My friend Betsy (who has been my dear friend since we were in elementary school, which is a very long time now) is a planner and a do-er and a mover and shaker. She likes having things to look forward to and she does research and she organizes trips and outings, large and small.
Way back when we first moved into Blueberry Hill, when there were lots of young kids in the neighborhood, she decided we should coordinate our parenting efforts, as a community, during spring break. Her contribution would be to take a day off from work to transport a group of children on a Forced Cultural March. She always enlisted me and I have been a loyal partner, following behind her fast-paced walk. Betsy would figure out what she was interested in seeing, she would send out an email and invite any adults or children to join her.
For about fifteen years, we piled into her minivan and headed into DC for a day of enrichment. Sometimes we had two minivans full of kids. Usually we parked in her work garage, which is in the middle of downtown everything. We went to exhibits in various museums (Portrait Gallery, Building Museum, Newseum), to places that were off the usual tour (the Textile Museum, the Bishops Garden, the National Arboretum) and we always learned new things and had interesting conversations. We had picnics on the Mall or we ate in restaurants that met our diverse needs (when the kids got older we could even go to places like the Old Post Office Building and let them get their own lunches). So often our outings were during Passover, and I had to get the boring salad wherever we went.
As the years went by, the group got smaller. Kids got older and moved away and those who were still living here had more ability to choose how they spent their spring break -- they began to opt out of the Forced Cultural March. Two springs ago, only Betsy and I met up in the parking lot, and that made her sad. We went anyway, as she had taken the day off, and we had a truly delightful day together visiting Lincoln's Cottage up in NE. As luck would have it, we got a private tour.
I suggested then that she forget about the kids and switch over to adults. Even adults need a Forced Cultural March now and then. She took a year off, and then this year she resurrected the institution.
A few days ago, four adults met in the upper parking lot at 9:30, heading off to Glenstone (www.glenstone.org), a museum Betsy had read about a few years ago and kept in her mental files. The rest of us knew nothing about our destination, but we were game.
We drove into suburban Maryland, down a two lane country road in Potomac and came to a formidable gate with a guard house and a serious gate keeper. He checked our names (Betsy had dutifully made reservations, including all our names, so perhaps we had passed background checks and did not realize it) and asked us how we had heard about this museum. Then he told us to drive to a specific spot and wait for someone to meet us. We drove into the 200 acre estate, past some huge outdoor sculptures, and parked. There was a greeter waiting for us. She welcomed us and asked us how we had learned about it. This was feeling sort of science fiction-ish by now. She walked us to the museum, and I asked her for the origin story.
It was a brief story -- someone with a lot of money wanted to create a modern art museum and he was married to someone who had been closely associated with the Guggenheim. They hired an architectural firm, they built this museum and also a private house for their family. The whole place felt like there was plenty of money. They take care of the 200 acres without any chemical inputs, using only sustainable practices (they make their own compost tea).
Inside the museum we learned that the whole place was devoted to one artist this year. There was an interpreter/guide in every room. The medium was acrylic yarn. It took me some time to adjust to this, but having people to talk to about the art made it so much more interesting and fun. We got into it. The yarn was stretched taut in perfect geometric patterns, not complicated, not like a spider web, but mostly straight from floor to ceiling. Only two or three colors per installation. Lots and lots of thought and effort went into lighting, perspective, use of space. In one room, the guide asked me if I noticed anything about the floor. Other than how absolutely fancy it was (very small pieces of wood, making a parquet type floor), no. He pointed out there were no shadows at all in the room. How SPOOKY. I wondered if we were really there.
Then we had an outdoor tour that took well over an hour. We went down into the woods (their topography was exactly like ours on the farm and Blueberry Hill -- hilly, with a stream valley, woods...it felt just like home, but with sculptures) and had a leisurely walk, seeing various related and unrelated pieces of art. It was a hot and sunny day, but gorgeous.
The next day, when I was hoeing spinach with the workers in Loudoun, I described this whole experience to them. One of them is an artist, which is why I told the story in such detail. About two minutes into my story, she said, "it was a private collection!" And that clarified the whole spooky feeling to me. Of course they would want to know who was walking around their personal home, of course they don't need to charge admission, and of course they can do it any way they want to. It just seemed so strange to be asked by every single person, "how did you hear about this?" It's like a big secret, except that they encouraged us to tell our friends. (No one younger than 12 is allowed, and they watched us like hawks to make sure we didn't touch anything at all.)
Of course our little group of four was a bit mysterious to the few others who were visiting that morning. We were three women and a man. The same question that has come up before when people find out we come from an intentional community -- we could see it in their eyes and they sort of asked it -- you all got the same husband? We are so accustomed to being with our neighbors in various venues, we don't even think about it any more.
Anyway, if anyone is interested in this museum, it is worth the trip and it is free and so interesting.
And I think that everyone should have a friend who organizes a Forced Cultural March every year because without her, I would have missed out on so many opportunities to learn about the variety of riches within 30 minutes of where we live.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
A Catastrophic Mistake
Over the weekend, we got the news that a child of an NVHC friend, a 21 year old college junior, had died after taking a drug called molly. He was at an electronic music concert in Miami and he made a fatal miscalculation.
This young man was the oldest of three, had a remarkably outsized personality, and has been described repeatedly as "larger than life." He was well known in all of his worlds -- at synagogue, at camp, at college. It is a huge shock.
His family has been part of the temple community for many years, and had been especially good friends with Rob and Irena and their families. Rob and Irena are our former clergy who have both moved on to other congregations. They both came to be with their Virginia congregational family and they both looked wiped out. I don't ever remember seeing Irena cry before, but perhaps that is because in the past she was the presiding clergy person who was not meant to add to the level of anxiety, but instead be a calm presence. Today she was one of us.
Today when we arrived at the synagogue, the parking lots were almost full. There has not been a funeral of this magnitude since the last NVHC child died suddenly and tragically after getting hit by a car on the side of the road. This death was the same in its suddenness and its senselessness.
There was a line of people waiting to get in, and Beryl was heroically bringing hand carts full of chairs into the Social Hall. When the rabbi saw what was going on, he rounded up a whole row of young men to bring every chair from the other parts of the building. Eventually we all settled in, knowing that we dreaded the next hour.
It was heartbreaking to see so many people's lived changed so suddenly. He has grandparents and cousins and siblings and parents and hundreds of people who love him. I am on the outer edges of his orbit, but his mother is part of my social world, in a knitting circle way.
The eulogies were powerful and honest -- but as the rabbi said, restricted to some amount of dignified content. Rob spoke as a friend of the family and not as a rabbi, so he allowed himself more anger and sorrow than he would have as the clergy in charge. Close friends spoke, eloquently, beautifully. We got a very full picture of Adam's impact on his world -- complicated, passionate, loud, a leader, quirky, loving, a huge smile, spontaneous, hard working, and not yet a grown-up. Our rabbi gracefully synthesized hours of conversations he had shared with friends and family. Everyone said that Adam would have loved this much attention, but it was a mournful joke. One thing that our rabbi said that I really appreciated: just because Adam's light burned really brightly for all of his years, that does not have anything to do with this early and sudden end. There is no relationship. There is no cause and effect. He said it better than that. He also quoted Bob Dylan's song "May you be forever young" which did seem amazingly appropriate.
This was a fluke. Accidents happen. People make bad choices. There is no making sense of this. Most of the time, most of us escape disaster. There is no fairness. Losing this child is a huge loss, and it will take a very long time for his family to get through the grief. We have all experienced this, in one way or another, and there are no shortcuts. It just takes a lot of time and talking and living to get away from the stabbing surprising pain every time you think of the person.
One other backstory: Adam's father has not been interested in being part of temple life, although his wife and children are active and busy members. It is this exact moment, this terrible horrible moment, that shows the meaning and purpose of belonging. We all know how to help, and we know what to do and we have rituals that can guide the mourners who are in too much pain and disarray to make decisions. I am glad they could just say they needed help, and help was ready. I am sure that Adam's father will have a different relationship with the idea of belonging.
So much intense sorrow. He will be remembered and people will smile when they think of him. When you start out larger than life, your legend can only grow.
This young man was the oldest of three, had a remarkably outsized personality, and has been described repeatedly as "larger than life." He was well known in all of his worlds -- at synagogue, at camp, at college. It is a huge shock.
His family has been part of the temple community for many years, and had been especially good friends with Rob and Irena and their families. Rob and Irena are our former clergy who have both moved on to other congregations. They both came to be with their Virginia congregational family and they both looked wiped out. I don't ever remember seeing Irena cry before, but perhaps that is because in the past she was the presiding clergy person who was not meant to add to the level of anxiety, but instead be a calm presence. Today she was one of us.
Today when we arrived at the synagogue, the parking lots were almost full. There has not been a funeral of this magnitude since the last NVHC child died suddenly and tragically after getting hit by a car on the side of the road. This death was the same in its suddenness and its senselessness.
There was a line of people waiting to get in, and Beryl was heroically bringing hand carts full of chairs into the Social Hall. When the rabbi saw what was going on, he rounded up a whole row of young men to bring every chair from the other parts of the building. Eventually we all settled in, knowing that we dreaded the next hour.
It was heartbreaking to see so many people's lived changed so suddenly. He has grandparents and cousins and siblings and parents and hundreds of people who love him. I am on the outer edges of his orbit, but his mother is part of my social world, in a knitting circle way.
The eulogies were powerful and honest -- but as the rabbi said, restricted to some amount of dignified content. Rob spoke as a friend of the family and not as a rabbi, so he allowed himself more anger and sorrow than he would have as the clergy in charge. Close friends spoke, eloquently, beautifully. We got a very full picture of Adam's impact on his world -- complicated, passionate, loud, a leader, quirky, loving, a huge smile, spontaneous, hard working, and not yet a grown-up. Our rabbi gracefully synthesized hours of conversations he had shared with friends and family. Everyone said that Adam would have loved this much attention, but it was a mournful joke. One thing that our rabbi said that I really appreciated: just because Adam's light burned really brightly for all of his years, that does not have anything to do with this early and sudden end. There is no relationship. There is no cause and effect. He said it better than that. He also quoted Bob Dylan's song "May you be forever young" which did seem amazingly appropriate.
This was a fluke. Accidents happen. People make bad choices. There is no making sense of this. Most of the time, most of us escape disaster. There is no fairness. Losing this child is a huge loss, and it will take a very long time for his family to get through the grief. We have all experienced this, in one way or another, and there are no shortcuts. It just takes a lot of time and talking and living to get away from the stabbing surprising pain every time you think of the person.
One other backstory: Adam's father has not been interested in being part of temple life, although his wife and children are active and busy members. It is this exact moment, this terrible horrible moment, that shows the meaning and purpose of belonging. We all know how to help, and we know what to do and we have rituals that can guide the mourners who are in too much pain and disarray to make decisions. I am glad they could just say they needed help, and help was ready. I am sure that Adam's father will have a different relationship with the idea of belonging.
So much intense sorrow. He will be remembered and people will smile when they think of him. When you start out larger than life, your legend can only grow.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Grandma's New Knee
My mother decided last year she was ready for some new knees, having worn the original ones out. She did some research, interviewed some doctors, and eventually chose the orthopedist that Chip Planck recommended. The surgery dates were scheduled after various winter activities she had planned -- she went to Cuba for a week with Michael L and a group (and her knees were very sore) and she went away for a weekend retreat with fellow co-counselors.
Last Tuesday she was ready to go. She had been diligent about her fitness training, going to the gym as often as three or four times a week. Her upper body strength was good, she had excellent cardiovascular conditioning and she felt that she had done her job to be as strong as she could be, even with her skinny chicken legs and her compromised lungs (which were doing great, compared to the past). She was on no medications except her inhaler and a vary small amount of Advil for her knees.
We were a little bit worried because she had a slight cold on Tuesday but she was feeling fine. She passed whatever check-up they had before the surgery and in she went at 8:35 AM. Michael L waited, a little bit anxiously. Everything went just fine and she was back out of surgery with no complications. She rested up for a couple of days at the hospital, doing all that was asked of her, learning to walk with the walker and her temporarily straight-braced leg. She came home yesterday afternoon and settled into the living room.
Her mood is calm and good. She is sleepy from the drugs, but unperturbed. She seems completely at peace with her temporary identity as a recovering patient. She is not always so good about asking for things (even last night she was cold, apparently, and did not ask for a blanket -- just like at the hospital) but she does make sure to ask for assistance when she is walking around with the walker. To me she looks graceful, even with the walker. This must be a result of her upper body strength and her core strength -- she doesn't lean on the walker, she just keeps it in front of her for balance. She looks like a dancer, even with that big chunky thing on her left leg.
It is nice to have her so accessible on the main floor of her house. We can just walk in and check on things whenever we feel like it, and we can also give Michael a break. We can heat up water for her thermos, warm up soup, move the furniture so it is more useful. She has never been one to ask for things, so we can just figure out what would be most helpful.
In just a week and a half, she will go in to have the other knee replaced. This seems more daunting now, as then she will have two legs that don't bend. Or maybe the first one will be bending by then. Today is her first session with the physical therapist (ouch).
Today I offered to give Michael a couple hours to go do errands and go to the gym. And then I went out and collected up Zoey, Carrie's 6 month old baby, so we could have a combo caregiving situation. Carrie could focus on her work and I could just hang out with the people who needed someone. For over an hour, there was an 80 year old and a 6 month old, sleeping quietly just a few feet from each other. The elder one on a tall bed, leg attached to a machine that runs icy water through a knee wrapping and the teeny one in a jumble of sweatshirts on the floor. When Anna came by to take over, I sprinted to the greenhouse for my turn. Shortly I got a text, "Sad baby. Diapers here?" Mom is by far the easier person to take care of as she goes to sleep without fussing and is easily entertained.
I am on the trail of some tall comfortable stools that swivel, so my mother will be able to do stuff in the greenhouse when she is ready. Might not be for a few more weeks, but I anticipate that she will be tired of being inside just as soon as she feels well enough to get out. It might be a good idea to figure out how to make her golf cart work with hand controls. Another thing to add to Jon's list.
So far so good. No one is surprised that she is the best patient ever. And we will have to remember to give Michael regular breaks. He planned to be the full time caregiver, and he is the one who is most responsible, but he will need support. Anna is doing a great job of creating order in the medication schedule -- one of her specialties -- and Gordon is doing a great job of making sure that the meds are managed in the most sensible possible way. In some ways, our team is really ready for anything. Babies, invalids, bring em on.
Last Tuesday she was ready to go. She had been diligent about her fitness training, going to the gym as often as three or four times a week. Her upper body strength was good, she had excellent cardiovascular conditioning and she felt that she had done her job to be as strong as she could be, even with her skinny chicken legs and her compromised lungs (which were doing great, compared to the past). She was on no medications except her inhaler and a vary small amount of Advil for her knees.
We were a little bit worried because she had a slight cold on Tuesday but she was feeling fine. She passed whatever check-up they had before the surgery and in she went at 8:35 AM. Michael L waited, a little bit anxiously. Everything went just fine and she was back out of surgery with no complications. She rested up for a couple of days at the hospital, doing all that was asked of her, learning to walk with the walker and her temporarily straight-braced leg. She came home yesterday afternoon and settled into the living room.
Her mood is calm and good. She is sleepy from the drugs, but unperturbed. She seems completely at peace with her temporary identity as a recovering patient. She is not always so good about asking for things (even last night she was cold, apparently, and did not ask for a blanket -- just like at the hospital) but she does make sure to ask for assistance when she is walking around with the walker. To me she looks graceful, even with the walker. This must be a result of her upper body strength and her core strength -- she doesn't lean on the walker, she just keeps it in front of her for balance. She looks like a dancer, even with that big chunky thing on her left leg.
It is nice to have her so accessible on the main floor of her house. We can just walk in and check on things whenever we feel like it, and we can also give Michael a break. We can heat up water for her thermos, warm up soup, move the furniture so it is more useful. She has never been one to ask for things, so we can just figure out what would be most helpful.
In just a week and a half, she will go in to have the other knee replaced. This seems more daunting now, as then she will have two legs that don't bend. Or maybe the first one will be bending by then. Today is her first session with the physical therapist (ouch).
Today I offered to give Michael a couple hours to go do errands and go to the gym. And then I went out and collected up Zoey, Carrie's 6 month old baby, so we could have a combo caregiving situation. Carrie could focus on her work and I could just hang out with the people who needed someone. For over an hour, there was an 80 year old and a 6 month old, sleeping quietly just a few feet from each other. The elder one on a tall bed, leg attached to a machine that runs icy water through a knee wrapping and the teeny one in a jumble of sweatshirts on the floor. When Anna came by to take over, I sprinted to the greenhouse for my turn. Shortly I got a text, "Sad baby. Diapers here?" Mom is by far the easier person to take care of as she goes to sleep without fussing and is easily entertained.
I am on the trail of some tall comfortable stools that swivel, so my mother will be able to do stuff in the greenhouse when she is ready. Might not be for a few more weeks, but I anticipate that she will be tired of being inside just as soon as she feels well enough to get out. It might be a good idea to figure out how to make her golf cart work with hand controls. Another thing to add to Jon's list.
So far so good. No one is surprised that she is the best patient ever. And we will have to remember to give Michael regular breaks. He planned to be the full time caregiver, and he is the one who is most responsible, but he will need support. Anna is doing a great job of creating order in the medication schedule -- one of her specialties -- and Gordon is doing a great job of making sure that the meds are managed in the most sensible possible way. In some ways, our team is really ready for anything. Babies, invalids, bring em on.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)