#metoo

Yeah, this is decades late. The delay is part of my journey, and I'm not proud of not standing up for others and myself earlier and more vocally. 

So #metoo has made it really clear that women are universally subject to inappropriate sexual behavior and abuse and violence involving sex.  And more than a few men have chimed in as well, because inappropriate sexual behavior can occur to a man as well. If you grab my ass or my crotch, and I don't want you to, it doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman: get your fucking hands off my junk is a perfectly acceptable response.  And yes, that’s coming from a position of privilege, I know.  

There's a different variation on this that's not overtly sexual harassment (but may involve sexual contact), and that is the abuse and violence that is perceived as "consensual" or "appropriate", involves denying control to the abused individual, and is at the heart of the issue. Hazing as "bonding" is one example; any relationship where there's a power disparity that requires the less powerful party to consent (or not) to something against their interest is another. 

I've had a colleague exploit their relationship to my organization's leadership to behave unprofessionally and un-collegially to me, and to refuse to accept my authority as a technology professional. I've had said colleague threaten me in veiled and coded language, and usurped my authority to direct work on technology for their business-- not because it made their work any easier (it didn't) but because they could.  And they were explicit: no one will listen to you, because I have the power to tell the story to a person who can take away your livelihood.

I was told by others that I couldn't complain about this because "that's just how it goes." 

It hurt when it happened, and it still hurts now. #metoo.

It also sounds a lot like what the women who were abused by Harvey Weinstein reported, only without the sex. Sounds even more like what business associates of Weinstein report as the cost of doing business with Weinstein. And yeah, it happens to everyone -- we all have to suck it up.

No. We don't. 

It's all abuse. And we countenance it by saying that it's what successful people do, as the price of business, as the cost of social acceptance. But it's not: it's our culture's inherent, implicit, and explicit respect for people who have the will and ability to take agency and control from others. Writ large, it's slavery. Writ small, it's cage fighting. in between, it's what has led tens of millions of people to write #metoo. 

I know, tl:dr and tmi.  Guess what: it’s time to accept that we need to cauterize the suppurating wound that’s eating away at our culture and civil society.  

Postscript: I first wrote this in 2017. I should have left my job at HHS and ACL at that time, because the abuse I experienced continued until I was forced to retire in 2023. My mental health spiraled downward, leading to a major depression disorder and anxiety episode that I’ve been treated for from 2020 until now. Because of the events that took place at ACL, the consequent interference in professional opportunities I sought, and the traumas I experienced I’m unlikely to ever work again as a technology professional, and my personal life has been permanently affected by the workplace abuse.  

I lost years of my professional life, and between millions and hundreds of thousands of dollars in potential income because of workplace abuse. I will never get that back.

As a nation and as a culture, the casual acceptance of abuse and the disempowerment and theft of agency, of the usurpation of the rule of law through accepting the impunity of action of wealthy and powerful people, most often white men, has continued to erode our democratic and egalitarian institutions. And while those institutions and the government they supported were imperfect, the idea that they were improvable, that we could work together to make life better for everyone, but importantly for the people who had the least and the most to overcome was always there. 

The idea that we, together, can make a better world remains. But we need to acknowledge the threat that abuse and loss of agency represents to all of us and that in a better future, the causes and effects of #metoo are radically reduce, and those who abuse and act with impunity face the full weight of justice. 

Independence Day

Because: reasons I never published this when I wrote it 19 years ago.  

It’s timelier now than it was then.  Enjoy. 

It’s Independence Day, 2007.  In the year since the last Independence Day, our nation has experienced:

The “inadvertent” suspension of habeas corpus in order to justify our judicial and military response to terrorism;

The conviction on charges of perjury and obstruction of justice, of a senior appointed official of the Bush Administration, and the subsequent commutation of his sentence by President Bush;

A seemingly endless series of “terror alerts” which seem less intended to protect our physical well being than to distract, disturb, and disorient us;

The continued occupation of Iraq, at the cost of billions of dollars a day, three American soldier’s lives, many more traumatic injuries to American soldiers, and countless Iraqi lives taken and ruined, not to mention the incalculable loss of goodwill to America and Americans throughout the world; and

A series of Supreme Court decisions that have collectively reduced the rights of individual Americans to seek remedies for and protection from unjust actions by employers, schools, and religious organizations while strengthening the rights of corporations, churches, and the government to limit the freedoms our founders argued and fought – not once, but three times – for.

This is far from a comprehensive list of how Americans have seen our individual and collective independence and freedom eroded over the last year.  And many people have spoken far more eloquently than I can on the individual issues that threaten to tear apart the fabric of our Republic.  That this Administration and its supporters believe themselves to be beyond the rule of law is the single overarching threat to our Republic.  

The failure to abide the rule of law by the Executive Branch has been growing as a threat at least since President Nixon was pardoned for his actions in the Watergate scandal, leaving any number of illegal actions (the bombing of Cambodia, the U.S. role in the Chilean coup d’etat) that were never investigated or prosecuted in the interest of “national healing”.  It reappeared as the Iran-Contra scandals, the Savings and Loan crisis, the investigation of the Bank of Credit and Commerce International (BCCI), and the perjury trap encountered by President Clinton as a result of his consensual sexual relationship with Monica Lewinski.  

This is not the first time in American history where failure to abide the rule of law was seen as a threat to the Republic.  Abraham Lincoln wrote and spoke of the threat in his Address to the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield, Illinois.  In a speech that was meant to address the issue of the perpetuation of the political institutions of the United States, much of what Lincoln spoke concerned his fear of the growing presence of mob rule.

“I know the American people are much attached to their government; I know they would suffer much for its sake; I know they would endure evils long and patiently before they would ever think of exchanging it for another, - yet, notwithstanding all of this, if the laws be continually despised and disregarded, if their rights to be secure in their persons and property are held by no better tenure than the caprice mob, the alienation of their affection from the government is a natural consequence; and to that, sooner or later, it must come.”

I’d argue that this is exactly the sentiment that allowed the Republican Party to convince a majority of Americans to vote for them.  By both advocating “law and order” for the masses and openly disregarding the laws – and their fiduciary responsibility to the country – the Republican Party has brought the nation to the edge of dissolution for a second time.

Addendum, 19 years later.  

I hate being correct.  All of this and worse continued during the remainder of the Bush/Cheney Administration, and with the seditious intent of the not-so-shadowy right-wing conspiracy, visible as the American Legislative Exchange Council, the Heritage Foundation, the Federalist Society, and Leonard Leo’s alt-project, Teneo. 

That’s before the shitshow confluence of grifters, reality TV personalities, celebrities, and ignoramuses and bullies that make up the Executive Branch as constituted in both Trump Administrations arrived.  

The solutions for the problems remain the same. The effort and amount of time required to correct the damage caused will be far greater than had we started the work to fix the systemic issues and address the critical, immediate issues in say 2010.  

Saturday Morning Thoughts, 27 June 2026

Also posted on Threads, Facebook, and Bluesky.

In no particular order, because my brain and body are recovering from a bourbon and peach-fueled evening of cooking and drinking, three evolving thoughts: 

1.  “From each according to their ability, to each according to their needs” in 2026 seems not like some utopian ideal but more as a rubric of how to acknowledge that in a diverse world where there is material abundance, every being deserves an equitable – but not necessarily equal – access to the resources of the community and culture in which they live, and an expectation that in turn, they will contribute to their community’s needs and well-being freely and in good faith.  This concept infuriates individualists and people believing in hierarchical societies; and that is part of its appeal to me. Marx is also far closer to the core belief in community shared by the Abrahamic religions than conservative Christians, Jews, and Muslims who revile communitarian economic and social beliefs are willing to admit. 

2. From a conversation with a dear friend who is a mother and a full-time caregiver to two adult children with disabilities: Being a parent, a child, a partner, a sibling, or a friend is a whole and separate responsibility from being a caregiver.  Every healthy relationship assumes bonds of common interest and physical and emotional benefit and safety.  Not every healthy relationship requires the active attention to the needs of a parent, child, sibling or friend.  We as a culture misunderstand both the nature and challenges of caregiving, and how its demands and needs are both different and greater than those of filial and associative relationships.  (Yes, this is in part about the White House’s efforts to subvert Olmstead v LC, the Supreme Court decision allowing people with disabilities to live independently in circumstances of their choosing.)

3. The cults of celebrity, exceptionalism, and nostalgia for a static, non-existent past and their monetization have eroded or destroyed any number of values, behaviors, and attitudes needed for sustainable and just relationships and communities.  Because we discount and dismiss people who aren’t perceived as important or powerful, we as a culture have prejudiced our systems and support in favor of the wealthy, powerful, and those closes to them, and against those without wealth, power, access, and influence.  As a result, we make poor decisions about both what and how we need to do *everything*. 

Future posts like this may be the beginning of a renaissance of scory, my long-moribund blog. I’ve needed and wanted to write and share my words because of my intellectual vanity and my need attention and affirmation.  There, I said it.  

In the words of Stephen Colbert, won’t you please join me? 

Let’s talk about anxiety and depression, pt. 1

First off, I’ve experienced anxiety and depression all of my life. 

There: that’s my coming out statement. Put the snark away folks. Acknowledging openly a difference/disability is a big deal and is as important as acknowledging a non-heteronormative sexual orientation and/or gender identity. I live with and accommodate both anxiety and depression successfully much of the time; but triggered by events in life – even something positive – I can have debilitating anxiety attacks or major depressive episodes. 

 At sixty, I’m pretty good at knowing what will trigger my anxiety and depression. Having too much to do, and too few resources to do it with is the most common trigger, and the hardest to overcome. I’m living through a prolonged period where I’m experiencing both anxiety and depression in a way that makes life difficult and significantly interferes with both my personal and professional lives. 

 This episode started in 2019. I faced both resource and emotional challenges at work that triggered this episode. For people wondering why I checked out in 2019, this is the answer you were looking for. Very recently, the intensity of the MDD increased dramatically when the amount of work I had to do increased significantly, and I lost people on my team and have been unable to recruit people to replace the ones who aren’t available. That additional work, and my unrealistic belief that I could and should work longer and “better” pushed me past the ability to cope with and accommodate my anxiety and depression. 

 How did I know? The Mayo Clinic’s simple and direct list of symptoms applies: 

• Feelings of sadness, tearfulness, emptiness or hopelessness 

• Angry outbursts, irritability or frustration, even over small matters 

• Loss of interest or pleasure in most or all normal activities, such as sex, hobbies or sports 

• Sleep disturbances, including insomnia or sleeping too much 

• Tiredness and lack of energy, so even small tasks take extra effort 

• Reduced appetite and weight loss or increased cravings for food and weight gain 

• Anxiety, agitation or restlessness 

• Slowed thinking, speaking or body movements 

• Feelings of worthlessness or guilt, fixating on past failures or self-blame 

• Trouble thinking, concentrating, making decisions and remembering things 

• Frequent or recurrent thoughts of death, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts or suicide 

• Unexplained physical problems, such as back pain or headaches.

 In my case, the “unexplained physical problems” are migraine headaches and episodic psoriasis. Neither are pleasant, trust me.  

In short, I stopped taking care of myself and I stopped the activities and practices that help me keep my anxiety and depression under control. When did I know I was depressed, and experiencing an episode of major depressive disorder? Not until very recently: For much of the last two years, I thought I was burnt out. Depression and burnout are good friends; they don’t need to be related, but in my case, I think they are. Burnout and my depression triggers are the same: doing too much, for too long, without energy and time to recover. And the way out from anxiety, depression, and burnout are similar. 

 So here we are. I’ve started taking steps to bring my anxiety and depression under control. They include: 

• Exercising regularly 

• Practicing mindfulness meditation 

• Temporarily stepping away from work for recovery 

• Resuming work, taking care to rebuild positive habits to mitigate anxiety and depression triggers 

• Getting enough sleep – but not too much 

• Eating better • Consulting with my primary care physician and psychologist 

•Engaging with friends and colleagues (and not using them as therapists ) 

• Focusing on small actions that bring me satisfaction 

 I didn’t include medication. I’ve taken anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medications on and off for 30 years. If returning to a pattern of behavior that previously controlled my anxiety and depression doesn’t work, I may well ask for a new prescription. That’s where consulting with my primary care physician and psychologist come it. Managing anxiety and depression isn’t an “alone” activity. It takes a group of people to offer support that help relieve the impact of anxiety and depression. 

As I work to actively manage my anxiety and depression, with you all as partners, you may see me less on social media. On the other hand, hopefully I’ll be in contact with more of you, directly, because real interaction is far better than seeing notifications and red dots appear in your timelines and feeds. Either way: anxiety and depression should not be something we hide. I won’t be hiding any longer.

Post-script:  I drafted this in 2022. It took me four years to sort myself out enough to publish this. Cheers!

Musings

Repeat after me: "Work as if you live in the early days of a better nation". (Thank you, Alaisdair Gray.)

For each of us, this will mean different things. But collectively, our goal should be to build local and national communities that offer justice, opportunity, and freedom to all, regardless of race, gender, religion, class, ability, or any other criteria that has been used to separate and divide us.

The challenge we face *is* daunting. It's clear now that some significant fraction of our fellow humans are happy ceding their agency to authority in many forms, and cannot understand that their choices in fact harm others, and often harm themselves.

There's nothing wrong with practicing conservative politics or religion; but to force others to live with either or both, without consent, is wrong. The same is true on the left -- and this may be the only time I'll acknowledge the equivalence of belief in conservative and liberal values.

We've seen the corrosion of humanist values over the course of the last 40 years. In the last four years, the corrorision has lead to the wholesale destruction of liberal democracy and its replacement with, or the threat of, fascism and authoritarian oligarchy. Men who have no business leading anything, let alone a nation-state, threaten to rule by fiat and not the with the consent and will of the people.

In the United States we are 79 days away from the most consequential national election the United States has ever undertaken. As I type this, the President and his claque continue to deploy tactics to intimidate voters and suppress voting turnout. There are active clashes between fascist and radical right-wing groups who are armed, violent and advocate sedition, and many other groups across the political spectrum who are (mostly) peaceful and largely non-violent and unarmed. In many cases, local law enforcement support the fascist and radical right -wing groups. This has to change; and only by imagining and working towards and for a better future can we see the end of this rot on civil society. Try and do something every day to help change the world and make a new, better community, town, city, state, nation, and world.

Working on it

I've been a moribund blogger, potter, and just about everything for most of the last year.  I allowed work to eat my life -- which is neither desirable, sustainable, or pleasant.  But I'm resolved to change.

So as a first step, I'm returning to the potter's wheel, at a new studio.  I want to build on the work I'd started, examples of which are below.  Because: Scott, I have goals and projects:

Goals

Throw taller 

Throw thinner

Throw shapes with more volume

Develop the dark clay/light clay/rough texture/smooth texture balance 

Sgraffito work

Work with porcelain

Learn additional covered vessel techniques

Projects

Four mug shapes and sizes

Develop two existing bottle shapes

Develop two existing bowl shapes

Learn a large volume bottle shape

Create a French butter dish

Develop existing teapot design

Create new tall teapot design

You can see what I've already made.  I hope what comes will be better still.

Random thoughts from 37,000 feet over Nevada

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I haven’t written a blog post in a very long time.  It’s not that I’ve nothing to write about – far from it – but I’ve very few moments where I have both the energy and inclination to write about our lives, our activities, music, politics, et.c.

Part of that may be the result of Facebook, Twitter, and other forms of social media.  I’ll confess to be engaged – perhaps too engaged – by them.  And while there is satisfaction from the bon mots and instant response of Facebook and other media, the deep satisfaction of writing, and editing, and posting, and going back and reading is lost. 

Part of it is my work is different.  I was lucky enough to be offered the opportunity to serve as the Chief Information Officer for the Administration for Community Living.  To say that it’s changed my life is an understatement.  The demands of the work are completely different that anything I’ve ever done before, both in terms of the scope of the work, and what’s expected of the team I work with, and of me.  Most of the time, it feels like I’ve put on an exquisitely tailored suit that fits me perfectly, and that I wear with pride.  Once in a while, I feel like a complete imposter. 

And while my personal blog was and is deeply satisfying as a creative outlet and personal expression, the creative impulse I’ve always had gets satisfied both from my professional work, as well as other outlets – our work in clay, our house and garden, our animal companions, and the ever deepening relationship with my partner and love of my life, Graham. 

I spent the first part of this trip from Washington, DC to Los Angeles working and sleeping.  It’s only been in the last hour that I’ve stolen a few moments and the last of my laptop’s battery to write this.  As it is, we’re descending into the LA basin.  I’m facing getting off a delightful and uneventful flight, and jumping into the rugby scrum of a work lunch, getting a hair cut and manicure, navigating a bed and breakfast check in, picking up Nancy Workman, going to a cocktail party at Michael Bruce Abelson’s house, and reuniting with Occidental College classmates, some of whom I haven’t seen in 30 year, and spending the weekend in LA.  Honestly, it’s a little terrifying and a little satisfying.  And at the end of it, I may have one or two more things to say. 

Not the only one

John Boehner may be the worst Speaker of the House of Representatives ever to serve.  I'm not the only one who thinks so:  http://capitalgainsandgames.com/blog/stan-collender/2749/cliffgate-will-be-boehners-waterloo.

I've made the comment that if Boehner choose to act rationally, and allow a clean CR and debt limit bill to the floor for a vote, the measure will pass with a majority of Democratic and Republican Representatives voting for the measure.  Boehner will immediately be challenged as Speaker by one or more members of the Tea Party faction of the Republican Party.  He cannot receive a majority of the votes required for him to remain speaker.  He will be replaced, although it's far from clear who will succeed him, and if it will be a Republican or a Democrat.

If Boehner brings measures to the floor with Tea Party inserted "poison pills" for votes, they will not pass the Senate nor be signed by the White House.  The United State Government will remain shut, and the country will default on all or part of its debt.  Boehner will lose the Speaker's chair, and be largely responsible for the default of the United States and all of its intended and unintended consequence. 

With the first, he maintains a tiny modicum of respect and capability; with the second, he becomes one of the most reviled figures in American history and politics.  Should be a pretty simple choice.

Enough with the false equivalence!

So after listening to the "good" news all morning that the Democrats and Republicans are reaching compromise on both a budget and a debt limit increase, let me point out this: The FY 2014 Budget was proposed by President Obama in February. There were *seven months* to work out details about what should and should not have been funded. The Democratic-controlled Senate presented all the FY 2014 appropriations bills to the House in a timely manor. The chair of the House Appropriations Committee, Paul Ryan, obstructed every effort to have them considered. That, by the way, is when and where spending priorities, including defunding (and de-authorizing) programs is supposed to take place. Apparently Congressmen Boehner and Ryan never learned from "I'm a Bill."

The Republican leadership of the House of Representatives have failed at the *one thing* they are supposed to do. I'm disgusted that the media, and collectively, all of us, continue to allow them to fail. And no, the blame does not belong on "both side" of the aisle. Enough with the false equivalence.

Extortion is extortion. It's a criminal activity. So is conspiracy. Let's call out the conspirators and perpretrators, and both prosecute and work to make sure they loose their elected positions.

Regular broadcasts will resume in the near future

It's been almost a year since I last wrote for the blog.  Unlike Joan Didion or Nancy Stearns Bercaw, I created no "Year of Magical Thinking" or "Brain in a Jar: A Daughter's Journey through her Father's Memory."  I did make some good bowls and bottles.  I found a new job.  We completed the first year of puppy parenthood.  And more than anything else, both Graham and I are building the new normal.  More will follow. 

Grief Roller Coaster

There's a Zen koan:  when doing hard practice, expect the weird.

And then there's this:  When you meet the Master in the road, he will hit you in the mouth with a stick.

Both of these apply to my grief.

A short chronicle of what I've experienced to date:  Rage.  Anxiety.  Fatigue.  Nausea.  Fear.  Mania. 

I thought that Virginia's death would be an end.   I thought the grieving that we'd experienced in the last three years of her life, of the constant sense of losing pieces of what made Virginia and the pain that loss caused me would dissipate.  I was wrong.

The grief has begun to manifest itself in ways I never expected.  I've known depression and anxiety before -- hell, I've been treated for them.  Grief is different.  Grief comes to you at the moments you least expect it, and slaps you in the face.  Grief hides like a cat under the bed, and springs out and sets his claws in your leg, regardless of whether you've done anything to provoke him.  Grief hijacks your birthday, and reduces you to tears when you realize the one phone call and birthday card that followed you all your life to this moment won't be coming this year. 

Intellectually and emotionally, I know that doing anything to numb the grieving process is counterproductive.  And my grief isn't absolutely debilitating: I get up, get daily activities under way, experience the joy of walking the dog and sharing coffee with Graham -- life is beginning to go on. 

But I'm stymied by other, simple things.  And complicated issues that require real thought and persistence terrify me, and drive me literally to seek distraction. 

I know this will pass.  But while it's here with me, grief is the new normal.  And friends, it sucks big time.

Excitement in the neighborhood

For the record:  No answer from PEPCO, and busy signal from District 911. 

The Princess

On her way home

My name is Bootsy Collie, baby

 The cute, it burns!

Last Words

My comments at VJC's funeral Mass and memorial service.  I think they're worth sharing.

Thank you all for attending Virginia’s funeral Mass, and for your love, prayers and support for us and for each other as we today commend her to God.

My mother was an extraordinary woman. She was complicated. She was compassionate. She was demanding – of herself and of all of us. She was broken. She healed and was herself healed. She taught and she learned. She gave us all many gifts of herself – for which we are deeply grateful.

I’ll share three stories from our life that for me capture Virginia’s spirit and being.

In 1977, the Oregon Health Sciences University School of Nursing received their first computers. No one –faculty, staff, or students – knew what to do with them. I’d been taking programming classes at OMSI for some time, so I was drafted to help set up the two computers and find ways for students to use them – which I was able to do, thanks in part to watching Virginia prepare for and teach her students. After I’d set up the computers, I asked my mother if she’d like to learn to use them. She looked at me with a certain contempt and steely resolve: “No Scott. What on earth could a machine do to help me or my nursing students take care of patients better?”

Well.

That look, and her tone said a lot, as did the words. I’m sure that some of you will agree, 35 years later, that Virginia was at least in part correct.

One thing about Virginia that many of you may not know was her love of speed. She loved moving quickly – running, swimming and skiing when she was younger, walking and driving when she was older. In 1985, she bought a new car – a maroon Saab 900 – and we were driving to San Francisco to visit her sister. Driving down Interstate 5, just past the California boarder, Mom turned to me and said, “Let’s see how fast the car will go.”

Cat, Catnip. I pushed the pedal to the floor. The car accelerated and soon we were traveling over 100 mph. The stereo was playing Ella Fitzgerald and Andre Previn performing Gershwin. Not surprisingly, we soon saw flashing lights in the rear view mirror. We pulled over, and the California Highway Patrol officer walked up to the car. I rolled down the driver’s side window, and spoke to the officer.

Officer: “Hello. Did you know how fast you were going?”

Scott: “Officer, I believe we were going about 110 miles per hour.”

Virginia – leaning across me to speak to the officer, with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye: “Officer, I asked my son to see how fast the car would go.”

Officer – trying to contain his laughter: “Ma’am, I see. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

We received a $25 ticket for exceeding the 55 mile per hour speed limit. We immediately paid it at the Shasta County Courthouse, and continued to San Francisco driving no more than 60 miles per hour.

But Virginia knew how fast her car could go.

One other moment to share: My mother’s body was truly a broken vessel – she had broken her neck, she was a cancer survivor, she had osteoarthritis, and had multiple surgeries and joint replacements – but she wasn’t about to let any of that stop her. Until very late in her life, she kept up a schedule of activities that would make many younger people – including me – exhausted.

Mom loved Mt. Hood and Timberline Lodge, and spent many hours in the lodge while I was skiing as a child. My partner Graham and I were visiting her five years ago, and had planned a trip to visit Timberline Lodge with her – knowing that it was far from the most friendly place for someone with significant limitations in mobility. After arriving there, Virginia was bound and determined to revisit most of the places that she knew and loved from long ago. And she did – ascending and descending stairs that we thought would stop her.

When we asked her how she was able to do all that she did without assistance, she said with a twinkle in her eye, a smile, and a hint of the pain she was undoubtedly experiencing: “Oh, I save up my energy for those things that are really special.”

And again: Well.

While we have lost Virginia’s physical presence, her spirit and her indomitable energy will always be with us. We owe it to her to find and express our spirit and our energy, and to teach our families and students and colleagues how to be so engaged, and so part of the world as was Virginia Jean Cory.

Going Home

Home is moving with the motion of Delta Flight 1664, as Graham and I are respectively in Seats 6 and 5 D. We’re somewhere over Michigan, and Aimee Mann’s “I’m with Stupid” is entertaining me as I write this. Tick Tock bin Trouble will need to wait one more day for his human companions to get home.

Virginia died eight days ago. In the last nine days Graham and I have: organized and endured traveling across country; dealt with the disposition of Virginia’s body and remaining personal effects; planned and announced not one funeral but a funeral Mass and a memorial service; learned the difference between a funeral Mass, a funeral Mass with Rosary, a funeral Mass with Eucharist, a memorial service, and random remembrances of the dead; made endless phone calls to people I hadn’t spoken to in years, if ever; fought with the funeral home and the funeral director; ate absurdly good food at some of Portland’s finest restaurants; used Facebook to inform the world of my mother’s life and death; broken a quarantine of my mother’s community to have a punk rock memorial service lead by an 83 year old Benedictine priest; greeted and consoled more than a hundred mourners; visited Mt. Hood and Hood River; and occasionally slept.
 
I’m confident that none of the above can be described as grieving.

There’s more to do closing out the details of Virginia’s life. There’s a life of our own to resume – reboot, even – as my mother’s increasing infirmity over the last three years had by the end of her life all but consumed our lives.

I know that’s not grieving, either.

Virginia said that her death would allow her to go home. There’s still work for me to do to accept that she’s gone home, and to reorganize life so it can support our home – which is wherever we are.

“She died peacefully in her sleep.”

I’ve imagined hearing those words for a long time about my mother. I’ve wanted to hear those words. Frankly, anyone who loves a friend or family member or spouse should want to hear those words.

I woke up to those words this morning. Racing against my mother’s failing strength and will, the cumulative delays of travel kept me from reaching her side before she died.

I have no remorse, guilt, or regret at not being at her side when VJC died. For the last five years, we’ve agreed that every time we said good-bye might well be the last time we would see each other. Living in where we did, with lives that we loved, meant that it would take extraordinary luck to be in the same place at the moment of her death. Having said good-bye last Thursday, and spoken on Sunday afternoon, there was no sense of anything left unsaid by either of us. We touched, we connected, we parted physically, but never emotionally or spiritually.

For every time my mother asked and cadged at moving from Oregon to Washington, DC to be closer to Graham and me (and the prompts were frequent, unrealistic, and not intended to produce any result but more frequent visits to her), fear of being alone at the moment of her death was not ever discussed or hinted at as a reason to move closer. Both Virginia and I knew that regardless of the cause, her natural death was likely to happen quietly and without us being present.

Virginia’s death happened as we both thought it would: it was quiet, peaceful, and painless.

Given her dementia and lung cancer, a quiet, peaceful, and painless death could not be guaranteed. I’m grateful to the medical and social support team from Silverton Hospital, Willamette Valley Hospice, and Mt. Angel Towers who worked with both Virginia and me – and with whom Virginia occasionally crossed swords – and who made the last six months of my mother’s life as safe, secure, and satisfying as possible. Their effort and compassion and skill allowed me to keep living as my mother was dying.

My grieving began in February, and felt strained and extended as I previously wrote. With my mother’s death, I can now grieve in earnest, knowing she is at rest and at peace. And I will grieve, but at the same time am truly grateful that my mother is at rest and peace, on her terms, surrounded by spirits of friends and family who have preceded her in death.

Rest in peace, Virginia Jean Kuehner Fusick Cory.

June 7th, 1923 – August 15th, 2012.

The price of grief

Virginia Jean Kuehner Cory has been dying for a while, now. We all are dying, but the imminence of death differs for each human and living creature. In my mother’s case, the sense that death is close first became manifest last year. Somehow, somehow, the sense that living mattered disappeared from her, and she shifted from grasping life – mind you, with limitations – to existing. When a trip to Silverton Hospital in February 2012 lead to a diagnosis of stage four lung cancer and post-ischematic dementia, it confirmed the sense that Virginia’s dance through life was to end, and end soon.

But this isn’t about her. This is about me, and how my mother’s impending death costs me, and how it affects the way I see the world.

Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross brought grief as a process to us in “On Death and Dying.” I grew up with that book, knowing that as an only child I would have to face the deaths of my parents at some point, and that loss would be incredibly painful. My father’s death was unexpected, unfortunate, and untimely, but was also fairly conventional in its course and duration. Grief presented itself, I endured it, and it passed, with much of what passes for “normalcy” in the processes of grieving.

My experience with my mother has been entirely other. It’s far from unique – I’ve heard from friends and colleague of similar stories with their parents and grandparents. I’ve watched and walked with other friends through similar grieving with their friends and parents.

What makes this long grieving hard is that you’re constantly giving – giving one’s time, routine, and hope. There are small and great comforts along the way. For me, it’s been seeing Virginia happy when we’re together on drives in the country and walks around the grounds of Mt. Angel Towers.

At the same time, the loss of other things we’ve shared – talking about politics and society, enjoying art, books, food, and music together, and causing all sorts of trouble – feels like a void for me. I know my mother is now beyond those things. And in a real sense, I’m grateful that she is beyond them, as being aware and perceptive enough to engage at that level would mean she is equally aware of her disease, and the diminution of her life and body.

But there’s a part of me that longs for being able to call her and hear her rant on the sordid spectacle of modern United States politics, or complain about how nursing as a profession has been ruined by the use of computers. I want to get in a car with her and go to the downtown Portland Nordstrom’s, shop for shoes and clothes, and go to lunch afterward. I want her to complain that I’m driving too fast.

One of Virginia’s friends recently told me that my mother was at peace, and was much happier as her dementia and cancer progressed. Which is fine, except that I’m most decidedly not at peace with the loss of the woman and mother that I know and love.

The price of this grieving – this constant giving up – is that there isn’t anything to replace what’s lost, at least in the short term. The small and large kindnesses and grace that I’ve encountered can’t fill the growing void that the cumulative loss creates. Yes, the balm of love and thoughts and prayers help – but they’re a balm, allowing me to keep going without ultimately healing.

What may be the highest price is that I’ve stopped growing, and stopped moving forward. I’m desperate not to get pulled into the growing void, and must keep running not to fall in – even when I have not energy to do so.

Virginia Jean Kuehner Cory News

Dear Friends and Family,

You may not have heard from Virginia Cory for some time – and knowing my mother’s love of connection and correspondence, that would be of concern to all of you. I can offer a simple explanation of a long and too-familiar story.

Virginia was diagnosed in late February 2012 with late stage lung cancer and moderate dementia after a series of falls and trips to the emergency room. The last several months have seen her move within her Mt. Angel Towers community from independent to assisted living, and to begin hospice care to provide her comfort and assistance as she faces the challenges of the progression of both cancer and dementia.

 In consultation with her care team, including her hospice advocates from Willamette Valley Hospice, I wanted to let you all know that Virginia is doing well, continues her daily routine of attending Mass and participating in some of the many activities of Mt. Angel Towers, and is reasonably comfortable.

Virginia’s dementia slowly manifested its effects to us. Like many older adults who maintain active lives well into their 80s, Virginia bridged her cognitive gaps with a structured daily regimen that allowed her to continue her daily activities with few signs of the extent of her cognitive impairment.

However, beginning in 2009, Virginia began to loose the ability to respond to new situations, including responding to correspondence. I was able to help her with some of the issues, including managing her finances and medical care remotely with the assistance of her health care team and effective powers of attorney. Her impairment progressed to the point that Virginia could no longer interact with her health care team without my assistance – and we all had to find ways to accommodate her changing cognitive profile.

What I couldn’t help was with the day-to-day communications and interactions with you. I’ve only recently become aware of how profound her limits are with regard to responding to written correspondence.

You may wish to contact Virginia, and I encourage you to do so – nothing makes her happier than to connect with the people with whom she shared so much. But I want to offer a few suggestions and cautions.

 Please understand that receiving, comprehending, and responding to written correspondence is very challenging for Virginia; her short-term memory loss doesn’t allow her to process and act on cards and letters she receives from her friends and family. While she enjoys receiving cards, please don’t expect a written response.

She can receive telephone calls, and is happy chatting with people; however, she may need your assistance and patience with helping her to remember who you are and your relationship with her.

Virginia loves to see people who she knows, and can receive visitors in her room at the Health Center of Mt. Angel Towers. If you happen to be near Silverton or Mt. Angel, please feel free to stop by and say hello. Again, she may need you to help remind her of your relationship, and may have gaps in her memory of your shared experiences.

I will be posting periodic updates on Virginia’s health both on my personal blog (scory.blogspot.com) and on my Facebook page (facebook.com/scott.cory).

Thanks to all for the love and compassion and experiences you’ve shared with Virginia (and me) through many years.

Random thoughts above North America, 9 June 2012 Edition

The last four months have brought new meaning to “overload.”

Working to maintain a parent’s dignity as they face physical and cognitive crises at the end of life isn’t something you’re taught how to do. And you either do it, or you don’t.

When that challenge is combined with a work environment which is every bit as venal and guileful as a Borgia or Medici palazzo, there really isn’t much more you can do but work like hell through the week and curl up and cocoon on the weekends.

Pottery and gardening help, too, as do good Rhône reds.

Whatever glamour remained in air travel has been evaporated and remains like the thin crust found in a dried-out perfume bottle.

Bumping, shaking, and shuddering at more than 450 miles per hour through cumulonimbus clouds more than 40,000 feet tall is no way to spend a June afternoon. The ominous squeaking from some part of the cabin doesn’t help, either.

Mark Eitzel’s “60 Watt Silver Lining” may well be my favorite album from the 1990s. “Track me down and I’ll give you /my pomegranate heart” is just one of the images that sticks with me. Not to mention production values that rival Steely Dan’s “Aja” and stunning performances by Eitzel, Vudi, and Mark Isham.

 The tomatoes have already bloomed and set fruit at home. And there will be lots more before frost stops the harvest.

 I’m so disgusted by the politics of this electoral cycle that I can’t bear to listen to or watch the news. The foreign press, and a limited segment of the blogosphere are the only sources I can rely on without causing nausea or threatening damage to the physical object producing the sound or image.

Thinking about discussions of exsanguinations due to aortic rupture is disconcerting to say the least. When the discussion is about someone you love, it’s even more disconcerting. When the discussion leads to purchase of supplies to cope with said possible exsanguinations, it’s neither disconcerting, macabre, or terrifying, but instead is practical.

How many more of these cross-country sprints will we make before VJC dances off this mortal coil?

Gnome Water

The perfect spring drink, other than lavender infused vodka lemonade.

1 1/2 ounces Hendrick’s Gin
1/2 ounce Cointreau
1ounce cucumber juice
1ounce fresh lime and lemon juice
1 tablespoon lavender syrup
Soda water

Pour first five ingredients into a cocktail shaker, give a quick roll, then pour into an ice-filled Collins glass. Top with soda water.