In Case of Emergency, Check Your Clock

Because officials say New Orleans' population is down from 2005, the evacuations may not be as bad: still a daunting task to coordinate, but officials say this time, they're ready.

Red Cross officials say you can apply to volunteer with them, but because they do background checks and training, it will take a few days, so strongly recommend signing up soon.

The Red Cross will be closed through the Labor Day Weekend, re-opening on September 2nd. You may sign up to volunteer online, by logging on to ....

I just couldn't resist this news story found on the website of an area where Hurricane Gustav evacuees may seek refuge, as they did after Katrina. Now for disclosure purposes I have various experiences with The Red Cross. When I was a child, I took Red Cross certified swimming classes. My spouse previously worked with The Red Cross on disaster preparation. My father was a volunteer fire fighter and dealt with The Red Cross.

Like any organization run largely by volunteers, there will always be areas that aren't run well. My spouse experienced this in the form of politics and, now that I think of it, serving in an area run by a very narcissistic man.

My father ran into something more disturbing. As a volunteer fire fighter, fighting large fires sometimes in the middle of the night, or when the windchill is -20F/-20C, often for several hours, there were times when Red Cross services were appropriate. Families of the fire fighters did our best to support them, bringing them coffee and sandwiches, but there was only so much we could do -- we had school to attend and jobs to go to.

Getting Red Cross services required filing paperwork before any services could be rendered. Since fire fighters rarely schedule their calls, it meant they were ineligible.

Let me be clear: The Red Cross having a system to make sure the money entrusted to them is wisely spent is a good thing. The problem isn't with the system itself, but with its application. This is the same problem I see in the article above. Now, as the article describes, the need for volunteers may not be eminent. May not. Still, it seems foolish for The Red Cross, who needs several days to do background checks on volunteers (which is also a good thing), to close for Labor Day when the chances are good that New Orleans may experience another Katrina. The message is bizarre: we need volunteers to apply soon, but we're taking a long weekend. Huh?

I can't end this entry without saying one more thing. When it came to the fires in the middle of the night, or with 20 below windchills, or on 90F/30C hot humid days, or all the other difficult conditions, there was one organization that could be counted on to be there: The Salvation Army.

Eating with My Narcissist: Dinner and a Show

Meals with my narcissist were rarely dull. They ran the gamut from frightening to elegant. Of course, where it appeared on the spectrum depended entirely on how my narcissist felt that life was treating him.

When I lived at home, my family ate only dinner together most of the week. Since both my mother and my father worked outside of the home, and had a 45 minute commute, dinner was rather late and rushed. My narcissist despised waiting. He wanted, and expected, the things he wanted instantly. Think of an anal-retentive efficiency expert after drinking four pots of coffee. We were taught to anticipate, to not need words, but to be able to read what someone wanted and do/get it NOW. The no words part was especially important because dinner was made during the nightly local news.

Dinner was eaten during the nightly national news. Dinner was eaten listening to the nightly national news. Here at the table, no words was important, too, as was the placement of the furniture. The television HAD to be viewable from my father's seat at the dinner table. Talking was strictly forbidden except commercials, and then only if my narcissist didn't want to talk himself. We used hand signals to indicate if we wanted something passed to us. If one spoke during the news, then my narcissist would hiss through gritted teeth to be quiet, and then turn up the volume on the television. Sometimes the volume was increased because of the noise of lids or glasses being set down, or silverware clinking together too loudly. This brings me to another requirement of the furniture: the television had to be close enough to my narcissist's chair that he could quickly and easily reach over and turn up the volume (for this was loooong before remote controls). Often the television was painfully loud, but asking to have it turned down was a sure way to have it turned up instead.

My narcissist liked to eat at nice restaurants. Thankfully, usually nice restaurants care what their patrons want and bend over backwards to give it to them. My narcissist very much liked this treatment. On these occasions, I could sit quietly (as was expected) and read or do puzzles. If, however, there was some trouble with my narcissist's order or the service, look out. Only on very rare occasions would he handle it politely. Usually it involved loud voice, gritted teeth, and rudeness. At less fancy restaurants, food throwing was even a possibility. Embarrassment at its worst. I was thankful when my narcissist would get so upset that he insisted we leave. At least then all we had to worry about was him throwing a violent temper tantrum in the car. This was also a good time to be completely quiet. Drawing attention to one's self only invited a verbal attack.

Perhaps this explains why I enjoy eating in a restaurant alone. I'm used to being quiet while I eat, and this way, I can do so without worrying about some sort of angry outburst if I use my tableware too loudly.

The New Pastor

I met The New Pastor this past weekend. It was his first church service with the congregation. I also read his CV. You've heard it said if something seems too good to be true it probably is? It seems to apply here. Everything is just a bit....too much. I stand by my first comments after reading his of his accomplishments and credentials: there's something wrong here.

After meeting the man, I don't feel any better about him and I *really* tried. Call it intuition, vibes, a gut feeling, or whatever, but when I feel this way it's nearly always turned out to be right. Something was just not right.

I was so troubled in my spirit -- I couldn't believe this was the man God had called to our church. It all seemed impossible. I trust the people who selected the man, so how had this happened?

Then I remembered prayer. (OK, so I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer....) After worshiping God, pouring out my heart to Him, praying that His will be done, I still felt uneasy. So, I prayed for God's help, for His reassurance.

I was turning to the appropriate scripture passage for the sermon, preached by the pastor who will be the new pastor's boss, when God spoke to me: "who better for this man who troubles you to serve under than this man?". Answer to prayer is so sweet! Over the past months, this "boss" pastor has boldly preached his way through very challenging parts of God's word. He's pulled no punches. He's faithful preached The Word, even when it flew in the face of political correctness, even when it made him less than popular. I couldn't imagine a man more capable of shepherding this new pastor. God is indeed remarkable!

Although my spirit was no longer troubled about this new pastor, I now knew that his boss would need much prayer for he had been given a challenge.

The Golden Child

I've blogged before about my role as The Golden Child as well as the other roles that I played in my narcissistic family. My narcissistic father raised me to be exactly like him. He trained me to think like him, like the same things he liked, behave like him, and to look down on those he looked down upon. Think clone.

Being a clone was a great ride. Until, just like in the science fiction movies, I became self-aware. It took me until I was in my 30's to get to that point. By that time, I had graduated from university and worked in my "chosen" career for a decade.

Until that time, I lived my life as the perfect clone of a narcissist. I behaved in the nasty way he did. I looked down upon those he had taught me were unworthy. I sought a career in an area that met his approval. I took a large portion of my understanding of what was good from his teachings. I knew that these were the correct ways of behaving and thinking and being because I knew that my narcissistic father was right. He had told me so.

The only chink in my clone armor was my Christian faith. How I reconciled my faith and my clone behaviour is still puzzling to me. The most likely reason lies in the immaturity of my faith, combined with my earthly experience of an angry, autocratic, judgemental father colouring my understanding of Father God.

Then reality hit. Suddenly I could see being The Golden Child as the curse it truly is. I had no idea who I was -- something with which I still struggle. I didn't know what *I* liked, only what I was taught I was supposed to like. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, only what I was taught I was supposed to do. I didn't know how to evaluate other people's behaviour, my own behaviour, or even how to live life itself, in any way other than within the strict framework which I had been taught. *I*, my self, my human person-hood, was hiding all those years, pretending to be the person I was taught I was supposed to be. All those childhood experience of trying things, forming an opinion, finding what I liked and those things in which I found special satisfaction, they didn't happen. The learning and growth that comes from it didn't happen either. My scope was arbitrarily limited and I made the best of what I was allowed.

My childhood compliance that served me so well at the time, is now an adult challenge. As I strive to find what *I* like, the results are fascinating. I enjoy the creativity of art, playing my piano, making things with my hands, all things I was taught were a waste of time and entirely worthless.

Being The Golden Child certainly had its advantages at the time. I bought years of approval from my narcissist by being who he wanted me to be. I also lost years of my self by being who he wanted me to be. Given a time machine and the choice, would I make the same choice? I have no idea.

Looking a Chinese Gymnast in the Mouth

The controversy about the age of some of the Chinese woman's gymnasts appears to be going nowhere fast. I first heard about the questions regarding the youthful appearance of the Chinese gymnasts while watching the preliminaries, specifically just before the one who looks the youngest to me smiled. That was all I needed to see.

I'm not a dentist (nor did I stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night); however, I am the parent of a 10 year-old child who has EXACTLY the same gap in his teeth. According to our dentist, our child's a bit early; the age is usually 11.

Certainly there are other ways the young gymnast could have lost her teeth, due to an accident or dental work, for example. Could a qualified dentist tell the difference? My guess is yes. My guess is also there's no way any of this will make one iota of difference.

There won't be looking any Chinese gymnast in the mouth any time soon. Their "gift" to the world of gymnastics has been accepted. This "gift" reminds me of the Big Lies my favourite narcissist would tell. Everyone involved knew they were lies, but for various reasons, usually fear, we all agreed to "believe" the lie and thereby not tip our precariously balanced life. So, the various governing bodies serve as enabler to the Chinese to provide them international narcissistic supply. Bully for them.