My Conkeydoodle

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My Conkeydoodle 

I’ve had many loving family relationships,  and one of them was with Conkeydoodle.   (See Call Me by Their Names)

Conkeydoodle’s father Jack and my father Arthur were first cousins,  so I guess that made me and Conkey second cousins – or maybe first cousins once removed,  we never could quite figure that out.  But Conkey was 11 years my senior and had been my babysitter at times,  and so actually she felt more like a big sister to me.

Of course her name wasn’t really Conkeydoodle but Esther,  and we’d laugh over the fact that neither of us could remember how I gave her that nickname in the first place.   But it stuck and over the years she remained  “my Conkeydoodle”,  and she always signed cards and letters,   and later emails to me as “Conkey”.

But when she started college,  then went to grad school in Massachusetts,  and then married Ed and settled in California,  we saw each other seldom.   But when their daughter Anya came east to Columbia’s journalism school,  and was living in Brooklyn for a few years,  Conkey and Ed visited New York often and we saw them whenever we could.   And over the years we visited them in their beautiful house in Berkeley and celebrated with them there at Anya’s wedding.

Conkey was a therapist and I’m sure was an excellent one –  she was gentle,  wise and empathetic.

Then one day Conkey called with the awful news she’d been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis.  I flew out to see her and spent an afternoon at her bedside,  her devoted dog Ziggy lying on the quilt at her feet.

Soon after I got back to New York we got the tragic news that my cousin had died leaving those of us who loved her bereft.

And now my beloved Conkeydoodle,  your memory will forever be a blessing.

Danny,  Conkey,  Me and Ed  / Berkeley, CA 2013

– Dana Susan Lehrman

Guardian

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Guardian 

I never thought we’d lose touch or become estranged from good friends,   but sadly it happened.   (See The Gs and Malcolm) 

But it seemed inconceivable that in our own family there’d be an estrangement,  but tragically that happened as well.

In the early 1990s my sister Laurie married Andy,  and at the time they seemed a good match – both were post-docs working at the National Institute of Health in Rockville,  Maryland.

We lived in different states and we didn’t see them very often,  but when we did we found Andy a bit strange,  and as time went by we became aware of his dismissive manner and short fuse.

But my sister seemed happy and so I tried not to dwell on my growing unease when around Andy.   And when my nephew Michael was born Laurie and Andy seemed very happy,  and the family rejoiced.   But tragically at age two Michael was diagnosed with autism.

The family rallied with advice and recommendations for professionals who could help,  and offers of our time and energy,  even financial help to pay for special services.   But Andy spurned all our suggestions and offers of help.    Luckily they lived in a county that had a good special needs program in the public schools so at least Michael had that advantage.

Then the double whammy –  my sister was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis,  her health spiraled down rapidly,  and soon she could no longer work.  And then rather than showing gratitude for our offers of further help and support,  Andy made it clear they were unwelcome.

Then Andy himself had a heart attack,  was hospitalized,  and my sister – by then completely helpless and bedridden –  was taken to the hospital by Adult Protective Services.   With her husband temporarily incapacitated I was able to stand as her medical surrogate.  Then I applied to the court to be appointed as her legal guardian,  and at the trial the judge ruled that Andy’s misguided decision to keep her at home and “treat” her himself was actually an act of negligence bordering on abuse. The court granted me Laurie’s guardianship.

When she was stable enough to leave the hospital we moved her to a wonderful nursing home where for the last two years of her life she was under the care of a competent medical staff and eventually a compassionate hospice team.  (See Take Care of Your Sister and Look for the Helpers – for Laurie)

Since Laurie’s death we visit my nephew Michael in Rockville as often as we can.   He now lives in a wonderfully run group home for special needs adults where he is thriving.

The last time I saw my brother-in-law Andy however was at my sister’s funeral,  and I chose never to see him again.

Laurie

– Dana Susan Lehrman

Meditation? You Mean Sitting There Like a Pretzel, Not Thinking About My To-Do List?

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Meditation. It’s all the rage these days, like kale chips and adult coloring books. Everyone’s hopping on the bandwagon, chanting “om” and levitating off the floor… or at least that’s what the Instagram influencers want you to believe. But for the rest of us, busy bees drowning in a never-ending to-do list, meditation sounds about as appealing as voluntarily getting stuck in rush hour traffic.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for inner peace and achieving or listening to Nirvana… as long as Nirvana involves a comfortable couch, a giant vat of cheesy dip, and the latest remake of Shogun. Because let’s be honest, our minds are like overstuffed gym lockers. There’s that work email you forgot to send bouncing around next to the grocery list you haven’t made, all tangled up with yesterday’s argument about how or even whether to fold the fitted sheet (fight me on this one).

Meditation is supposed to help you clear all that junk out, but let’s be real. The second you close your eyes and try to think of nothing, your brain throws a mental rave. Suddenly, you remember that embarrassing thing you did in high school, that time you accidentally called your boss “mom,” and the personal dread that you’ll never fold a fitted sheet correctly creeps in. It’s like your brain is a mischievous toddler, gleefully making sure you achieve absolutely no zen whatsoever.

Plus, sitting perfectly still for extended periods? Forget about it. My body contorts into more awkward positions than a yogurt pretzel dipped in rigor mortis. My leg falls asleep, my back aches, and all I can think about is how much I need a massage (and maybe a nap… in a vat of onion dip).

Now, some folks swear by meditation. They say it reduces stress, improves focus, and unlocks the secrets of the universe. Maybe. But for the rest of us, there are other ways to achieve a semblance of inner calm. Here are some alternatives, Kevin style:

Retail Therapy: Nothing clears the mind like a good shopping spree. Retail therapy isn’t just about buying things you don’t need (although, that pretty scarf does look divine), it’s about the act of browsing and the endorphin rush of a potential purchase. Just pace yourself and avoid the clearance rack; that’s a whole other level of stress.

 

Rage Cleaning: Sometimes, the most mindful activity is a good, old-fashioned cleaning rampage. Blast some angry rock n’ roll music, grab some disinfectant wipes, and channel your inner warrior on that dust bunny infestation. You’ll be amazed at how much better you feel after scrubbing the negativity away (and maybe finding some lost socks in the process).

 

Carb Loading: Let’s face it, happiness is often a giant plate of pasta. Indulging in your favorite comfort food can be a form of meditation, a celebration of the simple pleasures in life. Just remember, portion control is still a thing (or at least tell yourself that after the third helping).

Look, meditation might be the key to enlightenment for some for sure but for the rest of us, there are other perfectly valid paths to inner peace. So, ditch the uncomfortable silence and embrace your own brand of zen. After all, a little retail therapy and a giant plate of pasta never hurt anyone (except maybe your credit card balance).

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