Shame and Embarrassment

Harry and I are involved in a lawsuit over work that we did for another couple who promised us a percentage of ownership of a motel they were purchasing. The benefit for the other couple was that in order for them to obtain financing, they needed someone to be involved who had hotel experience and Harry, indeed, found them the loan. In addition, we helped them get a business up and running and were supposed to work on an ongoing basis to get the property up to snuff. But, as I have written in a previous blog, once we had done the work, they reneged on the deal.

This lawsuit has taken over a year and a half and is starting to get close to being brought to trial. I have already been deposed, and the remaining three depositions will occur this week.

In addition, the other couple's attorney is starting to prod and pry into our business affairs and sought court permission to look over our motel loan and how we have been paying it. Is it on time, late, in default, etc. The court approved a part of their request and I was immediately overwhelmed with a sense of, what? Embarrassment, shame, guilt? I wasn't sure. I worried whether I had been late on a payment. Would the jury think I was trying to squeeze money out of this couple to manage my own finances. When I presented my ire at their request, Harry scoffed and said, who cares? Let them dig as much as they want. They are just wasting time on their attorney's fees.

The defendants' attorneys also asked the court to force me to answer questions that I would not answer at the deposition and that my attorney intervened on in my behalf. I did not want to mention names of persons who had commented on how difficult and dishonest these people were in the business world. I felt I would jeopardize the persons who had made the comments. And I felt anxious, distressed and ashamed. I questioned whether I was doing the right thing by bringing on this suit.

I actually had to force myself to remember how infuriated, and angry I had been over how shabbily this couple had treated us. I could not understand why I would not feel that I deserved what they had verbally promised and why I would hesitate in any way to demand reimbursement for my efforts. I needed to picture their website depicting their motel rooms with the very same furniture I had used originally in our property. I had to recount how many vendors and how much privileged information I had shared on how to make their property successful. I had to review the hours of work and emails and contacts I had made on behalf of this couple. Why would I feel embarrassed that they could see what my loan was and my payment history? Would a jury see that this couple had more money than us and judge that we were trying to milk them?

When their attorney asked me to define my skills and why I felt I was worth what I was demanding in the lawsuit, I again, felt flustered and doubted what my skills were worth. He picked apart my experience and my education. Later, I had to remind myself that I had more accumulative education than he did, so why was he intimidating me? That I had learned to successfully operate a motel which was consistently rated highly on travel review sites and that this couple had not succeeded in that way. Why did I need to defer in my thinking to Harry being the commanding force in this equation when indeed, I had actually spend more time on preparing for their property to open under their management.

This is of course, not the first time I have experienced these feelings. Harry has often commented that my biggest fear is embarrassment. That being said, why would I be attracted to, and marry, a man who has absolutely no sense of that emotion! Maybe the truth is that opposites really do attract. Maybe Harry's strong ego and sense of security about himself is what I want to emulate. Because over the past 25 years, this man's actions have definitely embarrassed me on many an occasion. Just last week he was speaking to Asian vendor at an orchid show and he said "welcome to our country." The man said, this is my country. Oops. Or when someone "looks" Hispanic, he starts speaking Spanish to them. Half of the time they don't know what he is saying because they do not speak Spanish. Oh well. Fortunately, I have learned to walk away from any potentially embarrassing situation. As for shame, well I have lived a life that has had a serious amount of turmoil in light of my own standards and shame follows me regarding that.

But why the embarrassment and the shame? Should I attribute it to my mother who had high standards for my performance and behaviour? I may be looking for excuses and wanting to heap my own deficiencies on a parent as most children eventually do. But I think as my mother was pushing me forward, it was heard as disappointment. And somehow, that disappointment gets turned into "I am not good enough and do not deserve better." And even more so, it gets turned in to a disappointment in one's own self. Which means that a parent who sets a very high example of behaviour also sets a child up to feel unable to achieve and consequently feel a lifetime of shame and embarrassment? It doesn't make sense. Who can perform that perfect balance of parenting that allows a child to feel no shame and yet encourages a child to succeed without feeling guilt when they do not.

Sea Dell Nursing Home

We have added a new service to our motel - care of the aged. Last night, the Marathon police called Harry around 2 AM looking for a room for a couple in their 90's who had apparently been found driving aimlessly around town in a confused state. They had gotten lost and driven about 4 hours from their home in Florida, and ended up down in the middle of the Keys before they got some assistance from one of our police force. They had no money, no credit cards and the cop put the room on his debit card until the couple's son could be located. This morning, the woman, who was pretty confused, asked Lacey, our manager, if she was in jail. And, she wanted to know when breakfast was served! Lacey, who is a sweetheart, ran out and got them some food and turned off their A/C as they were freezing at 78 degrees and bundled them up with extra blankets. Then she checked in on them all morning despite the fact that she was on "running" mode all morning. The son arrived and took them away and the policeman even stopped by to check on them. This is living in a small town. People really take care of one another.

I love these kinds of motel episodes. But I have to wonder about the driving capabilities of someone in his 90's who is lost and keeps driving for 4 hours looking for his home. Thank you Marathon police force who are there in seconds whenever we need you, and thank you Lacey who has a heart of gold and a smile to go with it.

Mothers Honored

The only time that I really remember wishing I were a boy, was when I was watching my brother and his friends play little league baseball during summer evenings when I was a young girl. The field was surrounded by woods, yet when I had to pee, instead of having the simplicity of nature that boys had, I had to trek to the nearest lavatories. Later, as an adult, when asked on an MMPI that I took for fun when I was a psych nurse, I answered the question asking if I had ever wished I were male with a "yes" and that put a red flag as to gender identity issues. Dumb test. Who wouldn't rather pee on a tree than over some disgusting filled up smelly latrine!

Had I been a male, I would have missed the single most amazing and breathtaking experience of my life - giving birth. Having wanted a child, and then experiencing three years of infertility accompanied by the most humiliating, uncomfortable and anxiety producing medical procedures and tests and laparoscopies and such, caused a heightened joy when I finally conceived. I remember learning I was pregnant, and calling my mother and father who were out of town on a trip. My mother's first response was to yell "praise the Lord." That evening, we went out to celebrate and I remember suddenly feeling panicky and terrified. I was not sure whether if was fear of loss or fear of hurling along on a journey that I could not stop. The fear didn't last. Pregnancy is indescribable. I wish it were not so hard to recall how it physically feels. Lying on the couch reading a book and seeing a little foot or elbow roll across your protruding belly is so amazing. Feeling a life growing inside, and moving, is a sensation unlike any other. I was struck by the baseness of it all. Procreation seems like a blip in evolution. We are not so far from our animal friends. They give birth, nurse and nurture much as humans. It makes me think how little we know about the universe and how we are just step on a hierarchy that we cannot fathom.

My relationship with my mother was complicated. Part of that, after years of reflection, was based on my rebelliousness and placement in the family (second child). After all, my oldest sister once told me that she was the oldest, Mary Beth was the youngest, Tom was the only boy - so I was nothing! Obviously that left me needing to make some noise to be noticed.

But, when I contemplate the job that my mother did, I realize that I was blessed with being born into a family with a mother who taught me the fundamentals to allow me to be a rational, and hopefully, a basically good mother myself. I was taught right and wrong. I was taught to be self sufficient. I was taught to be nurturing. I was taught to be responsible. So, even if my mother did not lavish constant praise and acceptance which I would have languished in (and probably have grown up petulant and narcissistic), perhaps she did provide the constancy, reliability and dependability I needed. She was there when we needed. When we walked home from school at lunchtime, she was there with a hot lunch. She attended the school functions. She was at every activity we were engaged in. She sewed clothes for us. She cooked, cleaned and provided a comfortable home to grow up in. She didn't have a car and the freedom to run that we have now. She was a 50's mom, just like Harriet Nelson and until her youngest was in school, she was at home with us and available. And, she could be fun. She would pack up a picnic at the drop of a hat and off to the park we would go. She would make us laugh. I remember her heavy with a pregnant belly with my younger sister and singing and dancing a song called "I'm a Red Hot Mama." And, she was Red Hot. She had red hair. Fantastic, auburn hair. And a twin, with red hair. And, they were a formidable duo. So, not only did I have a mom, I had an aunt who was a back up.

One of my favorite memories of my mother is so simple. Going "downtown" in Youngstown, Ohio, was wonderful as a child because it meant having my mother all to myself. I remember being dressed up, and holding my mother's hand as we navigated the streets of downtown which seemed so large and exciting. We would always have a chocolate malt in the basement of McKelvey's department store. Oh, that was a treat, served in small glasses and eaten with a little spoon. The excursion was special, because I could be alone with my mother and have all of her attention.

I remember the annual "Mother's Day" luncheons at our church. The event was special, even though, in retrospect, it was held in the church's sterile recreation hall, but dressing up and having decorations, entertainment, little favors and a luncheon and punch was special. Mother's Day meant making up cards with sentiments that matched the letter's in the title. I wonder what I wrote? M - mother, O - omnipotent, T - tender, H - heroine, E - energetic, R - red head??? Who knows. And how many of us planted some seeds in a Dixie cup at school and took home a straggly marigold? My youngest, Sam, gave me one that grew into a 3 foot flower that I treasured.

I could go on and on with memories. But the essence is simple. That being a mother is special. And having a mother is special. There is a bond and understanding that is shared by all mothers. Tomorrow I will journey north to Ft. Lauderdale to meet with one of my dearest friends, her daughter and her daughter's friend and mother for a Mother's Day luncheon somewhere on the beach. We will be basking in the glow of that bond. And I wish all of the women I know who share this bond with me, the best and most joyous Mother's Day.

You Know You are Drunk When...

I worked the desk at the Sea Dell today. One of the first people in the door was a very disheveled man who had that odor people have when they drink too much and the alcohol metabolizes right through the pores.

He threw a key on a fob on the desk and asked if it belonged to our property. It didn't. He had been driving around in a taxi trying to figure out where he had rented a room last night. He had no receipt and just knew it was "around here somewhere." Being a resort town, good luck.

He was annoyed that I wouldn't find out where it came from. I will help a guest plan excursions, find a restaurant, even call home overseas on our cell phone or mail that phone charger they left behind, but I draw the line on helping a drunk figure out where he rented a room. Well, I might have if he had been nicer but he was rude because the key didn't belong to our place. At least he wasn't driving!

Gender Issues

I have told this story to several of my friends and family, so if you have heard it, then just slide your little arrow cursor up to the upper right hand corner and hit the white X in the red box. Check back in a week or so for another blog if interested.

For the rest of you, I had an amusing and yet perplexing interaction with my darling grandson, Jack, that stirred up some thoughts. I visited him this past weekend and before he and his sister Ruby, and their parents arrived at the hotel I had reserved, I ran out with my girlfriend, Fern, to a local store to stock up on goodies. I saw a Cinderella Barbie doll, and since the kids had just been to Disneyworld, I bought it for Ruby. I bought an electronic game for Jack.

Jack seemed quite taken with the doll and kept wanting to take it from Ruby to play with, causing the normal sibling squall. I asked Jack if he wanted one for himself and he said yes, so we went on a shopping excursion of our own. But, in the car, Jack asked me to be sure to tell anyone who asked that I was buying it for Ruby and for me to carry it to the check-out. I reassured him that it was OK to have a doll but that I would do what he wanted. Jack chose Snow White. Of course, the clerk at the check-out immediately looked at Jack and commented about his new doll. Jack looked so uncomfortable - I was amazed.

Jack told me that he had danced with Cinderella at a Disney dinner in Orlando and his expression when I asked what he thought of her was priceless. He looked like a Disney character who sees a cute cartoon female - with pupils dilating and little hearts beating in the air around his head . I think he was "twitterpated."

Over the next day or so, Jack and I played with the dolls. At first we made up stories and shared rides in our coaches and talked about our husbands (who were both Prince Charming?) but later the play became Jack sticking a pen in Snow White's belt and flying her around the room. Jack became more comfortable and took Snow White to restaurants without embarrassment. I asked Matt, his dad, if Jack was still playing with her when they got back to Toledo but I guess the novelty had worn off.

The interesting thing about this little story is that Jack has just turned 5. And yet, somehow he already felt like he should not have a doll. And, when I told a few different males about this issue, they all seemed to smirk and although they didn't say it (except for Sam), I know they were thinking either he is a sissy, or gay, or somehow strange! The only totally cool male about it was his dad, thank goodness!

The incident stirred up a memory of an article that I read in Ms. Magazine in the early 1980's. Matt was a preschooler and I remember that the writer was discussing the issue of parenting a boy in a gender neutral way. Her one comment that always stuck with me was that she would probably be totally comfortable taking her daughter anywhere in public dressed in a football uniform, but would she take her boy in public dressed in a tutu??

Obviously, it is much easier for girls than boys to cross over the boundaries that society has placed on us. I can wear pants anywhere. But, Harry in a dress?

My Lath House

Most of my adult life, I have coveted greenhouses. I think I may have inherited a genetic love of sticking my hands in dirt from my maternal grandmother. I understand that her gardens were spectacular, and according to my mother, she would much rather be out tending her beds than cleaning or cooking. I wonder what she wore?? I tend to garden in old shorts and tees and be covered in dirt. I cannot imagine her wearing anything other than long dark dresses and practical shoes, if old black and white family photos are accurate. I never knew her and wish I could now. She could tell me about her plants. She would decorate the alter at church with her flowers, and according to my Aunt Betty, her blue delphinium and pale pink Dr. Van Fleet rose combos were amazing.

Since I joined the Orchid and Bromeliad Club of Key Largo, I have started coveting shade houses. Instead of bringing light in to plants, down here you have to keep light out. I only have so many spots on trees and on benches under trees and hanging on hooks from trees to put my orchids. I approached Harry with the idea of a lath house, which is what was used in the "olden days" before the high tech shade fabrics were invented. I like the look much better. Harry was enthusiastic and after deliberating and studying the best approach, we made a design and got to work. The first four posts took nine hours to dig in. We had to go down 18" and since we live on coral rock, that ain't so easy. I need to be sure that if a hurricane blows in, my structure doesn't blow out. Harry did the rest of the construction. I think he did a spectacular job and I am so excited. I have about half of my collection in there now and so much room to add more. Orchids are like crack to enthusiasts. We want more!

Snow Globe on My Shoulders

I woke up this morning thinking about my recent thought processes. I do alot of my best imagery in the early hours and wonder if I dream what I wake up thinking about. The image that came to me was that my brain was a snow globe and someone has just shaken me violently and I have got swirls of obsessive thoughts like little white flakes of detritus clouding my clear view.

It all started Monday, when I finally had my deposition by the evil Welliver's lawyer. What a "ginormous" waste of my time and my money since I had to have my $375 an hour lawyer there also. The deposition is part of our case that is now 18 months old against a couple who we knew (and I thought were our friends) who offered us a 5% ownership of a motel in the Keys in exchange for Harry's help in finding them a property (which he did), getting them financing based on his existing reputation with the local banks as a motel operator and his future involvement (which he did), and our getting the property operating and provide ongoing supervision (which we did). And, when the closing was done, and the operation was running after months of our work, they reneged on their offer. The deposition involved 5 hours of repetitive useless questioning. I must have said "you have already asked that and I have already answered that" a hundred times. The only fun I had was when our lawyer, who is Jewish, kept harping to the other lawyer that it was Passover and that she needed to get the deposition finished and go home for Seder. She did that to aggravate the Welliver's, because Robert Welliver called in a drunken state late one night and called Harry a fat Jew bastard. He sure didn't care if Harry was Jewish when he got that huge loan thanks to Mr. Harry Caplan.

The next day followed with more drama of a family nature. Complications over a planned vacation with kids and kid's in-laws that got more and more involved until I decided to step out of the equation and plan something a little less complicated and not have to share my grand kids.

But the interesting thing is why the brain has times of peacefulness and clarity and other times of cloudiness and obsessive thinking? Why sleep comes so easily some nights and other nights are fitful. Why memories and thoughts seem to get stirred up and then like the white flakes in the snow globe, have to drift calmly down until they are settled and undisturbed once again.