and smile, smile, smile
It hasn't been, perhaps isn't, possible to escape for very long; and that primarily into bravado, including such as panhandlestrong, with its keep a stiff upper lip wellmeaningness slogan of determination that in disciplines such as marital counseling may be called rugsweeping, ignore the problem, don't discuss it and it won't be there; or medically, ignore the cancer and it will go away; we will get through this, fix things, and everything will be better than ever. Probably. With planning and management, the appearance of things.
Some may see that we won't, that it's here to stay, our new reality that is more psychological, mental and attitudinal than the physical that we can fix. Coming from a war zone it's called PTSD in which sooner or later some want out. And are getting out: I don't at all know because I'm not involved in it, but recently I was told by someone in a position to know that an area law enforcement organization is experiencing death calls to scenes of suicide, people so overwhelmed by the hurricane experience and aftermath that they could no longer face it, could not deal with it. I recently used a phrase, "alma mater, beloved mother savagely raped, ravaged, beaten and left for dead." One doesn't get over these things. Physically perhaps in time, appearances, but not within one's Being. I know a military man who spotted a little child, a toddler sent running toward his company of men carrying a bomb. He shot and killed the child before he reached them, saving his men, but killing a child never goes away, never leaves him.
Like many men, I can sing, but only in the shower and hopefully nobody is close enough to hear me star in my own musical production, which always includes a lot of humming because I don't always know all the words. I've gone on to other songs, but all the years in my big house, The Old Place, standing under the shower in my bathtub, with the open window from whence I could peer out and enjoy my view of the Bay down front, my song was "Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile. ... What's the use of worrying, it never was worthwhile, so pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile" - from 1915, World War One, a song of bravado for soldiers marching toward the Front. From the same era, my other shower song at the time: "Smile the while you kiss me sad adieu, when the clouds roll by I'll come to you, then the skies will be so blue ... "
There's a lot of bluster in keeping on keeping on, but azaleas are blooming, and still some camellias. I miss The Old Place.
T
https://www.lhsfna.org/index.cfm/lifelines/november-2018/taking-care-of-emotional-health-after-a-hurricane/
Some may see that we won't, that it's here to stay, our new reality that is more psychological, mental and attitudinal than the physical that we can fix. Coming from a war zone it's called PTSD in which sooner or later some want out. And are getting out: I don't at all know because I'm not involved in it, but recently I was told by someone in a position to know that an area law enforcement organization is experiencing death calls to scenes of suicide, people so overwhelmed by the hurricane experience and aftermath that they could no longer face it, could not deal with it. I recently used a phrase, "alma mater, beloved mother savagely raped, ravaged, beaten and left for dead." One doesn't get over these things. Physically perhaps in time, appearances, but not within one's Being. I know a military man who spotted a little child, a toddler sent running toward his company of men carrying a bomb. He shot and killed the child before he reached them, saving his men, but killing a child never goes away, never leaves him.
Like many men, I can sing, but only in the shower and hopefully nobody is close enough to hear me star in my own musical production, which always includes a lot of humming because I don't always know all the words. I've gone on to other songs, but all the years in my big house, The Old Place, standing under the shower in my bathtub, with the open window from whence I could peer out and enjoy my view of the Bay down front, my song was "Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile. ... What's the use of worrying, it never was worthwhile, so pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile" - from 1915, World War One, a song of bravado for soldiers marching toward the Front. From the same era, my other shower song at the time: "Smile the while you kiss me sad adieu, when the clouds roll by I'll come to you, then the skies will be so blue ... "
There's a lot of bluster in keeping on keeping on, but azaleas are blooming, and still some camellias. I miss The Old Place.
T
https://www.lhsfna.org/index.cfm/lifelines/november-2018/taking-care-of-emotional-health-after-a-hurricane/