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Politics : THE WHITE HOUSE -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?


To: DuckTapeSunroof who wrote (11038)11/17/2007 6:32:39 PM
From: GROUND ZERO™  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 25737
 
Floppy dyslexic?

Early onset Alzheimer's?


What's with all the diseases? Oh, talk about diseases, I heard of this guy who was a dyslexic anorexic, no matter how fat he was, when he looked in the mirror he thought he was too thin...

GZ



To: DuckTapeSunroof who wrote (11038)11/18/2007 10:38:14 AM
From: Hope Praytochange  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 25737
 
Needle and Thread and the Chinatown Night
PS: labrador is well known for its loyalty to its owners

By KELLY KINGMAN
Published: November 18, 2007
A GOLDEN phoenix and a dragon kept watch over the wedding reception at the Golden Unicorn dim sum palace in Chinatown, their tiny light bulb eyes blinking like Christmas lights. It was 7:30 on a Saturday night in September, and just as I was tucking into the second dish of the 10-course banquet, the spaghetti strap on my black designer dress snapped and hung like a lo mein noodle.

A friend suggested I check with the bridesmaids to see if any of them had an emergency safety pin. I looked at the stage, where the newly married couple were flanked by the wedding party and seemingly engrossed in the M.C.’s lengthy stand-up routine. Coming next were toasts and first dances that I was hesitant to interrupt.

But when I imagined dancing to Shakira’s pop hit “Hips Don’t Lie” while holding up one side of my dress, I decided to take my chances with the Chinatown night.

The lobby of the dim sum palace was an indoor shopping mall, its stores darkened for the night. The only people there were a middle-aged couple — a woman in a short-sleeved black blouse and slacks, and a man wearing a yellow work shirt and holding a broom and dustpan. They were conversing in Chinese. “Hello,” I said brightly, flashing my friendliest girl-from-Texas smile. “Do you know where I could find a safety pin?”

When the woman didn’t seem to understand what I was saying, I moved closer and showed her my broken strap. A sympathetic smile spread across her face, and the two of them laughed. I was about to set off on my search when the woman said something in an excited voice.

“She says if you want to wait here, she’ll go to her apartment and get you a pin,” the man explained.

I shook my head. In a city with bodegas on every corner, surely I could find something within a few blocks.

Walking the dark length of East Broadway, I thought of my mother back in Austin, where I grew up. She was always prepared for situations like this. A consummate seamstress, she had safety pins with her at all times, just in case.

These days, I saw her only once or twice a year, and we spoke on the phone only every few months. More than 10 years ago, at age 16, I’d broken away from her brand of evangelical Christianity. Although my mother is a kind and thoughtful woman, we didn’t agree on how life should be lived. After I left for New York for my last two years of college, we deftly avoided discussing anything very serious.

New York had made me highly self-sufficient. I hung my own shelves and paid the dry cleaner to hem my pants. The only things my mother could do for me were to bring my favorite tortillas when she came to visit, and to do the mending I always seemed to have with me when I visited her back in Texas. As I wandered the streets of Chinatown, it occurred to me that I could add this dress to the list of things to pack.

The Golden Unicorn is in the far eastern part of Chinatown, an area where Duane Reade and Rite Aid have yet to replace the herbalists whose shelves are stocked with ginger and ginseng. At 9 p.m., most of the street was dark, except for the lights of an occasional restaurant.

Finally I came across a small market space that housed several stalls. The words “safety pin” didn’t register with the man in the first booth until I thrust forward my shoulder, demonstrating what had happened to my expensive dress. He shook his head mournfully and called to the next stall, where a jeweler emptied out a box of metal findings, eventually locating a tiny brass safety pin.

I WAS thanking the man profusely and trying to fasten the little clasp when the woman from the lobby of the Golden Unicorn appeared behind me. I watched, amazed, as she greeted everyone in the market area, and I realized that she must have come to check on me.

Like a triumphant child, I showed her the safety pin. She nodded but kept walking to the back, toward a clothing stall. There the proprietress handed her a needle and a spool of black thread. Without a word, she returned, spit-threaded the needle like a pro, and set to work sewing up my strap.

Maybe it was the Champagne from an earlier toast, but I suddenly felt as if this woman were family, perhaps a long-lost aunt. I imagined that this would be a tale we would both tell around our respective dinner tables in our respective languages: the clueless, strapless lo fan — foreigner — wandering around in the Chinatown night, and the fairy godmother who rescued her.

I watched her sew, her grip firm, her gaze fixed. A little Chinese girl of about 6 stood looking up at us.

“She’s really good, huh?” I said, looking down at the girl over my shoulder. She nodded silently, too shy to speak.

“I’m so grateful,” I continued, happy someone could understand my gratitude.

When the woman finished, she snipped the thread with her teeth and patted me on the arm. Not sure what to do, I started to open my bag to see if I had any money I could give her, but she waved her hands in refusal. So I simply hugged her, saying thank you over and over. Smiling, she waved me on my way.

I briefly considered trying to find someone to interpret for us so I could get her name and address. I wanted to send a thank-you note as I’d been raised to do, to feel as if I could return the gift in some minor yet tangible way. But I had no choice but to accept this kindness. And when I went home to Texas a few weeks later, I had my usual bit of mending, a pair of pants with a torn belt loop, in my suitcase.



To: DuckTapeSunroof who wrote (11038)11/18/2007 10:53:27 AM
From: Hope Praytochange  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 25737
 
Love in the Time of Dementia
(moral of the story: buddy house mistress using billyblow as stepping stone for her blind personal glory-- not real love)

By KATE ZERNIKE
Published: November 18, 2007
SO this, in the end, is what love is.

BEYOND A TEENAGER’S TEARS In “Away From Her,” Grant, played by Gordon Pinsent, supports the attachment his wife, Fiona, played by Julie Christie, forms for another man as Alzheimer’s draws her in to another world.
Former Justice Sandra Day O’Connor’s husband, suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, has a romance with another woman, and the former justice is thrilled — even visits with the new couple while they hold hands on the porch swing — because it is a relief to see her husband of 55 years so content.

What culture tells us about love is generally young love. Songs and movies and literature show us the rapture and the betrayal, the breathlessness and the tears. The O’Connors’ story, reported by the couple’s son in an interview with a television station in Arizona, where Mr. O’Connor lives in an assisted-living center, opened a window onto what might be called, for comparison’s sake, old love.

Of course, it illuminated the relationships that often develop among Alzheimer’s patients — new attachments, some call them — and how the desire for intimacy persists even when dementia steals so much else. But in the description of Justice O’Connor’s reaction, the story revealed a poignancy and a richness to love in the later years, providing a rare model at a time when people are living longer, and loving longer.

“This is right up there in terms of the cutting-edge ethical and cultural issues of late life love,” said Thomas R. Cole, director of the McGovern Center for Health, Humanities and the Human Spirit at the University of Texas, and author of a cultural history of aging. “We need moral exemplars, not to slavishly imitate, but to help us identify ways of being in love when you’re older.”

Historically, love in older age has not been given much of a place in culture, Dr. Cole said. It once conjured images that were distasteful or even scary: the dirty old man, the erotic old witch.

That is beginning to change, Dr. Cole said, as life expectancy increases, and a generation more sexually liberated begins to age. Nursing homes are being forced to confront an increase in sexual activity.

And despite the stereotypes, researchers who study emotions across the life span say old love is in many ways more satisfying than young love — even as it is also more complex, as the O’Connors’ example shows.

“There’s a difference between love as it is presented in movies and music as this jazzy sexy thing that involves bikini underwear and what love actually turns out to be,” said the psychologist Mary Pipher, whose book “Another Country” looked at the emotional life of the elderly. “The really interesting script isn’t that people like to have sex. The really interesting script is what people are willing to put up with.”

“Young love is about wanting to be happy,” she said. “Old love is about wanting someone else to be happy.”

That’s one way to look at it, at any rate. And it’s not just that relationships are seasoned by time and shared memories — although that’s part of it, as is the inertia the researchers call the familiarity effect, which keeps people from leaving a longtime relationship even though he nags and she won’t ask for directions.

It’s also that brain researchers say older people may simply be better able to deal with the emotional vicissitudes of love. As it ages, the brain becomes more programmed to be happy in relationships.

Researchers trying to understand aging and emotion performed brain scans on people across a range of ages, gauging their reactions to positive and negative scenes. Young people tended to respond to the negative scenes. Those in middle age took in a better balance of the positive. And older people responded only to the positive scenes.

“As people get older, they seem to naturally look at the world through positivity and be willing to accept things that when we’re young we would find disturbing and vexing,” said John Gabrieli, a professor of cognitive neuroscience at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and one of the researchers.

It is not rationalization: the reaction is instantaneous. “Instead of what would be most disturbing for somebody, feeling betrayed or discomfort, the other thoughts — about how from his perspective it’s not betrayal — can be accommodated much more easily,” Dr. Gabrieli said. “It paves the way for you to be sympathetic to the situation from his perspective, to be less disturbed from her perspective.”

Young brains tend to go to extremes — the swooning or sobbing so characteristic of young love. Old love puts things in soft focus.

“As you get older you begin to recognize that this isn’t going to last forever, for better or for worse,” said Laura L. Carstensen, director of the Stanford Center on Longevity and a research counterpart of Dr. Gabrieli’s in the brain imaging research. “You understand that the bad times pass, and you understand that the good times pass,” Dr. Carstensen said. “As you experience them, they’re more precious, they’re richer.”

Of course, not everyone would show the emotionally generous response that Justice O’Connor did. As Dr. Cole said, “I have many examples in my mind of people who are just as jealous, just as infantile, just as filled with irrationality when they fall in love in their 70s and 80s as she is self-transcendent.”

And it still is possible to have a broken heart in old age. But in general, Dr. Carstensen said: “A broken heart looks different in somebody old. You don’t yell and scream and cry all day long like you might if you were 20.”

In one of the few cultural examples exploring old love — the film “Away From Her,” based on an Alice Munro short story and released in the spring — the starting point is similar to the O’Connors’ story. A man who cannot imagine life without his sparkling wife of some decades watches her slip into Alzheimer’s and then a romance with another patient in a nursing home. In the fictional example, the spousal devotion is such that he arranges for her new boyfriend to return to the nursing home after seeing how crushed she is when the man moves away.

But the story is more complex. The husband had a series of affairs years earlier, so what seems like devotion is also a desire to pay her back and to ease his own remorse.

For Olympia Dukakis, whose mother had Alzheimer’s and who played the wife of the other man in the film, that wrinkle explains the resonance of Ms. Munro’s story.

“She was very aware that contradictory things live together,” Ms. Dukakis said. “You can’t look at it and say he did it purely for love. It’s a complicated issue, because there’s a lot of life that has been lived. It’s not going to be simple.”

Still, for all those kinds of complications, those who study aging can only smile at young lovers who say they never want to become like an old married couple. Despite the popular preference for young love, the O’Connors’ example suggests that we should all aspire to old love, for better and for worse.

“Young love is very privileged, and as a culture that may be a mistake,” Dr. Pipher said. “If you want a communal culture where people make sacrifices for each other and work for the common good, you would have a culture that privileges the stories of older people.”

Those stories would not be without their troubles. But nor would they be without rewards. “If you stay married,” Dr. Pipher said, “there’s riches in store that nobody 25 years old can imagine.”