Buy high/sell low

The business of writing is precarious. Last month I succombed to the temptation to do book signing for Shrink and Finding Jackson. A local bookstore here in Chester County was kind enough to indulge me. The owner even went to the trouble of making me a poster for promotion of the event, which I placed in 24 willing stores in the area. My wife, Joyce, also induced friends and relatives to attend the event. She did her job well. Sixteen loyal troops came out and some bought books, which embarassed me. My daughter buying a book was the worst indignity. How could I have forgotten to send her one? But that's not the worst of it.

If you are Sarah Palin and can get someone literate to write a book for you, you can sell it. She's even touring with the book but on her second 1,000,000 copy printing, I wonder why she needs to beat the bushes. But then she is probably more interested in the 2012 election than selling books at this point. But if you are a first time novelist and need to pay an exhorbitant rate to purchase your own books forget about selling, let alone making money. Dan Brown's new book goes for about $19. To make a couple of dollars on my book I would have to charge $30! Come on, only a few close relatives and friends will pay that. So I priced Shrink at the signing at $20, losing moiney on each sale. Some of my neighbors now want Books. I'll have to buy some more and likely will just give them away.

If this sounds somewhat sour grapeish I guess it is. I don't fault Sara for wanting to make a buck or a million. That's the American way. I just don't want to sse her within a thousand miles of the White House.

One positive. The book store owner would like to help me self-publish my next book, if there is one, and market if so that I might fare somewhat better than my first, and second efforts. Perhaps. Right now I will stick to blogging and other on-line publishing.

On parle francaise

I was a good French student in high school and took three years of it. We were translating short stories at the end and I was an "A" student...except for speaking. My accent was terrible. "Vous parley francais comme un vach espagnol (You speak English like a Spanish cow) my teacher remarked. When I got to college it was necessary to take a year of language or to opt out by passing an examination. There was no way I failed that exam yet I was placed in French 1. I don't know how that happened but, supidly, I didn't protest. It was six credits of aguaranteed "A" without work. Concerned about keeping up with college assignments I kept my mouth shut. That was the last time I dealt with French for about 55 years.

In 1955, my wife and I scheduled a trip to Paris. I borrowed some tapes to tune my ear but didn't do much with them. When I landed at de Gaul Airport, and started listening to people talking French, it was as if a switch had been thrown, unlocking phrases, idioms, and vocabulary I thought were long lost. Delighted with my newly rescued memories, I decided to speak only French during our stay. I asked a gendarme directions to the opera house. He answered so rapidly I understood nothing but I wasn't going to reveal that to him. I managed to upgrade our room at the Hotel du Louvre by complaining in pigeon French that it was difficult to make love in a double bed where the two matresses were alligned vertically, with the split down the middle. The two young female clerks were so amused they gave us the best room they had the next morning, including a genuine double mattress.

All this is preamble to a happening this week at the high school where I consult for mental health services. I routinely call teachers to release students from their classrooms for counseling. I always ask first if it is convenient. Most teachers cooperate readily. Some conscientious souls demur so that the student can complete an exam or finish some make-up assignment. No real problem. However, after agreeing to my request for Chistopher, a nineth grader who needed to learn social skills, she followed up with a note that I had interrupted his review for a vocabulary test, suggesting strongly that I not remove him from French class again. Now Je comprende that academics are important. Somehow, however, I think that it is more essential for Christopher learn eye contact and basic communication skills than French vocabulaire. Nevertheless, I sent her an apology note, written en francaise. True, I required a french dictionary for some words but, all-in-all it wasn't a bad effort. I also excused myself for my mauvais French, explaning that il y'a beaucoup d'ans since I studied French au lycee. I await my grade.

Packing it in

Former Buffalo Bills coach Marvin Levy was well into his 70s when he was asked when he would retire. "When you start thinking about retirement," he quipped, "you're already retired."

I've retired three times and none of them lasted. My most recent retirement lasted six months. I persuaded my wife to retire with me. After a while you have nothing to talk about. We both returned to work part time with a great deal of freedom to decide our own hours. I changed jobs, consulting for another school district. When I paid a visit to my last job I was warmly greeted by my former colleagues. For this reason I was surprised and annoyed by the booing Brett Favre, legendary quarterback and superstar for the Green Bay Packers, received playing against his old team at Lambeaux Field. Favre had retired from Green Bay after some poor seasons but came out of retirement to play for the Minnesota Vikings. The facts of his retirement and failure to be re-hired by Green Bay have not been revealed. Whatever the reasons, he did not deserve booing after 14 years of service. True, there was also some applause, but the jeers predominated. I was happy to see the Vikings trounce the Packers and especially elated to watch Favre throw a touchdown pass in the closing minutes of play to finalize the Packer's loss. What better way to stick it to his detractors? Shame on you Green Bay!

I will probably continue to work so long as I am healthy and believe I am still making a contribution

On consulting

I need to get this off my chest. Recently I changed my job status from part time employee to consultant. I receive more money but no days off vacations or benefits. I work the same amount of time. I don't need the benefits because of Medicare but I previously was paid in lieu of benefits. What realy irks is the way that schools treat consultants--not the admistration or the staff who really seeem to value what I do, but the finance people. Three schools have delayed payments to me beyond what is reasonable. After seven weeks and three invoices I still have not been paid by one school district. They claim each payment must be approved by the Board. This itself is wrong. Boards should set policy, not get into operations. Perhaps it is the recession. Pennsylvania delayed passage of its education budget until just recently but it now has passed and I remain unpaid. I didn't appreciate the Union I was forced to join in my previous position but I do now. Teachers wouldn't stand for non-payment. I guess I could go on strike but it wouldn't even be noticed. Consultant? Just a euphemism for second class citizen.

On marketing

When I started writing my novel, "Shrink," I was advised by a publisher to spend 30% of my time writing, 10% editing, and 60% marketing. In truth I spent much more than 10% editing and much less than 60% marketing. But then, I am a God-awful editor and I havn't sold many books. Typos crept into my creations--one had to be redone. I just don't see the errors--missing periods, misspellings, etc. I know the rules and my grammar isn't bad but my perception stinks. My brain corrects the errors when i proof read and I miss them. But this is about marketing. I created a website (www.rosenshrinksite.com) to promote the book. I created this blog to promote the website. I wrote articles for WWW.ezinearticles.com to advertise my books and my private practice. After a dozen submissions, eleven of which were published on- line, I am discontinuing this outlet. While many people find it helpful in promoting their business, I have seen no results. The final straw was their trashing of an article I did on meditation. They claimed I used foreign words. Usually they ask me to edit and correct what was wrong. This time the article disappeared from their website. I had not even kept a copy. The foreign words were names of Buddhist monks from India and Tibet who originated the practice. I believe the real reason for the rejection is an aversion to anything that smacks of religion.
They had asked me to remove a religious reference once before. My articles are not religious but psychological in nature. So much for marketing except thatI have two book signings scheduled in November. Initially I refused book signings but now I'll give it a try.

School Based Mental Health

I continue to consult to schools for mental health programs, although I have changed school districts. Naively, I anticipated fewer mental health problems in the new, more affluent,school district. On my first day at the high school I was warned: "Just because our kids live in nicer houses, don't be fooled. They have the same problems you saw in your previous job, especially drugs." They understated the case. During my first seven weeks I have seen more meltdowns, crises, suicide threats, and psychiatric hospitalizations than I saw in six months at the last school. Is it the recession? I don't know. A check at my ol,\d school revealed no more than the usual frequency of such incidents.

I see a large number of kids with panic disorders. It is a diagnosis I enjoy working with, using cognitive behavioral approaches and resilience techniques. The school counselors appear to be exceptionally caring and knowledgeable--more than willing to work with a clinical psychologist. One is particular has sent the largest proportion of referrals to me. I took exception, however, to how she was dealing with the fourteen year old with daily panic attacks related to her history of physical abuse at home and PTSD. She provided the girl with a meditation/relaxation tape, which was fine with me and consistent with what i was doing with her. I was not pleasd, however, when I saw the girl clutching a fluffy, soft, red satin pillow that the counselor uses to comfort stressed out and depressed teenagers. The girl does need nurturing, but from her mother. I did not not make a fuss over it but mentioned that I was trying to toughen up the girl while she was catering to her dependent needs. My resilience training was sandpaper in contrast to her satin The pillow looked and felt (yes, she asked me to squeeze it) like a gigantic breast. I kept my association to myself.

A mother of a very bright but underachiving sixteen yesr old insisted that her child, who had a questionable (to me) diagnosis of ADD also had "exexcutive functioning" disability. Executive functioning problems are associated with
ADD, although not mentioned in DSM-IV-TR. Without revealing details here, I have the following reservations. ADD is a sufficent diagnosis; we don't need a second. School psychs are using the BRIEF, a symptom checklst for parents and teachers is a group of behaviors seemingly reflecting poor impulse control, attention and memory deficits, poor planning abiilty, and distraction by irrlelevant stimuli. Behaviors such as failure to complete assignments, cutting classes, and underachievement meet all these requirements but can have a variety of other determinants. Furthermore labeling a behavior or symptom is not the same as explaining it. This has been called the "nominalistic fallacy." I don't doubt that executive function is real and is a forebrain activity but if it is there we need to demonstrate it by appropriate testing. In this case I did just that. The boy showed extremely high executive functioning by the best tests I could find. Moral--you can't judge a book by its cover.

I am seeing a fair number of kids on the autism spectrum as well as others with social anxieity and social skill deficits. Many of them ask for help in making friends. I am treating these teens in dyads or small groups for socialization in a very structured way dealing with communication, relationships, social mores and niceties. Role playing is a poweful technique. It is an interesting and useful endeavor. One boy who scares people by his angry facial expression is learning to smile with the use of a mirror.

Mental health is sorely needed in schools, especially the high school and middle school. It is still relatively rare. I was fortunate to receive a Pennsylvamnia Department Of Education grant last year to initiate a program, which continue today without special funding. IEPs frequently pecify counseling for emotinal problems but schools psychs and counselors are overloaded with testing or just puttingout fires. Clinical psychologists are a valuable addition to schools to supplement educational psychology approaches. Teachers need to be trained in mental health concepts and strategies.

Poor excuse

This is by way of an apology for my failure to make entrees here for several weeks.
Not an excuse but a reason is that I have devoted a great deal of energy to writing for a website titled ezinearticles.com. Ezine will publish short articles (250 to 5,000 words) about almost any topic. There is no payment for these articles. The trade off is that you are allowed to append each article with a commercial for any business enterprise you are promoting. Since they allegedly have thousands of readers on the web there is great potential for spreading your message. They literally have hundreds of thousands of writers (they publish their names arranged by the number of pblished articles. Many authors have done over 2,000 articles. They do require minimum writing skills. The number of people who do this is so large that some people have got to be benefiting. Ezine benefits by selling advertising that goes along with each article. Most of the topics seem to be "how to..." in content, e.g., how to tune up your Volkswagon." I have sent them a dozen articles of a psychological nature, using my previous publications as source matierial. So far eleven have been published. I am trying to promote this blog, my website, my books, and my private practice. Have I benefited? Not yet that I can see, but the jury is still out. I have risen from Basic,to Basic plus, to Expert author in their rating system. I'll do a few more submissions and see how it goes without neglecting this blog and then we'll see it it's worth the effort.

Update

It has been a while since my last blog. I've been expanding my business--providing mental health services to schools. I am now consulting to Marple Newtown School District as well as Elwyn, Inc. I did some grant writing for Interboro School District this summer. I've also been expanding private practice in Chester Springs. None of this serves as a legitimate excuse for not blogging. However, I have been writing articles on line for Ezinearticles.com. They don't pay for these articles, which I provide gratis, butthe "take" comes in the form of advertising I add to each submission They sell ads on my writing. I hope to stimulate some interest in my website and this blogsite as well as to promote my books and private practice. My first article is claimed to have had over a thousand hits and I've had eight articles published so far. They are all of a psychological nature. The jury is still out as to whether all of this is worth the effort. In any event, it has taken me away from blogging for a while. Type my name into Ezine's web page to see what I've been up to.

Genetics

I need no further evidence of the significance of genes in determining behavior. Witness my wife and her side of the family. Now, I love my wife dearly. but she has one flaw. She is an incurable telephonalolic--about four hours a day. There is little doubt that this is a genetically determined behavior, gender related. All the female members exhibit the behavior. Its most extreme manifestation is when they talk with each other, which is frequent. I have seen this pass through four generations of females. No males in the family exhibit the trait, although they are certainly carriers. They endure, complaining only poccasionally about the telephone bills. The behavior is resistant to extinction, pervasive as to geographic location, and of lifelong duration. No one has identified this gene as yet, only because no one has looked. There is also likely to be a brain area, close to where language expression resides in the left hemisphere (more generalized in females). I therefore challenge any neuroscientist or genetic types who stumble on thois blog to begin the task of identifying and eradicating this pernicious trait before it spreads further.

Charitable giving

I spent ten years as a fund raiser for a non-profit, although it was never a labor of love. So I am not completely naive about giving. Our own contributions are primarily earmarked for cancer rsearch since both my parents and my wife's favorite aunt succombed it the Big C. I dopn't respond to telephone solicitations and certaily not to unsolicited requests at my door. So it is surprising to me that I contributed to an African American lady who rang our doorbell to solicit a magazine subscription to a shelter for the homeless.

She herself was a resident of one, she said. Her husband shot her, she explained. She was earning points earn tuition to study criminal justice and become a police officer. The materials she produced were shopworn and suspect. The magazines offered did not seem relevant to homeless and abused people. Why would they benefit from Psychology Today? It was something about her manner, I suppose. She seemed genuine, sincere. I wrote the check to some magazine distributer and designated a local depressed area for the target of my gift. I chose Parent and Child magazine. There was a hefty surcharge that significantly increased the subscription price she originally mentioned. My charitable giving has turned to charitable misgiving. I hope she was what she presented herself to be. "I'll be back to see you next year," she called over her shoulder as she started for the next house.

Not picture perfect

"Shrink" and "Finding Jackson" are now out there but not burning down any bridges with sales. Last week I resurrected a story I first wrote for my grandchild Becca, then around age five. "Becca in Cyberland" describes the adventures of Becca, age five, who is pulled into her father's computer to Cyberland, has many adventures, and proves herself sufficiently worthy to be transformed into a Cyber princess. With apologies to Lewis Carrol, the story has its merits. I sumbitted it to PublishAmerica, which did "Finding Jackson." They accepted it. They are a traditional publisher and do not charge. I haven't done a stellar job in marketing my books--not my forte. I am ready to put the final touches on "Becca..." but I realize that the book, geared toward four to six year olds, needs pictures. PublishAmerica will do the cover but not internal pictures. Nor will they pay for them. The illustrators I found on the Web are top notch, but expensive. They mostly work for publshers and do their own writing. I e-mailed one who wanted $7,000 for my book. That's why they work mainly for publishers. I have contacted a retired artist through a friend who may be more reasonable. But as an author of books that have sold poorly I am not optimistic. I think I need a marketer.

Capturing the hill

Our house in a development in Chestersprings has three porches-front, side, and back. We can choose where we sit depending on the season and the position of the sun. In the winter we choose the warm front porch, facing east, in the morning and the rear porch in the late afternoon. In the summerwe choose the shady back porch in the morning and the front porch in the late afternoon. Regardless of the season we like the side porch best. It is cool even on the hottest days because it is shaded by a large tract of woods on a hill to the south of us.

One day in this past spring while we were having a drink in the late afternoon, my wife remarked about the hill fronting the wooded area. There are some large rocks at the bottom, she noted, that would look nice if there were flowers behind them. I took her words seriously and began uncovering two or three rocks which projected pointy prominences upward. As I dug I realized that , like an iceberg, the rocks were largely buried undergroup. I moved away years of earth and weeds covering them and planted some heather that I purchased at Lowes. They were striking with purple blooms and made a statement behind the rocks which could now better be described a boulders. I began exploring and found that there were not two or three but 25 hidden boulders spread out in a large semi-circle at the base of the hill. It required several weeks to uncover them all. Returning to Lowes I brought a dozen more heather and planted them and them a dozen lavender, also with purple flowers. The hill was beginning to look very good. I persuaded the gentleman who mows our pitiful quarter acre lot to also weed whack the hill. We had already appropriated the large area beneath the woods by erecting four bird feeders, attracting a wide variety of species, not only birds, but squirrels, chipmonks,rabbits, and occasionally even deer and foxes. The Development gardeners would no longer mow where we planted and bird fed so our mower took it over. I did not own the property but believing it is easier to apologize than ask permission I kept planting on what we now called Bunker Hill, Heather Hill, or simply Marvin" Hill.

Along the crest of the hill was a deep thicket or honeysuckle, barbed wild roses that never bloomed and various unattrtactive weeds. I, for a penny, in for a pound. I began to chop away at the unattractive mess, hoping to expose the contour of the crest.. As I pruned, at the expense of numerous thorn cuts and two tic bites, the hill was assuming a new personality. Behind the thicket were large oak tess that I knew existed because we could see their branches, but had never seen the trunks. I felt myself a sculptor who envisions a form hidden in a block of marble and chisels away the excess until the form is realized. I, too, would slice away the excess and create a living panorama. Slowly and carefull I cut vines and brush, dumping the waste deeper in the foliage and creating creating depth to my masterpiece.
We now had a three dimensional view into the darkened woods and could see the goldfinches, blue jays and cardinals well before they approached our feeders. Deer came onto the property at dusk. We learned to recognize the families of squirrels and chipmonks and their habitats. My work is now cut out for me. Eventually I will extend the manicured forrest edge along the entire length of my driveway. Neighbors stop by and comment on the project and thank me for improving the neighborhood. I have, indeed, captured the hill. We sit and sip our vodka tonics and i recall Robert Frost's "Stopping by woods on a snowy evening"-- The woods are lovely dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to before I sleep.

MORRIE'S LAST CAPER

While SHRINK AND JACKSON sales seem to be limited to friends and relatives, my need to continue the adventures of Morrie Scwartz, psychologist, remains unquelled.
I have begun a short story, again involving my fictitious alter ego. Morrie, now comfortably retired is no longer seeing patients. Nor will he agree to reurn in any way to private practice. In this story Morrie becomes the victim of identity theft in a highly personal way. When the police decline his request that they assist in a scheme to catch the culprit, Morrie and his old friend Irv embark on the adventure themselves.

At present I seem to have painted myself in a corner with my tale. However, being that this is probably Morrie's last literary fling, and perhaps mine as well, my solution to Morrie's dilemma had better be good. No doubt the paint will dry and Morrie will again prevail. Stay tuned.

Therapy models

I've promised psychological blogs so I should wrtite one occasionally.

I was asked recently to present some tapes or videos dealing with the practice of psychotherpy to my school psychology colleages. I have several old tapes by Wolpe, Beck, Lazarus, Rogers and others dealing with the application of their own particular theoretical model. They are not bad tapes and it is likely that many psychologists, like me, used them at one time or another as models for their own efforts. On this occasion I chose to use a popular HBO progrsm, In Treatment. It is beginning its third year. The first year episodes are now available as DVDs.

My wife and I have become hooked on this series. The therapist, played by Irish actor Gabriel Byrne, is superb. Paul, the therapist, is psychoanalytically oriented therapist, as his his mentor whom he sees regularly. While this might not sit well with many cognitively and behaviorally oriented therapists, the series is real, highly empotional, and extremely well written and acted. Paul looks for determinants of his patients' problems in their parents and usually finds credible determining factors. His female patients tend to fall in love with him. He sometimes has problems with limit setting and frequently questions his own competence and the value of psychotherspy in general. He falls in love with a patient while going through his own divorce. In a recent episode he verbally attacks his therapist and mentor, accusing her of being uncaring and hiding behind her technique.

My audience, none of whom had ever seen the series, were enthralled and wanted more. One might argue that what I was presenting was artifical--merely acting, while my professional tapes were real and empirically based. Artificial or not the In Treatment episodes are extremly relevant and provide many areas for discussion. I sometimes question one or two of Paul's interventions but mostly find myself feeling envious of him. I think he is a better therapist than me and I rarely think that or say it. Furhtermore, I never really believed that the professional tapes are completely honest. The editors have been selective in what is presented. Futhermore, I find them devoid of feeling, (except for Rogers). They rarely deal with the therapist-patient relationship and its impact upon outcomes. I don't know if In Treatment is written by real live therapists but whoever writes it is highly sophisticated. The situations are extreme and a little contrived. (Two patients meet outside his office and wind up having an affair; he is threatened with lawsuit by the father of one of his patients who may have committed suicide; a cancer victim refuses to go for chemo). Nevertheless, the series is powerful should be required viewing for clinicians and those aspiring to do therapy. Kudos to HBO.

More Tom and Jerry

Good news and bad news. Hurrah! The chipmonk has not returned to re-build the tunnel. It has been three days. I've laid new mulch. Nor have they been harmed--perhaps a little inconvenienced. I still see them every day. They have other tunnels. Alas, they have had babies. Now I feel like a grade A louse. That tunnel was probably the birthing chamber. The little rats can climb our bird feeders as well as their parents.

I'm told I should have titled this story Caddy Shack. Anyway, I've won...for now.

Tom and Jerry

The side porch of our new house overlooks a wooded area. Between the house and the woods is a large hill which I do not own. It is common property of the Development Association. The tips of two or three large rocks, actually boulders, jutted out of the ground. My wife suggested I plant something behind the rocks to improve the view from the porch. We feed and watch dozens of goldfinches, nuthatches, tufted titmice, cardinals, bluejays, cowbirds, woodpeckers, redwinged blackbirds, doves, chicadees,and others we have not identified. I bought some heather in late spring when they were in bloom. As I planted each at the base of the hill, behind the rocks, I uncovered each large stone. More and more of the boulders became visible.
I added more heather and some lavender. It took several weeks of hard digging and uprooting of some pernicioius weeds that made my hands and arms perpetually itch. (I don't like wearing garden gloves.) When it was finished the rough hill became a thing of beauty. The boulders encircled the hill. There were about twenty of them. Our neighbor across the street thanked me for improving the vista from her living room window. Encouraged, I began cutting back the brush from the woods behind to expose large tree trunks and Tarzan-like vines. The Association gardeners who had been mowing the hill now stayed away so I was reponsible for getting the mowing done. The man who does the mowing for us identified with the project and obliged by cutting back even more than I had asked. We gave various names to our hill-Bunker Hill, Stonehenge, Heather Hill, etc.

We were thrilled with out hill ("ours" only in a general sense) but so were a family the chipmonks who had lived in the woods. When you feed birdss you feed everyone else. The chipmonks loved to jump from rock to rock and they began a series of tunnels beneath my newly made mulch. One tunnel lay dangerously close to the roots of a heather plant. It had to go.

Early one morning I placed a large rock over the entrance to the tunnel. The next morning there was new entrance, even closer to my heather. Again, I placed a barrier-this time several rocks. Again, they dug around it, even cloer to my plant. I created a mound of rocks. My wife laughed at my efforts. "You are Tom and he is Jerry. Jerry always wins. Move your plant." I held fast. The mound went undistrubed for a day. I felt myself triumphant.

Jack is my seven year old grandchildchil (one of seven). He loves nature and cathes and releases frogs in our pond. Jack was intrigued by the chipmonk hole. Although I asked him to leave it alone, and without me knowing, he uncovered the tunnel. He was convinced I would have killed the chipmonk. I had explained it wasn't his real home. I had seen him carry seeds from our feeders back to an nest in the woods. "It's only an escape path for him from preditors." There are many hawks in our area and a black stray cat that stalks whatever birds or some animals it can find. He has many other enteances to that tunnel.
No matter, he was unconvinced. He placed two chocolate cookies for the tunnel diger. "Chipmonks don't eat cookies," I explained. "They eat the seeds we put out for the birds. That's why grandmom greases the poles with Vaseline." In two hours the cookies were gone.

This morning I took my pick and destroyed the tunnel. I replaced the rock mound just to be sure. So far no new tunnels. Jack hasn't been back yet. Perhaps Tom is yet to win. My wife is certain he will.

Update

The summer is upon us and I have been busy organizing my activities for the fall.
I have resigned from Interboro School District but not retired. Seeking more options for myself I have embarked upon a new approach--proving mental health consulting to school districts. I will continue with Interboro, I believe,in a consulting capacity for school-based mental health. I will be helping them apply for a renewal of last year's grant and hopefully continue to provide input into their mental health effort. I will have a similar relationship with Marple Newtown. I have already begun consulting with Elwyn, Inc., my old and long term employer, consulting with their education division for data analysis and program development. Since Elwyn will be providing mental health services to both Interboro and Marple Newtown, I will be in a unique position to interface both school programs. Perhaps a consortium of service providers may be possible. I have also re-started private practice in Chester Springs on a limited basis. I view this summer as a transitional re-grouping period. I continue to promote my two novels, Shrink and Finding Jackson on a limited basis. I have found Linkedin.com a useful networking website.

Mesothelioma

Richard Moyle asked to post this blog here. His grandfather died of mesothelioma in 2000 so he has had personal experience with the illness.

Coping with Losing Someone to Mesothelioma

Losing a loved one is very difficult for anyone, especially if it is after a long battle with an illness. The person/people left behind may occasionally wonder, “Why them? Why did this have to happen to that person?” It’s even harder when there’s evidence that the the cancer or illness could have been averted.

This is the situation with a rare cancer known as mesothelioma. One of the only proven causes for developing this type of cancer is exposure to a naturally occurring mineral known as asbestos. Asbestos was widely used in a number of military and industrial applications throughout the 20th century because of its durability and resistance to fire. The most frequent uses were insulation, flooring, piping and brake lining.

The better part of diagnosed cases can be traced back to work-related asbestos exposure. Despite the fact that many of the creators of asbestos products were conscious of the health risks connected with the material, they continued to mass produce it to maximize their earnings. A large amount of people who were exposed were not alerted to the situation and were never shown the proper ways to avoid exposure.

Other contributing dynamics to the difficult process of mourning the loss of someone to mesothelioma are the abruptness of the start of noticeable symptoms, diagnosis and the normally poor prognosis. Symptoms of this type of cancer normally take 25 to 50 years after primary exposure to start showing. By this time the cancer is in its later stages and treatment choices are typically insufficient. The average life expectancy after diagnosis is about one year.

When you combine all of the factors and circumstances surrounding malignant mesothelioma and other asbestos related diseases, it brings about quite a few different emotions for both the sufferer and the ones close to them. They may experience anger towards the people who permitted asbestos to be used so extensively with no warning of its undesirable health effects. They may feel frustration with the seemingly helpless situation or shock because of the unexpectedness or rapidity with which the disease takes its toll.

Persons left behind might deal with these emotions in a number of ways. For example, the anger and frustration people feel sometimes motivates them to take legal action against whoever was ultimately accountable for their loved one’s death. The grief or sorrow they feel may prompt them to do all they can to raise awareness about this disease to prevent further exposure and save the lives of others. Both of these actions could be seen by the bereaved as a way of “righting the wrong” so to speak.

In general, everyone deals with similar emotions when they lose a loved one, no matter what the situation. But diseases like mesothelioma that can be traced back to the withholding of information for the purpose of making money tend to underscore some of those emotions slightly more. Always keep in mind that anyone who lets these emotions encumber their daily lives may need aid in seeking help from a professional.

Treatment models

"Beware of Geeks bearing formulas," Warren Buffet advises. He was speaking of formulas accepted whole hog by bankers, financiers, and mutual fund operators to predict such arcaic outcomes as how high interest rates will rise, when the housing market will bottom out, how to carve up derivative instruments such as asset liability swaps to maximize profits (to the carver) and minimize risk. The problem is such fourmlas have flaws as witnessed by the present financial crisis.
It seems to me that psychotherapists do the same thing. Today most psychological healers claim to be a cognitive therapists. Years ago it was psychoanalysis, client centered therapy, humanistic approaches, Gestalt thereapy, and so on. All of these models, even in the best trained hands, may be helpful but they are not paneceas for emotional health. All have limitations, even those with solid empirical (evidence based) backing. They don't work for every condition or every client. They don't take into account less tangible and measureable factors such the relationship between therapist and client. They are not complete theories of personality (Psychoanalytic models come closest because of developmental concepts that are intrinsic to the model. However they can be used to explain anything by the those who speak the langauage fluently, and therefore have little predictive value.) My point is that these models provide tricks (OK tools) of the trade. They bring some order out of chaos and a comfort level to the therapist. But the most honest of us will admit that there is more going on when outcomes are positive or negative than merely the particular stratgey the therpist believes he is employing. Gabriel Byrne, the Irish actor/therapist, Paul, on HBOs In Treatment, who explains everything in a psychodynamic targeting parents as villains, said it best to his own therapist, Gina, when he lamented that therapists don't cure people, they merely walk with them through their problems for a while. Gina didn't buiy into that idea. We are all more holistic and humanistic than we often care to admit.

Transitions

We usually think of transitions in life as positive-a child learns to walk, the first day of school, graduations, marriage. Each represents the beginning of a new phase in life and brings with it hope for the future. Retirement is also a transition and it has its positives--the end of the daily grind, new opportunities for travel or pursuit of hobbies. Yet there are also negatives since it portends ultimate decline, illness, and death.

This week, at age 76,I celebrated my third retirement at the same time that I was planning for several new ventures. There are some of us who cannot retire without feeling useless and inadequate. We tend to define ourselves by what we do in the marketplace. Most souls are able to give up that false sense of identity. Others cling to it as a source of recognition and purpose. For me being a psychologist who also writes is who I am. So long as I maintain some modicum of health I will continue to play this role. I don't look down on those who do otherwise. Indeed, I
sometimnes envy them. But for me there is no choice. I am leaving a pleasant and comfortable part-time position where I was moderately successful to expland my options for consulting, writing, and doing private practice. For me transitions are a necessity-- a source of optimism, and continued potential for productivity, creativity, and growth. Nostalgia at walking away from friends and colleagues is balanced by new opportunities, challenges, and anticipation of success. It has always been so. For want of a better label I dub myself a "transitionalist." Wish me luck.

The feminizing of psychology

When I was a graduate student in the late 1950s psychology was a masculine dominated discipline. Oh, there were women doing university teaching and research, and even a few clinicians,mostly child psychologists, but the major psychologists on a national level were primarily men. Towering figures develped elegant theories of loearning, perception, memory, and personality. These were grand rational conceptualizations backed by brilliant research. Proponenets of major schools of psychology did battle in learned journals--Hull v. Tolman, Rogers v. Skinner, for example. Emotion was a part of those theories but largely played a secondary role.

Today there seems to be major paradign shift. Practianers increasingly seem to be women, particularly school psychologists. With this feminine shift there seems also to be increased emphasis upon feelings. Yes, cognitive behavioral theory places cognitions first, followed by emotions and behavior. But concern about abuse,trauma, marital problems, disfunctional families, the effects of poverty appears to place more and more emphasis on feelings. Simultaneously conceptualizations appear to be based more emotional than rational. What gets tossed of as thoery would never make the Psych. Review.

Recently I attended a three hour seminar about eating disorders. The speaker, a female university lecturer and clinician shifted seamlesly from anorexia, bulemia, binge eating, and the like to disconnectedness and social isolation as determining factors. She offered a disclaimer that most eating disorders affect women and that her experience at an eating disorder clinic was primarily with women. All theories are basicly the same she added--psychoanalytic, cognitive, behavioral-- they are all coming from the same place. (However, she was quick to add that is cognitive-behavioral in persuasion.) We learn at an early age, she explained, that thin is good and fat bad. That accounts for the cognitive part of her theory.

It seems to me that when I sit and watch the Piladelphia Eagles play the Dallas Cowboys with my male riends and relatives we are all well connected. We bond nonverbally. There is little talk except about football strategy and plays. We can go an entire hour without anyone saying anything but we are still communicating. We may sometimes discuss politics or the stock market or finance but I don't ever remember anyone bringing up feelings or relationships, except for an occasional smutty joke. Oh, did I mention, none of us has an eating disorder?

One last thought. I have been a practicing clinician for over forty years but I can honestly say that never once have I ever asked a client "How did that make you feel?" I would choke over the words.

A state of mind

I never turned on to golf. It's mostly because of my vision. I'm like Weakeyes Yokum in Li'l Abner, I just don't see well. When I manage to hit the ball I can't locate it for the next shot. So Retirement doesn't sit well with me either. This past weekend we did a fast trip to Orlando. Hilton offered us a deal we couldn't refuse. The trip on Air Trans was horrendous but that's another story. Just don't ever willingly fly out of Terminal D in Philadelphia. Things improved once we arrived despite 96 degree temperatures. The quid pro quo was a two hour sales pitch for a Florida Hilton time share. We already are Hilton owners in New York City which allows us to go almost anywhere so why would I need another time share? How many times do I really want to see Disneyworld?

But that takes me back to retirement. I am retiring for the third time in June. Not really retiring, just leaving. I'm going to consult, providing mental health services to schools. They've invited me to a retirement party all the same, so I'll attand and have a good time. So long as I'm healthy, why reire? I like what I do and still do it well. I make my own hours, more or less, and so does my wife. We can go to Orlando or the Big Apple, or Swahillyland if we want to (if we can afford it).

We did retire for six months about half a dozen years ago. After a while we were both talked out. We had nothing new to discuss...so we went back to work and never looked back. It makes life more interesting. I mostly listen anyway but Joyce talks for the both of us.

When Marvin Levi at age 75 was still coaching the Buffalo Bills a reporter asked him when he would retire. "When you start thinking about retirement" he quipped "you're already retired."

Publication Update

After a bad beginning, "Shrink: Odyssey of a Therapist" is now out and available from Eloquentbooks.com. It may also be ordered through Amazon and Barnes and Noble. The original copies sent to friends and relatives had many typos. These have now been corrected. The sequel "Finding Jackson" presents a short (i4,000 word) further adventures of Morrie Schwartz. It will be out in June but copies are now available through PublishAmerica.com. Bronx Lyric is a self-published book of poems about growing up in The Bronx. It is available through CreateSpace.com. I am playing with another idea for Morrie Schwartz but, frankly, I am tired right now and will delay working on it. Instead, I am making some changes in my daytime job for the fall. More about that later. My trials in publishing something that people will actually purchase and read continues to convince me that I had better not abandon my real work as a psychologist.

Schools and self-esteem

Martin Seligman, in his resilience textbook for middle schools, The Optimistic Child," suggests that children shouldn't be praised without some genuine accomplishment.Even my four year old grandchild Julia criticized my wife when she praised her twin brother for being chosen as a line leader in preschool. "Everybody gets to be line leader, grandmom." It is a good point. The opposite side of the coin is that children should not be critizied for lack of accomplishment beyond their control.

Yesteray, I attended grandparents' Day at the private school attended by two other grandchildren, a four and almost six year old. It was an all-morning afffair
which started in the auditorium where five grade levels of children --Early education, Kindergarten, and First through Fourth grade--presented a musical concert. Later we sat in classrooms with each of the two children. It was interesting to note the increasing development, maturity, and self-confidence of the children, progressing from grade to grade. The principal explained that their curriculum required that children learn stage presence in front of an audience. The children differ in the degree to which the children enjoy that experience. Bella, a drama queen, relishes performing. Reagan couldn't care less. There were obvious gender differences. Boys went along with the singing but few of bothered with bodily gestures.

I remembered my own experiences at P.S. 80 in The Bronx. We had weekly assemblies where boys wore white shirts and blue knit ties and girls sported white "middy blouses" and orange ties. Each class rotated in presenting a dramatic performace and the entire school sang each week, including the hymn "Holy, holy, holy," in the days before school and church were separated by law. I was told by the music teacher, at an early age, not to sing. Labeled a "listener," because of my tone deaf monotone, I was instructed merely to move my lips. Now, I don't really know if I was scarred by that experience but certainly the message was that I was incompetent as a singer and could never improve so stop trying and don't ruin the efforts of others.

I assume that teachers at what is now Junior High School 80 in The Bronx are now more psychologically atuned to self-esteem. I talk weekly with high school students, assigned to emotional and learning support classes, about resilience, self-confidence, and the like.

When the kindergarten class at my grandchildren's school sang along with their guiitar-playing teacher, I sang along with them, loudly and with self-confidence.

Catch-up

I've been negligent in maintaining this blog of late for a variety of reasons. "Shrink," my first novel, was published by Eloquent Books and, embarrassingly, and despite my many editings, was launched with dozens of my typos. These are now being corrected and a short sequel titled "Finding Jackson" is being published by PublishAmerica, so far painlessly, on my part. On the other hand, my attempt to self-publish Bronx Lyric, a short book of poetry about growing up in The Bronx, has hit a snag. My terrible computer skills do not enable me to meet the formating dermands of CreateSpace, the publisher. I wasted hours enmeshed in the vaguaries of PDFs, jpgs, and a 6X9 format, without success. All of this is my lame excuse for not maintaining this blog. I read, with some awe an almost daily blog of a writer who documents her writing and reading progress. The author is verbose to a fault, but her ability to grind out words nonethelss impressive. I am a fast write--too fast it seems to detect errors, but I don't have daily blogwrite words and never will. I'll continue to do this blog, mostly with a psychology spin, but not always, and only when I have something to say.

Nomenclature

When my father became ill in Florida with what turned out to be liver cancer and terminal he remarked, "It came on me an imblic." My sster and I interpreted the
word to be Yiddish for "devil." In my novel "Shrink" I used the phrsse with a fictionalized father of the protagonist, when he became similarly afflicted.
My long term friend Abe, more versed in Judaism than I, pointed out the error. There is no such word as "Imblic" in Yiddish. What my father likely meant, Abe suggested, was "imglik," which means accident or misforture. I disagree with Abe. My father was personalizing the evil that consumed him. The word he was probably trying to come up with was "dybbuk," which means demon. I am presently re-editing my novel which was published, due to my poor editing skill, with many typos. Imblic--occurs at least a dozen times in the book. I was going to substitute dybbuk each time but it doesn't sound right to me. Instead of making the change each time I will add an explanation at the end of the volume explaining the confusion. This error in my book is only one of many that derived from my use of autobiographical material in a fictional story.

Identity

Any writer interjects in hus work a part of his own personality and experience. This applies to any expressive behavior and is the basic assumption of projective tests of personality such as the Rorschach and Thematic Apperception Test. Those who write autobiographical material reveal themselves consciously and willingly. However there are risks involved.

In my recent novel "Shrink: Odyssey of a Therapist," the beginning section describes the early life, education and training of the psychologist hero, Morrie Schwartz. I reveal in the Preface that much of the material is based on my own life, although changes were made to fit the story that ensues, which is totally fictional. I chose not to reveal which is real and which is fabrication. Once I opened the door, however, I became vulnerable. My sister was upset thatI described Morrie's parents as "cold." My own parents were not cold but I had raised doubts in my sister's mind about my true feelings and incurred criticism. In the last section of the book Morrie has a series of paranormal experiences that lead to his own psychological breakdown. My sister worried that perhaps I also was having such experiences. My wife was somewhat upset that Morrie's love interest in the book, and subsequently his wife, resembled a younger psychologist friend and colleague. In truth, the fictional character was a composite of both friend and wife. In an earlier version of the story I had killed off the hero at the end. My wife was so upset I rewrote the ending, which was good thing for I left the door open to a sequel, also to be published.

Such are the risks involved in revealing. While anyone masochistic enough to attempt to write for publication risks criticism, autobiographical references bring on a particularly personal type of censure. While I will not stop writing, I hope to be sufficiently creative in the future to seek creative inspiration in non-personal material.

Remembering the Dodgers

Doris Kearns Goodwin's book Wait 'Till Next Year is a great read for baseball fans who grew up in New York City in the late forties and early fifties. Goodwin was indoctrinated as a rabid Brooklyn Dodgers fan by her father and suffered with them through multiple seasons as National League pennant champions only to lose to their nemesis, the New York Yankees. She relates play-by-play of key games in which her heroes Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, Gill Hodges, Peewee Reese, and Duke Synder were outstanding stars. She attributes the origins of her historical interest to her compulsive and meticulous keeping of Dodgewr's box scores. The book also brings back the halcyon post-WWII days,blotted by the McCarthy era, the execution of the Rosenbergs, and the Korean War, none of which interfered with her mostly happy suburban childhood in Rockville Center, Long Island. Perhaps it is merely an illusion that goes along with old age, but it is refreshing to reminisce about a time when the most important concern was the outcome of a baseball game. Yes, the Phillies won the World Series and the Eagles went father than anyone dared hope but it just ain't the same.

Privatize the Post Office

When I first moved to Chester Springs I quickly located the nearest post office. It's not where my mail comes from which is 15 minutes away but only 5 minutes distant. Doesn't make much sense but good enough tomail things and I'm a frequent user. What immediately caught my attention wasthe name of the tiny office--Uwchland, P.O. The township and all the street signs read Uwchlan. No "d."
"Interesting" I thought. "This area was probably once called Uwchland. They
must have dropped the "d" to fit on roadsigns more easily." No! I checked the history of the area. It was always called Uwchlan. The post office, it seems, made a mistake in 1932 and no one bothered to correct it.

I learned yesterday that a check for $200 that I sent to a mutual fund a week ago never arrived and was not cashed. I went to the post office to learn if they knew of any mail being lost. While I waited my turn in line a woman came up behind me and asked if the post office had a stamp machine. "It doesn't," I replied "butit should." The clerk overheard the conversation and explained that there is no need for a stamp machine since every food store now sels stamps. Unable to contain myself, I interjected: "That's like the supermarket not selling milk because it's sold in the local convenience store." God forbid the post office should be convenient. The lady had to wait 10 minutes to buy a book of stamps. Oh, did I mention they new nothing about mail being mislaid and gave me a number to call?

Reductionism and neuroscience

Continuing my last blog on voodoo and neuroscience,it occurs to me that the attribution of conscious thoughts, memory, emotions and percptions solely to neural activity represents the height of arrogance by neuroscientists. All psychological processes can be "explained" on many levels--subjective, neurological, chemical, genetic. How can any one level be considered as a primary cause of these processes?
Attempting to attribute any level as the the origin of a psychological process would be equivalent to solving the chicken or the egg riddle. It can't be done. How do you explain the fact that new brain areas sometimes assume the function previously handled by damaged areas? Neuroscientists perform an important function in putting one piece of the puzzle together, but they are not psychologists. As we have already noted, nor are they statisticians.

Of neuroscience and psychology

Recently I've been going through Calvin & Ojemann's "Conversations with Neil's Brain." A neurosurgeon and neurophysiologist describe the stimulation of the brain of an epileptic brain to identify specific areas for sensation,language memory etc.
Their basic premise is that all of our cognitive, personality, and emotional functions can be "explained" or understood as nervous system activity. 'Don't waste
time trying to interpret dreams,[ they advise. 'It is merely noise in the nervous system.' The book is interesting but leaves me somewhat disturbed by its dismissive atttiude toward 150 years of psychological science. Like many in the medical sciences, they are just not interested in subjective events, let alone the philosophical implications of the mind-body problem. Even my retinologist who, saved my sight over fifteen years ago, never asks what I actually see. His examination is focussed solely on the flatness of my retina. Several years ago I wrote several books for Facts on File, a publisher of books for middle and secondary school students. The consulting editor for their Gray matter series insisted I devote half of each book to the brain. I complied reluctantly in order to get the books published but turned three well-written and interesting texts into rather boring and repetitive expositions on brain structure.
Sharon Begley's Feb. 9 "On Science" article in Newsweek offers me some hope that neuroscientists are waking up. Titled "Of Voodoo and the Brain" it describes criticism from within the neuroscience community that the correlations reported
in neuroscience journals are inflated (0.9? Come on!)and due to the misuse of statistical reasoning. She didn't also explain that correlations don't imply cause and effect. Nevertheless, BRAVO to the maverick neuroscientists and to Sharon Begley.

Writer 's lament

With the publication of "Shrink: Odyssey of a Therapist" the major work now begins. Writing is the easiest task. You are being creative, you have a need to write, and the exercise is mostly fun, especially with a novel and,following Stephen King's advice, you don't work from an outline and don't know until the end how the story will finish. Editing is pure misery but is time limited. Marketing, probably the
major task, seems forever. I now am in the throes of trying to make my book known. I have decided against book signings. The potential rewards are small unless a major bookstore stocks the work on its shelves, which is hard to arrange. However, the Internet offers a wealth of opportunities to spread the word if you are willing to invest the time. You need to respond to other blogs on a regular basis, using the
comments to mention why the writer might be interested in your work. You need to develop ways to make your own blog read by using resources such as Facebook. While the publisher sends out press releases, it behooves the author to contact local newspapera and radio stations, hoping for an interview. All of these efforts, while necessary, are extremely time consuming with little likelihood of a payoff. To add to the misery, substantial financial rewards are unlikely. In my case royalties are less than $2.00 on a book listing for $30. To sell my novel. which took over two years including editing, I must pay the publisher more than I can purchase it for at Barnes & Noble who is discounting it 20%. This, despite the fact that I was asked to contribute toward initial publication costs. Will I do another novel? Yes. I've had a short novella--a followup of Shrink--accepted by a different publisher, with no up front feess. Probably more problems but it's better than letting the manuscript gather dust in my basement or clog up my hardrive.

Cognitive therapy in the high school

15 year old boy: "You called me at the right time. I'm very upset."
Therapist: What's up?"
Boy: My girl friend dumped me. Then she told me she's been cheating on me. We were having an affair?"
Therapist: What kind of affair...sexual"?
Boy: No ...you know."
"Therapist: Making out?"
"Yeah, that's it. And she told me she been cheating on me, many times. I'm furious. My adrenaline has been flowing.I was up all night. I'm a mess."
Therapist:"So you are angry?"
Boy: I am furious.I can't get it out of my mind."
T: What do you tell yourself before you feel angry"?
Boy: "I tell myself I hate cheaters."
T: You need to get over this and move on."
Boy: "I can't. I keep thinking about it."
"What must you do to move on"?
"I have no idea."
"You need to change your thinking. You need to say something different to yourself."
"I don't know what to say."
"Let's explore that. Are there other girls you could be interestd in"?
"Yeah but girls think Iam 'emo'"
""Emotional?"
"Yeah."
"Emo is bad?"
"Not cool."
"All girls think that"?
"Almost all."
"Have you had other girl friends"?
"Yes, lots."
"Soo you could go find another girlfriend."
"I don't go after them. They come to me."
"So girls think you are attractive."
"They like my long hair."
"So what's the problem? "Once they get to know me that break it off."
"How many girl friends have you had in the past two years"?
"About fourteen."
"That's a lot. How may of those didn't think you were 'emo'"?
"Two."
'Two out of fourteen. That's one seventh. If you were a baseball player you'd be batting almost 300. That's pretty darn good."
"I guess."
"There are 1400 students in this high school. How many would be girls"?
"About 500."
"I would think 700. Lets split the difference and say 600."
"OK."
"Of 600 girls, how may would you think are pretty or at least cute."
"About 200."
"OK. one third. Let's say there are two hundrend potential girlfriends but only one seventh won't reject you. That's about 28 girls in this high school with whom you might have a relationship."
"Maybe."
"I want you to start telling yourself three things. The faster you start saying this to yourself and believing it, the faster you will get over your anger and upset and move on."
"This sounds weird."
"Eventually you will do this on your own. For now just trust me and do as I suggest. The three things are: (1)My ex-girl friend is not worth my being upset over her.(2) There are lots of fish in the sea." (3) It's time to move on." I
want you to write these things down and practice saying them every day. I'll see you next week and we'll see how it's going."

Update

"Shrink: Odyssey of a therapist" has been published by Eloquentbooks.com and marketing has begun. The short sequel which I originally titled "The last ride"
has been accepted by PublishAmerica. Because they has a similar title in their cataloque my new title will be "Strategic intervention." Morrie, my alter ego therapist hero, is called out of retirement to treat a man with intractible pain in his arm and no identifiable organic basis. The patient reveals he is Stonewall Jackson, reincarnated. You'll have to read the rest. Since I may be on a writing roll, I am attemptonmg to breathe new life into several earlier and never published gems lying dormant in my basement, some for at least thirty years. I have registered this blogsite with Blogger Catalog for increased exposure.

New and old writing

The publication of my novel Shrink has generated some new enthusiasm for doing more. I have followed up on the adventures of Morrie Schwartz, Ph.D.sychologist with a new adventure. Morrie comes out of retirement to treat a man with intractible pain in his arm with no organic basis. The man reveals he is a reincarnated. Stonewal;l Jackson, Confederate Civil War hero. I am presently seeking a publisher for this long shoirt story or short novella--a novellete, I am told. Additionally, I am resurrecting some older poems and essays as well as a short, never published,textbook, "Search for the human mind." I fimd I was a better writer as a younger man but am more motivated now to complete these once-started projects. Time is running out.

Recession talk

The current economic meltdown and my tentative involvement with a project immersing me in Behavioral finance--an area of overlap between psychology and finance--has sensitized me to the the pervasiveness of psychological depression and panic. Yet even here there is some humor to be found.

The day was predicted to be unseasonably warm, with a high of 55 degrees. To get away for a few hours from a series of stressful occurrences in our lives, Joyce and I drove drove west on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. We intended to find a park or small town and walk in a rural setting to shake off the winter and situational malaise we both were feeling. Somehow we missed the exit we were shooting for and had to drive as far as Harrisburg before we could leave the turnpike. It was of little consequence except in extra gas since we had no definite destination. Growing hungry and needing a restroom we headed east for Lebanon on Route 422. As we approached the town the views of silos and pasture gave way to a plethora of used car lots, and autompobile supply stores. There was an abundance of fast food restaurants which we shunned in hopes of funding something a notch better in town. Three times we drove back and forth in Lebanon, from first to tenth street, up Main Street and down Walnut. Perhaps we missed the right section but to my best knoweldge there are no restaurants in Lebebon, not even for a bologne sandwich. (Doesn't it come from there?) Proceeding south back toward the Turnpike I noted we were passing through a tiny town labeled Schleffersville on my map. Seizing the moment, I labeled it "Schleppersville," reflecting my disdain for a place without restaurants. (There were two hospitals we noted, perhaps to treat people who needed to eat out more often.) Suddenly Joyce, who was driving, made a sharp left turn at too fast a speed into the parking area of a Tavern and Diner. Dare we risk a Schleppersville eatery? We had no choice. Our bladders were as filled as our stomachs empty.

It really wasn't that bad once we were able to communicate our lunch preferences. They had a different name for the cod fish sandwich Joyce selected from the menu. My Philly cheese steak and fries were easily understood. The bartender and likely the owner wore a T-shirt showing a large bare bottom breaking wind. "Free gas" was the inscription. I describe this without passing judgment but merely to provide some idea of the local ambience. Joyce used the lady's room and returned with this account. There was a sign on the wall inviting patrons to write "an emcouraging message" and leave it in the basket provided. Joyce wasn't so inclined but was sufficiently curious to read the two messages in the basket. "I have to sell my house. I need money" was the first. The second was neither accepting nor disparaging, merely factual: "Leroy is shacking up with Alma." Somewhat facetiously, and more for my benefit since the town was plainly marked on the map, Joyce asked the waitress : "What town are you in? "Lebanon" was the reply.

Was she reluctant to use the correct name with obvious strangers? Was she Alma and the T-shirted bartender Leroy? Was this really still part of Lebanon and the only restaurant in town, located five miles south? Was the town commemorating a real person named Schleffer and the name therefore eponymous? Was Schleffer a schlepper? I don't suppose we'll ever know. We won't be going back real soon.


O.K. It's hard to read a map in a moving car. I've looked up the town and have found that it is really named Schaefferstown, not Schleppersville. It even has a hotel. I apologize to the good citizens who reside there. It gave us a laugh when we needed it. Schaefferstown sits between Kleinfeltersville and Cacalico, Pennylvania. To us it will always be Schleppersvillle.

The perils of writing

I find rhe writing part of writing exhilirating. I like to be creative. I gain pleasure from a finmished product, especially if I am fortunate enough to find a publisher, a feat that seems to become increasingly difficult.
It is the post-creative tasks that become odious--the endless editing and the marketing that are most daunting.

I looked forward to receiving the final page proofs for Shrink this past week.
I had edited the voume myself several times already and had paid a professional editor to critique what I had writtien. Her critique was most valuable in teaching me some things I was doing wrong but, alas, like me, she missed a fair number of typos and careless puntuation gaffs. The page proofs came as a seemingly finished book, bound with the cover design I had obsesse with the artist. Surely, I thought, there would be no or at best a minimum of errors to be found. Wrong!. I spent a day going line by line and found to my horror twenty mistakes I could not leave uncorrected. All but one were my fault, not the type setter. I checked. They were in the galleys I had approved a month ago. I just hadn't seen them. Psychologists are aware of the ability of the brain to overlook small omissions, to fill in the empty spaces, connect the dots so that we perceive form and meaning with minimal stimulus input. This fact does not absolve me of responsibility here and I will, no doubt, be asked to pay for the corrections in the finished product.

Another frustration arose from a sequel to Shrink that I wrote while waiting for editorial and production process for Shrink to grind out. I wrote a short piece of 14,000 words--the further adventures of my hero in Shrink. What to do with it? I learned it was too long for a short story--usually four to five thousand words, and too short for a novel, the skimpiest of which are about 60,000 words. "So it a novella," I told myself. Many brilliant authors wrote novellas--Hemmingway's Old man and the Sea, for one. Most of the Steinbeck masterpieces also are novellas. Not my newest production, which I call The Last Ride. Novellas are usually 20,000 to 40,000 words. "Add 6.000 words I was told by an editor who publishes anthologies for novellas. I don't want to. The story is tight and fast moving as it stands. I didn't set out to write a short piece. I told the story I wanted to tell and when it was finished I stopped. It had 14,000 words. Does that make me a bad person? "It's a novellete," I was informed. Who wants to publish novelletes? If you hear of someone, let me know.

Books

Over the New Year holiday I visited my daughter and her family in Natick, Mass.
Betsy and Brian gave me a book titled Wilderness Plots by Scott R. Sanders. This is a series of 50 short (two page) vignettes describing people and conditions involved in the settling of the Ohio Valley, beteen 1780 and 185o. They are all interesting
vignettes but the most meaningful is a piece titled Cutting Roads. It describes Ebenzer Zane and sevewn sons who cut trails by ax through the wilderness, including a bridle trail from the Ohio River through West Virginia into Kentucky. This allowed the mail to go through to Ohio.
When I learned that my son Michael and his wife Betsy are to be divorced and that Betsy would be renting a house behind us,separated by a patch of woods, I began a trail between the two houses so that Jack, their six year old, could visit easily.
Michael joined in with his chainsaw and soon the awesome and illegally cut trail was complete. I identified most strongly with old Ebenzer, who was granted 400 acres by the government for his efforts. My recognition, should the trail be found by the owners association, may be quite different.

I was also impressed by one of Brian's books--"Conversations with Neil's brain" by a neurosurgeon and neurophysiologist, whose names escape me at the moment but I have ordered the book from Amazon. The book describes the results of electrical stimulation of the brain to identify the locii of cognitive and perceptual function. Their inferences appear to go beyond their data and also beyond their areas of expertise as they speculate about consciousness, language, dreams and the like. Like other neuroiscientisrts that attributre dreams to meaningless, random noise in the nervous system and not worth the attention afforded to them by therpists. I take excepton to this in two books I have written about dreams ("Demystifying dreams" and "The brain and dreaming") because of my experience with dreams, both personally, and in my private practice. The authors also explain consciuous as the sum total of brain function and no more. In Book Two of Shrink I speculate that consciousness may be much more. Another of the Wilderness Plots vignettes, "Frostbite of the soul," descibes a precher who is also a cobbler. As he stitches his leather shoes he ponders his sermons. He reasons that just as the shoe is the vessel of the foot, so the body is the vessel of the soul. Somehow I identify with the preacher more than the scientists in this matter.