[Above photo: Fishermen on the Mekong River in Vietnam. Not a photo. Not a painting. A weaving, done in a workshop by children who have lost a limb or two from stepping on a hidden land mine.]
5 December 2021
It really isn’t the end of the world, yet, but daylight is an increasingly brief encounter here. Nodding to that, I arose in the dark to take my car to Phil’s Foreign Auto in S. Portland. My landlady, Kim, suggested Phil’s as a reputable shop. I drove there last week, as well, and happily saw it was primarily for Subarus. But the receptionist had mistakenly put me in for a different day and the shop was swamped. Graciously, I thought, I exhibited flexibility, rescheduled for this week, and drove home. Actually, since it was pouring rain, I was happy not to brave the streets on foot looking for a bus.
Today I returned, it wasn’t crowded, and I had a chance to talk with Bruce. He’s the owner. Phil, his dad, died in 1998. He’d started the shop in 1983. Bruce was living in Hawaii at the time of his father’s illness, biking to work and swimming each day on Waikiki. But the climate—-bland, warm, unchanging—didn’t suit him. “I like to shovel and plow snow. I’m built for it. I’ll go out with a sweatshirt and no gloves and I’m just fine.” Bruce returned to Portland and took over the shop.
Get this. They provide a free shuttle service, door to door, in a new bright yellow Jeep. Jodie drives it and she loves her job. As much as she loves sailing, having learned by racing on Etchells. An Etchell is a speed machine; you tune the rigging before each race. I digress. She dropped me at my door. And when they text me that the car is ready, she’ll collect me whereever I am. Concierge service! For an 18yo Subaru. Well, for its owner. To think of my wasted energy obsessing over whether to take my bike, my kick-scooter, or the #21 bus to get home on this 28 degree morning! A small and pleasant surprise.
I take extended walks on days when it isn’t raining, both to get to know the town and for exercise. Yesterday I came upon a long line, perhaps 75 people. At first I thought it was a food pantry or providing a hot meal. But people were of all ages, well-dressed and groomed. So I asked “Why?”. “In line to get our booster shots.” “Why not go to CVS or Walgreens?” “Their appointments are months away; the closest I could find for today was in Waldoboro.” Waldoboro is 63 miles. No wonder Maine is at the top of the list for covid vaccination rates, although there are pockets of skeptics and anti-vaxxers inland and to the North.
I had lunch with a friend (Peggy) of an old friend (Kate) and as we talked she mentioned the Center for Grieving Children which has branches in Portland and Sanford, ME. I later looked them up. It is a place for children and families who have lost, through death or divorce, a family member to meet others in the same boat and to try to talk about their feelings. I’ll talk with the Director of Volunteers in 3 days to see how I might put my paddle in their stream. How helpful such an organization would have been for us as a family after my Dad died. I was 9yo, my immediately older brother was 12yo. Finding words and a sympathetic ear to hear my confused, angry, guilty, bereft feelings could have meant the world to me. As it was, I simply stewed alone, feeling weird that all the other kids at Scouts had a dad for the Father-Son nights. It felt like a personal failing.
I want to get into the community here in a small way. I may also volunteer to help at a soup kitchen on Christmas Day. I’ve considered it for a long time but never actually did it. This year my dance card is open so I’ll take a chance. I loved being a child at Christmas. And I loved seeing the excitement of my children at Christmas, excepting the year we bought Nate a globe of the world and he thought we had relented and that the box contained a Nintendo set. It also was fraught, for me, because for reasons of my own, hers, or both of us, it was nigh impossible for me to gift Poki what she wanted. I accept that I am not a skilled or intuitive gift giver, which puzzles me since I am a skilled psychotherapist, The latter requires wanting to learn about and know others deeply. Christmas now has less valence for me; I greatly prefer Thanksgiving. Thus, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice for me to serve others, rather a pleasure.
It is difficult for me to hear some of the Supremes talking about their control over women’s bodies, especially the men. And, as well, any citing of their personal religious beliefs, as if they were authority for others. I accept that they have chosen those values for themselves. It reminds me of competent Muslim women in Myanmar who would love to be free of their useless, philandering husbands but cannot initiate a divorce. The men can, as I’ve mentioned once before, approach them and say, “I divorce you.” three times. Then they are divorced.
Religions have an aspect like a club, with special songs, rituals, and cultures. I accept that some people find them comforting and that they often do wonderful community work through education, health care, and other good deeds. But when one religion, or one sect of a religion, begins to dictate what all others may or may not do, especially with their own bodies—-that is, when religious belief is turned into law—it is intolerable to me, especially if it is contrary to the will of the majority of people it effects. If Justice Barrett doesn’t want to have an abortion, it’s her choice. But just because the official position of the Catholic Church prohibits abortion shouldn’t mean that any woman cannot make this most personal decision for herself. I recall that there was a general worry, needless it turned out, that JFK would superimpose his Catholic beliefs onto the presidency. It appears to be different with the current membership of the Supreme Court.
I finished an amazing book—Over the Edge of the World—about the first circumnavigation of our planet. It was brilliantly led by Magellan but his hubris caused his death in the Phillipines. I’ve seen the memorial on Mactan Island to Lapu Lapu, the warrior-leader who refused to accept Catholic conversion. Magellan attacked him to assert his supremacy and was slaughtered. The book details the suffering, the smells, and the dangers of long-distance sailing in those days better than anything I’ve read. It is a page-turner, which I don’t find often in much of what I read.
And in closing, a most amazing essay by Merritt Tierce about not getting an abortion— https://www.nytimes.com/2021/12/02/magazine/abortion-parent-mother-child.html?searchResultPosition=2 , she who became pregnant at 19yo, two months before her college graduation. She dives into the complexity of religious belief, guilt, sexual desire, maternal love, personal ambition, etc. in a manner I found deeply moving. I thought it was lyrical, clear-eyed, and imbued with love and honesty. A stunning piece.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 