Ragdale Redux ~ Day Three

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September 5, 2013,

tree_swing

I’m settling into my residency—slowly getting to know the other residents, spending “tea time” at 4:00 pm with our lovely Chef Linda, working on my next novel, and exploring the Ragdale grounds and surrounding prairie and forest preserve.  Mostly, I’m getting back to myself—and that means being aware of, and honoring the complicated bundle of contradictions that I am.

Always a light sleeper, I’m having trouble going to and staying asleep.  At first, I chalked it up to being in a strange bed in a strange room.  Nights are dark here in Lake Forest, and so quiet.  Country quiet.  Venturing out for a short walk after dinner last night reminded me what a “city girl” I am.  The idea of an evening walk on the prairie was lovely, but after twenty minutes of being startled by shadows and spooked by rustlings I rushed back to the welcoming lights of the Barnhouse.  At home in Evanston, nights are punctuated by the sounds of people walking on the sidewalks in front of our house, and the clatter of the el and the roar of the Metra passing on tracks located on the embankment directly across from our third-floor bedroom window.

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Ragdale Redux ~ Day One

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September 3, 2013,

ragdale

Today I awoke to this lovely view.  I’m in the Yellow Room on the second floor of the building called the Barnhouse at the Ragdale Foundation in Lake Forest, Illinois. Looking out, I see a red-brick courtyard and a statue of two geese.  Directly beneath my window is the bronze “Bird Girl” statue made famous on the cover of the novel, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.  The statue was sculpted in 1936 by Sylvia Shaw Judson here at Ragdale, her family’s summer home.  From my window, I can glimpse the Ragdale House through tree branches.  I call it “the big house.”

Today is the first full day of my eighteen-day residency at Ragdale.  I arrived yesterday afternoon.  This, my second residency, came up quickly.  It was two weeks ago yesterday that I received the email from Regin Igloria, Director of Residencies, offering me an immediate residency starting on August 26th—if I could work it out.  There was no way I could make it happen that quickly, but since it was literally the answer to my prayers I accepted for September 2, and here I am.

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Saudi Stories (#2): Exposed and Empowered

By in Blog Posts, True Saudi Arabia Stories 2 Comments

Last Tuesday, July 16th, I successfully cleared another hurdle in my life—I was interviewed on the radio by Melissa Heisler on The Empowerment Show.  The interview was about my experiences living in Saudi Arabia and my forthcoming novel, East of Mecca.

Being an introvert, I’ve always been terrified at the prospect of public-speaking.  Over the past few years books and articles have touted the advantages of being an introvert—but all the research in the world can’t reassure an introvert about to make her very-first-ever radio interview about her very-first-ever published book.  Besides, I know interviewing someone is a hard job—and I wanted to be a good interviewee.

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Sweet Home Ravinia

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Nap at Ravinia

Ravinia is always on my summer “bucket list.”  The outdoor music festival is located in Highland Park, Illinois —a thirty-minute drive from our home in Evanston.  I’ve loved going to Ravinia ever since the first time—during the summer of 1983—my second summer in Chicago.  That night, my husband and I took our kids to see the Preservation Jazz Hall Dixieland Band.

Recently up from Texas, we showed up with a motley assortment of lawn chairs, a red and white checkered tablecloth, Igloo cooler, paper plates, and citronella candles.  Wandering the park pre-concert, I marveled at the elaborate picnic set-ups.  Linen-topped tables with silver candelabras and crystal wine goblets.  Elegant tapers with layers of dripping white wax.  Beautiful food perfectly presented on porcelain china.

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The Sweet Spot

By in Blog Posts, Revelations as a Writer, Writing East of Mecca 11 Comments

Babel soundtrack

When East of Mecca officially went into publication on June 6th, my friend Robbi asked  how I felt and it was impossible to articulate.  I’ve felt “finished” so many times before. Now it feels like the book is somewhere out there in the ether.  It won’t feel real until I’m holding it in my hands.  And already there is so much to do moving forward.  Showing up in public.  Talking about my book.  Pushing myself far beyond my comfort zone.  The train has left the station and is quickly gathering speed, but I don’t know my destination.

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What Shrinks Know (#9): “Evil” Should be a Diagnosis

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Snake in the grass

“Understanding does not cure evil,

 but it is a definite help

inasmuch as one can cope with a comprehensible darkness.”

 ~Carl Jung

Joy has been interrupted once again.  The story about the young women held captive for ten years in Cleveland has been far too present on my mind to write about joy—or anything else.  Once details began unfolding, I couldn’t get the story out of my mind.  Like when you pick up a rotten tomato that explodes in your hand and no matter how much soap and hot water you use, you can still feel the slime and smell the stench.

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Saudi Stories (#1): Before Joy, Comes “Okay”

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The Desert - Explore

“There is an alchemy in sorrow.

It can be transmuted into wisdom,

which, if it does not bring joy,

can yet bring happiness.”

~Pearl Buck

In an earlier post (What Shrinks Know #2), I wrote about the importance of resiliency for healthy survival during difficult times.  Now, I am experiencing the importance of resiliency when writing regular blog posts. There is a definitely a learning curve involved in starting and keeping a blog, and what I’m learning most about is myself.

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Broken Glass

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 Broken glass

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news,

my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers.

You will always find people who are helping.’ ”

~ Fred Rogers, a.k.a. Mr. Rogers

How do you even begin to write about a week like we just had?  Explosions, fires, and floods.  Broken glass and splattered blood.  Lost limbs and lost lives.  The death of dreams and loss of innocence.

I know two people who were running the Boston Marathon.  Both are okay.  But one of them saw the carnage—so I know he will never really be “okay” ever again.

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What Shrinks Know (#8): Sometimes You Gotta Choose Beautiful!

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Sun

“If only we’d stop trying to be happy,

we could have a pretty good time.”

 ~Edith Wharton

Last Thursday, it was warmish and sunny and the beach beckoned.  So, I pulled on my running shoes and headphones, turned Pandora to “country fitness,” and began a slow jog toward the beach.

It’s been months since I have visited my stone—and I’ve been living far too much in my head.  These are treacherous times, and I’m burdened with sadness and rage and responsibility.  My last few blog posts have been so deadly serious they have left me emotionally and physically depleted.  My Twitter and Facebook feeds are full of updates on violence and abuse, as are the newspapers and TVs.  Some of my patients are struggling, it is tax season, and Roger Ebert died.

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Beginning, Middle… and End

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Pride

“You cannot humiliate the person who feels pride.”

 ~Cesar Chavez

I’ve worn my cowgirl boots and circled my computer all week long—knowing I have to write about Steubenville.  Knowing how I have to write about it.  I’ve struggled with how much is too much to disclose.  And how my silence perpetuates the rape culture in which we live.  Even my urge to disguise my own story as that of “a friend” keeps me bound by a shame that is not mine.  So, I’m telling my story in support of the awesome brave sixteen year old “Jane Doe” in the Steubenville story.  She has my undying admiration for her extraordinary courage.

Over thirty years as a clinical psychologist, I have counseled hundreds of patients—women and men—burdened with the shame of having been sexually abused.  Because the majority of my caseload is adolescents and young adults, the stories of shocking brutality are ongoing and never-ending.  Rapists include—but are not limited to—baby-sitters, fathers, step-fathers, brothers, uncles, friends, dates, boyfriends, husbands, fellow students, teachers, coaches, preachers, bosses, coworkers, and strangers.

It is incomprehensible how frequently witnesses are present who, even if they don’t participate, do nothing to prevent, stop, or report the attack.  And by now everyone knows that the overwhelming percentage of victims never report the crime.

Whenever a person is subjected to actions that shame, humiliate, and degrade—it is abuse.  What we are learning from Steubenville is that we must broaden the definition of rape to include any act of force or coercion that makes another feel sexually defiled, violated, shamed, or debased.  The magnitude of casualties is staggering.

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