The Leprechaun Trap

 I try hard to be a wise, loving, and accommodating grandfather to three sisters, 7,3, & 2.  I’ve been climbed on, read and told endless stories, helped girls splash and “swim” in the summer, skate and go sledding in the winter, dressed and undressed numerous dolls as instructed, diapered real babies, talked on the phone, danced, sung, and snuggled.  All grandfatherly moments many have shared before me and many more will do so in the future.

 

St. Patrick’s Day Eve (not an occasion I think I’ve ever celebrated before) brought a new challenge to this grandfather, building a Leprechaun Trap.  Seven-year-old Josephine was intent on capturing one of these little fellows.  I was enlisted as chief engineer.  Josephine was the Steve Jobs of the project, laying out a plan for me to follow.  

 

I quickly learned a few things, or rather, I was instructed on Leprechaun habits.  They’re greedy, especially as they fervently hunt for gold coins at the end of rainbows.  We had no rainbows at hand in the house, but we did have access to gold(ish) coins.  My suggestion that seventeen coins were appropriate in this instance was accepted.  The first concept was to lay a trail of coins through the house to the trap, a la Hansel & Gretel.  The plan was abandoned when we considered the little fellow would likely satisfy himself with the coins from the trail and give a wide berth to a trap.  But, AHA, they are greedy little guys and they seldom have much luck at the end of rainbows.  What if we put an entire pot in the trap to entice our prospect?  

 

We located a bowl with two handles (resembling as best we could a gold pot).  We put the loot in the bowl/pot and went to fetch a stick to attach to the bowl.  The stick was outside the front door, in a bundle of kindling for the fireplace.  It attracted more attention than we needed.  Preparing a Leprechaun trap requires a stealthy, whispered silence.  What we got was two little sisters clamoring over who got to hold the stick.  Why, I cannot tell you.  Then Archie, the dog, wanted to play a game of indoor fetch.  Finally, the stick was tugged from muzzle and grips respectively and affixed with a hairband to the bowl.  The stick propped up a large cardboard box.  When the avaricious imp tugged at the bowl to snag all the loot, the stick would fall away and the leprechaun would spend the night trapped in the box. Certainly not what he’d planned to celebrate the day.

 

We tried a substitute trail of caramel candy leading up to the box but again juveniles and canine intervened.  Only Josephine liked the caramel.  The two little ones spat theirs in the trash.  Knowing that Leprechauns have a keen sense of smell and are potentially gluttonous, we put the candy wrappers in with the coins as an additional attractant. We situated the trap under the dining room table behind chairs so that the Leprechaun might feel safe and unsuspecting in a forest of furniture legs.  This location had the added advantage of being relatively secure from younger sisters Willa and Julia and ever- inquisitive Archie. 

 

Josephine took the additional precaution of wiping down the entire dining room floor and the hallway so as not to leave human scent that might scare our visitor from the trap.

 

The upshot.  Partial success.  The Leprechaun seems to have been trapped, at least initially.  Then, it appears he broke open the top of the cardboard box and escaped. Insolent, as so many of his kind are, he left graffiti on the side of the box he ruined, the words “Nice Try” and a poor replica of a four-leaf clover.  To flaunt his escape, he made it painfully clear he’d found at least one pot of gold by leaving three five-dollar bills.  No St. Patrick’s Day payday for Archie.  

 

He’ll be back.  Wait ‘til next year little guy!    

 

 

Storytelling - Walla & Barky

With three granddaughters closing in on seven, three, and two come February when they all have birthdays, I have, over the course of their young lives, often put them down for naps or to bed for the night.  My success rate is such that I’ve titled myself “The Baby Whisperer”, able to shepherd even the most resistant child into a gentle slumber. My resources are familiar:  cuddling, singing, rocking - both standing and sitting, back rubs, playing music, and a patient, stubborn determination to outlast even the most strong-willed and stubborn sleep defying child.  And my ace in the hole, storytelling.

 

One of the last things I did in 2020 was to put almost three-year-old 

Willa down for the night.  She’d napped in the late afternoon, so bedtime was postponed well past the normal hour. We went upstairs to put her down so her grandmother and I could enjoy an uninterrupted late New Year’s Eve meal together.  Willa, who defies with a disarming smile and the most beautiful blue eyes, has her own bag of tricks come bedtime: suddenly needing something to eat or drink, locating the single most important doll or toy to bring to bed, arranging the pillows and covers, instructing me on where and how to lie down, adjusting the lighting, are a few that come to mind.

Each maneuver may have multiple attempts. 

 

Willa’s clever tactics gobbled up waning 2020 time while my dinner cooled off in the kitchen below us. I knew we’d reached the turning point, however, when Willa finally asked for a “Walla & Barky” story.

 

Walla and Barky are thinly disguised versions of Willa and her family dog, Archie.  They share adventures together.  Willa gets to experience trouble, apprehension, mystery, conflict, magic, and more. These stories may be unique in detail, but not in structure.  This storyteller sticks to a simple and ancient structure, structure that may indeed be hard-wired into us as a species. Certainly, stories and storytelling are intrinsic to us as a species, as Jonathan Gottschall makes clear in his book, The Storytelling Animal – How Stories Make Us Human.

 

“One day…”, “Once upon a time…” Walla and Barky go into the woods, or cross a river, or follow a trail, or get left behind.  No matter how the story begins they enter an imaginary world, a Greenworld, a Neverland.  The basic structure is predictable, as John Woods tells us in his “journey into story” – Into the Woods. 

 

I state a proposition.  For example, what happens when Barky chases a deer too far into the woods and Walla follows?

 

The proposition gets explored.  A problem has been created.  Who or what has the resources to solve it?  Are there lessons to be learned?

 

The story has a conclusion.  A rescue, a safe return home. A revelation. 

 

By the conclusion of the story, Walla and Barky have emerged from the imaginary world, from the woods, from Neverland.  If I’ve done my job well, sprinkling in details, Willa has had the opportunity to enhance the story I’ve told with her imagination.  I’ve written the melody.  She gets to imagine the harmony, the enriching orchestration.  Perhaps she even incorporates it into her upcoming dreamworld. 

 

As I tell the story, we lie next to each other, her soft curls spilling onto my pillow.  I usually keep a calming, comforting hand on her throughout the story.  We are safe with each other.  Every so often she turns to look at me. She calms down as she listens, nearing sleep, or at least ready for soothing music.  Her breathing becomes softer and relaxed.  A deep sigh tells the Baby Whisperer his task is almost done.

 

Storytelling stirs our imagination.  I sometimes ask Willa to suggest a story component.  Barky crossed the river and ran into the woods.

“Why did he go into the woods?”, I ask. 

“To chase an animal.”

“What kind of an animal?”

“A pig.”

And so, we explore how it came to be that a pig was roaming the woods.  Not some feral boar in this case.   Just an escapee from Farmer Adams’ pigpen. 

 

As you’ve read along you’ve doubtless used your imagination.  Think back.  What was New Year’s Eve dinner?  What does Willa’s bedroom look like?  What sort of dog is Barky?  How wide is the river? What became of the pig?  We are immersed in the story whether we’re always aware of it or not. Stories draw us closer to one another.  They make us human. Imagination connects us. 

  

2021 began with Willa climbing into our bed first thing in the morning.  “Granddad, tell a Walla & Barky story.” 

“What about?”

“Getting lost in the woods.”

“One day, Walla and Barky…”

A new year, a new decade, a new story.  An old story.

   

Andrew Solomon on the COVID-19 Pandemic

Writing for the New York Times Sunday Review, Andrew Solomon provided this essay for the April 12^th edition.

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/09/opinion/coronavirus-depression-anxiety.html

To my surprise, the Times printed no letters in response to Mr. Solomon’s piece.  To my frustration, that excluded a submission I offered.  I offer it again, herewith.

RE:  Andrew Solomon’s When the Pandemic Leaves Us Alone, Anxious and Depressed

Mr. Solomon prudently stresses the unequal treatment of physical and mental health in our society, adding “Insurance does not offer real parity of coverage…”

The federal Paul Wellstone and Pete Domenici Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act passed in 2008 was intended to prevent group health plans and health insurance issuers that provide mental health or substance use disorder (MH/SUD) benefits from imposing less favorable benefit limitations on those benefits than on medical/surgical benefits.

Alas, enforcement has been weak and limited at best. Insurers still continue to dodge, deny, delay and dissemble to avoid compliance.  Until the government acts responsibly and seriously to actually enforce the act so that citizens can receive treatment desperately needed, we can only anticipate the psychological tragedies Mr. Solomon fears will become reality.

 

Here's a sample from my effort to curate online activities for kids. https://on.mktw.net/2QLiN3p

Epidemic Panic - ME/them

I recently read two articles in Vox by senior correspondent German Lopez.  One, co-authored with Julia Belluz, titled “Wash You Damn Hands, http://bit.ly/2x5DDmX, is a measured, 

sensible, and practical guide for individuals on responding to the Covid-19 virus outbreak. The other is one of an important series Lopez is working on - “The Rehab Racket: Investigating the high cost of addiction care”. http://bit.ly/3345ct3  Each an article on an epidemic.

Hand washing is prompted by a response to the most recent health scare, the Covid-19 virus.  Since December the news has abounded with stories about the Covid-19 virus.  Just as Zika, MERS, SARS, and Ebola – to name a few – have clamored for our attention in years past via all media available.  The collective anxiety over the threat of catching one of these headline grabbing diseases, much less dying from one, is palpable. The stock market stumbles and tumbles.  Congress quickly approves billions of dollars for research and prevention measures. Yet, counter to the panic surrounding these diseases, a March NBC News report lists the combined death toll for Covid-19, SARS, and MERS at just under 5,000 deaths.  

Meanwhile, German Lopez continues to write regularly about a far more devastating epidemic, Substance Use Disorder, SUD. There are few headlines, unless a celebrity dies.  As I write, today like every day, 185 Americans will die from drug overdoses.  In four weeks’ time overdose deaths will surpass the 5,000 viral deaths.  Annual death rates for SUD have climbed from 47,000 in 2014 to 72,000 in 2017.  The first step backward came in 2018 at 68,000.  Given the stigma around SUD those deaths are most likely significantly underreported. 

Why the disparity in our collective consciousness and reporting in the media between the two epidemics?  I believe the answer is simple. When we learn about a virus, we immediately don a mask, literally or figuratively or both, out of fear that the disease could strike us. The thought is, “I could catch this.  It could kill ME!”

SUD, on the other hand, while far more prevalent, is something that strikes “the other”, THEM. People we accuse of making bad choices. People we think of as bad people.  People we isolate in a sort of permanent quarantine, to be shunned and blamed for their misfortune.  Viral killers like Covid-19 fall under our control when we talk about them and actively confront them. SUD’s stalk us in the dark of willful ignorance, while we wash our hands of the plight of those suffering the disease.       

Sometimes Letters to the Editor Don't Get Published - Part 2

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/02/13/style/addiction-memoirs-are-a-genre-in-recovery.html

Addiction, One Book at a Time by Alex Williams

Alex Williams serves us all by sharing information about books on addiction. Unfortunately, he employs outdated memes that perpetuate the stigma around Substance Use Disorder (SUD).

Discussions about SUD in its various guises often include conviction about “Rock Bottom”. The notion being that sooner or later the afflicted have to experience a life-altering event that shocks them into lasting change. Our family, too, heard this notion from multiple sources while our son, William, struggled with his use of heroin and we struggled to cope and understand.

The problem is this. The rocks at the bottom are strewn with dead bodies, including that of my son. Death is rock bottom. Anything else is just a serendipitous, albeit uncomfortable, landing on an outcropping on the way down. It may be a tough climb back. There may be other falls. But it’s not death.

People climbing back were never “dirty”.  The use of the antonym “clean” suggests otherwise and cheats these authors among a legion of others of the value of their hard work and ultimate success in achieving sobriety and sustained recovery. 

  

Sometimes Letters to the Editor Don't Get Published

The New York Times offered readers the opportunity to write a letter about a book that changed their life in 200 words or less. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/18/opinion/letters/influential-books.html I submitted a letter that wasn't published. I offer it here:

Our son and brother, William, died at age 24 following an accidental heroin overdose. At his memorial service, we made the following pledge to him: “We promise to do everything in our power to educate and inform people about drug abuse and its prevention, to provide ever more enlightened treatment for addicts, to help make treatment options for addicts more readily available, and to remove the stain of shame surrounding this disease.” So began a sustained advocacy for substance use disorder (SUD) sufferers.

Shortly thereafter I read Andrew Solomon’s Far From The Tree. For me, the brilliance of his writing is distilled in these few words: “…we all have our darkness, and the trick is making something exalted of it.” Words that inspired me at first encounter and guide me as I seek to listen, learn, write and speak about SUD; as I labor to honor my pledge.

Unlike the conditions Solomon writes about, SUD is often not far from the tree. Rather, it lurks persistently in the roots and branches of many family trees. Solomon’s book doesn’t address SUD directly, but he writes eloquently about shame and stigma. His wisdom thereon motivates and shepherds my quest toward the exalted.