandoned me were never true friends but that's not the case. They were my friends when I needed them most. Now, they can remain my friends if in a way some might find odd. I imagined my Grandmom doing this during all those years in a chair. I can remember and relive those glory days that happened without anyone telling me that they were no big deal. On days when the pain gets to be too much, there are methods of dealing with it that I believe most 40+ married men know well.
I can watch my children play. These are my adopted fur babies, of course. Pippi is the clown of the family who sticks with Melissa making sure she doesn't study too hard. Pippi gets incredibly jealous and chases everyone away when she wants her Mommy's attention. This includes me, of course. She also sends out subliminal signals, "You must pet the Pippi. You must pet the Pippi, now!" Meekers, aka. "The Last Straw" is a very loving cat once she gets to know you. She decides when it's time for snuggles which involves laying out like a human and exchanging full body hugs. If she gets me down, I cannot resist. She's heavy for a cat but not for some object out there. The Great White Belly is too jiggly for me to lift. I'm not one to throw stones, though. She can't lift me either.
Madeline gets her own paragraph because I complain about her so much. She had been hurting me so badly just by stepping on my sensitive places. Well, my health has declined a bit recently with a lot of vascular issues for one thing and so there are a lot of sore places on my legs where I asked her to walk on me if she had to walk on me at all. Well, I had some sleep deprived weeks not all that long ago and Maddie went back to her original role all but overnight. She had been walking across me a dozen times each half hour, only to tire herself and refuse to get up when I very much needed to get up. Now, she's gotten back to settling very quickly on my lap and distributing her weight nicely. I've caught up on sleep quitely simply because Maddie catnapped me. She got very comfy, started purring and I found myself knocked out.
No one's life is always a bowl of cherries and I've been dealt some pretty vicious hands over the course of mine but it comes down to one of my deeply held beliefs. I'm toeing the line here but trying not to cross into hypocrisy. My belief in divine Providence leads me to believe that God would not force me to face obstacles that I could not overcome. I do not ask you to believe that. It's not easy to sustain such a belief in the face of one's own pain and I know of parents so frustrated that they want to punch the next person to suggest their kid can handle whatever. I come down on the value side of the fix the problem/value the person debate no matter how many people tell me that I should risk a metaphorical head explosion from another doctor's opinion because to do otherwise is giving up.
I choose to live my life and that is that.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Friday, June 17, 2016
Best of Times/Worst of Times
I'm back which should be obvious unless I decide to fade away again before even posting thing entry which would mean that I'd be back later. That didn't always seem so certain when I was in a bit of a slump. There came a point a while back when I decided to put my faith in some people and things that helped me get through some bad times. With the exception of Melissa and some family, most of those people have failed me or needed some time off to any degree. You can guess what's coming next because it's predictable. I decided that it was my fault because decisions may have been made because of things I said or did.
It's okay. I'm going to try to stop putting so much pressure on people. No, I'm not taking the blame or not all of any blame that might exist. I've learned that there is a lot of pressure generated just being in the same room as a frustrated perfectionist. One of the worst ways a frustrated perfectionist like me can inflict harm on others is with the old "don't expect you to live up to my standards" bit. I may mean well because I'm most often telling someone that I realized my "standard" would be literal perfection. Since no one can do perfect, exempting you from my supposed standards is an attempt at kindness that fails horribly.
Here's a belated attempt at keeping this short. Maybe it looks like I'm judging you all the time but I don't mean to do it. I grew up knowing that a critical eye was always on me or very close. I learned to live as if I were under constant surveillance because it was true far too often. I'm just learning to let that go now. Having loved ones who are not seeking to judge me is a luxury that I appreciate more than I can express.
These have been the worst of times in a lot of very obvious ways. Melissa and I were only married very briefly before I got sick with my Arnold-Chiari Malformation. Sometimes, I think I spend way too much time trying to play down how serious and complicated ACM is. I didn't simply have brain surgery the way I simplify it. At the time I had the surgery the probably saved my life very directly, there were possibly a dozen specialist practices capable of handling Arnold Chiari Malformations with complications. One or two of the top specialist neurosurgeons in the world working together found my case challenging. It is quite possible that it took the top two Chiari surgeons with their support staffs to get me to where I am today. This is not bragging because I was unconscious for the hard parts.
This is an explanation for why I am so grateful for where I am in life. More than one person has died from this over the past week alone. Scratch that! More than one child has died from this over the past week. I choose to avoid seeking out explanations for why others die mostly because there's the awful truth concerning why some people die. I got the top team at the top of their game despite having done nothing to deserve this which means someone else way back when got someone else. Do I believe that the other doctors caused the deaths? No. I believe that I got lucky and I've processed those guilty feelings already.
I've written a lot about the symptoms that I suffer so often that I expect you know them pretty well. This isn't my pain blog so I'm going to concentrate on some other things. My job is to find the silver linings in the black clouds. I looked at my life at a particularly chaotic day with my life at a typical low day but still in the reasonable range. That's when I put on some music and a cat jumped up on my lap.
What was so bad about this? I found myself enjoying it. Obviously, I don't enjoy intense pain or diminished mental capacity so why should the occasional perk make me feel so much guilt? The pain is there all day, every day. It is a weight crushing me. I'm not on trial but serving a life sentence. When I think about the pain and other symptoms, I feel like less of a freeloader. I can't work. I can't even play much of the time. This post was supposed to be a one day thing and this is day three or four. If you know me, you know how important writing is to me.
So, there came a day when I realized how my lack of direction was hurting Melissa and I decided to find things I could change. Mostly, I found the best changes to be in matters of attitude. Silver linings, anyone? Let's start with writing. Sometimes, I fret and blame myself for spending so little of my available writing time on writing. Then again, I have several writing projects started and substantially completed over the past few years. My writing output has gone up while I've been sick and I have made some small difference in a life or two.
When I looked at my symptoms, I realized that there were two layers to each of them. First, I had the unpleasant symptom and then had the equally unpleasant feeling of guilt about failing to overcome the pain, dizziness or whatever. My doctors and I made all sorts of incremental improvements with Melissa's help. In fact, I provided a large amount of new information about the new, super-scary infection and the prescription knocked it right out. Why did I wait so long to ask for help? As Dwayne Johnson always told us, "It doesn't matter why I waited so long!"
Officially, the paperwork will tell everyone that I am disabled because it remains true but my feelings about it all have changed. I am in very early retirement as far as I'm concerned. After struggling for my important wins that earned me freedom from my parents and the lifetime of trying to gain their approval, I have retired from the wars. Instead of trying to meet standards, set standards and evade or impose them on others, I am retired. My new goal is to glean what joy I can for my loved ones and me without spending all of our money.at once.
Maybe Melissa and I can live up to my memories of Grandmom and Pop Pop in the Crystal Beach Manor Years. My Uncle Ray, the supposed Grinch who never stopped loving his family, saved every penny that he could so that he could retire relatively young and still able to enjoy life is another excellent example. Gruffness can be justified pride at achieving the "Stapleford dream" as a pared down/focused version of the obsolete American dream. I'm ignoring rumors, stories and family politics here to put everyone in his or her best light because that's how I choose to see them. My older cousins worked hard and always had a smile for me.
If all goes well, Melissa and I will go out to dinner at the diner for eggs. It will be a short trip with minimal pain, tasty food that might not be expensive seafood but will taste just right and conversation with my beloved which is something we've pretty much had to schedule since her promotion. Scarcity is a big part of making something even more precious. I could get a screaming headache or fall because I got dizzy enough to kick away my own cane but so what?! These are all parts of life now.
It's the best of times and the worst of times. I've been making the best of mixed situations for much longer than my worst critics would ever believe. I've had my bad times when life has nearly crushed me but so have you. I've gotten back up every time just like you have. I've also been tested to my limits just as you have. In fact, I'm at my blowout point already twitching for the third day in a row now. Time to post this and hope there's no randomly imbedded (insert random joke here) stuff to insult friends and family alike. That might not have bothered me years ago but I'm retired now.
It's okay. I'm going to try to stop putting so much pressure on people. No, I'm not taking the blame or not all of any blame that might exist. I've learned that there is a lot of pressure generated just being in the same room as a frustrated perfectionist. One of the worst ways a frustrated perfectionist like me can inflict harm on others is with the old "don't expect you to live up to my standards" bit. I may mean well because I'm most often telling someone that I realized my "standard" would be literal perfection. Since no one can do perfect, exempting you from my supposed standards is an attempt at kindness that fails horribly.
Here's a belated attempt at keeping this short. Maybe it looks like I'm judging you all the time but I don't mean to do it. I grew up knowing that a critical eye was always on me or very close. I learned to live as if I were under constant surveillance because it was true far too often. I'm just learning to let that go now. Having loved ones who are not seeking to judge me is a luxury that I appreciate more than I can express.
These have been the worst of times in a lot of very obvious ways. Melissa and I were only married very briefly before I got sick with my Arnold-Chiari Malformation. Sometimes, I think I spend way too much time trying to play down how serious and complicated ACM is. I didn't simply have brain surgery the way I simplify it. At the time I had the surgery the probably saved my life very directly, there were possibly a dozen specialist practices capable of handling Arnold Chiari Malformations with complications. One or two of the top specialist neurosurgeons in the world working together found my case challenging. It is quite possible that it took the top two Chiari surgeons with their support staffs to get me to where I am today. This is not bragging because I was unconscious for the hard parts.
This is an explanation for why I am so grateful for where I am in life. More than one person has died from this over the past week alone. Scratch that! More than one child has died from this over the past week. I choose to avoid seeking out explanations for why others die mostly because there's the awful truth concerning why some people die. I got the top team at the top of their game despite having done nothing to deserve this which means someone else way back when got someone else. Do I believe that the other doctors caused the deaths? No. I believe that I got lucky and I've processed those guilty feelings already.
I've written a lot about the symptoms that I suffer so often that I expect you know them pretty well. This isn't my pain blog so I'm going to concentrate on some other things. My job is to find the silver linings in the black clouds. I looked at my life at a particularly chaotic day with my life at a typical low day but still in the reasonable range. That's when I put on some music and a cat jumped up on my lap.
What was so bad about this? I found myself enjoying it. Obviously, I don't enjoy intense pain or diminished mental capacity so why should the occasional perk make me feel so much guilt? The pain is there all day, every day. It is a weight crushing me. I'm not on trial but serving a life sentence. When I think about the pain and other symptoms, I feel like less of a freeloader. I can't work. I can't even play much of the time. This post was supposed to be a one day thing and this is day three or four. If you know me, you know how important writing is to me.
So, there came a day when I realized how my lack of direction was hurting Melissa and I decided to find things I could change. Mostly, I found the best changes to be in matters of attitude. Silver linings, anyone? Let's start with writing. Sometimes, I fret and blame myself for spending so little of my available writing time on writing. Then again, I have several writing projects started and substantially completed over the past few years. My writing output has gone up while I've been sick and I have made some small difference in a life or two.
When I looked at my symptoms, I realized that there were two layers to each of them. First, I had the unpleasant symptom and then had the equally unpleasant feeling of guilt about failing to overcome the pain, dizziness or whatever. My doctors and I made all sorts of incremental improvements with Melissa's help. In fact, I provided a large amount of new information about the new, super-scary infection and the prescription knocked it right out. Why did I wait so long to ask for help? As Dwayne Johnson always told us, "It doesn't matter why I waited so long!"
Officially, the paperwork will tell everyone that I am disabled because it remains true but my feelings about it all have changed. I am in very early retirement as far as I'm concerned. After struggling for my important wins that earned me freedom from my parents and the lifetime of trying to gain their approval, I have retired from the wars. Instead of trying to meet standards, set standards and evade or impose them on others, I am retired. My new goal is to glean what joy I can for my loved ones and me without spending all of our money.at once.
Maybe Melissa and I can live up to my memories of Grandmom and Pop Pop in the Crystal Beach Manor Years. My Uncle Ray, the supposed Grinch who never stopped loving his family, saved every penny that he could so that he could retire relatively young and still able to enjoy life is another excellent example. Gruffness can be justified pride at achieving the "Stapleford dream" as a pared down/focused version of the obsolete American dream. I'm ignoring rumors, stories and family politics here to put everyone in his or her best light because that's how I choose to see them. My older cousins worked hard and always had a smile for me.
If all goes well, Melissa and I will go out to dinner at the diner for eggs. It will be a short trip with minimal pain, tasty food that might not be expensive seafood but will taste just right and conversation with my beloved which is something we've pretty much had to schedule since her promotion. Scarcity is a big part of making something even more precious. I could get a screaming headache or fall because I got dizzy enough to kick away my own cane but so what?! These are all parts of life now.
It's the best of times and the worst of times. I've been making the best of mixed situations for much longer than my worst critics would ever believe. I've had my bad times when life has nearly crushed me but so have you. I've gotten back up every time just like you have. I've also been tested to my limits just as you have. In fact, I'm at my blowout point already twitching for the third day in a row now. Time to post this and hope there's no randomly imbedded (insert random joke here) stuff to insult friends and family alike. That might not have bothered me years ago but I'm retired now.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
One Explanation for Trump
Trump has been described as a force of nature that the Republican Party is too weak to withstand. He's also described as a mystery beyond our capacity to understand but this isn't true. There have been politicians like him before. The Trump phenomenon has happened because Republican leaders have spent decades crafting their story of this place called America (pronounced "Amerka") that replaced the United States of America or the USA in far too many minds. Mythical America took all the positive aspects of Republican philosophy and pretended that they could exist on their own.
Most US citizens seemed to vote as if they believed in the myth but they also voted for the Democratic story as well. Unfortunately, the Democratic story was a bucket of cold water realism dumped on the happy optimism of Republican fiction. For too long, we Democrats occupied ourselves with poking holes in the Republican mythos. Like children who remain true believers in Santa Claus, we bought into the idea that taxes weren't necessary. Free market Santa would distribute income to the hard working while the others would have to breathe smog produced by coal fired plants.
What does this have to do with Trump? Well, US citizens are not stupid for the most part. We have to take part in suspension of disbelief as if we're attending a good movie. I happen to be a big "Star Wars" fan like most people and that involves accepting the idea that the Force could have existed "Long ago in a galaxy far, far away." Trump wants us to believe in what the ancient but historical Greeks called the time of giants. The Greeks were among the first in recorded history to discover fossils and fossilized remains. When they added these records to what they knew and added a desire to be extraordinary, those fossils had to be the remains of heroes and the great beasts they fought. Since no one remembered actually seeing a ten foot tall man or a cyclops, suspension of disbelief required that these events took place in a far distant past. The Greeks really were hereoes as long as their poets made them feel great.
Trump says that he wants to make America great again without saying exactly what this greatness is. In truth, this nation has so much concentrated power that a true qualitative improvement would have to be philosophical involving more equitable distribution of wealth. That's not what Trump wants. In fact, any explanation of this greatness would subject it to those who have vastly different ideas. Therefore, his starting point was the great Republican myth with the 1950s as their "long ago and far away."
There is some justification for choosing the 50s as the Glory Days. Things were good for white American men in so many ways. Let's start with the nebulous looking concept of social order. Everyone had their place where they were content to stay according to the myth. White men went to work at the office or the factory then came home to orderly suburban neighborhoods. According to the myth, the houses were bought with money saved through war bonds or rationing. The factories were built for war production then converted to civilian production by brave white men who dared risk to get a chance at the possible riches.
During this great time of social order, women were believed happy to give up their jobs so that men could work. They were depicted on the new mass medium of television as housewives who spent their days keeping their houses and children spotless without breaking out in a sweat. They were the source of stability behind the white man's throne but were, somehow, unworthy of sitting on their own throne. Television depicted black men and women as comedic servants who were in their proper place. After all, television offered us a picture of their comedic laziness balanced out by good and loyal hearts when they were depicted at all. More often than that, they were simply there shown in their proper roles.
I was going to get into separate sections on economics and law but I think you've seen enough of the myth for the reality to stand out. The ugliness of racism from this supposedly ideal time has tarnished our society to the point where I do not believe that reparations to African-American families is a radical idea anymore. US law is all about replacing the Old Testament (Hebrew Scripture, Torah, Pentatuch) concept of "an eye for an eye" with "how many dollars will compensate you for the loss of an eye?" How would I justify reparations? The African-American population was intentionally and systematically left out of the economic boom that started in the 1950s. Two examples are higher education and the real estate.
One thing that everyone knows about the GI Bill is that it allowed returning servicemen to attend college. As a result, these white men able to leave the family farms and poorly paid factory jobs for the office resulting in that 50s stereotype of eight hours in the office followed by their arrival at home. The children would be clean and quiet and the wife would have that drink ready followed quickly by dinner or he might lose his temper. I wonder how much of that was undiagnosed PTSD especially those who kept their tempers yet wanted to retreat into their castle with that liquid numbness helping keep the walls up. After all, men were too tough back then to require treatment for anything mental.
That was the myth. The truth is far uglier since African American men got no GI Bill benefits. They didn't get to go to school and so they had to return to the dirtiest and most dangerous jobs the nation could offer unless they weren't that lucky. The higher education or vocational training that could have gotten African Americans out of humiliating jobs serving their supposed betters was denied them. The trickle down effect of being able to pass the pride of achievement down to their children was denied them.
Of course, those of us who graduated college in the late 20th and early 21st centuries know that the ability to attend college is no guarantee of success or wealth even when we manage to graduate. This is why the denial of federal housing grants and loans to returning African-Americans is one of the worst abuses of governmental power in US history. Home ownership may not be the thing for me and other severely disabled people but it has been the most powerful and reliable engines of economic growth for most.
This began with returning white men returning from the Second World War to be thanked by the GI Bill. Had this simply included African Americans and other minorities, it might have led to ethnic harmony. (I try to avoid using race and its related terms since it has no basis in genetics and seems to exist to promote racism.) Those lucky enough to have white skin were eligible for low interest loans from the government.In the decades of steady appreciation of home values, the white family was able to pay off the mortgage debt and make a paper profit on the home. That home often stayed in the family for generations and white families started businesses by borrowing against the profit they made. This has had time to happen over a few generations so that it continued to be a wealth multiplier each time.
Even when African-American families pulled off the miracle of saving up for that nice home that would have appreciated over time, cruder barriers blocked them from opportunity. Deeds to houses were written in such a way that it was forbidden to sell to African-Americans. Another tactic involved writing a loan where any lateness in payment even by an hour was considered default. In terms that would make most of today's worst "banksters" blush, the African-American could lose his entire investment if his final payment was a dollar short including fees that might be added on at the last minute. I'm not saying that outright theft by fraud was common but the incentive for it was there.
African-American domestic servants oftened suffered the indignity of working for starvation wages all day while being expected to be all but silent and invisible only to be forbidden under penalty of arrest if found within town limits in so-called "Sundown Towns." Just as I do not accuse most whites at the time of theft by fraud, I do not accuse Donald Trump of wishing for the return of the 50s with all the hidden ugliness. What I believe is that there has been a white supremicist, anti-feminist wing of the Republican Party which is becoming its center these days. I suspect that I know what they want from a return to "American greatness."
Trump is the carnival barker who will profit from whatever goes on in the big tent. He is despicable for what he says but that's a small part of it all. Trump is the storyteller who will sell the Republican story or whatever part of it is selling that day. His followers include those who aren't listening to the words yet "Great Again" tugs at their heartstrings so that they remember a time when the neighborhood was all white and they could aspire to succeed their fathers in the big chair.
Even I have memories of coveting the big chair despite owning the actual chair for some time. Sadly, the big chair shrank as I got older and larger. I can reach out and touch the walls on both sides of the hallway in the school I attended at age ten. We kids could keep four lanes going in that same space. As I grew up physically, I grew up intellectually. The Republican idea of greatness is wrong. I want greatness based on increased income equality, greater inclusion and a world where I wouldn't need a law passed for someone to help me with my cane. That's a bad example but I want a world where simple human kindness is not based on laws.
Until we get there, let's start by figuring out a way to make the class of black and brown homeowners/business owners that our ancestors used force to stop from evolving on its own. One big step will be making sure that the people we're trying to repay are satisfied with how they are repaid. That means listening first.
Most US citizens seemed to vote as if they believed in the myth but they also voted for the Democratic story as well. Unfortunately, the Democratic story was a bucket of cold water realism dumped on the happy optimism of Republican fiction. For too long, we Democrats occupied ourselves with poking holes in the Republican mythos. Like children who remain true believers in Santa Claus, we bought into the idea that taxes weren't necessary. Free market Santa would distribute income to the hard working while the others would have to breathe smog produced by coal fired plants.
What does this have to do with Trump? Well, US citizens are not stupid for the most part. We have to take part in suspension of disbelief as if we're attending a good movie. I happen to be a big "Star Wars" fan like most people and that involves accepting the idea that the Force could have existed "Long ago in a galaxy far, far away." Trump wants us to believe in what the ancient but historical Greeks called the time of giants. The Greeks were among the first in recorded history to discover fossils and fossilized remains. When they added these records to what they knew and added a desire to be extraordinary, those fossils had to be the remains of heroes and the great beasts they fought. Since no one remembered actually seeing a ten foot tall man or a cyclops, suspension of disbelief required that these events took place in a far distant past. The Greeks really were hereoes as long as their poets made them feel great.
Trump says that he wants to make America great again without saying exactly what this greatness is. In truth, this nation has so much concentrated power that a true qualitative improvement would have to be philosophical involving more equitable distribution of wealth. That's not what Trump wants. In fact, any explanation of this greatness would subject it to those who have vastly different ideas. Therefore, his starting point was the great Republican myth with the 1950s as their "long ago and far away."
There is some justification for choosing the 50s as the Glory Days. Things were good for white American men in so many ways. Let's start with the nebulous looking concept of social order. Everyone had their place where they were content to stay according to the myth. White men went to work at the office or the factory then came home to orderly suburban neighborhoods. According to the myth, the houses were bought with money saved through war bonds or rationing. The factories were built for war production then converted to civilian production by brave white men who dared risk to get a chance at the possible riches.
During this great time of social order, women were believed happy to give up their jobs so that men could work. They were depicted on the new mass medium of television as housewives who spent their days keeping their houses and children spotless without breaking out in a sweat. They were the source of stability behind the white man's throne but were, somehow, unworthy of sitting on their own throne. Television depicted black men and women as comedic servants who were in their proper place. After all, television offered us a picture of their comedic laziness balanced out by good and loyal hearts when they were depicted at all. More often than that, they were simply there shown in their proper roles.
I was going to get into separate sections on economics and law but I think you've seen enough of the myth for the reality to stand out. The ugliness of racism from this supposedly ideal time has tarnished our society to the point where I do not believe that reparations to African-American families is a radical idea anymore. US law is all about replacing the Old Testament (Hebrew Scripture, Torah, Pentatuch) concept of "an eye for an eye" with "how many dollars will compensate you for the loss of an eye?" How would I justify reparations? The African-American population was intentionally and systematically left out of the economic boom that started in the 1950s. Two examples are higher education and the real estate.
One thing that everyone knows about the GI Bill is that it allowed returning servicemen to attend college. As a result, these white men able to leave the family farms and poorly paid factory jobs for the office resulting in that 50s stereotype of eight hours in the office followed by their arrival at home. The children would be clean and quiet and the wife would have that drink ready followed quickly by dinner or he might lose his temper. I wonder how much of that was undiagnosed PTSD especially those who kept their tempers yet wanted to retreat into their castle with that liquid numbness helping keep the walls up. After all, men were too tough back then to require treatment for anything mental.
That was the myth. The truth is far uglier since African American men got no GI Bill benefits. They didn't get to go to school and so they had to return to the dirtiest and most dangerous jobs the nation could offer unless they weren't that lucky. The higher education or vocational training that could have gotten African Americans out of humiliating jobs serving their supposed betters was denied them. The trickle down effect of being able to pass the pride of achievement down to their children was denied them.
Of course, those of us who graduated college in the late 20th and early 21st centuries know that the ability to attend college is no guarantee of success or wealth even when we manage to graduate. This is why the denial of federal housing grants and loans to returning African-Americans is one of the worst abuses of governmental power in US history. Home ownership may not be the thing for me and other severely disabled people but it has been the most powerful and reliable engines of economic growth for most.
This began with returning white men returning from the Second World War to be thanked by the GI Bill. Had this simply included African Americans and other minorities, it might have led to ethnic harmony. (I try to avoid using race and its related terms since it has no basis in genetics and seems to exist to promote racism.) Those lucky enough to have white skin were eligible for low interest loans from the government.In the decades of steady appreciation of home values, the white family was able to pay off the mortgage debt and make a paper profit on the home. That home often stayed in the family for generations and white families started businesses by borrowing against the profit they made. This has had time to happen over a few generations so that it continued to be a wealth multiplier each time.
Even when African-American families pulled off the miracle of saving up for that nice home that would have appreciated over time, cruder barriers blocked them from opportunity. Deeds to houses were written in such a way that it was forbidden to sell to African-Americans. Another tactic involved writing a loan where any lateness in payment even by an hour was considered default. In terms that would make most of today's worst "banksters" blush, the African-American could lose his entire investment if his final payment was a dollar short including fees that might be added on at the last minute. I'm not saying that outright theft by fraud was common but the incentive for it was there.
African-American domestic servants oftened suffered the indignity of working for starvation wages all day while being expected to be all but silent and invisible only to be forbidden under penalty of arrest if found within town limits in so-called "Sundown Towns." Just as I do not accuse most whites at the time of theft by fraud, I do not accuse Donald Trump of wishing for the return of the 50s with all the hidden ugliness. What I believe is that there has been a white supremicist, anti-feminist wing of the Republican Party which is becoming its center these days. I suspect that I know what they want from a return to "American greatness."
Trump is the carnival barker who will profit from whatever goes on in the big tent. He is despicable for what he says but that's a small part of it all. Trump is the storyteller who will sell the Republican story or whatever part of it is selling that day. His followers include those who aren't listening to the words yet "Great Again" tugs at their heartstrings so that they remember a time when the neighborhood was all white and they could aspire to succeed their fathers in the big chair.
Even I have memories of coveting the big chair despite owning the actual chair for some time. Sadly, the big chair shrank as I got older and larger. I can reach out and touch the walls on both sides of the hallway in the school I attended at age ten. We kids could keep four lanes going in that same space. As I grew up physically, I grew up intellectually. The Republican idea of greatness is wrong. I want greatness based on increased income equality, greater inclusion and a world where I wouldn't need a law passed for someone to help me with my cane. That's a bad example but I want a world where simple human kindness is not based on laws.
Until we get there, let's start by figuring out a way to make the class of black and brown homeowners/business owners that our ancestors used force to stop from evolving on its own. One big step will be making sure that the people we're trying to repay are satisfied with how they are repaid. That means listening first.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
I'll Tell You What
I've been enjoying the Stephanie Miller show on Free Speech TV a lot since I discovered it. It's an extremely funny show with a lot of political comedy from a mostly liberal point of view. It's also teaching me a lot about what life is like for people who live under circumstances different from my own. The host is a lesbian in her 50s and most of her crew used to be gay men until there was some turnover. Almost all of her crew got offered better paying jobs with better hours elsewhere all right about the same time. The replacements are mostly men and they are all straight. Stephanie jokingly asks how she became the only gay in the village.
The things that catch my attention are all the things we have in common. One of those things is a real disdain for right wingers though they do a better job laughing at them than I do. Might have something to do with them being comedians while I end up taking the world too seriously at times. Another difference is the fact that certain things will set off my symptoms that might be funny otherwise. Unless I remember to turn down the TV volume when they talk about Trump supporters, I'll get the violent twitches even though I agree with their jokes. It might have something to do with all the skilled voice actors who sound more like Trump supporters than the actual supporters.
Melissa and I went out to breakfast to celebrate her upcoming interview for which she is trying to tamp down expectations. I'm just excited anyway because she'll get a peak inside the door at what it takes to get hired as the #2 person at a store. It will help her no matter what yet I hold out some hope that she'll get promoted anyway despite not being fully trained for the job. Anyway, we went to breakfast at the diner that's right down the street and I had Eggs Chesapeake. This dish involves poached (I think) eggs on English muffins with a substantial amount of Crab Imperial in between and home fries in between. The whole thing might be topped with Hollandaise (sp?) sauce.
You might be surprised what I'll go through for this particular dish. This time, I went to breakfast during peak breakfast hours instead of my preferred 4 AM or so. The noise hit me like a wall when we went in and I got beyond twitchy. Thankfully, I got used to the background noise but that's when I heard it. "I'll tell you what!" Four men who looked like the Central Casting version of rednecks were holding court and they were close. At first, I laughed because "I'll tell you what!" is a running joke for Stephanie and company on her show where they are better known as "Mama and the Mooks." I had been laughing through an awful pain moment as three or four voice actors some of whom have won Emmys nailed the contradiction you could call rednecks or I'm growing partial to the term "Know It All Know Nothings."
I thought I was getting over my fear of this sort of person when I encountered these four and they went off on the usual right wing rants. It didn't take long to realize that they were bullies trying to pick fights. One of them actually went over to another table to pursue a disagreement. On the serious list of things I least need in life, getting pummeled by these caricatures is pretty far up there. I could just see me getting arrested as well the way a cop once wrote me a ticket for something he did not witness me doing. The closest thing to a witness was another driver who took out a sign pole because he was driving too fast in wet conditions. I stopped to make sure he was okay and he roped me in like an expert con artist. I could just see how it would look in the newspaper. "Local Man Is Too Sick to Work But Fights with Trump Supporter." The national media called one black man being surrounded, verbally abused and pummeled by a crowd a fight.
Therefore, I sat with Melissa suddenly unable to put food in my mouth. These four jackasses sounded like they were shouting slogans back and forth but everyone sounds like they are shouting to me once things get to a certain point. I had to get a takeout box for those eggs which Melissa reheated successfully for me later. We decided to order cheese rolls instead of going home disappointed. I was disabled to the point of not being able to figure out how to get the pastry in my mouth. It was sticky and I have issues about touching sticky things with my hands if I'm already riled up but I managed. I had a running list of things I could have said to the wingnuts if I hadn't been cautious of getting into a fight to amuse myself.
We made it home and I made a stiff drink or two which gave me blissful painless and dream free sleep. I'll tell you what. It was a pretty good day with Melissa home and with me. However, the grey one calls me to my duty. I am the Professional Napping Platform and Can Opener at Maddie's Personal Staff.
The things that catch my attention are all the things we have in common. One of those things is a real disdain for right wingers though they do a better job laughing at them than I do. Might have something to do with them being comedians while I end up taking the world too seriously at times. Another difference is the fact that certain things will set off my symptoms that might be funny otherwise. Unless I remember to turn down the TV volume when they talk about Trump supporters, I'll get the violent twitches even though I agree with their jokes. It might have something to do with all the skilled voice actors who sound more like Trump supporters than the actual supporters.
Melissa and I went out to breakfast to celebrate her upcoming interview for which she is trying to tamp down expectations. I'm just excited anyway because she'll get a peak inside the door at what it takes to get hired as the #2 person at a store. It will help her no matter what yet I hold out some hope that she'll get promoted anyway despite not being fully trained for the job. Anyway, we went to breakfast at the diner that's right down the street and I had Eggs Chesapeake. This dish involves poached (I think) eggs on English muffins with a substantial amount of Crab Imperial in between and home fries in between. The whole thing might be topped with Hollandaise (sp?) sauce.
You might be surprised what I'll go through for this particular dish. This time, I went to breakfast during peak breakfast hours instead of my preferred 4 AM or so. The noise hit me like a wall when we went in and I got beyond twitchy. Thankfully, I got used to the background noise but that's when I heard it. "I'll tell you what!" Four men who looked like the Central Casting version of rednecks were holding court and they were close. At first, I laughed because "I'll tell you what!" is a running joke for Stephanie and company on her show where they are better known as "Mama and the Mooks." I had been laughing through an awful pain moment as three or four voice actors some of whom have won Emmys nailed the contradiction you could call rednecks or I'm growing partial to the term "Know It All Know Nothings."
I thought I was getting over my fear of this sort of person when I encountered these four and they went off on the usual right wing rants. It didn't take long to realize that they were bullies trying to pick fights. One of them actually went over to another table to pursue a disagreement. On the serious list of things I least need in life, getting pummeled by these caricatures is pretty far up there. I could just see me getting arrested as well the way a cop once wrote me a ticket for something he did not witness me doing. The closest thing to a witness was another driver who took out a sign pole because he was driving too fast in wet conditions. I stopped to make sure he was okay and he roped me in like an expert con artist. I could just see how it would look in the newspaper. "Local Man Is Too Sick to Work But Fights with Trump Supporter." The national media called one black man being surrounded, verbally abused and pummeled by a crowd a fight.
Therefore, I sat with Melissa suddenly unable to put food in my mouth. These four jackasses sounded like they were shouting slogans back and forth but everyone sounds like they are shouting to me once things get to a certain point. I had to get a takeout box for those eggs which Melissa reheated successfully for me later. We decided to order cheese rolls instead of going home disappointed. I was disabled to the point of not being able to figure out how to get the pastry in my mouth. It was sticky and I have issues about touching sticky things with my hands if I'm already riled up but I managed. I had a running list of things I could have said to the wingnuts if I hadn't been cautious of getting into a fight to amuse myself.
We made it home and I made a stiff drink or two which gave me blissful painless and dream free sleep. I'll tell you what. It was a pretty good day with Melissa home and with me. However, the grey one calls me to my duty. I am the Professional Napping Platform and Can Opener at Maddie's Personal Staff.
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