Knut gets love

Our housekeeper Mona has a sense of humor, and occasionally leaves the bed decorated with some of the stuffed animals we have in the bedroom. Yesterday’s was especially cute, featuring the cuddly embrace of two bears that have been given to us – a Steiff Knut from my friend Andrea and a hand-made fluffy brown teddy that Mark’s sister Vickie made and gave to us. Everyone knows we like bears!


Bear love



Andrea, who lives in Germany, knew that we were Knut fans and sent us this beautiful little Knut. Like the rest of the world we were enraptured by the poor rejected polar bear that the Berlin Zoo hand-fed and nursed into adulthood. Who couldn’t love a baby polar bear? The trouble was, Knut grew into a brownish scraggly and not-so-pretty adolescent and young adult, who seemed isolated and depressed. People still came, but that lovely bloom of fresh white youth and huggable-ness was long gone.

But then, to the shock and sadness of the whole world, Knut died last month of some sort of strange changes in his brain, and convulsions which caused him to fall into his pool and drown. He was only four years old, which is very young for a polar bear. Thinking back, his mother rejected him when he was so young that he would have died without human intervention. Because we anthropomorphize, we fed him (though many wildlife experts thought this was wrong and said so). But what if his mamma was right? What if she perceived that he had a problem that would not let him live long, and she chose the solution that nature would have provided. . .

We will never know – but it’s something to think about. Knut had some good years of life, he was by the account of his keeper a happy if shy bear, and was learning how to be social with other bears when the tragedy occurred. By human standards, we did the right thing for Knut. And I suppose that Knut gave the humanity a renewed focus on the polar bear kind, which the bears badly need in this complex world today.

In a gesture not usually provided to human kind (except perhaps Evita Peron), the Berlin Zoo decided to stuff Knut’s body and place him in the Berlin Museum of Natural History – so visitors can still see at least the outsidy parts of Knut for generations to come.

Something good happens

When I come back to the apartment building each week, I always ask the doorman, “Did anything good happen this week – that I would care about?” They always laugh at me and if something good did happen they tell me! Sometimes good things do happen.

There is a place on television where I can always go and reliably find something good happening: HGTV. For the uninitiated, this is Home & Garden Television, a cable station that runs 24 hours a day, largely do-it-yourself (DIY) programming. On the face of it, this doesn’t seem like it would be that interesting. However, the great genius of the programming is simple and straightforward. At the beginning of every half hour:

1. There is a problem

2. The experts come in to help, and spend only $2,000 (the magic number)

3. At the end of the program, the problem is solved and the homeowner is happy – often deliriously happy.

4. I am vicariously happy too!

They seem to me to be mostly decorating shows, though they do gardens also, and “find my rental” / “find me a new house” with the same formulaic regularity (three options, renter/homeowner has the suspenseful decision to make of which to pick!) Nothing bad ever happens. It always works out in the end.

When channel surfing (a guilty pleasure of La Calavera when in attention-deficit mode), it’s possible to watch TLC’s shows with similar attributes at the same time as HGTV’s shows, and kind of get a two (or three) for one. This is possible with the one hour program “What Not To Wear” for example, which actually is less simpatico than HGTV’s offering, but in which you can see all the highlights of the hapless subject of WNTW’s journey (clothes thrown out, shopping trips, hair and makeup, and the reveal) and still catch the problem statement, major work effort, and final result on not one but two HGTV episodes. Couch potato heaven.

The net effect of watching several hours of HGTV programming is an odd but vacuous high, in which everyone is happy endlessly, generally chirping away with Canadian accents (oot for out, hoose for house, and so forth) while hopelessly ugly houses are dolled up for the sale by pretty/handsome designers, or home project disasters are fixed by self-righteous, crusading handymen who know more than the city inspector about electricity and plumbing. In the beginning of watching this programming I got some good ideas for painting and decorating, but these days it’s more spectator sport to criticize the approach – Mr. Bear can be tempted into this mind-candy in weak moments, and takes great pleasure in eloquently talking about what crap the solutions are, often all the way through the commercials and into the next section, when he must be shushed. It’s so much fun!

Attractive and well-meaning hosts of HGTV.

I have never seen even a single dark moment in one of these shows until yesterday, and if you weren’t watching closely, it could have been missed. A teenage girl had called a back yard fix-it show to come in and fix her dad’s shed, which was such an eyesore that a neighbor had reported them to the town who had inspected and condemned it. When the crew arrives, the back yard looks like it accidentally came from the “Hoarding: Buried Alive” show – clearly the habitation of a hoarder. Without skipping a beat, the crew sized up the situation and decided they could build a better (and compliant) shed, but that at the same time they would tidy the back yard.

It seemed pretty clear when Dad, a musician and martial arts instructor, came home, that this was his first introduction to this project. A look of blind panic came across his face, but the pressure was on and he had to agree to the program. Just like in “Buried Alive,” there were a few shots of the helpful team showing him the garbage piece by piece, before putting it into the dumpster, and poor Dad saying, “Well, I was thinking I could use it for this and that” while the crew poo-pooed it and he agreed to throw it away.

In the requisite 28 minutes (commercials included) the back yard was tidied, a new path was laid, it was made safe for little brother to play there, and a pretty, new shed was built. Smiles all around! But at the very end, the host remarks to Dad, “Now that you have this great shed, maybe you can have this same kind of activity inside the house and clear it up the way we have the back yard” – to which Dad wanly smiles and nods. Oy vey.

Fortunately, the very next half hour was back to happy and complacent problem solving, with relatively normal people.

As Martha Stewart would say, “It’s a good thing.”

The Firehouse

In the months after September 11, 2001, all anyone in New York could talk or think about was the attack on the World Trade Centers. I wrote the message below for friends on that occasion, and as it references shines I thought it would be of interest – this is how I was first exposed to shrines.

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Here in New York, in the days after the event, shrines sprang up spontaneously all over the city. Initially people were putting up xeroxed signs with photos and physical descriptions of their lost loved ones (including details like "butterfly tattoo on back of right shoulder" - rather sad and distressing). Of course flags came out everywhere. All along Madison Avenue, the stores removed their entire commercial displays and put silver frames in the windows with carefully composed messages of sadness. I found I never got tired of reading them, whether they were full page ads in the paper, these store messages, or xeroxed statements that spontaneously appeared everywhere you looked.

As time has passed, the initial overwhelming expression of distress has died back somewhat - after all, Rudy Giuliani has asked us to calm down and spend money, something New Yorkers are very able to do. So we are trying to do what we are told. A few weeks ago I was planning to buy some flowers on my way home from work, so I decided to walk over to 8th Avenue and down to 42nd Street where I catch the bus, hoping to have a few cheaper flower choices over there. Rockefeller Center is not known for flower bargains! I walked briskly down 48th Street (our office is at 48th and 6th) and as I reached 8th Avenue, I saw dozens of papers and banners on the wall to my left. Then I saw large 5-gallon white plastic tubs filled to overflowing with flowers. The pages were signed by hundreds of people, sending their good wishes to the City of New York and the Firefighters. I had reached a fire station.

It is hard to explain the feeling that came over me as I turned the corner. I live here, but somehow I had missed any news coverage of what had happened to the fire stations. It was an amazing shrine. This particular fire station had lost 15 men in the World Trade Center collapses. They had placed large photographs of the lost men into a giant frame and hung it on the pillar between the doors where the fire trucks come out. At least 25 white buckets were lining the sidewalk against the fire station, each one with dozens of bouquets stuffed in as tight as they would fit. There were hundreds of small candles in red glass holders, like they have in Catholic churches, all lit and making a big glowing fire carpet below the large frame with the photos. They had a table with a book on it one could sign, and a line of people were patiently waiting to sign it.
 

 

The 9/11 WTC Fallen Heroes American Flag, Photograph by Rob Hans – I bought this image as a result of searching for a flag image; it touched me deeply.

This shrine must have been there for a month, and I'd missed it because I never took that route to the bus. I was stopped in my tracks. So were dozens of other people. Everyone just stood there in tears. The fire guys were standing around, being nice and helpful. They had been enduring this for a month! The constant outpouring of grief and sorrow that the average person couldn't help but express upon seeing them must have been difficult to bear. I signed the book, and read the tributes. Many photos of the lost men with their families, their dogs, and their fire buddies were taped to the building. Flags were everywhere. The entire face of the building was completely covered by people's offerings of love and condolence, and expressions of patriotism.

When I could go on, I walked down 8th Avenue and the banners and letters continued halfway down the block, nailed to the blue construction wall that surrounded the building next door. There were things from Santa Barbara, Japan, Denver, from school children, from anyone and everyone you could think of. It was unbelievable.

The other day I took Mark to see it, wondering if it would still be as intense. Fortunately it had receded  somewhat, most notably in that the fire guys had closed the big doors to the trucks, and were no longer standing out front - though the flowers were still as numerous and fresh. I remember reading how similar messages of hope and sadness had been coming by the mail sacks full to schools in New York City, and that they eventually stopped showing them to the children because it was all too much. Someone had remarked, "they need to do these things and send them, but we don't need to read them any more." I think I didn't realize what that meant until I saw the fire station.

The smaller shrines are fading now, with the newer concerns with anthrax and the need to get on with things. I am very aware every day that we now live in a war zone, and have taken to listening to Bach on my headphones while I walk up from 42nd Street every day, wary and watching but trying to maintain balance. We've heard that in Afghanistan they are still going to the market, going to school, making products and selling them, getting married, listening to the radio; as I didn't experience WWII or any other war, I guess I never realized that you still have to make dinner and go to work, even if a war is on. I dearly hope that we don't have any more incidents here, but we are all very aware that it is only a matter of time.  November 2001

The Forcynthia is in bloom

Forsythia: Happy harbingers of spring for East coast denizens, with a silly and very short story. When I worked for Agfa in Boston many years ago, I used to set my alarm clock to the radio. It was less harsh than an alarm bell for me.

So, one morning, I was lying there asleep, and the radio went on with the loud announcement that “The For Cynthia is in bloom!”

This go La Calavera’s drowsy attention – she sat bold upright in bed and stared with perplexity at the alarm clock! But of course, it was all the stuff of dreams; they really said “Forsythia”. This took years to sink in.

(Taken in the garden in front of our apartment today)

The good news is that the radio has not since spoken directly to La Calavera. And for today, that the forsythia is in bloom!

Harald is on the way

The Bear’s sister Vickie has had a serious operation, and is still in hospital recovering. He will be seeing her this week in England, and he will be bringing along a very special new friend – a lovely blonde Steiff bear we met recently. He was just irresistible with his beautiful mohair plush, growler, and sweet, friendly face – and he is big enough to hug which is best of all. The evening we found him we realized his name is Harald. The two Bears are on the plane now, to see Vickie, and to join her amazing collection of hundreds of bears both large and small.

Here is the note that Harald prepared for Vickie to introduce himself. He took a picture of his sincere sweet face for the cover of his letter.

                                                                                       April 9, 2011

Hello Vickie,

My name is Harald, and as of course you can see I am a light brown Bear (rather naked just at the moment, but perhaps you have a nice sweater I could borrow!) I’ve been on a long journey to see you, with my starting place in Germany where I was born, and an involved set of circumstances that got me to America (which I can hardly remember it is so complicated). Finally one day I was sitting in a store with some of my friends (a very large Lion on wheels who was a friendly fellow, and another quite large brown Bear named Aloysius who enjoyed rather too many beers for my taste) and some others I knew less well.

But then your brother the Bear and La Calavera came by, and called out to me that you were in need of a lovely Bear for company, and I decided that I should come along with them to see you.

And so, here I am, having now come back from America to Europe, to England. I am quite prepared to sit here with you as long as you like. I don’t need a lot of conversation, but I do have a growl as you will determine if you rock me forwards and backwards. I’m a soft touch—just give me a bit of love and friendliness and I’ll just growl for fun.

I come bringing love from your dear brother and sister-in-law who think of you all the time,

Your new, but faithful friend,

Harald (the Bear)

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Get well soon Vickie! We love you.

Living it

Something I am very conscious of is that it is so easy to postulate about how one might feel, or one might behave, when confronted with desperate adversity. I have no doubt that there is value to prepare – like a personal disaster plan, to brace one’s mind and self for the advent of the inevitable should help when the time arrives.

On the CNN website today was a story Facing death, CNN sports legend embraces life which was both heartbreaking and encouraging. Nick Charles, who was not known to me (La Calavera is not a sports fan) had a late life marriage to a younger woman, and they had a child when he was 60. Now, at 65, he is at the end of a battle with cancer. His desire to be present for his daughter in her life after he is gone has provided a lot of energy to him to find good things in his process toward death, which is chronicled in this story. I was taken by a comment he made in the video that is up with the story, “Never give up on life,” and by his tender kisses and love toward his little daughter.

Like Churchill said in 1941 during the early days of the Second World War, “never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never – in nothing, great or small, large or petty – never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.”

And like my father in his last days, who would awake and see us sitting by his bed and say, “I love you” – all he could manage to say in his awful and sad state.

Never give up. Never give in. I love you. Beautiful words that give life and hope.

Happiness

A while back I heard a story on National Public Radio about a website where you could go and take a survey which would give back a reading on your personal happiness, sponsored by the University of Pennsylvania Positive Psychology Center. I love these kinds of things; the one that the Bear and I have spent the most time to understand is the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator which has brought us both insight and delight over many years now. (For those in the know, both the Bear and La Calavera are ENTJ, a type described by Keirsey as the “Field Marshal”; two field marshals in one house can occasionally be interesting!)

In any case, I had the website address for the Authentic Happiness Inventory for some time, and then I found another reason to be interested in the survey instrument (I had to do one for work and was seeking ideas for how to ask the questions). So I went for a visit to take the test.

There are several tests, as it turns out, but I took the one that was entitled “Authentic Happiness Inventory” which asks questions like this:

A. I feel like a failure.

B. I do not feel like a winner.

C. I feel like I have succeeded more than most people.

D. As I look back on my life, all I see are victories.

E. I feel I am extraordinarily successful.

and

A. My life is a bad one.

B. My life is an OK one.

C. My life is a good one.

D. My life is a very good one.

E. My life is a wonderful one.

Well, you all know how La Calavera thinks about her life! I graded myself hard; there seemed a risk of sounding dementedly delighted (which might indicate other problems all by itself!) but I was honest. It’s obviously a scale of 1-5, with 1 being not very happy and 5 being exuberantly happy. My score was 3.92, which when compared to other respondents matching my demographics, placed me overall in the 90%+ percentile of happiness. That about matches my perception of it, so that is pretty good all around!

This does, however, cause one to think a bit about the nature of the happiness, and whether it’s something that is of this moment (or year, or decade) of one’s life, or if it is a permanent state. As I spent time thinking about my own “happiness” I realize that of course it had to do as much with circumstances as with my innate being; I have a good and happy marriage, I have a good job where I believe I am valued and where I do good and meaningful work, I have enough money that I don’t worry about it, my health is good and so is the Bear’s, I have family and friends that I love, and as I am always busy finding the universe in my grain of sand, I find my life interesting all the time. And, of paramount importance, I feel that all of these good conditions extend out into the future as far as I can see.

I wonder, however, what happens when a piece of that gets taken away. Or, more to the point, what will happen to me? This current state of happiness has not always existed; there have been dark days and even years in the past for various different reasons. One of the great and profound insights that getting older has brought to me is that many things that I used to think mattered a lot, actually don’t. I don’t need for everyone to like me (in fact, any more, I really don’t care at all – and this was a great source of unhappiness in the past). As a friend of mine said recently, her husband’s favorite leveling remark is “Did anybody die?” and of course when nobody did, then all else is in perspective. So many things can seem to loom so large, and the looming takes away happiness – more even than the thing itself.

I find myself repeating Serenity Prayer a lot these days, especially in my work life as I try to help people figure out very complex business social relationships: “ . . . grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” It’s a variant on understanding what is truly important. There are not very many truly important elements, whether in private life or in business. But you have to know what they are, and go after them, and put the other things out of your mind.

I hope that everyone is happy, and that if the bad things happen to you that I can help, and if they happen to me, that you will help me; so that we can grow in wisdom, and become happier all the time.