WHAT'S REAL?

 

          A cousin of mine owned a small painting by Magritte.  I thought it was a picture of a rose in a vase, but it wasn’t a rose, but a pear; and the rose was inserted into the pear.  The rose didn’t look very much like a rose but I thought it was a rose.  I was intrigued by the painting, its vivid colors, the objects so precisely painted but so puzzling.

          Currently, there is an exhibition of Magritte’s paintings at the Museum of Modern Art; and, of course, I wanted to see it.  My son Marc was visiting me at the time; and I was glad to have him join me, as an art lover and a psychiatrist, to help me better understand Magritte’s underlying themes.

          I knew that Magritte was described as a surrealistic artist, whose objective was to encourage viewers to question what they see and try to find meaning behind the reality of what was in front of them.

          A very popular work of this artist was entitled The Pipe.  It is painted with such photographic precision that we don’t need a title to tell us what it is.  It’s not a pipe that can carry heat or water in a building, but a pipe that people, usually men, smoke for pleasure.

          Underneath the pipe, but within the painting itself is what has been confirmed as Magritte’s handwriting is a line in French (his language) that reads “Cici nest pas une pipe” – (translated in English – “this is not a pipe”)

          It has been recorded that to shock and puzzle viewers, Magritte would say, “Of course, it’s not a pipe” – you can’t use your hand to stuff it with tobacco,  you can’t pick it up, and you can’t smoke it.”

          By rearranging objects and using strange versions of animals, Magritte forces viewers to take a deeper look at what is in front of them and what they might truly represent.  Marc points out Magritte was influenced by Freud’s theory of the unconscious.

          In a different direction, my mind turns to the money we paid for admission to this exhibit.  We paid in cash, pieces of paper.  Why do we assume it will be accepted as money – maybe because just as Magritte tells us this is not a pipe when we see a pipe, the government tells us this is not paper – it’s money.  And printed on every piece of paper that is accepted as money is printed that this note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.  And to make us feel more secure, every bill states  In God We Trust.

       On the way home, I tell March about the Magritte that I used to see at my cousin’s house.  I never did get to understand its underlying meaning or what it represented; but I’m still in touch with the reality that she didn’t bequeath it to me when she died; and with art prices soaring today, it must be worth a lot of money.

102, GOING ON 103

          Yesterday was my sister Vera's 102nd birthday.  If you have an

 

image of an old, infirm woman barely able to participate in any birthday

 

celebration, discard that image!  Instead, see her walking down the street

 

in her patterned stockings, her beautiful jacket, and her makeup perfect.

 

It's not rare for some to ask, where do you get your haircut or where can

 

I find that raincoat?

          Vera never complains of any aches or pains.  I can’t remember a time when she was sick.  She foolishly, according to my opinion, never had a mammogram or pap test in her earlier years.  Now she does get flu shots and has an annual physical exam.

          When I telephone and ask, as I might anyone, how are you, she always answers fine, as if what a foolish question, how can I be anything but fine.

          Reaching 102 doesn’t mean what it might mean to most people.  She says it is only numbers to her.  She states quite firmly that she’s not any older because of the numbers.  She doesn’t feel any older than she felt many years earlier in her life.  As a psychologist, I think to myself – it’s a state of denial – but then I just wonder maybe it’s just the way aging is for her.

          No sign of dementia for her either.  She is very alert, very much in the present, no preoccupation with past memories for her.  She still has passionate interests in politics, Obama, reading, fine restaurants – although she eats very little -- both to remain very trim (it’s in) and she believes in a healthy diet.  She never takes a drink, although in former years she enjoyed wine with her meals.

          Vera often tells me one advantage of a long life is that you can see the story unfold.  She’s interested in the unfolding of world events, very interested even more so in the unfolding of her family’s story.  She does not boast about her family as so many people do; she doesn’t need to, as other people exclaim what a remarkable family she has.

          Vera has one daughter Linda and Linda has three sons, who are Vera’s grandchildren; and they in turn among them have 7 children, who are Vera’s great grandchildren, who range in age from 6 to 19.  They were all gathered together to celebrate her birthday.  They are extremely attractive, charming, and great fun.  But above all, was the atmosphere of love for Vera and for each other.

          What is also remarkable about this family is that the three grandchildren, ranging in age from 40 to 50, seem to have achieved outstanding success in the financial world – all three – (no black sheep here) and they are close brothers, living very near to each other, with wives seemingly cut from the same cookie cutter, each of them has their own successful careers and the three couples are almost a little community – although they branch out with their friends and special interests.

Happy Birthday Vera

102 Going on 103

You have some kind of key

But the years fly on so fast

Baby, keep having a blast!

 

 

 

WHAT’S LEFT?

        I guess I started to think about “left overs” the day after Thanksgiving—the turkey is still fresh, the salad still crunchy, the cranberries still juicy.  The pies—they’re gone—devoured the day before and everyone is glad because thoughts of all those calories have started to emerge.

        But there’s a different kind of left over that fills my mind during this holiday season.  My sister Vera and I are “left overs” of the family we grew up in.  There were three of us, close siblings and we felt a certain amount of pride that the three of us were our family’s long-lived survivors. 

A few weeks ago, our handsome, charming, caring, 95-year-old brother, died.  Now only two of us are left over from a large pool of cousins as well, cousins we loved and with whom we shared wonderful experiences.

        And, too, we’re “left overs” of our generation, often referred to as the greatest generation.  Be that as it may, there aren’t many left of that generation.

        So what’s left?  A lot!  There are my two boomers, my sister’s daughter, several new generations of grandchildren and great- grandchildren, and great nieces and nephews.

        I live in a constantly changing world and in the new age of technology; and despite its major problems and crises, it is an exciting world.  I have new friends to replace the old and new interests and challenges.

        Whatever time is left over for me, it is my time and my challenge—as it has always been—to make the best use of it.

 

 

 

FIFTY QUESTIONS 

        Everyone expresses amazement that Fifty Shades of Grey and its sequels have sold many millions of copies all over the world.  Yes, sex sells, but these numbers are very rare in any category of the book market.

        The story itself is a simple one; and in a way, the characters are simple people -- except for the fact that Christian Grey is extremely rich and handsome beyond description, but isn’t that a common fantasy of the single girl?  Anastasia, a 21-year-old college student is not pursuing Christian.  She meets him by chance when she helps out a friend who is ill.  The friend needs to interview Christian for a student newspaper and Anastasia volunteers to take on the assignment.  Christian seems benign; she is a literary major who likes to curl up at night with a British classic.  Anastasia is a virgin and has never even held hands with a man.

        In the beginning, they are like two exaggerated characters you might find in a summer beach novel.  The first hint of something dark comes when Christian sends her a first edition of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles, the subject of Anastasia’s senior thesis.  He has brought attention to the question from the text, “Why didn’t you tell me there was danger.”

        The danger from Christian is his compulsive desire to have sado- masochistic sexual experiences, with the female partner completely submissive.  His traumatic childhood is given as an explanation of this compulsive desire.

        There is no evidence of force or brutality or disregard of her unwillingness to participate in this behavior.  He makes it clear what the terms are and requests her to sign a contractual agreement to participate.

        Why does Anastasia agree?  Why do millions of readers, probably many of them women, identify with her, get pleasure from the detailed account of the pain and lack of control?  Her willingness to submit?

        There are no doubts many theories and conjectures about the popularity of this book.  What makes it so compelling?  In this age of the active, assertive female, fighting to break the glass ceiling and gain control, what attracts her to Anastasia’s submission?

        What came to mind is the research of my colleague, Dr. Barbara Hariton.  Thirty or more years ago, she wrote a doctoral dissertation about women’s sexual fantasies.  She studied a group of suburban, middle-class women who described themselves as happily married and enjoying their sexual life with their husbands.

        Dr. Hariton’s focus was on the sexual fantasies of these women.  She reported that a majority of them described that, during sex with their husbands, they frequently fantasized about being sexually overpowered by a strong, powerful male, or group of men, who were neither brutal nor frightening in any way.  These encounters were not viewed by any of the women as safe.  

        There are reports of subsequent research that has confirmed Dr. Hariton’s findings of women’s sexual fantasies – even in a time of even further liberation of women.

        What does it mean?  Is the research too limited?  Does it serve some biological purpose for the male to be sexually powerful to guarantee the continuation of the species?

        The questions interest me more than the book.

 

 

PLAYING DOCTOR

          Why do children like to play doctor?  I guess a parent could ask, why do children like to play fireman or policeman or ballerina or dentist?  And they do!  The fact that playing doctor often makes a parent anxious is because, for the parent, it has a sexual implication.  Children also play doctor by bandaging fingers and knees and pretending to give medicine and injections; but this is often not the usual association we have to children playing doctor.  What parents think about is children examining each other’s bodies, pulling down pants or lifting skirts and peeking at genitals.  Sometimes it means using a pretend rectal thermometer.

          Children often play this form of doctor game because they have a good deal of curiosity about the human body and sexual differences.  They are curious about everything in their growing world of experience; but even at a very young age, they sense some mystery about the way they are made.  Often they get better answers to their questions about almost everything else than they do about sexual differences.  Examining each other is one way of trying to find some answers.  Almost everyone remembers playing doctor, even though it occurs so early in life.

          Today, sex (and nudity) is everywhere.  Even very young children are exposed to sexual matters on TV, in the movies, on the Internet, and as a subject of lively discussion at the dinner table and among nannies on the park bench.

          A parent’s dilemma is greater than ever as to how to deal with their children’s questions.  But the real dilemma is their own confusion and their own curiosity.  True, today’s parents are more knowledgeable and hopefully more comfortable about sexual matters than their own parents were, but a whole new world of sexual experience opens up every day.

          How to react to it?  How to make sense of it?  How to incorporate it into one’s own value system?  How not to be too turned off by it or too turned on?  It may take some time for adults – parents – to integrate this explosion of sexual matters and to help young children cope with what they see and hear from every direction; but in the meantime, my guess is that playing doctor may get a lot more interesting. 

         

WHAT MAKES FOR HOT SEX?

Surprisingly, it is not always with Mr. Right. As a matter of fact, an inappropriate partner or an unavailable one often fuels the fire of sexual desire more than someone who meets the requirements of the ideal partner.

Would the story of Romeo and Juliet enthrall us to the same degree if theirs was not a clandestine affair? Would the outcome of that tragic tale be the same if their parents were not engaged in a vendetta that made their love prohibitive?

Then there’s the story of “Looking for Mr. Goodbar.” Remember? Diane Keaton plays the role of a conventional, compassionate teacher deciding to be her “own girl.” In the murky nightclubs she explores, she finds excitement with dangerous and unpredictable men and spurns the Mr. Right in her life. This story, too, ends in disaster.

But many of us experience yearning for an unavailable partner, pine over an ambivalent lover, or engage in risk-taking sexual encounters at some time in their lives. How can we explain the excitement in such behavior? And the intensity of the sexual feelings connected with the experience?

It’s not unlike other ways in which some people, especially in their younger years, break the rules by driving too fast, drinking too much, or getting involved in drugs.

Taking risks seems to offer a feeling of power, a sense of entitlement to engage in behavior that has been prohibited in the past.

If the risks involved in the area of sexual behavior haven’t led to disastrous or very painful consequences, most people move on to want sexual experiences to be part of an intimate, secure relationship.

Memories of these experiences often linger on and may trigger excitement in fantasy life and even add excitement to sex with Mr. Right!

NO RING, DON'T BRING

NO RING, DON’T BRING

No Ring, Don’t Bring may not mean anything to you, but it is a familiar phrase to those involved in the process of planning a wedding, whether they are the bride and groom, their parents or those on the guest list. The ring referred to, of course, is an engagement ring.

The tradition of an engagement ring goes back to ancient times and was popular in many cultures. It has not always meant an agreement to marry, but it often conveyed that promise; it could also be a promise of fidelity, friendship, or eternal commitment. It could be made of metal, stone, or various metals and gems. It is only in modern times that a diamond is the most popular choice for an engagement ring. I guess ever since “diamonds are a girl’s best friend” became a popular belief.

The placement of the ring on the woman’s fourth finger of her left hand is also a tradition from ancient times based on the belief that there was a vein on that finger that led straight to the heart – the vein of love. There’s no reference I found that men have such a vein – so that’s maybe why men generally do not wear engagement rings – although they have begun to wear wedding rings.

Today, the engagement ring seems to have taken on a new function – you might say as a ticket of admission to the wedding – especially for single people. Who is invited and how many guests has probably always been an issue, dependent on many different factors. One issue today is the exorbitant cost of a wedding; therefore, the guest list is carefully surveyed.

Single friends, both male and female, are often told they cannot bring an escort, a date, a dancing partner, or a potential mate unless there is evidence of a committed relationship; and the best evidence of that is the engagement ring! No Ring, Don’t Bring!



OPEN SESAME

 

I turn the key and the door opens.  I walk into my office waiting room.  Although I have not redecorated it for a few years, I think of it as more attractive than any of the waiting rooms where I have waited as a patient.

 

I feel proud as I look around.  I am a Master of the Universe here.  Not a Wall Street Master of the Universe, but a respected and successful member of my profession.  Here I have the pleasure of doing work that contributes a rich dimension to my life.  Here I have earned money that has contributed to my sense of self-worth.

 

I am of a generation in which middle class generally did not work after college.  Their chief goal was to marry and have children.  I wanted that too, but I always wanted to pursue a career.

 

Here in this office, my husband and I had adjoining suites; and for a time, collaborated as a sex therapy team.  He would be proud of me that I continued in this space and purchased the office when the building became a co-op.  I rent the extra suite and so have some sense of being a business person.

 

The one disturbing feeling that comes over me from time to time is that my life here will come to an end -- that I will become too feeble in mind and body to be a Master of the Universe and patients will no longer come through that door.

 

But until that day comes and I put my key in the lock, I will as a Master of My Universe and I feel fulfilled.



FORBIDDEN -- What my daughter saw in Jerusalem

Orthodox Jews are forbidden to watch television, go to the movies or museums where they might see images of naked men and women.  Women are forbidden to appear in public without covering their hair or to wear clothing that fails to cover their lower arms, their necks or their knees.

Men are required to wear what we regard as a uniform -- a yarmulke or a black hat, black pants, and a white shirt.

There are foods Orthodox Jews cannot eat and books they cannot read.  In other words, the secular world in its myriad dimensions is off limits to them.

What my daughter saw as she strolled through Orthodox communities in Jerusalem or joined the huge crowds at the Western Wall were hordes of Orthodox Jews, separate in dress and manner, carrying a prayer book in one hand and in the other hand, the whole of the secular world, their iPhone.

AN UNUSUAL FRIENDSHIP

Menachim is the friend I made on American Airlines Flight 16.  I was traveling in Economy and there was an empty seat next to me -- for which I was grateful.  At the very last minute before take off, an Orthodox Jewish man claimed the seat. 

He was not someone I would have chosen as a seat mate.  I am a secular Jew, with a particular antipathy for fundamentalism in any form.  However, in the past few years, one of my grandsons chose ultra Orthodoxy as his way of life, which has troubled me very much.

A short time after the plane took off, without any thought, I turned to my fellow traveler and said, "I think it's beshert that I am sitting next to you."  He smiled and said that beshert (it's fated) usually refers to a mating situation and he didn't think I had that in mind.  Among other differences, my seat mate appeared about forty years younger than I am.

From that point on, Mechachim and I talked, laughed, and had drinks together.  To my amazement, I liked this man.  That flight was the start of our friendship.  We have talked many times on the phone.  He has visited my home and I have been at his home for a Purim party.  He has invited me to join his family at Passover -- although I was unable to accept.  He invites me to lunch with his wife.  We have shared beliefs and feelings about many things.  There is no doubt in my mind that we are friends.

My most recent experience with Menachim was when he brought me some special matzohs for Passover.  We sat and talked for a while about his faith, our children, and my feelings about my grandson's Orthodox lifestyle.

As he was at the door, almost to leave, I turned to Menachim and said, "If I weren't against your tradition, I'd love to give you a hug."

The next morning Menachim called me.  He said he had told his wife about my wanting to hug him.  Her response was, "You should have let her.  She's an old lady."

NEVER TOO LATE

I first met Vivian in an exercise class.  I was impressed with her energy, her air of confidence, and a quiet presence I thought of as dignity.

I made some friendly overtures to her, chatting before class started and suggesting we go to coffee sometime; but it was clear Vivian was not interested in our getting together.  She always left with her friend Alice, a long-time friend.

Vivian left exercise class long before I did.  I was surprised when our paths crossed in a book club we had both joined.  Vivian had an extraordinary knowledge of modern and classical literature -- which we all appreciated.

Vivian was much more a member of the book club group than she had been in the exercise class.  I attributed it to the fact that, without Alice, she was much freer to interact with all of us.

Eventually, Vivian and I became friends -- as close as some of the friends in my past.  How was that possible, I asked myself?  We didn't grow up together; we weren't in the same class in kindergarten, or high school, or college.  We never pledged to be (BFF) best friends forever.

Vivian didn't know my story, my parents, and she didn't dance at my wedding.  We weren't professional colleagues.  She never met my husband -- nor I hers.  She never shared the intimate secrets of my life's various stages.

How, then, could I regard her as a close friend -- but I did.  We knew each other's older selves and we shared what it meant to grow old.

But, like many of my friends of my past, Vivian died, and I miss her.  She was my friend.

IS THERE A MALE MENOPAUSE

There was a time not so long ago when women never talked about menopause and never used the word, even with close friends or even an intimate partner. They regarded it as a condition that was inevitable and generally considered that, once they reached menopause around the age of fifty, they were “over the hill” – especially in the area of their sexuality. With the flowering of the feminist movement, menopause came out of the closet. Books about menopause became best sellers and it was a popular topic on radio and TV talk shows. Even the pharmaceutical industry became involved offering new formulas to ease severe symptoms from which some women suffered. Gradually, women began to believe that there was life possible after menopause – even an active sex life. Recently, some of the attention focused on female menopause has shifted to men. The question has been asked, “Is there a male menopause?” In the true sense of the word, the word menopause means the end of menses and men do not menstruate. On a hormonal level, females experience an abrupt ending of estrogen, which causes many of the symptoms that women sometimes experience. Men don’t have this abrupt ending to the production of testosterone, the hormone responsible in the male and female sex drive. There may be a gradual decline over the years, but this decline doesn’t occur in all men. But like women, men do age as time goes by. At about the same age as women experience menopause, they start to lose some of their strength and vigor, lose some of their hair and they, too, develop wrinkles. Of course, exercise and a healthy diet may do a lot in both sexes to postpone signs of aging – their sex drive may diminish, but there is no scientific evidence that is tied to a decrease in their hormonal decline. But many men do report what we might label a mid-life crisis around the same time as women experience menopause. There may be many psychological reasons for this state – often tied to awareness that life is passing them by, they haven’t realized their dreams, the nest is empty, and life has lost some of its possibilities, its promise. Women, too, experience some of these feelings; but in recent years, many women feel a new sense of freedom and opportunity – that Margaret Mead described as menopausal zest. It seems to me that we are now into a New Age, that the mid-life crisis may still occur, but perhaps not in the fifties – but, with our increasing longevity, many years later. I often remember that a century ago women died in their late forties – they probably never experienced menopause and men’s’ lives were much shorter then too. With the possibility of an extended lifespan, we need to not only focus on enriching our personal lives but making the world a better place in which everyone can live a fulfilling life.

AS TIME GOES BY

You have to be a cock-eyed optimist not to believe that at an advanced age your time on this earth is pretty limited. You can wonder why you've been allotted so many years, but after a while you take it pretty much for granted that lady luck is on your side and maybe you still have some days, months, even years ahead.

So how to use whatever time may lie ahead? Grandiose ideas emerge that involve places that you have never seen, but always wanted to, projects you still want to develop, the foreign language you want to learn, maybe Mandarin. There seems no end to the dreams. You tell yourself that you have the time, the energy, the resources, the support -- so why not?

But what really happens? You live each day pretty much as you have been living the days that have recently gone by. You don't go to Easter Island, you did go to California again, you don't write a book -- you write a piece for your writing class -- you just keep doing what you've been doing -- and to your surprise, you ask yourself, could anything be better?

LOST IN TRANSITION

There are many losses on the bumpy road to old age. Everyone struggles to avoid, or more realistically, to postpone the loss of youthful beauty and vigor, of fading vision and hearing, and the dreaded loss of memory. Then, there is the tragic loss of cherished family and friends.

In recent years, there have been some contributions that have helped to make some of the bumps less traumatic – medical advances, more knowledge about the role of nutrition and exercise, cosmetic surgery. But this is a piece about loss, not new horizons, for the elderly.

For me, a major loss is the gradual erosion of ambition – that passion to achieve a particular goal and the willingness to work hard to achieve it. It seems to me I’ve always set goals for myself and enjoyed the process of getting there. Like most things in life, getting there is half the fun. That is what I miss. I have to acknowledge that on some level. I feel as ambitious as ever, but the reality is that old age puts a roadblock on getting there.

Many people welcome an end to the “fire in the belly” – that pressure to perform and achieve. They are the ones who look forward to retirement and its freedom from stress. Sometimes, they find even freedom has its own stress and the process of getting old doesn’t stop.

Then there are those, like me, who need to find avenues where that fire brightens their older years, even though its light is not as bright, its heat not as warming; but as Edna St. Vincent Millay once put it in a different context, “but ah my foes, and oh, my friends, it gives a lovely light.”

STALKING THE KIDS

I had been invited to dinner at my nephew’s home. When he came to the door to greet me, he said, “Come on in, we’re stalking Jennifer.” What he meant was that the guests who had already arrived, were looking at pictures, hundreds of pictures that Jennifer had sent from Princeton, where she just started her freshman year! There were pictures of her new roommate, the posters on the walls of her dormitory room, of her bed, even her closet. So many pictures! I was quickly tired of them, eager to talk to the other guests, to be in the real world, but the others wanted to see every one of the scenes of Jennifer’s new life.
It was not the first time I had wondered about this new and common practice of parents and grandparents and great-grandparents living in the digital world, living vicariously through the lives of their offspring, through pictures or Facebook.
The word my nephew has used – stalking seemed suddenly appropriate. I have seen pictures on an iPad of Jennifer at her high school prom. I’ve seen her low-cut dress and the dresses of her friends. I’ve seen their breasts almost fully exposed and their bare feet after they’ve kicked off their high heels. I’ve seen her prom date. I’m surprised that there wasn’t a picture of Jennifer and her date “making out” – I suppose that’s yet to come.

Not too long ago, some friends showed me pictures of their children at sleep-away camp. I saw where they swam, where they ate, where they slept. I saw them pitching a baseball and doing a back stroke in the water. I saw them singing around a campfire.

My friends exclaimed how lucky they felt to share these experiences with their children. Lucky? I remember, even though it was so long ago, how lucky I felt going to camp and then away to college – that I was given an opportunity to be on my own, to find out that I could survive without my parents there to help and intervene for me, not even to know about my life away from home. I think the roots of my self-esteem were planted in those days. Then there are the children of my generation – the children of the 60s and 70s, the children of the free speech movement and the light cast by “the diamonds in the sky.” (Beattles) They left home to cross the country or to hitchhike in Europe and Asia. There were no cell phones, no long distance calls except in an emergency. Occasionally there was a letter that arrived weeks after it was written. Pictures? If they had a camera, the pictures were developed after they returned home. And they weren’t that good!

Today, almost every young person has a good camera, an iPad, a smart phone. This modern technology serves as a bond between parents and children, as does Facebook and Twitter. It serves as a way of keeping in touch as never before.
Does the bond interfere with learning to be independent, to develop one own life style and direction? Who is to say?

What we can say is that the world constantly changes and evolves. Tomorrow these will be a new Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg to change the world again and that tomorrow is not very far off.

REVOLUTION

We met at a party for Loyalist Spain

We talked revolution

Hooked at you as a fellow traveler

But then you came to my college town

We walked through the beauty of an early spring

Bursting with tender blossoms, fragrant air

We lay in the lush green grass

We talked revolution

But we felt a new loyalty

I looked at you as a lover

CANE AND ABLE

There was a time in my life, long, long ago when the word cane conjured up an image of a sugary, red and white striped stick with a curve at its end. These candy canes were a special treat during Christmas and usually disappeared after the holiday season was over.

Years later, when I was still very young, I was occasionally aware that a raggedly old man or woman was limping down the street, leaning heavily on what was referred to as a cane. It was usually not on my street that I saw this sight. It had nothing to do with me.

If I had grown up in any other period of history, canes would have been a very common sight. Throughout every period of history, canes were everywhere. Even primitive man probably used a stick or branch to clear his way or protect him from danger.

Canes and walking sticks, as they were often referred to served many functions from weapon, status, and as a fashion accessory. They were originally made from bamboo or other plants but evolved into elaborate and decorative objects – but somehow the name cane survived.

By the end of World War II, when there was a major cultural change in our society, canes seem to have disappeared. It was the Jazz Age, the age of the flappers, an age of new freedom in dress and morals.

Recently, canes have come out of the closet. They are as ubiquitous -- yes, on my street and in my neighborhood -- just like cell phones, dogs on leashes, and baby strollers. Sometimes, one of these is seen in combination with a cane.

The people using canes today are not as old and ragged as they had been in my youth. If they’re old, I thought, old has a different look. As I see them in my neighborhood, they certainly aren’t ragged. And now there are younger people among the cane users.

The thought enters my mind now and then that given the proliferation of cane users, selling canes might be a profitable investment. I was not conscious that using a cane might be a good personal investment, even though I jokingly referred to the fact that I walked like a drunken sailor.

One day, in a visit to my internist, I mentioned my shaky balance. He immediately recommended a cane, gravely telling me he didn’t want to meet me in the emergency room after a fall.

It took me about two years to act on my doctor’s order. After I bought a cane, it took me months before I actually carried it out of my building onto my street. Yes, it makes me feel more secure as I rush around from one activity to another. Yes, I’m getting used to using my cane – but I’m still trying to get used to the change in my self-image brought about by the cane.

SOUP'S ON!

I was an intern at the family agency and could hardly believe my good fortune. Now I was dealing with real people rather than studying case histories in the classroom. Thus began my professional career and much of what I learned in that far away time has remained with me.

What has also been a dividend from that time is a friendship that developed with another intern in that office. In the many years since that time, during the incredible changes in our lives and in the wide, wide world, our love for each other has not diminished. Together, we gained some confidence in our professional selves. We also reveled in being young and carefree.

Although in later years we traveled to faraway and exotic places -- at that time our travel was to singles resorts in the Catskills and Adirondacks, citadels of dreams, that no longer exist in the era of modern transportation.

We grew oldder. We got jobs. We got married. We moved out of the sheltering arms of our parents' homes. We learned how to cook and combine being wives and dedicated workers. Our husbands became part of our close friendship and we added children to our circle.

Our friends moved to Westchester; we stayed in Manhattan. We exchanged visits as often as we could. I remember some feeling of difference in their lifestyle. Their friends seemed more suburban, more interested in their homes, their gardens, their carpools. The didn't travel into Manhattan as much for theatre, museums, and concerts.

But, despite what felt somewhat like their complacency, we remained closely bound by our political passion. We lived in turbulent times -- the Great Depression, World War II, the labor movements thrust towards unions, the left wings -- "We Shall Overcome." We joined in the struggles. We wanted to change the world as our children would do a generation later. We marched in parades and sang songs of protest that still ring in my ears.


We got even older. My husband died. I went to her husband's 100th birthday party. A few days ago, my friend called me to say that her busband died at the age of 104. Until the end, he had been playing bridge, taking art classes, and enjoying life with his partner for 73 years.

With all the memories stirred up, all the feeling the news of a long-time friend evoked, why did I smell the rich aroma of my friend's mother's cabbage soup? As interns we would drop in to her mother's apartment for dinner, which was near our office. Clearer than any other memory was sitting at her dining room table, sipping the soup, keenly aware at some level that all of life, with its infinite possibilities, stretched ahead of me.

WORK ADDICTION -- NO TIME FOR LOVE

Are you a workaholic? For the past years, wives complained that their husbands were addicted to work. Some wives even threatened to end the marriage because addiction to work and long hours at the office left no room for companionship and the pursuit of shared pleasures. As for sex -- "too tired" -- "tomorrow" -- were the common excuses. And there was always, almost always, office work to be completed at home.

But not only wives complained, husbands accused their wives of putting the care of children and household chores ahead of them to such a degree that the relationship became sterile, devoid of time together to play, to talk, to hold each other, to make love.

With an increasing number of women working outside of the home, and still having tasks at home, we are hearing more about work addiction on the part of women, with more frequent feelings on the part of men of being rejected and neglected. Men are becoming more involved in helping with house work at home, while the women of the family sit at their computer -- late into the night.

Of course, high-pressure careers often demand long hours, travel, and intense involvement. The troubled economy may demand more involvement to avoid losing one's job.

However, sometimes the investment of excess time and energy is to meet the workaholic's needs, rather than the job's requirements. People addicted to work see themselves as having little option, stating they have to get the job done, or they feel restless or on edge if they are not busy.

What are some motivations that drive some men and women "beyond the call of duty?" Of course, the lure of money -- "making it big" -- is a common motivation -- but even millionaires are often work addicts. There are other motives, of course -- the attempt to deal with low self-esteem, which is bolstered by always being busy. Another not uncommon reason for being addicted to work is the fear of intimacy -- of getting close to someone else.

There is no AA for work addiction. Our culture worships success, money,and power. We admire people who work hard and have contempt (usually hidden) for those who are idle or unemployed. But, as the technological revolution makes us feel more isolated, there is a new surge of interest n seeking connection, spirituality, and meaning in our lives. Couples need to talk (an important aspect of intimacy) to find their individual path to feeling less alone.

THE FAMILY MEAL

Dinner time! But where have all the diners gone? Dad called that he's detained at the office. Mom's still at the gym. The teenage boys are at soccer practice. The older sister is studying at her friends. Even the family dog is still at the animal day care center.

In previous eras, the family meal was almost a sacred table. Mom was still in the kitchen -- putting the final touches to a full-course meal. The children knew they had to look neat -- their hands washed, their faces scrubbed. No excuses for being late! Whatever subject was being discussed, it was silently acknowledged that father knew best.

With an increasing number of women in the work force, with after-school activities almost mandatory, the chances of the family sitting down together at meal times is markedly reduced. When they are together, often a decision is made to eat out -- there is a whoop of joy -- no cooking, no clean up and those french fries at the neighborhood fast food diner!

Is the passing of the family meal, something to be mourned? Have we lost an opportunity to transmit family values and to bring together the family to offer support and security? Maybe something is lost, but the family meal wasn't always serene. There were sometimes heated arguments and a feeling of oppression by the woman in charge. And what about boredom -- and the wish to get through the meal as quickly as possible and get on with one's own interests.

Of course, families still get together, although surely less frequently around a table. But today, some major change can be observed. With almost no exception, one or both of the children, or even Mom or Dad is on a cell phone, an iPhone or watching a portable video screen. There's more talk to someone not at the family table that there is to someone present. Even couples alone, or a mother and child together, or grandparents visiting from afar, are technologically engaged.

Will the listeners at the other of the cell phone, the iPhone, or whatever new device is developed -- will these connections be the new electronic family? Will the text messages constantly transmitted, transmit the cultural values, offer support and security? The answers lie in the future, a future which will have its own technology, its own questions, and its own search for answers.