I Can Make That Diagnosis For You

 

As he walked, he began to hear a ringing in his ears.  His body went numb and he had trouble controlling the movement of his legs and his fingers. 

The above is a quote from Adam Entous in his Annals of Espionage article in the New Yorker called Stealth Mode.  

Have you heard of the Havana Syndrome?  It's a set of symptoms that, around 2016, suddenly came upon a senior C,I.A. officer while she was in her hotel room in Havana after a secret meeting  with colleagues. 

...awoke with a start to a low humming noise and a feeling of intense pressure in her head......(later) she began to have trouble with her eyesight and her balance.

Since that time a number of government officials have had similar experiences.  Early in the Trump administration a senior official on the National Security Council was just outside the White House.

As he walked, he began to hear a ringing in his ears.  His body went numb, and he had trouble controlling the movements of his arms and legs. 

Other officials began having symptoms.

...being bombarded by waves of pressure in their heads.  Some said they heard sounds resembling an immense swarm of cicadas.....headaches; tinnitus; loss of vision and hearing; vertigo; brain fog; loss of balance and muscle control. 

....severe vertigo...vomiting...cognitive problems

There have been well over a hundred cases of  "Havana Syndrome ."  Why hasn't it been acknowledged and diagnosed?  Entous, in his article, suggests that there has been a massive misdiagnosis, coverup, and denial of what's actually happening.  The Havana Syndrome has been described as psychosomatic, groupthink, a mass psychogenic illness, etc.  And a major problem is that these government officials who've been made ill are not allowed to share information. 

Entous' article is excellent and scary.  I've been fascinated with the Havana Syndrome for a while since I share most of the symptoms.  While these people may not have Meniere's Disease, there is obviously something terrible going on.  And it's heartbreaking that it's not even acknowledged.

So, if you're one of these victims, I get that you may not accept my diagnosis because, well, I have no credentials whatsoever. But you might want to see my doctor.  After a few years of floundering around with medical experts shaking their heads and not getting it, my specialist diagnosed me in 10 minutes.  But the real relief was that he believed me. 

***

Every Breath I Take

 

Every breath you take,   Every move you make,  Every bond you break,  Every step you take,  I'll be watching you.

These lyrics by The Police could seem reassuring or a little creepy depending on who's saying them.

I've had the word "Breathe" on my mind for several days.  It could be because I've just plowed through eight seasons of "Call the Midwife."  I've seen a baby being born every single day for several weeks.  Sometimes the baby isn't breathing and that first breath requires some assistance from the midwife.  

Or it could be that my niece is unwell and I'm thinking about and praying for her every day.  Her dad, my brother, died a few years ago after suffering for years with COPD.  Every breathe was a struggle.  

Or it could be because Ken Carter, bishop of the Florida Conference of the United Methodist Church, preached at my church this past Sunday.  This was Pentecost Sunday.  

The bishop first talked about the previous year and how it impacted all of our lives.  

Learning to breathe while wearing a mask. 

 Needing a ventilator.  

George Floyd.

"I can't breathe."

Acts 2 (the Pentecost story) tells us about how, a few weeks after Jesus died and was resurrected, his followers were kind of depressed.  They still didn't quite get it.  So on this day, amid a big crowd of people the Holy Spirit blew through with a "sound like the blowing wind."  and empowered them.  This story is mysterious.  Many, if not most of us don't quite get Holy Spirit thing.  For me, being "empowered" is what it's all about.  Women, especially  in my age group, are generally uncomfortable with the concept of empowerment.  But acknowledging it has changed my life in significant ways.

And even now, at my age and stage,  most of the time, I feel empowered. 

Breathe on me breathe of God, Fill me with life anew. 

***

u

Nomads

 Nomad - A member of a people having no permanent abode, a person who does not stay in the same place. 

Under the umbrella of the United Methodist Church is a group called Nomads.  They travel around the country in their RV's to do volunteer mission work.  I remember that, years ago, they used to come to the Children's Home here in Central Florida to do odd jobs, including changing out every light bulb in every building and cottage.  They parked in a wooded area and spent their evenings cooking out and having fun. 

This is not about them.  

Some new retirees, including friends of mine, buy themselves a fancy RV and travel around the country for two or three years.  There's a fancy RV storage facility close by called "Adult Toys" where you can stash your RV when you're not traveling. 

This is not about them. 

This is about a film called Nomadland that has earned countless awards including four Oscars.  Did I love it?  That would not be the word I'd use.  This film is beyond sad, bleak and depressing. Almost nothing happens.  The dialogue is sparse.  The landscape is beautiful in a way - but fiercely sad. 

So why watch it?  It focuses on a woman named Fern.  She is one of a growing number of older Americans who, due to no fault of their own, a stable existence is unaffordable.  It stars one of my favorite actors ever, Frances McDormand.  

Fern and her husband worked in a factory and had a good life.  Then, around 2011, the factory shut down. Then the town shut down.  Then Fern's husband died, leaving her unable to make her mortgage payments. So Fern, like countless of other older folks, sold and gave away everything she had and jumped into her old van which she'd tricked out herself, and took to the road.  

One of the first things Fern does on screen is pee outside on a freezing day.  Later on we see that she has a big paint can (with lid) as a toilet.  She has fixed up her tiny space herself, including a way to heat up her chicken noodle soup that she eats from the can.

She occasionally meets up with other older folks to share meals and news about temp jobs.  Fern does have some options.  When she's forced to stay with her sister while her van is being repaired, they invite her to stay on.  But she declines.  When asked if she is homeless she says, not homeless, just houseless. 

So why is this film important?  Because it's not just Fern, it's about thousands of older Americans living itinerant lives.  It's about the failure of the American dream for many of us oldies who've worked hard all of our lives. 

I can relate to Fern's fierce independence.  But one of the things totally lacking in her life is safety.  If you've never felt unsafe it's hard to understand the terror it can bring on.  I love touting the good things about growing old.  And there are many.  But being old, alone and poor is the pits.

***

Love Me Tender

What's your favorite deep fried sandwich?  Two of mine would be the fried grouper from JB's Fish Camp in New Smyrna and the grouper at Winter Park Fish Company.  Both in Florida. 

But my very favorite deep fried sandwich is the pork tenderloin from anywhere in Indiana, served with a side of nostalgia.  

This morning, while reading my Indianapolis Monthly magazine,  I came upon this article about how ecstatic Hoosiers still are about the tenderloin.  Restaurants may vary the recipe a bit but it always consists of pounded pork tenderloin deep fried and served so that it extends three or so inches beyond the bun all the way around.  

When I was a teenager in the 50s we packed into cars and hung out at drive-ins.  (Think Ron Howard in American Graffiti or Happy Days.)  If we were lucky enough to have money we ate tenderloin sandwiches the car hop brought to the car on a tray that she attached to the window.   

The Tee Pee was one of the places where we hung out.  Probably would not be socially correct today but we were clueless teens in the 50s who loved to hang out and eat tenderloin sandwiches and listen to Elvis.  

So next time you're in Indiana ask somebody where to get one.  It doesn't matter who you ask.  Every Hoosier knows, including Jim Gaffigan.

***  

 

How to Make Friends and Influence People in a Pandemic

 This is a story I read in my New Yorker magazine.  It's about a woman named Zoe and a pricey sectional sofa she ordered from the Cobble Hill line of ABC Carpet & Home. 

As you can see in the photo, it's custom-upholstered in a deep-pink velvet called Vance Blossom. 

Not unsurprisingly, due to Covid, there have been delivery delays.  The waiting sent Zoe into a bit of a meltdown.  She said on Facebook, "I decorated this whole apartment around this very statement-making, coral-colored, massive couch."

(Those of you you've lost your jobs and your grandmas can relate to Zoe's Covid pain. Right?)

 

Months into the delay Zoe received a personal note of apology from the company's CEO.  This was a grand gesture BUT, unfortunately, the note was accidentally cc'd instead of bcc'd to two hundred and three other couch-expectant folks.

Whoops!

The reply-all avalanche started immediately.  Frustration crescendoed into anger.  "This is an outrage."  "I ordered in October. Paid in full!"   "This is just ridiculous."

Then a strange thing happened.  A woman wrote "Oh come on.  Like you've never had a bad day at work because you're exhausted, covid-weary, and stuck with the song 'never eat soggy waffles in your head?'"

This precepited a complete turnaround. 

Zoe replied to this group of 203 strangers, "I'm a single woman in NYC looking for a Jewish man."  That opened up the floodgates for a total attitude adjustment for this family of complete strangers.  

"Looking forward to meeting you at Zoe's wedding."

"I'd invite you all over but I don't have a couch."

The group started a fundraiser on "GoFundMe" for a family in (real) need.  Photos were exchanged.  When the cargo vessel was blocking the Suez Canal they surmised that their couches were on board.

Jane, an interior designer, who'd ordered the couch for her clients felt guilty so she wrote, "I  now wear the Vance Blossom fabric swatch as my scarlet letter." 

Henry wrote, "I have just reconnected with my friend Melissa.  Now I don't have to go to Zoe's wedding solo."  "We're in this struggle together.  The couch is minor."

The couch company, ABC, matched the donations raised by GoFundMe. And 204 strangers had their hearts strangely warmed.  

***

Limited

 

Forum met with live human beings this week.  But I chose to stay home and Zoom in my PJs. My smart friend, Trish, led a short discussion on (as you know) one of my favorite topics:  Death.  Unfortunately, most people, initually, are not as comfortable with this kind of discussion.  

But Trish had my smart friend Bill, who's well versed in many areas, including, unfortunately, this one, read a delightful poem called Dead is Dead by Alan Balter.  It was filled with euphemisms for death like....buying the farm and went belly up.

The last line was:  And should you come to my funeral, don't bring a thing.  Just sit back and listen to the fat lady sing. 

Folks in their 70s and 80s have, by design, limited life spans.  This is sad for those who love us but when we come to grips with it, it makes our remaining years rich.  Talking about the wonder of it and pondering on what's next, is rewarding and tends to take the fear out. 

 And, by the way, we oldies know that when the fat lady sings refers to Kate Smith.  When she sang God Bless America, the show was over.  

Below is one of my favorite poems on our shortsightedness in facing this reality.

Limited 

Carl Sandburg

I am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains of the nation. 

Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.

(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall pass into ashes.)  I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he answers:

"Omaha."

***

Two Events Yesterday

 First, Judge Belvin Perry, former newscaster Carol Nelson Pond and Photo/Journalist Tee Taylor were welcomed as lifetime members of the University Club in downtown Orlando.  This would have been unheard of 40 years ago when the only folks who were welcomed in the University Club were rich, old white guys. 

So congratulations to these three who, in significant ways,  have changed the landscape for good in Central Florida.  And congratulations to the University Club for extending this lavish invitation. 

The other thing that happened yesterday is that legendary Congressman, Alcee Hastings, died.  

As a young attorney, Alcee arrived in Fort Lauderdale, Florida around the same time we did.  It was a time when Blacks could not stay in hotels, eat in restaurants, go to while schools - and the list goes on.  He and my husband, Ken, became good friends and worked together on projects, not only for African Americans but for women's rights.  And in later yers Alcee went on to champion the LGBT community. 

In June of 2019, when we received word that Alcee Hastings had pancreatic cancer, I wrote a blog posting about the "soup incidents." U.S. Representative Hastings was the longest serving member in Florida's congregational delegation.  He was the first African American to be elected to Congress in Florida since  Reconstruction and was reelected 14 times. 

My husband, Ken and I knew Alcee Hastings in the 70s and 80s when we lived and worked in South Florida.  Alcee, the son of house-servants, was born in my current hometown, Altamonte Springs.  But we knew him in South Florida at the height of racial tensions.  He was a great friend and mentor to us in civil rights issues in the 1970s.  At that time Ken was an urban minister (think community organizer.)

One of the things he taught us was how to keep our cool under pressure.  A couple of times we witnessed the "soup incidents."  The first time we were at a banquet.  Alcee was seated next to me.  A one point the waitress spilled soup all over him.  His response was charming.  I was concerned.  He explained that spilling soup on him (by white waitpersons) was a common occurrence.  I had to witness it one more time before I believed him. 

Alcee Hastings political life back the was highly  controversial, full of ups and downs.  In the 1980s he was impeached in the House, tried in the Senate and ousted from office.  This, despite having been acquitted of bribery charges.  Ten years later, as a respected member of the House, he voted "no" on the impeachment of President Clinton.

And now, since 1992, he has served (and easily won) his seat in the House.  Until the end he remained a savvy and popular congressman but, of course he was still controversial and still poking fun at his Republican opponents.  

I hope the soup spilling stopped at some point. 

 ***