SUCCESS

carterThe other morning I awakened to a pleasant surprise. CNN had someone on the screen other than Donald Trump. Jimmy Carter was holding a news conference about his illness and plans for the future, a future that one could safely assume was rather limited since he acknowledged that he was about to undergo treatment for a melanoma with cerebral metastases.

As a cancer survivor myself (see: THE BIG C AND ME) I felt my admiration grow even more for this man who had always been my hero. This 91-year-old man of unshakable faith, showed no bitterness or self- pity, but was determined to carry on with his life’s work as long as he could function. His response to questions about how he felt about his illness was typical Jimmy Carter: “I will hope for the best and accept what comes.”
As I considered the accomplishments of this person who had come from inauspicious beginnings as a peanut farmer in a small town in Georgia, a feeling of awe came over me. As a young man he left the small town of his childhood to attend Annapolis, bent on a career in the Navy. Subsequent to that, he attained an engineering degree and was involved with Admiral Rickover in the development of nuclear submarines. After returning home, he not only was elected governor of his state and then to the highest office in the land, but won a Nobel Peace Prize after negotiating a treaty between Israel and Egypt that may have saved thousands of lives. It would also seem unlikely that a son of the deep south would become an outspoken foe of bigotry and a strong supporter of human rights throughout the world, but he did. A failed attempt to rescue American hostages in Iran is said to be responsible for his defeat for a second term as president.

Mr. Carter’s presidency was labeled by many as a failure, and his many achievements in economic and foreign policies have been largely ignored. His integrity however has never been challenged. His fulfillment of his promises to “never tell a lie” and to “never avoid a controversial issue” did not enhance his popularity, for as any successful politician will admit, truth telling is not a winning strategy in the political arena. His successor however could have used the tune “don’t worry, be happy” as his theme song.

The loss of his presidency would prove to be the beginning of even greater exploits. Most ex-presidents build libraries which are more like monuments to themselves. They seem to be very concerned about their legacy, which shouldn’t surprise us, after all those with weak egos are unlikely to ever make it to the top spot. Mr. Carter; however, used his monument as a platform on which to establish a center to “wage peace, fight disease, and build hope.” He did confess in his news conference that he has cut back his schedule somewhat, but still plans to remain involved in The Carter Center’s operation. When asked about his most fervent wish, he replied “to outlive the last guinea worm.” For those not familiar, the guinea worm has been a prevalent cause of much suffering throughout many parts of the world and has been almost totally eliminated through the efforts of the Carter Center.

Not only was I impressed with his vigor and enthusiasm, but by his abiding concern for issues he obviously considered more important than his own. Now I ask you, how could you not love a guy like that? For me, listening to him was very emotional. I experienced an intense feeling* of respect. A few days later, a grandson happened to be visiting and we were discussing my blog. As reigning patriarch, I have issued a hard and fast rule that all family members must read this stuff whether they like it or not. Accolades are appreciated, but not required. On the other hand, those who are critical should expect to move down a notch or two on the Christmas gift list. After successfully passing the quiz on the contents of my last blog (although not a fan of Ronald Reagan, I do subscribe to the trust but verify policy) he went on to suggest that I do an essay on success.
Since both my grandsons are beginning their senior year in college, I could understand why such a topic might be on their minds. I also felt the topic particularly serendipitous due to my recent encounter with Jimmy Carter. An analysis of his career brings up the problem of defining exactly what we mean by the word success, and how do we make that judgment? What do we mean when we say a person is a success or a failure? Does it make any sense to make such all encompassing judgments about people since the inconsistent conclusions arrived at by those who are judging would seem to prove that such distinctions are quite subjective. Is success like many other things in life in the eye of the beholder?

There generally seems to be a consensus that Carter was the most successful ex-president in our history, but the agreement ends there. As to the rest of his life, there are those who applaud and those who consider him a failure in many ways. One could say that his political career was a mixed bag. He lost his first bid for governor of Georgia, and his Camp-David_wareelection for president. His presidency was mired by so called “stagflation” for which he was blamed by some while others gave him credit for initiating policies that got the economy back on track. I believe most historians would agree that the negotiated peace treaty between Israel and Egypt was his most laudable success. In spite of this, he was accused of anti-Semitism for his book on Israeli politics: “Palestine Peace not Apartheid” in which he presented the Palestinian side of the story.

With this in mind one must conclude that the distinction between success and failure very much depends upon one’s values. Those of us of a more liberal position are more likely to judge Mr. Carter as a successful person than those of a different political persuasion. Our success in competitive activities such as sports can be more easily determined by winning. We also have developed tools, even though crude, to help us measure academic success. In business, success is generally measured in terms of profits generated, but we have no way to assess the most important facets of life such as honor, compassion, fidelity, fairness, integrity, parenting, and citizenship to mention a few.

The term success is usually viewed favorably by society, but can also have negative connotations. The most succinct definition I could find was “the accomplishment of an aim or purpose”. Obviously if that goal is nefarious in nature the accomplishment will not be viewed in a positive light. For example there are successful criminals, con-artists, and other asocial people. There may also be an issue with the means of accomplishing the desired goal. There may be not only illegal but unethical factors contributing to an individual’s success. Unfortunately such behaviors are many times ignored as successful people are often idealized.

Is the Key to Success Linked to the Courage to Fail?

With all this in mind I have come to the conclusion that each individual is the only one who can judge his success. Of course we need to set goals if we want to be successful in reaching them, but if the goal is to leap tall buildings in a single bound our chances of success are diminished. I have known people who are reluctant to set goals for themselves presumably due to fear of failure. I can only assume their life must be very boring. Success requires risk, and one must be prepared to accept failure for in spite of our best efforts we will not always succeed. It is said that many of the most successful people throughout history have had multiple failures prior to achieving their goals. In my own case, although I have never aspired to lofty goals, I figure my success rate to be about one success for every 10 failures. It is therefore logical that success usually requires a certain amount of determination, and the ability to not be dissuaded by failure. It also lends credence to the age old admonition: “If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.”

Flexibility in interpreting results may also be helpful. At times it may be necessary to revise or reframe one’s expectations. There may be unintended consequences of reaching one’s goal which may exceed or diminish expectations. If a goal is not attainable, it may be possible to modify it in such a manner that one can still enjoy the feeling of success. I have a brilliant close friend and colleague who has written much about psychiatry both for lay and scientific consumption, most of which has remained unpublished. I sense that he thus feels as if he is a failure even when I point out to him that he has been successful in producing thoughtful extremely well written material, and further remind him that his judgment is at least as good as the editors who reject his writings. It is always dangerous to allow someone else to be in charge of one’s self-esteem.
Most successes go unnoticed so it is important that we acknowledge our successes to ourselves. Patting oneself on the back does not necessarily denote arrogance, and will help us develop the confidence needed to pursue more successes. Failure sucks, but even an occasional success will rid us of that feeling. Mankind has undoubtedly been motivated by the search for that feeling one associates with reaching a goal.
At this point in my blogging career, I find it necessary to modify my goals for success. I have come to accept that my writings will not be appearing in the New York times, be going viral or be considered for a Pulitzer Prize; consequently my quest for fame and fortune must end. To that end, I will reread this thing and convince myself that it is worth reading, and crown myself a success.

*One of my friends who reads this stuff has questioned my definition of respect as a “feeling” in my last blog . The highlighted word is for her.

FAMILY

Does parenting make us unhappy?

In a recent conversation, I heard about a young couple who was quoted as saying that they had decided not to have children.  They had allegedly made this decision based on their belief that childless couples were happier.  It is true that one gives up a lot of freedom when they choose to become parents. Children are a long term financial liability not to mention the fact that at times they can drive you crazy.   In spite of the downsides, I strongly disagree with the premise that parents are unhappy because they have kids.  Granted, as children go through the terrible teens, they may not seem to be very interested in their parents’ happiness.  Nevertheless; in the many years I have spent attempting to help people deal with unhappiness,  I found those without children were by no means happier.  One of my patients who had never conceived once said to me that she felt “incomplete.” Conversely, I don’t recall ever hearing anyone say they regretted having children.

The benefits of parenting.

Some may suggest that the urge to reproduce is simply due to a pursuit of sexual satisfaction; however, I submit that the need to nurture is an even stronger emotion.   My wife frequently mentions the wonderfully warm feeling she experienced when those little guys had been bathed and tucked in for the night; although I recall she looked exhausted.  We were fortunate that it was possible for her to be a stay-at-home mom until the kids reached an age of relative independence (a situation that is frequently impossible to implement in today’s families).

Children are also useful in helping enhance our personality development.  I have long insisted that having a child is the most effective treatment for narcissism.  They teach us to look outside of ourselves.  They provide us with an opportunity for a “do over” to correct our mistakes and to vicariously act out our failed accomplishments.  Although they often disappoint and anger us, we continue to care about them, protect, encourage, and sacrifice for them.  These qualities are ones that I once read somewhere as the definition of love which went like this: “love is caring for another as much or more than for oneself with knowledge and without compulsion.”    Nowhere is this statement more apropos than in the feelings we have for our children.

Oh yes, there are glaring exceptions and I have witnessed the crippling effects of child abuse, but even in the most abhorrent of these cases one often finds examples of love gone awry.   One horrible example of this received my attention when a mother was brought to our hospital after she had drowned her two children.   She had a history of mental illness, but had always been overprotective of her children.  She turned out to have been delusional and convinced that demonic forces were coming to sexually abuse and torture her children, and that their death was the only way to protect them from the horrors which she thought were inevitable.  As has been noted by many, victims of child abuse frequently become abusers, but one might consider that by being denied a loving relationship with their children, second or third generation abusers continue to suffer by being denied the most gratifying experience of life.

Children become even more important to people like myself who have been fortunate enough to reach a “ripe old age” (when I hear this phrase I am not comforted by the thought that when things ripen they soon begin to rot).  As our limitations increase and we find ourselves spending more time in doctors’ offices and funeral homes, we become more dependent on others.  I recall responding to a young man who said he did not want children with,  “Who will come visit you in the nursing home?”  An occasional visit from social worker types is not the same as one of your own flesh and blood. The idea of growing old alone is very frightening to many people (myself included), but even when their offspring are not particularly attentive, older folks seem to find some solace in the knowledge that they exist.  Even those who have been totally neglected may continue to have rescue fantasies, and even in the midst of their angst often make excuses for their children’s neglect.

Our brains are hardwired to repress most painful memories; consequently, if you want to know what is most important in life, ask an old person to reminisce.  You will find them to be very accommodating: reminiscing is a favorite pastime for us old folks.  In most cases their reminiscences will be largely dominated by the good times in their lives.  You will also note that many of these resurrected memories will be times with family.

Family vacation

It was during a time of my own reminiscing that I was motivated to write this essay.  The process was triggered while planning for our family’s annual vacation which has become a tradition with my gang, but has become increasingly difficult to initiate as grandchildren grow older and develop more commitments. This year was especially difficult as it turned out there was only one week in the entire year when everyone would be able to attend, and then only after manipulating schedules.  At first it had seemed unlikely that everyone would be able to go, and we might be forced to cancel.  I found that thought very depressing.

Now that everything has been ironed out, and I am trying to decide whether to pack my bathing trunks and risk the derisive comments of the kids about my less than magnificent corpulent body, my thoughts have turned to all those prior vacations.  It has been over 50 years since the first, and it was monumental.  We checked into a hotel with its southern traditions intact in Nags Head.  This was a place where the family was introduced to their waiter who would care for them the entire time they were there, and dinner was a grand affair with everyone expected to “dress.”  Barb was in her glory, dressing up the kids  and showing them off.   Later there would be trips with four kids in a station wagon without air conditioning or video games, but the misery of getting there was dwarfed by the excitement of finding a motel with a pool.

Vacation from hell.

It has been more than 40 years since we went on our last sightseeing type vacation.  I had terminated my general practice, and we had decided to have a grand adventure prior to my starting a psychiatric residency.  It was destined to go down in the annals of Smith history as an unforgettable experience, and indeed to this day remains a topic often mentioned when we are all together.  The kids refer to it as the “Vacation from Hell.” It all began as most disasters do, innocently, when a friend showed me his new motor home.  Now at that time this was a new innovation in the travel business and I was most impressed.  It presented an opportunity to be closer to the flora and fauna, and would save money on hotel and food expenses.  I also was naïve enough to think that with more space when on the road the kids would fight less, and I would not need to scream as much.  Indeed, I pictured us becoming an on the road version of the Cleaver family.

Further  investigation revealed that these motor homes were very expensive.  I was convinced  I could build one myself for much cheaper.  With that in mind, I bought a retired dry cleaning truck and set about to make it habitable.  After the installation of a stove, refrigerator, and toilet, it suddenly looked a little tight spacewise.  I think one of the kids used the sardine analogy  to describe it.  There would be many other smart ass remarks before this trip concluded.   Nevertheless; the vehicle (which would come to be known as Smith’s folly) was packed and stocked with  provisions .  As an added measure of security, I hung my  motorcycle on the back and we were on our way determined to explore all points of interest in the wild west.  Unfortunately, this trip would rival that of the Griswald’s in the Chevy Chase movie Vacation.

We made remarkably good time our first day on the road.   We made it past Chicago, and I was feeling vindicated.  The kids had engaged in only minor fisticuffs, but that may have had something to do with the fact that we had managed an early start, and they had slept a good part of the day.  We had lunch in the “motor home” (some might suggest that I use that term lightly),  and the self-contained facilities solved the problem of poorly synchronized bladder functions.   As we were looking for a place to hook up to water, electricity and sewage disposal, it suddenly became very cloudy and we found ourselves in the midst of a thunderstorm with rain so heavy that it was difficult to see the road.  Suddenly the idea of spending the night in a campground lost its appeal, and we checked into a motel.

The following day began uneventfully.  It was bright and sunny, with not a storm cloud in sight.  All went well until the late afternoon when we decided to pull off the highway in Galena, Illinois, the mention of which never fails to elicit a chuckle from Barb.  Like most vehicles of its vintage, ours had a gear shift lever attached to the steering column.  While pulling away from a traffic light, I attempted to shift gears, and found myself holding the unattached gear shift lever in my hand.   Even in the face of this catastrophe, Barb was overcome with laughter at my facial   expression as I struggled to understand what had happened.   With the gear shift lever broken off at its base, the truck (at this point I no longer addressed it as a motor home ) was stuck in low gear which created some significant problems for the traffic following us and not surprisingly, they became impatient as our top speed was about 10 miles per hour.

It turned out that God had not totally forsaken us, for we stumbled upon a Chevrolet auto agency after “driving” only a few blocks.  I must have still had a silly look on my face for as we pulled into the service department, the mechanic who greeted us supressed a smile as I held the lever in my hand and asked if they had one of those.  Of  course they didn’t, but I was told they could probably have one by the following day.  With that we limped at 10 mph to the closest motel.  Although the savings I had projected by sleeping in Darell’s folly was taking a hit, the kids were happy because the motel had a pool. The replacement part arrived later that next day, and we were back on the road after our second night in the motel.

Are we there yet?

If you are thinking it could not get any worse, you would be wrong.  After a few hours on the road the sun disappeared never to be seen again for the next three days.  As a matter of fact, it became dark enough that I decided to switch on the headlights. One black cloud to my left looked particularly ominous, and as its funnel shaped appendage moved down towards the earth, I figured correctly that we were in big trouble.  Now, as a native of the southern Ohio hill country my acquaintance with tornadoes was limited to what I had read, which wasn’t much.  As it advanced straight across the cornfield toward us, I attempted to tone down the terror from my voice to utter some hollow platitudes. Of course as every parent knows, kids read us like a book and my attempt to reassure them only caused more fear.

It only made sense to me to seek some shelter, so I stopped under an overpass, but was soon interrupted by a siren and flashing red light which had pulled up next to me.  I was thinking, “Can this guy be serious about giving out tickets in this situation?”  Then I noted that he was waving and pointing ahead apparently wanting me to move on.  I was angry that he was forcing me to go back out into the storm, but being a law abiding compliant soul, we struck out again.  I would later learn that under a bridge is the worst  possible place to be in a tornado, and perhaps that patrolman saved our lives.

After vacating what I thought was a safe haven, I found I could only see where I was going by straddling the center line. The wind was so intense that it blew water right through the rubber seal of the windshield. Then suddenly I realized that we were traveling on the berm  of the road.   The highway was  perfectly straight and I had been white knuckling the steering wheel to keep on that white line; consequently, I was confident that we had been simply lifted off the road and set gently back down on four wheels.  In a short time the wind died down, and it was evident my promise that this trip would be a grand adventure was being fulfilled.

The tornado had moved on, but the sky still looked  ominous and once again the idea of sleeping in the camper lost its appeal.  Clouds and rain continued to dog us for the next couple of days and we continued to hear that conditions were right for tornadoes. These announcements were meaningless to us as we had no idea where we were, so the wisest thing to do seemed to be to turn off the radio and hope for the best.  The kids were not impressed when we drove through the badlands.  We did manage to catch a glimpse through the fog and mist of Mt. Rushmore but the kids were still not impressed.

Soon the sky would brighten and I was convinced that we would still salvage this vacation.  I was hopeful when we got to Wyoming, bought cowboy hats all around, and stopped at a dude ranch which advertised trail rides for five dollars.  It turned out as you might suspect: it was a short trail, which became shorter when I heard Barb scream for help.  She was bringing up the rear and her horse decided he would rather go back to the barn at a rapid pace.  Unfortunately, there was no dashing cowboy on a white charger to run her horse down and rescue her. I was having my own problems hanging on.

Our next major attraction was to be Yellow Stone park, and I was looking forward to finally testing the sleeping accomodations of the camper and awakening to the smell of bacon frying.  It was a gorgeous night and after getting the kids bedded down, Barb and I decided to sleep under the stars.  I quickly fell asleep, but was  awakened by loud clanging sounds. Upon closer observation, the sound was coming from bears on a foraging expedition and had knocked over all the garbage cans they could find. Barb beat a hasty retreat to the camper with me close behind.

At that point, we decided we had experienced enough adventure, and after an uneventful swing south to glance briefly at the Grand Canyon, and an equally brief visit with Barb’s brother in Phoenix,  we headed back north for home.   Through all her travails our trusty land schooner had performed admirably, save for the minor gearshift problem. As we rolled along Kansas, confident the rest of the trip would be smooth sailing, I noticed a lack of responsiveness when I depressed the accelerator.   It soon became apparent the clutch of the “motor home” was going out.  This did not present much of a problem in the flatlands, but as we got into the hill country , the steeper ascends were a challenge.  With the clutch slipping, and the engine racing we were barely able to top most of the hills.  In  spite of this minor impediment we were finally relieved to arrive home with no  lives lost.

Flashforward

Since those days our group has doubled in size and family vacations have consistently been for me the highlight of each year.  They were suspended for the past year following the untimely death of my oldest, yet the family T shirt commemorates this one as the 21st of such get togethers.  They have all been deliciously chaotic affairs, but none that could match the “ vacation from hell.”  We were forced to leave a day early from a South Carolina beach due to a hurricane, and there have been the usual sunburns, jelly fish bites, a broken leg, a sizeable gash from attempts to break up a dog fight, and a fall down the steps resulting in my eyeglasses having impaled my head; otherwise, they have been relatively benign afffairs.  Most have involved a week at a beach and they have all been at different places as we always seem to wait too long to make reservations.

This year’s family vacation is only a few days away, and I find my feelings analogous to those I experienced as a child a few days before Christmas.  I always look forward to seeng the progeny of course, but to witness them all together interacting not only with me, but with each other is a most exhilarating experience.

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Here I sit three days later with a magnificent view of the Gulf.  The trip down here was relatively uneventful.  There was a minor issue in a parking garage in which one of the grandkids who is learning to drive ( and who shall remain nameless ) backed into a parked  car.  Her Mother violated every tenet I had ever taught her by leaving a note with her phone number.   Well maybe I might have inadvertinately mentioned that “honesty is the best policy” rap when she was little, but never thought she would take iit seriously.  Meanwhile the kids have managed to trash the place in short order.  They are at times loud, argumentive,  constantly in motion, and in short wonderful.

By the way, I feel compelled to mention that one of those guys who said he did not want children was my son who is on course to be nominated as Father of the century.

NOTE FROM ESHRINK’S Editor. We recently returned from our 21st Annual Smith Family Vacation (these are the vacations dad discussed above…a tradition started when Simon and Carter were babies in 1994). Unfortunately, I don’t have pictures from the “vacation from hell” but I’ve added some pictures for family of previous trips during our 21 year vacation history.

vaca2010 group shot

This is the vacation where dad impaled himself with his glasses when he fell down the steps. Jim pulled them out, and we took the picture BEFORE dad went to get stitched…we Smiths don’t let anything get in the way of the family photo 🙂 but maybe that’s why the picture is so blurry.

 

 

This was vacation we took in Michigan. Jim proposed to Trudy on this vacation. I think it was 2005.

This was vacation we took in Michigan. Jim proposed to Trudy on this vacation. I think it was 2005.

 

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Horseback riding at the ranch. Summer 2007.

Horseback riding at the ranch. Summer 2007.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Life

There was a fly on my bathroom window this morning.  As I prepared to swat him, I was reminded of my mother saying “He wouldn’t hurt a fly,” a complimentary phrase used to describe a person of gentle character. Although my mother was a gentle soul herself, that saying did not apply to her as she was an avowed hater and ferocious killer of flies.  Her swatter was always within reach and during times of heavy infestation, she would hang a fly catcher from the ceiling light.  The latter was in the form of a sticky tape which would attract flies and then hold them until they stopped fluttering, a sort of weapon of mass destruction.  The flies did not appear to be very smart for they continued to land on the fly paper in the midst of hundreds of their dead buddies.

As I stood poised to murder that poor little guy with my bath towel, it also occurred to me that to see flies in the house is now rather uncommon, compared to my childhood when it seemed they were everywhere; undoubtedly a testament to indoor plumbing and pesticides. A frequently heard admonition delivered in semi-panic mode was: “Close the screen door, you are letting in all the flies,” and believe me there were often a lot of flies to let in.  Once in the house, the only solution was death by whatever means available.

We are a culture which professes a reverence for life, but I doubt even the vegans among us would feel much compunction about swatting that fly. The rest of us find only the lives of our own species or perhaps those of our pets to be important.  I am told there are some eastern religions which forbid the taking of any animal life no matter how small or insignificant, which leads me to believe they find life itself to be a holy condition.

As I grow older, I find that I no longer take life for granted.  This shouldn’t be surprising since economists explain that as a commodity becomes less plentiful, it accrues more value. I suspect that is one of the factors which has inspired me to write this little ditty.  Life is one thing that fly and I have in common; although, our experiences with it obviously differ considerably.  Much has been written about the mystery of death, which is understandable since we have not experienced it personally, but I submit that life is much more complicated and mysterious.  As a matter of fact, when I consult my favorite reference (Wikipedia), for a definition I become even more confused until I find it defined as the opposite of death.  That was not very helpful as I think I already knew that.  I believe my tenth grade biology teacher did a better job when she described life as the ability of an organism to respond to its environment, and to reproduce itself.  Using these criteria one must conclude that Mr. Fly is indeed alive.

Life and Consciousness

In the midst of plotting my strategy as to how to take him out without breaking the window, I found myself wondering if the fly knew he was alive, or if he was even aware of his own existence. Recently I have been reading about some exciting research that attempts to understand how our brains work, but there still appears to be a lot of questions about consciousness.  In addition to the imponderables of why am I here and how did I get here, man is also faced with the even more vexing question of how do I know I am here?

The earliest recorded writings on the subject of consciousness were contained in an essay by John Locke in 1690 (side note from editor: this connection won’t be lost on devotees of the television show Lost).  He defined it as “The perception of what passes in a man’s own mind.”  There has been much disagreement even in the description or definition of the word.  The one I liked best was the translation from the original Latin namely: “knowing that one knows,” but then I have always been a sucker for simplistic answers to complex questions. Not so with the world’s greatest philosophers who have found the subject fertile ground for their speculations and opinions.  I tried googling some of that stuff and found that I had no idea what they were talking about, but felt a great sigh of relief when I stumbled upon a quote from Stuart Sutherland in the 1989 Macmillan Dictionary of Psychology where he wrote “Consciousness is a fascinating but elusive phenomenon: it is impossible to specify what it is, what it does, or why it has evolved. Nothing worth reading has been written about it.”  That last line made me feel much better.

With the marvelous advancements in discoveries about the brain, and the ability to actually witness its functions via scanning techniques, neuroscientists have now thrown their ideas into the mix; however, they are limited by the problem of objectively measuring a subjective experience.

Recently I wrote a spoof abut a future in which robots populate an earth where the human race has become extinct.  My wife thought it was crazy, but I now feel vindicated after discovering that Alan Turing (credited with inventing the computer) had written a paper on the subject of computer intelligence in 1950.  Now there is much discussion about artificial intelligence, but one wonders, “What is the difference between artificial intelligence and the genuine article?”  There is some debate as to whether computers can actually be programmed to be conscious.  Many learned people dismiss this idea as preposterous, but then people shared that same attitude about going to the moon.  After living on this planet long enough to witness many “preposterous” discoveries, I have learned that the adage “never say never” makes a lot of sense.

What about the fly?

Those of you who are still reading this may wonder what this has to do with the fly on my window, and I don’t have a very coherent answer, other than I have a tendency to wander off on tangents when I am thinking “great thoughts”.  This is a phenomenon we psychiatrists call loose associations often found to be a harbinger of impending psychosis.  I prefer to think that I am perfectly sane; however, if I am suffering from an altered state of consciousness I may be totally unaware of my mental problems, and as a matter of fact this is one of the factors which often makes it difficult to treat the more serious mental illnesses. After all, it would make no sense to undergo treatment for an illness that does not exist; consequently, should we be surprised that many seriously ill patients resist treatment as have I?

Consciousness and animals

Consensus among the experts regarding consciousness in animals seems to be lacking.  Some are convinced that this is an exclusively human function while others feel that some mammals and birds are so endowed.  Others believe that only subhuman primates, chimpanzees in particular, exhibit consciousness, and that other creatures including insects like my fly friend operate on instinct.  Of course we don’t know much about instincts either.  Although instincts are thought to be encoded on the organism’s DNA, we still face the mystery of how that process occurred. The limited research I performed to help me answer my housefly question has convinced me that the fly in the window, although satisfying the criteria to be called alive, almost certainly could not experience consciousness.  I did learn a lot about flies for example: 1) they only live from two to four weeks, 2) they undergo a complex life cycle as maggots, pupae, etc, 3) they have large protruding eyes with multiple lenses which allow them to see in all directions at once which explains why you can’t sneak up on them, 4) they have been aggravating us humans throughout history, 5) they can carry a variety of diseases from the garbage and feces on which they feed, 6) enlarged photographs show them to be truly ugly.

Obviously, in order to be conscious we must have a functioning brain, an organ of such marvelous complexity that it defies our total understanding. Most experts agree that the ability to experience emotions is essential for consciousness, and this is what sets us apart from other life forms, yet we know that elephants for example go through an elaborate period of mourning at the loss of a family member, and many of us remain convinced that our pets demonstrate all kinds of feelings based on their behaviors.  The idea that the brain is the seat of emotions is fairly recent, and for most of our history had been ascribed to the heart.  The tradition lives on; however with phrases like; “my heart goes out to you” or “her heart is broken.”

Consciousness and theology

Discussions of consciousness are almost certain to lead to theological considerations.  Indeed some philosophers would contend that the soul is simply the state of being conscious. Throughout history, man has left evidence of his belief in a spiritual component to his being, which is separate from and survives his death. Such a belief has crossed all boundaries and cultures throughout the world; although with different versions of the same theme.  Of course without consciousness, man would have been incapable of conceptualizing a spiritual aspect to his being or for that matter even the realization that he was mortal.   One might ask, is it not possible that our conscious mind is incapable of perceiving the “soul within us,” or as some insist, is this idea simply a fairy tale devised by man to deal with the awareness of his mortality?

There are those who operate under the assumption that if you can’t see it, hear it, smell it, taste it or touch it; it doesn’t exist.  I submit there are many things which we cannot perceive which are known to exist.  Gravity for example, does not pass that test for we cannot perceive it directly, although we are certain that it exists because we can witness its effects.  We even have an equation to describe it.  As a matter of fact our universe is so well ordered that theoretical physicists insist that everything can be explained by mathematics. By making use of these principles, they have been able to predict the discovery of many things in our universe both in the field of particle physics, and the other end of the spectrum namely, astrophysics.  One of the more famous examples of this was the discovery of black holes in the universe 55 years after Einstein had predicted their existence based on his calculations. It is little wonder that a guy like me who struggled with ninth-grade algebra has difficulty understanding these guys.

If you thought Einstein and his relativity theories containing terms like a fourth dimension, space time continuum, and how straight lines are actually curved  strange, take a look at quantum mechanics which is really weird.  Among other weird things, devotees to this line of thought explain with a straight face that an object can be in more than one place at the same time.  In an earlier time if someone presented me with a story like that, I would probably have suggested he come with me and spend a few days in the psych ward.  Some also postulate the existence of parallel universes.  While all this is going on subatomic studies are turning all we learned about the atom and the nature of matter on its head.  We were taught that the atom had protons, neutrons and electrons, now we are told there are quarks and leptons and other kinds of things in there doing weird stuff.

You may be thinking “here he goes off the deep end again” but the point I am attempting to make is that there are many things going on which our brain can’t contemplate due to the limitations of our special senses.  With that in mind it doesn’t seem like a big leap to think there may be spiritual stuff going on both within and around us of which we are totally unaware.   I would not be shocked if some modern day Einstein would not come up with an equation some day that would confirm the existence of a spirit world, God included.  In the meantime we are left with the admonition to believe.  This has always been difficult for me as I have always been a skeptic by nature and like things to be proven.  In spite of this, I try to believe as I am told that only believers will get their tickets punched to the pearly gates and the other option does not sound good at all.

Meanwhile the question remains unanswered as to what all is involved in consciousness.  Is it simply a byproduct of life, the end result of the evolutionary development of the human brain?  Is the condition unique to humans?  Is there a mystical component involved?  I know these are all questions I raised early in this writing, but did you really expect answers?  As I have said in a previous blog, more wisdom is usually found in questions than in the answers.

By the way, in case you are wondering about the fly, I swatted him.

LOSING A FRIEND

Lilly has lymphoblastic leukemia.  It looks as if she will not be with us much longer.  We will certainly miss her.  She has always been loyal to a fault, and her love for the family is obvious as she is not one to hide her feelings.  As a matter of fact she likes people with few exceptions, and is never happier than when there is company.  She likes being with the family, is always sad to see us leave and gloriously happy when we return.  She is very protective, and I am sure she would give her life to prevent any of her family from suffering at the hands of others.  She likes to please and feels ashamed on the rare occasions that she has violated our trust.  In other words, she is a supplier of that rare phenomenon called unconditional love.  Is it any wonder that I count her among my very best of friends?

lilly

Lilly

I am sure that by now you have surmised that Lilly is not a person, for it would be extremely rare for any human being to be that virtuous.  Yes, Lilly is as the saying goes “just a dog” (a phrase that always makes me angry).  To my mind, that is no more appropriate than describing a member of my own species as “just a human.”

It is difficult for me to imagine a better companion than a dog.  If you don’t believe this, just observe a therapy dog and see eyes light up among the demented in a nursing home or the psychotic in a psychiatric unit.  A better example occurred during a therapy session with one of my patients several years ago.

She had recently gone through her third divorce, and was quite depressed.  She confessed that she was not good at choosing men, but had difficulty with loneliness when not involved with one.  It had been a hard day for me, and without much forethought, I sarcastically suggested she should get a dog, because they are good companions, and loyal to boot.  At her next visit, she arrived beaming and thanking me for the wonderful advice.  She had gone to the animal shelter, purchased a dog who she was convinced adored her, and said she was happier than she had been in years.  I never saw her again.

The History of Relationship with Dogs

Archeologists have found evidence of the dog- human connection in almost all cultures studied going back to the Paleolithic era (archeologese for stone age, I can use terms like that now that I have completed my archeology course).  One discovery in Siberia suggests that dogs had been domesticated as long as 33,000 years ago.  That man has long had a personal relationship with dogs is evidenced by the discovery of dogs entombed alongside humans in many cultures including Peru, Egypt, and Rome.  In one case such a dog was found with a bone in his mouth, apparently so that he would have sustenance in the afterlife.  Scenarios such as these indicate that the ancients were very likely as fond of their dogs as are we.

DNA has confirmed that all dogs have the wolf as a common ancestor regardless of size shape or form.  Indeed, no other species exists in such variety.  It has always intrigued me that that the chihuahua and the mastiff in spite of their vast differences seem to realize they are both dogs.  For hundreds, maybe even thousands of years humans have done genetic engineering the old fashioned way, by selective breeding.

Delaney at lake ready to jump in

Delaney getting ready to jump in the lake during our 2011 annual family vacation in Tennessee.

Delaney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The relatively new field of epigenetics may help explain why some breeds seem instinctively more disposed to certain activities than others.  For example Lilly will show no interest when a ball is thrown while her cousin (a Chesapeake Bay Retriever) will chase it all day, and cheerfully jump intoa freezing lake to retrieve it even though she has had no training and was not with her mother long enough to learn to mimic her behaviors.

 

What was the genesis of the dog/human relationship?

There is some disagreement as to how dogs came to be domesticated.  One researcher with only partial tongue in cheek suggested that dogs may have domesticated us instead of the other way around.  There seems to be little doubt that we needed dogs more than they needed us, but they must have realized early on that a partnership with these strange animals who walked on two legs would offer them some advantages.  However; in my opinion, we humans got the best end of the deal by far.  For a few paltry scraps of food and the privilege of sleeping close to the fire we gained much more than companionship.  Their contributions were essential to our survival and some have posited that without dogs, homo-sapiens might have become extinct in the manner of the Neanderthals.

The fact that the talents of the two species were complementary undoubtedly contributed to the longevity of the relationship.  Our large brain with its superior ability to plan and reason along with our upright stance and manual dexterity were qualities lacking in dogs.  Dogs on the other hand like most mammals could run much faster and for greater distances than humans.  Their special senses were vastly superior to ours. Their remarkably acute sense of smell was and continues to be a major asset, and has saved countless lives through the years.  It has been enlisted in searches for people who are lost and for those buried in earthquakes and avalanches etc. Their built in GPS systems could also be lifesaving.   Dogs’ noses continue to be our most effective tool in finding explosives and caches of drugs.

These same qualities were undoubtedly also found to be very useful to prehistoric man.  The fact that dogs were pack animals probably predisposed them to develop a sense of loyalty to their masters, and to be subservient to the human whom the dog saw as the pack leader.  In short, we were made for each other.

mummified dogs dogs egyptian tombs

It probably all began a few thousand years ago when some hunter-gatherer tossed a bone which he had finished to one of the less shy of the wolf pack who was hanging around the campsite.  This particular wolf, we will call him Ralph, would not have been averse to a handout, and must have thought this certainly beat his usual mode of obtaining nourishment which was hazardous to say the least, and also quite tiring.  It was not as if Ralph was lazy or cowardly, but since he was a little bit smarter than the rest of the pack members he was able to recognize a good deal when he saw it.

wolfRalph was reared in a well organized pack and was early on taught to respect authority; consequently he would soon learn who was the leader of this pack of two legged creatures.  It was not long until he realized that pleasing him would result in a more copious supply of bones and other goodies.  He learned that people were very picky about their food, and threw meat away after it had ripened.  This brought all manner of scavenging critters who would take Ralph’s cache given the opportunity, and he found that he must be on constant guard to protect it.  His exceptional sense of smell and hearing allowed him to become aware of the approach of threats long before his new human friends could, and he could sound the alarm with his bark.  If they persisted in their approach the curling of his lip to show off those long canine teeth well adapted to ripping off large chunks of flesh along with a menacing growl were enough to discourage most.

It would not take long for the people to recognize the value of this behavior and Ralph would be encouraged to sleep at the mouth of their cave, and would soon become a highly valued sentinel and protector.   Ralph found himself spending more and more time with his adopted family and was becoming less involved with his pack.   As his relationship with humans deepened it became obvious that Ralph’s hunting and tracking skills could be of great value in the group’s life and death struggle to avoid starvation.  He joined in their hunts, proved his value, and found hunting with his new found family was much more efficient than with his fellow wolves.   Ralph was beginning to feel as if he was a member of the family rather than an uninvited guest. He was a passionate young wolf and it was not surprising that he would return to the cave one day with a family of his own.

The pups would bond almost immediately to their human hosts.  Succeeding generations would lose sight of their wolfly heritage and be totally assimilated into the human culture.  Their appearance would change and they would look less like wolves.  Taxonomists now agree that these changes were sufficient to label Ralph’s descendants as a new species which were called canines. They would prove to be capable of learning new skills, and delight in the approval of their masters upon learning them.  As subsequent generations of hunter-gatherers transitioned to agriculture, dogs would guard the crops from marauders, both animal and human.  With the domestication of other animals they learned to herd and protect them from animals of prey including wolves.

Specialization

As time went on the training of dogs and selective breeding designed to produce certain physical or behavioral characteristics became much more sophisticated.  Over the millennia Ralph’s descendants became less recognizable, and more diverse.  Hunting dogs became more specialized.  The hound breeds were  trackers, and varied in size, and conformation depending on the game to be pursued.  The retrievers would as their name implies find downed game and return it to their master with some of them specially equipped for swimming when the hunt was for birds shot over water.  Pointers would use their nose to find birds and point in their direction while standing motionless until the master directed him to flush them out.  Some packs learned to pursue large carnivorous animals, corner and attack them until the boss man arrived employing the same tactics used by their ancestor wolves. dachsund Eventually the age of specialization would invade the dog kingdom.  One such example was the dachshund who was developed to have a long slender body, and short legs which allowed him to gain entrance into  a badger’s burrow, and chase him out, no mean feat as badgers were tough cookies.

Some large breeds were developed as guard dogs, others as beasts of burden.  There were the sled dogs of the arctic whose feats are legendary, and I recall as a child a large German Shepard who worked in a coal mine near our home.   Such mines were called dog mines because the ceiling was too low for a mule or even a donkey and the coal cars were pulled out by a dog.  The miners would spend much of the work day on their knees. German Shepherd laying on the green grass I have vivid memories of Mr. Davis with his dog by his side going past our house and up the hill to his mine every morning, then back home in the evening.  I felt sorry for that dog, but he seemed contented with his life at least showed no resistance towards going to work.

Perhaps the most loyal and dedicated of all are those dogs who are trained to serve the disabled.  To me of these the so called seeing-eye dogs are the most remarkable not only for their skill and remarkable intelligence, but for their loyalty and dedication.  They are never distracted from their duty, and their loyalty is absolute.  I see them as a canine version of the members of a monastic order in which the member has given up all worldly pleasures in order to serve.

I think it is safe to say that most people like dogs; although there are some who do not, usually due to a bad experience or to some phobic reaction.  As a matter of fact of the approximately 400 known breeds of dogs throughout the world probably most are valued for their companionship.  Some simply offer comfort as in the case of the Australian aborigines who shunned clothing and depended on dogs to keep them warm on cold nights, the severity of which was gauged by how many dogs were needed as in the band moniker “Three Dog Night.”

There are said to be some cultures in which dogs are used as food, and for most of us that practice is right up there with cannibalism on the abhorrence scale.   Some people criticize the American Kennel Club and its members for the excessive inbreeding used to enhance certain features.  They feel this policy has resulted in the propagation of certain diseases and structural abnormalities due to the known effect of inbreeding on recessive genetic conditions.

Our Life with Canines

maddie

We inherited Maddie when her owners dropped her off at one of our friends’ kennels and never came back to retrieve her. We gave her to eldest daughter Molly as a Christmas gift, but that partnership didn’t work out and she ended up to be “our best dog ever.”

We have enjoyed ten different dogs of various breeds and mixes, not including a few litters of puppies during our marriage, and I suppose I could tell hundreds of dog stories.  I recently commented that I thought Lilly was probably the best dog we ever had, but Barb reminded me that I have said that about every dog as they were ending their lives. Lilly was a birthday gift from my children shortly after the death of our springer spaniel Maddie.  In the midst of our grief we had decided we would not get another dog, but the kids insisted that Lilly would keep us young.  Although well intentioned, that promise would not be realized and their grand plan was a miserable failure in that regard, for I feel I have aged at least ten years since we took Lilly into our home four and one half years ago.  Lilly was a rescue dog, and as part of the sell job we were fed a story about her having been found in a cornfield with a litter of dead puppies.In spite of our initial reticence and the con job, Lilly has turned out to be a joy for us.

 

This is Fletcher (2 dogs before Lilly). Fletcher was some kind of a basset hound/beagle mix. She was found in the median on I-270 in Columbus

She has given us thousands of laughs and her affection is boundless.  Lilly’s adoption was complicated by some bazaar situations, which as the saying goes were stranger than fiction.  I shan’t relate them here, but those of you who know us have heard the story.  Ninety nine percent of the time Lilly’s behavior was exemplary, but she demonstrated a violent temper on two occasions.   The first was when she was left with a house and dog sitter while we were away on vacation.  The sitter left her overnight, and Lilly must have felt she was abandoned for she took her anger out on a leather couch ripping it apart.  This was our first indication of her good taste as she chose to unleash her fury on the most expensive piece of furniture in the house.

 

 

old pictures grover with me pete and trudy

This is Grover. He is one of the rare dogs we had from the time he was a puppy. He flunked out of obedience school as it was suggested he take private lessons. We loved him anyway.

Now, I am sure that Lilly would flunk the Mcnaughten rule as her ability to distinguish between right and wrong is undoubtedly solely determined by her family’s judgments.  She consequently never shows any signs of remorse or shame unless her violations are discovered, but this type response is certainly not unique to dogs (witness recent revelations about some politicians).  Likewise there are never any signs of lingering guilt, and I suspect her behaviors are only limited by what she doesn’t think she can get away with.

Lincoln

Lincoln (Trudy and Jim’s dog)

The second behavioral crisis occurred during one of the family’s annual vacations.  We had chosen to rent a house which was pet friendly, and we all brought our dogs.  This proved to be a problem for although the kids and grandkids seemed to enjoy each other’s company, Lilly and Maggie’s dog, Delaney were not getting along.  The two had some unresolved issues from a previous visit, and clearly did not like each other.  True to her heritage (did I mention that she is a pit bull?) Lilly  decided to settle the issue by attacking Delainey.  This proved to be a formidable task as Delney is a very large and strong Chesapeake Bay retriever.  In the process of breaking up the fight son-in-law Jim sustained a large gash on his forearm requiring a visit to the local ER.

old pictures xmas picture granville with rachel

Rachael. She was our Doberman from a broken home (her owners were getting a divorce). Loyal, protective, and loving. During the 70s, her breed got a bad wrap…sort of like pit bulls now (see a trend?)

Pit Bulls such as Lilly face a great deal of discrimination.  They are seen by many as the homicidal maniacs of the dog world.  There is some value to this perception in that Lilly’s presence in out front yard is probably a much more effective deterrent to would be intruders than the small sign on our front door warning that we have a burglar alarm.  The down side has to do with Lilly’s perceptions.  Lilly is a very friendly dog, and a kind word with a pat on the head will encourage her to get to know you better.  A few sniffs and she will remember your scent and welcome you on subsequent visits. Her world is interpreted by her sense of smell.

On the other hand if you are fearful, and many are, she will know it from the odor of the pheromones your body secretes.  Of course these smells are undetectable to us mere humans much as we are unable to hear the high frequency sounds of the silent dog whistles which are audible to all dogs.  Although limited in her ability to communicate, she is not stupid, and must reason that if he is afraid he must have done something bad or is planning something bad.  We have instructed her to never launch any full-fledged frontal assaults on people without our order, but she has on a few occasions nipped at some heels.  Lilly has shown herself to be a good judge of character, and I suspect that some of those folks deserved to be encouraged to move on.

Since beginning to write this note a few days ago, Lilly has been referred to the oncology department of a hoity toity veterinary clinic. That visit brought that good news bad news thing into play.  The bad news is that Lilly’s leukemia is a lymphoblastic type with a very poor prognosis.  The other bad news is that the treatment if we choose to pursue it is ridiculously expensive, and even more bad news is that Barb felt we must do all we can even  though the chances of remission are slim.  In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that I want to blame the decision on her in order to spare myself the embarrassment of admitting that I was spending all that money for “just a dog”.  Oh well, bankruptcy lawyers must make a living too.

Now comes the good news.  Lilly is eating as if to fend off starvation, her head is up and that sad look is gone.  Although not up to full speed she is much stronger and even brought her toy to me once.  This in no way signals a cure, and the remission may be short-lived.  Meanwhile, we will do for her as we would for any member of the family.

lilly from emma

Lilly

Barb and Darell Smith wedding

My Valentine

EDITOR’S NOTE: I thought I would commemorate Valentine’s Day 2023 by reposting the most read (#1 blog post from Eshrink). Enjoy! Love good…our family motto to honor our sister Molly, who died Feb 25th, 2014.

It was a beautiful argyle sock, but what does one do with one sock?  She assured me that she would get to work knitting its mate very soon.  That was seventy years ago, and I am still waiting for that second sock.  Granted, she has been busy during the last seven decades, but I really liked that sock and held onto it for many years expecting its mate to appear during some birthday celebration.

I have determined however; that hope does not spring eternal when it comes to missing socks, for this perfect example of period haute couture has been lost somewhere along the way.  In those days old pictures dad with familya pair of brightly colored argyle socks in a pair of white bucks (shoes to you youngsters) laid the foundation for the ultimate in sartorial splendor which usually included grey flannel pants, a navy blue “V” neck sweater with a white “T’ shirt visible in the sweater opening, and a crew cut. Maybe it was just that kind of fashion sense that caught her attention all those years ago…

She first accosted me while I was lying in the front yard with my cocker spaniel. She lived just down the street and I had noticed her from time to time, but paid little attention.  On this day, which would change my life forever, she was walking her cocker spaniel, and used the old “let the cocker spaniels meet each other” gambit to meet me.  It turned out the dogs did not like each other.  Later, she would insist that she had noticed that I looked lonely, and that she felt sorry for me.  My recollection is that during that time of my life, I enjoyed solitude; and not having reached my sixteenth birthday, I did not feel comfortable around girls.

I must admit she was a cute little thing.  Although a bit flat-chested, she had good legs, and some interesting rhythmic movements of her derriere that I found difficult to ignore.  She proved to be quite a good conversationalist, and after breaking up the fight between Susie and Cindy (the cocker spaniels) she moved on to get a comprehensive history about me.  Since, as with most people, my favorite topic is myself, my shyness soon vanished.  After a few more such visits, the dogs were discarded, and I found myself sitting with her in the swing on her front porch eating a piece of coconut cream pie.  Her mother was a great pie baker, but I will never know how Barb determined that coconut cream pie was my favorite.

Since I had not been able to find a job that summer, I had much free time and we saw each other nearly every day, went to a movie and even the county fair.  In the midst of all these platonic interactions there eventually came a day which would seal my fate forever.  Barb mentioned that she was having trouble with her bicycle.  I of course, always looking to score points and prove my mechanical prowess, immediately volunteered to look at it.  The problem was minor and the repair simple, but then I saw her standing on the second step of the basement stairs with those big brown eyes level with mine, and you guessed it. I kissed her—a bit timidly at first, but I had seen the professional kissers in the movies, and initially attempted to emulate them, but found I didn’t need lessons.  From her response, I guessed that I had done a credible job.

For the rest of high school we remained an item.  There was a brief hiatus after we had agreed that we needed to experience relationships with other people; however, that only lasted for about 72 hours.  She was a year behind me in school so after I spent a year at the local branch of OU she entered nurse’s training.  This was not her idea for her dream was to major in art.  Barb’s father, ever practical had decided she could never make a living drawing pictures, but more important was that nurses training was only three years long and about one tenth the cost.

Meanwhile, I decided to try pre-med, and was surprised when I gained admission to OSU medical school for my pre-med grades were not that good.  My excuse was that I worked a lot as a short order cook, a lab assistant in the physiology lab, and cleaning the cages in the animal lab.  The truth was that I did goof off more than I should have, and was not very disciplined when it came to the studying business.  I would nearly be undone by that character flaw.

I had received the notice of my admission to medical school during my final semester in pre-med contingent upon my completing the prerequisite courses among which was organic chemistry, not at all my favorite subject.  As usual, I had not kept up, pulled an “all nighter” prior to the final exam and overslept.  I toyed with the idea of feigning illness to get an excuse from the student health center, but Barb had already brainwashed me with that overdeveloped super ego of hers and taught me that honesty is the best policy.  The veracity of that truism was shattered when the prof said I could not take the exam in spite of the fact that I was only 30 minutes late and no one had finished the exam at that point.  I received my first “F´ ever, and began a frantic search for a summer course.

old picture mom in front of carMeanwhile, Barb had passed the nursing board exams, and was making the enormous sum of eleven dollars per day doing private duty nursing.  She had even purchased a 1947 Chevy in nearly mint condition further endearing her to me.  When as the saying goes, “I popped the question,” it was hardly a question for after six years of courtship it was not really surprising.

There are many advantages to having an aesthetically endowed wife.  Your surroundings will be made more pleasant, you will be dressed appropriately, and you will likely be made more aware of things beautiful in your life.  The down side is that you will find it difficult to find pleasing gifts unless you have remarkably good taste which I don’t, and when you produce that diamond ring of which you are so proud you may notice a raised eyebrow and hear her ask: “Is that the only mounting they had?”

mom and dad wedding pictureWe were married on a hot muggy June day.  She was beautiful and I was hung over.  I had celebrated my last night of freedom with the boys, and she would later say that I “looked terrible”.   In those days virginity was highly regarded, and sex before marriage was frowned upon.  I suspect this may explain why people married at a younger age then.   In addition to conjugal bliss, Barb had promised me a back rub every night.  She was proud of her back rubs for she had received many appreciative comments from her patients extolling their virtues.  She made good on that promise for about 2 weeks; however since then I have determined that she is behind by approximately 22,243 back rubs.

The rest of that summer was a time of high anxiety. When I called the registrar’s office to check on the status of my transcript no mention was made of its big fat F.   I was only told they were awaiting notification that I had completed the organic chemistry requirement.   Initially only the University of Virginia offered a summer course in organic chemistry.  This presented a problem for I had no way to pay the out of state tuition, let alone the room and board.  There was also the relatively minor problem of the delay in enjoyment of that conjugal bliss thing. Besides there was no guarantee that I would still be admitted if I did satisfy the requirement.

At this point the same God who had engineered the cocker spaniel encounter, apparently forgave me for flunking organic, and for my murderous fantasies toward Dr. Tate (the organic chemistry professor), and arranged for the class I needed to be offered at Muskingum College which was only a few miles down the road.  Having already taken the course, the second time was a breeze and I aced the sucker.

Med school classes were to begin in two weeks, and I was still not sure whether I had flunked out of medical school before I even got there.  When I called to inquire if I were still enrolled, the secretary who was in charge of such things did not seem to know what I was talking about.  She responded saying of course I was enrolled.  Did I not know they had received the transcript of my chemistry grade.  To this day I am convinced that the record of my F had not reached the admissions committee perhaps because of someone’s carelessness.  Score one more for God, fate, or whatever you may prefer to call the entity which governs good fortune.

old picture mom and dad outside aptWith that we quickly  collected what furniture we could from various relatives, found a three room apartment a few blocks from the medical school and its  hospital and as the saying goes: “ the rest is history .” And what a history it would become.  Barb found a job at the University tuberculosis hospital where she was rapidly promoted to head nurse, and still made time to volunteer at the local planned parenthood clinic (this was prior to Roe vs. Wade).  This skinny little chick with the cute butt had morphed into a remarkable woman who had accepted the job of feeding and caring for me.  Our finances left no room for frivolity, but she never complained.

She spent all her free time making a comfortable homey environment of our little pad, and tending to all my needs (except for back rubs which were reserved for those lucky dogs in the hospital).  I recall her euphoria when we managed to buy a fifty dollar wing chair which we would make payments on for six months.   Medical school was difficult for us and internship even worse with me on duty often for thirty six hours and off twelve.  Our first child came along during my senior year, and Barb suffered a severe post partum depression during my internship at a time when I was rarely available.

It has been said, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”  In our case I believe that very stressful year of internship strengthened the bond between us. I came to appreciate her integrity which was never in question.  She not only said honesty was the best policy, she lived it.  I recall an incident when we were traveling and she thought the cashier where we had just eaten had given her too much change.  She insisted that I turn around and go back that eight or ten miles to return the money.  My response was “screw it, if she screwed up it’s not my problem.” She was concerned the waitress might get in trouble if the cash in the register came up short.   As you have probably guessed, we went back with me complaining all the way.

I am sure you also have surmised that she is my best friend, one who has supported, defended, and believed in me.  Her loyalty is absolute.  She genuinely cares about people.  Those fortunate enough to call her friend are well aware of that.  I have often said that she is the only person I know who gets high on people.  When we go to a social function where she has an opportunity to talk with many people, she frequently will have difficulty going to sleep much as if she were freaked out on methamphetamine.  On meeting someone new she will get a comprehensive history, and learn all about them and their family.  Later she will remember the names of children and grandchildren while I often don’t  even recognize that person if I should run into them again.  At those cocktail type functions, she is in her element while I try to be inconspicuous.  Once you make the cut and become her friend it will be forever, and if you or yours are in trouble you will surely hear from her for compassion is as much a part of her as breathing.

Although she has shorted me on socks and back rubs, she has made up for that by supplying me with four children who are (as in the words of Garrison Keillor) all above average.  I am sure that none would report they ever lacked for love from her.

maggies 3rd birthday with family She has always been especially fond of babies, the helpless age when they needed her most.  She enjoyed being a full time mother until the kids were all sufficiently grown so she could scratch that creative itch which had bedeviled her all those years.  She opened her dream store where she could surround herself with beautiful things. Many of her customers were in awe of her good taste, and some asked her to help decorate their homes and businesses.

Lest you think all has been sweetness and light in our marriage, let me assure you we fight viciously and often.  We have managed to avoid filing any domestic violence charges, although it does require a good deal of self-control on my part.  For you see she is very stubborn while I am quite compliant.  She thinks she is always right while I know that it is old pictures xmas in 70sI who is always right.

In spite of that, we have shared a bucket of tears and thousands of laughs.  We have been there for each other when most in need.  Together we have survived the loss of our first born child, the loss of our parents and many other relatives, cancer, and all of the changes that aging brings.  She is as much a part of me as one of my limbs.  Our love transcends affection, is comforting, and without compulsion.  This remarkable woman has been my valentine for 70 years.  I plan to keep her in that capacity as long as I can.

60th Wedding Anniversary Dinner

60th Wedding Anniversary Dinner

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From eshrink’s editor and daughter: I thought I would add my own thoughts about my dad’s valentine of seven decades. Below is an excerpt from the card I gave her a few years ago on her birthday. From my perspective, the longevity of my parent’s marriage isn’t about romance or fairy tales. My parents argued, but I learned in therapy the value of what they taught me: they always made up, they never called each other names, they talked about how behaviors made them feel. My parents are incredible teachers in how to love without condition.

I love how you always have surrounded us with

beauty—I didn’t appreciate it when I was younger,

but looking back I have such fond memories of

beautiful centerpieces, holiday dinners, and I

appreciate the ambience you created in all of our

homes that made me feel loved and special.

I love how interested you are in other people—their

experiences—good and bad—and how you manage

to always connect and empathize with them.

I love the generosity and thoughtfulness you

illustrate on a daily basis—always preparing special

gi! s for people, giving people in your lives not just

things, but your time, to make them feel loved and

appreciated. And not just for family, for people

in your life, like Kathleen, Judy, the girl who used

to cut our hair from Dresden. But I especially

appreciate the generosity and love you show your

grandchildren.

I love the way you always jumped in and gave me

a path whenever I even hinted I was interested in

something—modeling, tennis, piano, horseback

riding—you were always enthusiastic and supportive.

You made sure I had the tools (and the many

lessons) to pursue my interests instead of projecting

your interests onto me. It made me feel secure to be

my own person.

I love that you always insisted on family portraits for

Christmas and usually Easter.

I love how you made me feel good about being

“different” with that wild red hair, pale skin and

freckles during the age of straight, silky, long blonde

hair and golden brown tans (the 70s).

I love how you embraced “family planning” to make

sure I was born in the most beautiful month of the

year.

I love how you always welcomed my friends and

made them feel included in our family.

I love that you took the time, energy, and resources

to plan our annual family vacations that created such

wonderful memories I hold dear.

I love that you are always “you” …what you see is

what you get. (Probably why my friends always felt

so included at our house…no pretentiousness or

phoniness at the Smith house…we let it all hang out)

I love how you have always embraced “lifelong

learning”…watching you read all the books about

antiques and collectibles, going to auctions, learning

about decorating, taking classes at OUZ, starting

your business in your 40s, volunteering at Parents

Anonymous, and just always learning from other

people during each encounter.

I love that you were so open and honest about your

experiences in life—instead of being bitter about the

bad things, it always seemed you tried to use those

experiences to make me understand why you were

doing what you were doing or why you wanted better

for us (wanting to go to art school, the SIDs baby that

died when you were a nurse, the depression you fought,

your mom not letting you learn to cook). It gave me a

good perspective on how to process the stuff I can’t control,

the ability to learn from my mistakes, and taught me

how to see things from other people’s perspectives.

I hated it when you and dad argued, but I learned in

therapy the incredible value your openness gave me…

because I always got to see you make up and come

to some type of resolution (such an important gift to

realize that confrontation is sometimes necessary for

greater understanding, intimacy, and communication).

Happy Birthday Mom. I love you!