Christmas Windows

CHRISTMAS WINDOWS

It has started to snow.

It isn't much and it still isn't the right time for it to stick around, but it's snow and a step in the right direction.

It's dark too. Not pitch black night time dark, but the fuzzy dark that happens as the sun makes its final exit and the day comes to an end.

And it's cold. Not really cold temperature-wise, but damp cold: the kind that gets into your joints that you don't really understand until you get older.

Ronin and I are out walking.

This is our time.

I try to mix up the routes we take just to keep it interesting. I think I am doing it for him, but the truth is he doesn't care. We could walk the same path every day and he would be fine with that. He makes new discoveries every day and everywhere. All that matters is that I honor the commitment and take him out.

As it gets darker outside, we become more aware of the lights on in each of the houses we pass. We are not voyeurs, but, on these dimly-lit streets, the lights from the houses just naturally draw your attention.

It's hard not to notice as the occupants move from room to room and turn on lights. It's hard not to notice who's having dinner and who's watching TV. And, at this time of year, it's hard not to notice who have already put up their holiday lights.

As the blue-gray of dusk becomes the charcoal gray of twilight becomes the black of night, we cross streets and round corners. At every pole, sign or hydrant, Ronin stops to read and/or sign the guest book while I search my pockets for anything I can find with which to wipe my running nose.

We pass more houses and more of them have a tree, or a wreath, or one of those inflatable lawn sculptures. Each reminds me that I need to find our decorations and get started on our house. Each is like the open door on an Advent calendar reminding us that Christmas is coming ever closer.

Each window is also a reminder of every Christmas past: the trips to the Atwater Market to pick out the tree, untangling the gordian knot of lights and promising myself that I would take more care putting this year's lights away so as not to have the same problem next year, sitting in the living room late at night bathed in the warmth of the decorated tree and Mahalia Jackson's version of “Silent Night” on the hi-fi. Each is a reminder of gifts given and received and the growing list of family and friends who have “gone on ahead.”

As Ronin and I walk on through the darkening evening, I become aware that I am looking at these decorated houses through the soft-focused lens of memory. It doesn't snow much around here, but at each house I see with a yard tree, I am imagining it poking up through a snowbank, its limbs staggering under a thick frosting of snow. As our six feet move silently along the pavement, I am hearing the sound of them crunch in snow—the same sound you hear when you chew a mouthful of cereal.

There is a real danger of being kidnapped by memories of Christmas Past: it robs you of your Christmas present and the ability to appreciate the here and the now. Just as Hollywood stars of a certain age look better in soft focus, too much time spent looking in the rear view mirror can give you a false sense of how things really were. I know that and yet the nostalgic warmth that emanates from these houses seems really tangible to me tonight.

We walk past a house with a screened in porch and right at the corner there are a pair of figures from a large molded Nativity scene, but instead of being arranged in the traditional semi-circle around the manger, the figures of Mary and Joseph are right up against the screen looking out toward the street. In this context, without the figures of the Wise Men and the Baby Jesus, the figures look like the expectant children who used to crowd around the Morgan's Department Store window watching the animated holiday window display. They literally have their noses pressed up against the screen in anticipation.

I am struck by this image because it seems to capture my own arrested perspective on Christmas.

Without a doubt, this was my most favorite time of the year and now....

I guess I tend to approach each Christmas with the same ambivalence that I have for my own birthday. There is a hope that is mixed with disappointment; there is fear and anger, there is depression. (I'm not sure that I am not confusing Christmas with New Year's.)

Christmas is a benchmark, a milestone and a goal. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth,” “I'll Be Home for Christmas”: the notion of comparison and contrast is built right in. “Look what Santa brung me!” “You have to put up the lights, everyone else has theirs up already.”

I suffer by comparison.

I had goals and expectations and each year they seem to be further away, like Santa's sleigh at the end of his hard day's night.

I walk past these windows and see glimpses of the Christmas of my past and I can still feel the scratchiness of the new clothes, smell the aromas of the holiday baking and hear the frantic competition of oneupsmanship in the telling of the horribly corny riddles from the Christmas crackers. It calls to me like the memory of the ocean's roar trapped in a sea shell.

Ronin and I pass more windows with different degrees of lights and decoration. Many of the major movements in art history are represented in the houses we pass: realism, impressionism, expressionism each are expressed in light and texture, line and color. There are even some nihilists who don't bother decorating.

I write about Christmas because it has the same sort of all and nothing meaning represented by our neighborhood's decorators. It informs where I am by reminding me where I came from and also that another lap around life's racecourse is coming to an end. It's a time to be warmed by the familiarity of “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” mourn losses, and be reminded of victories.

That is Christmas's present to us all.

It's getting darker and I have forgotten to bring my gloves.

We turn the last corner and enter the final stretch of our walk.

Ronin stops, stiffens and, from somewhere deep in his massive chest, a growl begins to form.

He's staring at something but, try as I might, I can't make it out. There's only one street light on this part of the walk and everything beyond its beams is out of focus to my stigmatic eyes.

I hear them before I see them, a trio of deer wander lazily into the light from between a pair of houses.

Ronin barks.

They stop, turn in our direction and then, in a twinkling, they are gone in a flash. They clear the split rail fence that encloses the golf course on our left as it it didn't even occur to them.

The dog stares after them as they disappear into the darkness.

I tighten the lead and pick up the pace. Time to go home and get warm.

Posted by Graham Campbell at 11:31 AM No comments:

 

Originally published by http://notanotherslideshow.blogspot.com/

A Note to Suicidal Teens

This is from the World of Psychology blog at PsychCentral.com and was posted in recognition of World Suicide Prevention Day which was September 10th. 

It is so often hard for adults to reconnect with the intensity of teen emotions.  We got through those years and are quick to put it behind us.  Regrettably, this can leave us vulnerable to discounting the experience of those who are caught up in the rough seas that are the passage into adulthood.

If you have a teen in your life, you should maybe print this off and keep it handy.

--Graham Campbell
Associate Director

National Wellness Week 2012, Sept. 17-23

You don't have to be an Olympic Athlete to enjoy National Wellness Week. This week is designed to help us be more aware of our whole health and to engage in activities that support our wellness goals.

Locally, activities at The Main Place Recovery Center will include a Movie day 11:00-1:00 on Tuesday the 18^th, Wellness Olympics on 19th from 9:00-12:00 and 2:00-4:00 p.m., build your own Frozen Yogurt sundaes on Thursday at 1:30 and Friday WMR's Wellfest Ohio on the Statehouse lawn.

Monday - Wellness Overview - Engage in the Wellness Wheel. Get a group together over lunch and everyone works on their WMR Wellness Wheel. Share how the Wellness Wheel supports our wellness goals, what's changed since the last time I did my Wellness Wheel, and what new goals am I setting.

• In Columbus, peers will meet in the Columbus Commons located in downtown Columbus along High St at 12:30pm.  Bring your lunch, a chair (or a blanket), and a friend. We will supply copies of the Wellness Wheel to share.

Tuesday - Physical Wellness - Get together for a walk, a hike, a class of Tai Chi, or anything that gets you moving. Did you know that hoola hooping for 10 minutes burns 100 calories. Engaging your physical wellness can be fun!

• In Columbus, Peers from Central Ohio will meet at Scioto Mile at 10:30am and walk along the Scioto River and enjoy the scenery of Downtown. Wear comfortable walking shoes and bring your water bottle. For information about the Scioto Mile and directions, visit www.sciotomile.com .

Wednesday - Intellectual Wellness - Get together for a good dialogue, call a neighbor and play a game of chess or checkers, work the crossword puzzle in the daily newspaper. Do something to activate your mind in creative and challenging ways.

• In Columbus, join us for an interactive workshop on "Telling Your Story". We will gather at the Columbus Metropolitan Library, Livingston Branch, 3434 Livingston Ave., Columbus, OH 43227 in the conference room from 12:30-2:30pm. Leaders from the WMR Community will facilitate a WMR experience for people who want to share their stories of recovery and wellness. Everyone has a story to share, but sometimes we need help getting our thoughts and feelings into words, art, music, or dance. This will be a deliberative process where participants can explore creative ways to engage others in the stories of recovery and wellness.

Thursday - Spiritual Wellness - Spirituality is the cornerstone of wellness and   
 recovery. We can engage in our spiritual wellness in multiple ways. We can enjoy a poetry reading, engage in a guided imagery experience, explore nature, or engage in prayer and meditation.

• In Columbus, WMR is planning an afternoon with a drum circle from 2:00-4:00pm at Southeast, Inc., 16 W. Long St., Columbus, OH 43215.

Friday - Social and Emotional Wellness - Plan to get together for coffee, ice cream or play a game of cards with family and friends. Any time we are in the company of others, we can experience social and emotional wellness. Be creative and let us know what you are planning for social and emotional wellness.

• In Columbus, Wellness Management Recovery (WMR) will host the First WellFest on the State House Lawn (corner of Broad St. and High St. downtown) from 11:00-2:00pm. Exhibitors will be on hand to share information and resources for wellness. There will also be live entertainment and wellness demonstrations. At 12:45pm, MHALC compeer members and Main Place Recovery Center members will engage in a community wide line dance. Everyone is welcome!

Saturday - Financial and Occupational Wellness - Check with your local  extension office to learn about resources they may provide in the community. The Extension Office at The Ohio State University offers a number of financial resources including publications entitled "Keep Track of Spending" and "Manage Your Money".

• You can find these articles and other resources at http://extension.osu.edu/topics/business/financial-resources .

Sunday - Environmental Wellness - Our health and well-being are directly tied to the health and well being of our environment. Today, we can work on cleaning out some old clutter, working in our yard, helping a neighbor with their yard, or taking a long walk at a local park. The Extension Office at The Ohio State University offers recorded webinars (online) on how to conserve energy. Enjoy one or more webinar by accessing their website at http://energizeohio.osu.edu/webinars. 

If you need more information or have questions, contact the WMR CCOE at info@wmrohio.org or by phone at 614-225-0980 ext. 1316.

The Burden of Secrets

I keep secrets so they (the audience) don't have to. I carry a burden of secrets that literally destroys my ability to see the world in a magical way....

- Derek DelGuadio, Magician

At one point in my life, I imagined wanting to become a magician.  Most young boys go through this and successfully emerge at the other end of adolescence with more realistic career goals; me, I'm still thinking some four decades later, that if I could only find enough time to practice....

Magic continues to fascinate me because of the power of its secrets.

This is more than being compelled to know how particular effects are accomplished, but why they work.  Why, for example, can Penn & Teller disclose their methods and yet continue to entertain and amaze?

Famous TV Magic pitchman Marshall Brodien would punctuate his commercials with the line "Magic is easy once you know the secret."  This was a back-handed assurance that even the least-dexterous would be able to impress with his merchandise.  What he should have added is that, in most respects, magic is stupid once you know the secret.

This is not to say that the secrets are stupid because they are not.  Often the method(s) used in a particular effect are based on quite sophisticated concepts.  Once you know the secret, magic can make you feel stupid for having been fooled by what are pretty straightforward methods.  Anyone who has ever learned the "Illusion of the Stolen Nose" or the "Mystery of the Removable Thumb" has some sense of what I mean and what Mr. DelGuadio is talking about.



Since I was not going to be a performer, I chose what I thought would be a compromise career path.  I went to work in the theatre creating illusions of time and place to help the performers tell their stories.  I was not the sorcerer, nor his apprentice, nor even the broom carrying the bucket of water; I was the guy who made the broom.

To be sure, we were not making the Statue of Liberty disappear, or anything like that, but, by the same token, it was surprising to learn what little it takes to deceive the eye so that it takes as solid something that is flimsy, or three-dimensional when it has only two.

As with magic, the early focus of this work is on technique.  What size of brush, or type of sponge, is used to create "realistic" bricks?  What is the best way to make river rocks out of joint compound?  How do you make a root beer float that won't spill during a dance routine?  Each in their own way is a kind of magic trick, a small illusion designed to transport the audience seamlessly into the world of the story.

After I left the theatre, I then spent some time working for attorneys.  As I was to find out, this was not such a radical career change as it might, at first, have appeared.  Success in this field too depends on secret knowledge and mastery of technique.  I don't want to succumb to the conventional wisdom about the legal profession, because, to that time, it was one of the best jobs I had had and it more than prepared me for my next career which was in municipal government.

Here again were the familiar components of secrets, illusion and misdirection.  And here too was a disappointing similarity to the removable thumb and stolen nose tricks.

Also common among these worlds is the concept of secrecy as power, as advantage, as leverage.  Knowing something that others do not is what makes it possible to make things possible like illusion or profit, or public policy.

As I was also to learn, secrets are never free.  There is a price to be paid in acquiring them and there is another for keeping them.  This is the side that I see far too frequently in the work I do now.

To work in mental health is to deal in secrets. 

Almost every day, people come to our offices because they have learned a secret about themselves, or a loved one and they need help figuring out what to do with their secret knowledge.  People who live with mental health conditions exist in the same world as the rest of us.  Whether they are the person who has received the diagnosis, or a family member of that person, they know precisely what society's prejudices are.  They know what you think of them and so they don't want you to know that they're sick.  They know that a diagnosis of a mental health condition is the lens through which the rest of their life will be viewed.  Their diagnosis will be the clause at the end of ever sentence, the discount for every achievement and the rationale for every setback.  "Pencils successfully sharpened by mental patient."  "Applicant with mental illness makes typos on job application."

Is it any wonder that people are reluctant to engage with treatment?  Accepting help means letting go and entrusting your secrets to others.  This can often be a challenge with low-value secrets such as a password, or a romantic crush; can you imagine the stakes where mental health is concerned?  And lingering in the background is the specter of hospitalization, involuntary confinement and forced medication.

Never mind that the standards needed for confinement and medication, not to mention the shortage of psychiatric beds, have made that an increasingly unlikely outcome, this notion is so deeply embedded in the culture that people are often surprised to learn that instead of depression leading inevitably to the straitjacket, it can be successfully treated and could be no more of an inconvenience than are seasonal allergies. 

When people disclose their mental health conditions to us, or more frequently, their personal stories that have helped to shape those conditions, they are relying upon us to keep them.  The very process of help-seeking demands that, in order to access treatment, the consumer has to surrender some, or all, of their burden of secrets.  For most, this is just as difficult as it would be for David Copperfield to disclose how he floated across the Grand Canyon, or walked through the Great Wall of China.

And disclosure is not always a guarantee of relief.  If a consumer, or prospective consumer, discloses information about their racing thoughts, or hallucinations, or plans for suicide, they reveal themselves to prejudice and bias.  Their diagnosis, or diagnoses, become part of their identities, a classification, a membership card in the Separate and No Longer Equal club.

To work in mental health is to understand that secrets are also kept because their exposure, their disclosure, would provide unwelcome advantage to another and reveal a vulnerability.  To work in mental health is to recognize that people build their sense of themselves and their place in the world on a foundation of secrets.  Disclosing these secrets is surrendering power to others.

My boss, Paddy Kutz, has been helping people who live with secrets for four decades.  People often come to her because she is a familiar face in the community and because she is not a doctor or a counselor.  When they recognize that they are up against a problem and don't know what to do, they come to our offices and go into closed-door conference with Paddy to develop a strategy of response.  Can they get the help they need without disclosing their secrets?  Can their family member be "fixed" without it having to come out that they have a "problem?"

She has had lots of these conversations with people in all walks of public and private life.  She always has the Kleenex at the ready as she patiently explains that "secrets keep us sick."  Some of her visitors remain unconvinced and leave the office with their secrets clutched ever-closer to their breast, but many, many more, leave with a brochure and some phone numbers and a strategy for moving ahead.

It is common knowledge even among those who would not be caught dead at a magic show that magicians are sworn never to reveal their secrets.  The assertion is that if the audience knows how the trick is done, their appreciation of the effect and its performer are diminished.  If the public knows what the magician knows then there is no reason to pay to see their performances.  Jobs for magicians will disappear and the art form will die.

This position insulates the role of magician as keeper of special knowledge unavailable to "civilians."  This position places an emphasis on the trick and not on the experience of magic.  With this perspective, we focus on how Copperfield might have made the Statue of Liberty disappear rather than that he did--that we could be convinced that something that monumental in scale could vanish by the wave of his hand.  This position reduces the role of the performer from that of the artist to one of mere expert technician.  This position also relieves the performer of the responsibility of innovation:  if the secrets are protected then they can be endlessly recycled.

Some years ago, there was a manufactured scandal when Fox ran a series of specials featuring the Masked Magician.  In each of these programs, the performer exposed a variety of magic tricks ranging from the close-up effects of the tabletop to mega-illusions seen only on TV.  His stated motive for "breaking the magician's code" was to promote innovation and creativity and to help move the art forward.

What's true is true.  Secrets may create the illusion of power and control, but in their hoarding comes the responsibility of protecting and defending them and this, in time, becomes its own full time job.

I became interested in magic because of the secrets--this is not surprising for someone keenly aware of how powerless they were--but four decades later I remain interested in magic because of the opportunity to tell stories and create wonder.

There is no question that secrets provide, for a time, the illusion of power, but like most things built on an illusion, there is no permanence, no security, only, as DelGuadio says, "burden."



--Graham Campbell
Associate Director

PS - I was prompted to write this because some very significant secrets were disclosed to me.  As a result, I wanted to take action, but because they were disclosed in confidence, I could do nothing that would not betray that confidence.  As a result, I was left with homilies about secrecy and an imperfect analogy to magic.  My intent in ending with Penn & Teller  was to make the point that the secrets only have the power we give to them and, in disclosure, the "magic" is not diminished.

Under the Microscope

Member of Congress Jesse Jackson, Jr. has been in the news recently as he continues his month-long leave of absence from the House of Representatives and receives care for a “mood disorder” at an undisclosed in-patient treatment facility.

That this man-gets-sick-man-gets-treatment story is getting more attention than it might otherwise merit is because the “man” is a Member of Congress and son of a famous leader in the Civil Rights movement and because, in an effort to recover away from the spotlight, decisions have been made to keep some aspects of his illness confidential—fewer, one might argue, than most of us would be comfortable with. 

In the absence of actual facts, we have speculation and an apparent green light to make an arm’s length diagnosis about the man and his mental health.  The echoes with last year’s open season on Charlie Sheen are unavoidable.

A Google search on Rep. Jackson and “mood disorder” or “mental health” will bring up plenty of hits.  Some will focus on the political implications (Mr. Jackson is up for re-election in November), some the mental health implications, some will talk about mental health disparities between African-Americans and the general population.  Should he resign his seat?  Why don’t they tell us where he is being treated and for what?  Shouldn’t his doctor be forced to release Jackson’s medical records?

As it happens, July is Minority Mental Health Awareness Month which means that irrespective of whether Mr. Jackson’s actions are consistent with our attitudes towards mental health, we have an opportunity to consider questions of mental health and mental illness from a more culturally appropriate perspective.

While different segments of the U.S. population as a whole appear to experience mental health conditions at similar rates (20-25%), treatment-seeking behavior varies significantly across cultural and ethnic groups.  For example, from the website of the American Psychiatric Association, we are told that “one out of three African Americans who need mental health care receives it.”

It is interesting to note that one study recently reported that Hispanic immigrants who have lived in the United States for an extended period of time, who have been “acculturated,” experience depression at significantly higher rates than do newly arrived immigrants.  The study’s authors suggest that the newly-arrived are sustained by their ties to their country of origin, their language, culture and family.  As the length of stay increases, those connections, that “social network”, begins to erode and the resulting isolation can impact the immigrant’s mental health.

The model of independence and self-sufficiency that informs the American character and the dominant culture’s attitudes towards healthcare runs counter to the cultural norms of many minority groups.

Diane Woods, founding president of the California-based African American Health Institute of San Bernardino County and author of a recently-released study of ways to reduce disparities in mental health care for black Californians, said in a recent interview:

We congregate together as groups and we like to be in groups. We like to interact with other people of like-mind and of like-thought,” Woods said. “The concept that even though you are not biologically related to an individual, because of our culture, and you come from African heritage, you come from a larger family. So you hear the terms, ‘brother, sister.’

When taken together with the central role that religion plays in many African-American communities it is easy to understand why persons experiencing a mental health condition might first go to their pastor or other member of their faith community before seeking a conventional behavioral health intervention.

It is also important to recognize that minority and immigrant communities experience higher rates of unemployment and poverty which also limit access to healthcare of any kind.

There are also historical biases to consider when trying to impact mental health in minority communities.  To be a member of any minority group is to be sensitive to the labels assigned by the dominant culture and this can extend from language-based misunderstandings to pejoratives like “snowback” and a diagnosis like “schizophrenic”:  each further marginalize and segregate. 

Proper diagnosis and treatment depend on a trust-based relationship between the patient and the provider of mental health services.  Absent reliable scientific tests to determine the state of the client’s mental health, the provider must make a determination based on interviews and, for populations that are too-often judged and found lacking, the disclosure of symptoms that suggest less than perfect mental health can be an impossible disclosure to make.

Rep. Jackson is in a tough spot that can make any recovery that much more difficult. 

Being an African-America public figure from a famous family means that there is no shortage of people watching his every action.  And, regardless of your culture of origin, one thing you can’t see under a microscope is recovery.

--Paddy Kutz

Executive Director