Happiness

Yay summer, for the person with manic depression!

I just feel happy today.

Hope all my loved ones are doing well.

*******

I've met Libby. Do I hate him?

It might not surprise you to learn that I have highs and lows. Summer, and June in particular, is the season for frequent highs. When things are working well, this is euphoria, thank you God. Sometimes it is high anxiety but in any case is high energy. I try to focus this energy, of whatever form, into my work and my life.

On the occasion of Scooter Libby being remanded to prison, I find myself with mixed emotions. A human being is going to prison. A human being that I have seen in person at the trial, he passed by me several times, and looked at me in the courtroom several times, probably wondering which newspaper I write for. That would be firedoglake for the record. I believe we are the first bloggers to have official journalist credentials in a federal trial. It was my great privilege to be the emergency backup blogger in the courtroom and in the media room three times.

So do I hate this man? As a person, no. I tried to perceive whether there was something evil emanating from him. Answer: no. I don't think at heart he is an evil person. Yet, just as with John Hannah, I must keep in mind that their actions helped send our nation into a war of aggression based on lies, which they helped spread, a war which has killed 3,500 young Americans and blown off arms and legs of 20,000 more and created tens of thousands of post traumatic stress disorder patients who, along with their families, will likely suffer for decades. Hard to see this when looking at him.

For the record, there are people I perceive as being fundamentally evil [not entirely, thank you Quaker ancestors] and there are a small number of people that I hate. What does it mean to hate? That you wish hell upon them. I think I hate the man who carjacked and killed musician Dale Fredericks, Marine Band trombone player, because my own brother played trombone in another service band and it could just as easily have been him. Hate is bad for the soul. I try to move beyond it.

So this human Scooter Libby, that I do not hate, has been told he will be sent to prison, unless his desperate appeals work. Legally he has scant grounds for an appeal. Politically, it may be that people at a high enough level of power will never be sent to prison. But for now, it does seem that there will be justice. My father used to say, as he went off to work at his law office, "Do justice, love mercy. Well, one out of two." It is always harsh to send a human being to confinement. But so many people have worked to bring this case forward, to ensure that justice be done in spite of the power and privilege of the defendant. We rejoice today that our legal system while fragile is still working.

I also had the pleasure of meeting two people today, one at work and one at home. We tend to go in circles thinking that what we have is what will always be, instead of considering that something new and wonderful might come our way. My younger daughter is fond of advocating that we need to look up more often. She means literally up, as in trees and birds and sky and stars, but I think it works metaphorically as well. Let us look up for what is good, what is new, what is next.

*******

I am not a spy

I live in America and work in Russia. This has created high anxiety among those responsible for intelligence and counter-intelligence in both countries.

I’ve been investigated up the wazoo by the services of both countries. If either the Russians or the Americans wanted anything from me, they've had eleven years to figure out who I am and what I'm doing over there.

Worst was in the mid 90’s when nobody could figure out who the hell I was. Single person repeatedly traveling to Russia, not on the American list—hence suspect, and not on the Russian list—hence suspect. Just a humanitarian, it took several years for them to get their minds wrapped around that strange fact.

Every time there was a new list revealed---Ames, Hansen---I wasn't on it. Probably made my minders ever more insane. What was I doing at this Russian hospital. Surely I wasn't simply a humanitarian? Out of the question.

I accepted that I would be investigated [to this day, most likely] by the Russians. Why am I there. Well, on their national tv I said I was working to save the lives of children in Russia because I am a Christian, like their Orthodox Christians. Could that be a sufficient explanation? Of course not.

So they follow me, listen to my phone conversations, and demand explanations from every taxi driver. The good news is I have brought a large number of Russian taxi drivers to realize that things can be better by a concerted investment in their children's hospital.

On the American side, I have been followed and probed by a minimum of three intelligence organizations. At first I was angry, then I realized it meant we were sufficiently large and effective to draw the attention of such agencies. If I worked with one of them I would be investigating this organization. So that led to peace of mind.

One agency in Maryland sent a very junior person who was quite sweet and who was horrified at being forced to report on my very obviously humanitarian work.

One agency in Virginia sent a senior team with a trap that they thought was very clever, to ascertain if I was for real, but their charade collapsed when I confronted them with the knowledge that I knew they were investigating me, and if they wanted to know what I was doing, they could call my three most recent ministers in the Presbyterian Church. That was pretty much the end of their investigation.

One agency in a place I won't identify to be merciful to the person assigned to my case, sent an agent to an international conference to follow me and question me and my colleagues. It was truly amateur hour. I was embarrassed for my government. He questioned me in detail but in return had no knowledge about the subject of the conference. DUH PEOPLE can't we do better than that? Then I observed him following me, so I abruptly turned around and he panicked and zipped off in a different direction. I was insulted that I didn't deserve a more subtle agent. Oh well, the price of serving the poor in another country. My motives will probably always be suspect.

I hope that the intelligence agencies on both sides of the Atlantic have had sufficient opportunity over the last eleven years to investigate me and find disappointing results: I am just a humanitarian, trying to save the lives of newborns, and trying to work for peace between two countries that have long been enemies. How very unhappy they must be, the people who have been assigned to investigate me over the years. I'm sorry! Hope you find some good stuff on your other cases.

All in all, this has been a great burden on me which just piles on to my usual bipolar manic-depression and ADHD and OCD. What's one more issue? But the strange thing is, as my mental health improves, I am increasingly unwilling to accept these indignities, border problems, customs issues, intelligence investigations. Russia is improving, but my mental health is improving faster. It is a dangerous disconnect. Lives are at stake. Better to be sick and accept all these indignities as only what I deserve.

Got a better solution to save thousands of lives? I'm all ears.

*******

Old age: the shrinking room

Two elderly people that I love are going thru dreadful changes in their circumstances this week.

Of course I am in denial that -I- will ever get old and feeble*, but it is disconcerting to see how these strong-willed women have their space and their lives shrinking. *Simple denial, not some hint of depressed thinking, don't worry.

One is my aunt, who is losing her mind but doesn't realize it. She is getting all the loving care possible but is still angry and resentful about her circumstances. I can understand totally, to go from independent living to round-the-clock care in two years is weird. Naturally she's angry, look what she's lost: Her home. Her friends. Her church. Her bridge club. Her neighborhood. Her city. Her really good symphony. Her mind. Not necessarily in that order.

Think about the math of the situation. Either you or your spouse/partner will die, leaving the other alone [barring hideous accidents]. You will watch your friends die. The very people you want to talk to about all these things are the ones who are so unfairly being taken away from you. I have already had some very angry conversations with God on this point. There are several Psalms that are fists in the sky/arms too short to box with God.

The other person is a neighbor, who at 91 has been able to live at home with the attention of children and neighbors. I arranged for my housekeeper to work over there part-time to help her stay independent. I don't need quite so much help since the kids have flown off. [Yes I need help but of a different kind :) ]

My neighbor fell while holding the porch door open for a visiting friend. You do these things for decades and one day these simple actions are the cause of great changes. Her children tried to treat her at home but now she is in the hospital. When I walk by her home it seems so dark. She might never return. She is willing to hear my manic verbal wanderings, stories, and worries both as a good listener and as one who wants to stay connected to what's going on with the outside world. Difficult to replace people like that.

If she lives, her mobility is likely to be restricted. I have so enjoyed watching her go up and down the street, holding her cane horizontally like a tap dancer. What, you're supposed to put it on the ground? She says "that's for old people."

I think part of why I enjoy working with the old, the feeble, the sick, and even the dying is that I totally get the loss of dignity. As a child teased for being a hillbilly and a person blessed with ADHD, I've experienced loss of dignity for quite some time. Add childbirth, and all its attendant attendants to that, and I have very little original dignity left. Raising three teenagers pretty much polished off the rest, as they were happy to inform me of my many flaws. They'll get the picture when they have teenagers.

These children used to come with me to the nursing home to visit, sing, and play piano. The residents always loved seeing my little ones, because if you think about people in their 80's and 90's, sometimes even their grandchildren are grownups. They rarely see little kids. We would go around and shake or touch the hand of each person who was up for a visit. I generally went home feeling vigorous despite crippling asthma and then-untreated depression.

With smaller families and people moving far from home, we don't experience the full range of ages unless we consciously construct it. I hoped that someone in Ohio would "adopt" my grandmother, while I was visiting others' grandparents in Massachusetts and Virginia. I no longer have babies [must. resist. talking. about. grandchildren] but work with babies at the hospital. I feel a more whole person for having people of all ages in my life.

Usually there is much joy on either end of the spectrum. But this week, thinking about life and death as I pack my suitcases to help save the lives of newborns in Russia, I ponder the shrinking room of old age.

It is undignified.