After effects...

 

A question for you. Do we all have concerns that we have placed on a mental shelf… somewhere safe where the concerns sit on the edge of consciousness swinging their feet just waiting to jump back into the light?  I think we do.  We put these concerns there thinking that we will think about them later… and we do… maybe just not when we want to think about them though. They leap down off the shelf at inopportune times.

Second question for you.  Remember when we thought that our parents or “experts” in general had it all figured out – concerns were sorted into their proper places?  We thought all questions had answers, that all problems had solutions.  We thought these older folks and experts for sure knew what they were doing. They had the answers and the solutions. We could count on them. They certainly acted like they knew things.  Well… “Not all the actors are in Hollywood.”  Everyone knows that. Now that we have become the older generation, we know the truth.  Scary, isn’t it?  I call this dilemma the “After Effects of Experience”.  That is kinder somehow than saying that sometimes old(er) people have learned some things along the way. Listen to them – even though they may not have a clue in a particular situation.  Unlike loving parents though, experts should never pretend that they know things that they really have no way of knowing. It’s misleading. Better to be above board and admit the truth.  Everything, in some ways, is an experiment – it is always survival of the fittest – like the plants I put in my garden – like the Science of recent days.

Now that the damncovid appears to be winding down (at least for now) and political upheaval has become a series of hums with just an occasional annoying off-key blat from trombones, maybe it is time to take a few things off that mental shelf. Maybe it is time to examine some of those After Effects of living through a pandemic. With that in mind, here are some After Effect questions I have heard and asked recently:

How long will we continue to hold our breath when someone hugs us?

How long will we avoid cramped spaces?

How long will we mentally look for a disinfectant wipe when someone shakes our hand? (This is what I call the Monk effect.)

How long will we think that maybe we should just stay home?

How long will it be before we learn the truth – the real truth - about this pandemic and… will we know it to be true when we hear it?

It’s funny, but it’s not. And it goes further.  I have talked to more than one person in recent days (several actually) who have decided to willingly agree to be a guinea pig – to receive a shot of one of the experimental drugs not as yet thoroughly tested or approved by the FDA - drugs that are touted as vaccines. It is in the back of their minds – perhaps on one of those shelves - that they are participating in a grand experiment – perhaps out of fear, but definitely with the hope that they are helping to end the spread of a deadly virus. They have willingly made a grand gesture. Yet – in the back of their minds is always the question of another whole kind of After Effect – the as yet to be discovered -- the ominous -- Side Effect(s).  There is an aura of uncertainty surrounding the whole process. For those participating, it’s a done deal – they now just wait to see what happens. The silent concern is the question of what that might be.  Perhaps this is why there is such a pressure to make every one in sight take the same risks. The push is on. It is comfort in numbers. Ohio even offers the incentive of a lottery.  It is fascinating to watch the incentives roll out… pressure upon pressure.

The entire world has shared this pandemic. We have been in this together for sure. No one likes to feel alone.  I understand that. There is, however the danger that this desire for everyone to join the team could evolve into a groupthink situation in which the desire for conformity results in the irrational. It makes me think of the double-masked individual wearing a laminated vaccine card hung around his/her neck or dividing seating areas into vaccinated or nonvaccinated. This “push” has a certain ugliness potential – its own unique After Effect. I just wish that people would not be so in your face about things... so divisive. Then again there always have been and are those among us who just like to yell at others. It makes them feel better. Perhaps the yelling quiets fears. Maybe we should take a closer look at that as well. 

Not everyone shares the same path of trying to journey on and through this pandemic tunnel – or life, for that matter.  Individual choice counts for something as well.  So does the right to make those choices.  Sometimes people have enough of their own After Effects to deal with; they don’t need the added burden of sharing the weight of others’ choices… or of others’ fears. “Covid fearful” is a real thing. It is all around us. It seeps into all the cracks. Here’s hoping that the loss of respect for others is not the ultimate After Effect. Wish I knew at least some of the answers to all these questions.  I don’t. I don’t even pretend that I do. The After Effects live on…. They often make me take a slow deep breath… then exhale even more slowly. A slow deep breath is calming.

It's only fair...

I was looking at some paintings and prints at The Village Friends Thrift Shop recently. They have some very interesting things there – and not just the paintings. The place is full of treasures. I am surprised that I don’t buy something every time I stop in there. I have to keep reminding myself that I already have too much stuff. Sometimes that works. The other thing about going there is that the people there are super nice. I so love nice people. Village Friends, as you may know, is an organization of volunteers who help senior citizens with all kinds of things from changing high up light bulbs and flipping mattresses to providing outings and very cool get-togethers.  It’s a lovely thing. Anyway – to get to the point…. Looking at the artwork there got me to thinking that, quite frankly, I have never been sure how to “appreciate” a painting… how to understand it.  You know – really “get it”.  I feel that way about “arty” photographs as well.  It just seems to come down to an unknown something that “speaks” to me.  I like it or... not so much. 

Portraits are my favorite type of painting.  Eyes, to me, are the key. It’s in eyes from which facial expression takes direction.  I think that is true in real life as well.  (I find blue eyes to be especially fascinating -- maybe because I grew up in a family of really dark brown eyes. When she was sitting across from me one time - a long time ago now, I noticed that looking at my daughter holding her two little kids on her lap was like looking into a small dish of large black olives. Actually that is still true at any gathering of the family. Lots of black olive eyes.) To go further though -- I like to try to figure out what eyes are saying. It’s a bit of a mystery to me…in paintings and in real life too. I saw the Mona Lisa once when it was on tour - never could understand her eyes. Still do not.

I do wish that I could paint (or sing, or both).  No luck with either of those things though.  I can’t dance either.  Took a ballet class one time at The Community Center… was one of two adults in the class. I think the instructor was a bit surprised to see any adults show up. (She was a kind soul.)  I looked on with envy at all the seven- and eight-year-olds leaping about and landing without so much as a sound – let alone a thud.  They were graceful feathers floating easily here and there. They were sprites. I am still amazed all these years later when I think about them. I, on the other hand,  was more of a wet bag landing on unset concrete.  Even so, the class was amazingly fun actually.  The other adult had a wonderful sense of humor. Good thing. 

Again – I wish that I could paint. "A picture is worth a thousand words." Maybe part of the secret is really a mindfulness in the way you look at things – catching all the fine detail.  When I was in college I did a few realistic paintings – one still hangs  -- in my bathroom. (Does that location tell you anything?) It is an enormous painting that looks and feels like a brick wall.  The finishing touch was the window I drew on it with chalk.  I like it even today - so many years later.  To me it speaks on levels and holds a few memories. The other foray into painting was a self-portrait I also painted while in that “suffering artist” phase.  My Mom, who actually was a painter, took one look at my creation, said she hated it and declared it to be awful. She put it in the back of a storage closet. Now for those of you who knew my Mom, you know that such a vehement response was unlike her.  It took me by surprise.  I never painted anything again unless you count interior walls. She actually covered it, a few years later, with acrylic gesso (several layers) and reused the canvas when she painted a still life of flowers in colors that matched my couch. What can I say?  So – I accept that I am not a painter.  It’s okay.  I can do other stuff. I am, for example, a whiz at acrostic  and logic puzzles and am relatively skilled in a variety of crafts – just give me a pattern I like and I am able to knit, crochet, macramé, cross stich, embroider, etc. My lasagna is impressive. Yep… It all counts.  Oh -- my handwriting is relatively easy to read and I am quite good at organizing things.  Now that is a handy talent and one that is easy to understand. Am thinking now -- I still have most of the artwork that my own kids did when they were little. I have an enormous amount of creations by my grandkids as well.  It is organized.

So -- still not a painter, I do try to appreciate “art”.  I have several pieces in my home... everything from wood carved treasures to signed and numbered prints and several of my Mom's paintings. Some of the art - like my hand carved trees -  is just standing around. Some is hung at my eye level so I can really take a close look at it from time to time. Other pieces are actually hung sort of at my knee level.  I hung them low when my local grandkids were little and have come to like them like that over the years.  You can see them when you are sitting down. I have become accustomed to things that way.  I am not moving anything.  Maybe someday I will have other little ones here who also deserve to take a look at art at their eye level. I think it is only fair. Little kids are in a perpetual state of looking up. It must be exhausting.

Old Stuff

 

The other day seemed like a good day to spend some time thinking about Big Foot, aka Sasquatch/Yeti/etc., but then I came across some good olde black and white movies on the Turner Classic Movie Channel. I adore b/w movies. I love b/w photos as well and am enjoying their return to popularity.  I have to tell you though – when she was little - my granddaughter used to think that there was a time when the world was black and white – this from her looking through my collection of old photos that were taken with my family’s Kodak Brownie. Some of the pics were developed on paper that was scalloped on the edges. Remember those?  I discovered this belief of hers when she used the phrase, “You know, Nanny, ... back when the world was black and white”.  We laugh about it today – sort of a Wizard of Ox comment really.  I can see why she thought that. Makes sense to me. I still find it to be a remarkable thought and comment for a wee one. Then again – she is a remarkable kid.

Back to the b/w movies.  I have to mention that people seemed to be, on the whole, much thinner back then. Many of the women enjoyed the freedom of the braless and men were inclined to wear more goopy stuff in their hair. (No wonder there were so many doilies on the backs of chairs in those days.) Both men and women wore rather impressive hats. Smoking cigarettes and cigars was common place. The cars were enormous and actually had leg room in the back seat. Nylon stockings had seams. Ah the good olde days. Yes – I am old enough to remember when paper bags were blamed for the destruction of trees and plastic bags were touted as the solution. (Thank you to the person who thought of that last sentence. I just changed one word to “touted” … it’s so perfect in the way it suggests aggressiveness and pestering. I find that there are a lot of things being "touted" these days. I am sort of sick of it.)

Anyway – all of this got me to thinking about old stuff and I, shortly after that (for some unknown reason), came across some old advertising catch phrases or labels that I just simply must share with you. I am sort of repurposing them here.

 

Nico Cigarettes: The smooth taste expectant mothers crave!

No flies on me …. Thanks to DDT.

The Bayer Co., LTD: Compressed Tablets – Heroin Hydrochloride

Let this magic mineral, ASBESTOS, protect the buildings on your farm!

Always trust Science.

 

Now the Nico ad has been found to be fake, but….  The ad for DDT is real – an ad for the Black Flag Company. I checked on the Bayer Company ad to discover that they did produce the heroin hydrochloride elixir as a cough suppressant -- with most unhappy side effects -- as I am sure you would suspect. (This was at least a century ago. Hopefully drug companies are doing better today. Many are counting on it - even betting their lives on it.) The Asbestos ad is also real – an ad used by the Johns Manville company – a manufacturer of insulation and roofing materials.

The world does change, and hopefully improve, but then thinking about some of the side effects of medicines of our age and especially looking at the last phrase – “Trust the Science” … well…. Quite frankly -- I cannot keep up with the incessant mutability of Science these days. I sometimes wonder if Science is worthy of capitalization.  It is hard to “keep the faith, baby…”  I find myself thinking that in some ways the more things change, the more they stay the same.  I also wonder if anyone believed any of those advertising claims back then. I am thinking they did. I think that people do want to trust. It’s just so hard sometimes. It is becoming harder and harder. “Everyone lies” comes to mind.

To take this one step further.  I guess the question this brings to mind today is: “Who checks the fact checkers?” It seems like every day things thought to be untrue are being revealed as true after taking a harder look – you know … on closer investigation.  To make things even more complicated, the reverse is also true. Again – “Who checks the fact checkers?”  Can we trust them?  This matters most of the time. I so want to be able to trust.

Perhaps there is a reason why I love to escape to old b/w movies. I love when the world “seemed” black and white. Shades of gray complicate things. So do lies.  

Popcorn anyone?

Never been a fan of change....

 

I have never been a fan of change.  Seriously -- I had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the world of direct distance dialing, cable TV, microwaves and VHS, let alone all the other things that seemed to come into being within seconds of one another.  Purchasing a PC almost put me into a state of mindless blithering. The Internet was a concept I simply could not grasp because no one could tell me where it was or what it looked like. (I still try to picture it.) Then there were the cell phone, WIFI and the repeated conversations with my children on whether or not I would text.  I didn’t see the value or potential in any of those things – at the time.  Now, of course, I can’t live without them and more new-fangled things as well. I have a self-starting generator that is able to and has run everything in my entire house. I store photographs on a cloud somewhere out there in the land of things I cannot put in a box. There is progress and … it is a very good thing I can laugh at myself.

On a more serious note --the past year and a half have been difficult for me even though my day-to-day life has not changed that drastically.  I am thinking that I am not alone in this.  In fact, I have had conversations with others important in my life about the feeling of being a bit off balance -- maybe, ironically, especially so now that the world is beginning to open up again in baby steps and all people begin to reenter a world that has forever been changed.  Always a homebody, I now am a bit agoraphobic. Not kidding.  I like to be home. Never a fan of driving anywhere, I have to make myself go places – always having a good time once I am there, but always ready to come home. It is comforting to listen to other people talk about similar experiences and about how interpersonal relationships with others – even family and friends -- have taken on new dimensions. We have a lot of adjusting to do for sure. I am writing this in case you are feeling alone in having such feelings.  You are not alone.

In 2001, America was stunned by 9-11 – an outright attack on our country. It changed things for all Americans in too many ways to name. Whether or not this pandemic will turn out to be an outright attack on the entire world or a devastating accident – I do not know. All I know is that it has brought change across the entire planet. With that change comes uncertainty and all the scary thoughts and questions that come with that.

At the same time, it is important to remember, though, that not all changes are so all encompassing – even though we share similar experiences with others.  We just don’t all go through these changes at the same time.  These more private changes are, perhaps, the most difficult to maneuver.  At times, and this has happened to each of us, something happens – in one moment perhaps – and Nothing is as it was before.  Nothing. Everything is changed -- forever. Suddenly you find yourself in a different world, and yet the rest of the world moves on as if nothing has happened. It’s surreal.  It is doubly hard when people have this kind of change in the middle of a pandemic.  I think this is why the world craves the feel-good story – the tale of a random act of kindness. I know that I am trying to hang on to those. I am grateful for them. Am thinking that you are too. Thank you for your positive response to last week’s Blog – "The Birthday Cake". Your kind words are a gift. You are a gift. That is one thing that will never change.