Inspiration? June 19,2026

 Who among us is an inspiration? To me,  Ruth Bader Ginsburg, for her erudition , decisions, and fighting on, supporting our values, until she, too, succumbed to perhaps vanity, by not stepping down soon enough so that a Democratic president could replace her on the court. No one individual is complete or without flaws. So many have or are achieving so much more than I. Yet, a woman in my gym class called me an inspiration this week. I want to be like you when I am your age, she said.

She will turn seventy this weekend and I will be eighty-eight in July.

Does she know me? Not really. We attend gym and dance classes together. Once in a while we have coffee with a small group of women from our classes. I guess she aspires to be able to attend classes when she reaches my age.

I appreciate someone standing to give me a seat on the bus or subway, I do. I am not as steady in lurching vehicles when in an upright position as I may have been earlier, but I am capable. I appreciate courtesy wherever it appears, but not because I have white hair. I also cringe when someone looks at me and says Wow, you can still do that?

In my opinion, these are signs of ageism, turned around to appear to be praise. They separate people my age from the larger community. I shared that feeling with the group having coffee. The answer I received

There are bridge clubs and other special interest groups at the Center for Aging. You could join one of them. Does that sound like good advice to you?

My super love, my second husband, died eleven years ago. Since then I have been finding agemates  to spend time with, attend shows, movies, art exhibits, museums. At eighty I had accumulated five of us. Today, three are gone. I belong to a Sunday morning Slo-Walkers group. We walk, we talk , we admire the sights or attend a museum or appreciate the architecture of a particular neighborhood and then we have lunch. I value these women.

I appreciate this time in  my life. I am now not responsible for anyone else but myself for the first time. I enjoy my own company; I love to read. I have the benefit of Central Park and Riverside Park just blocks away for my daily step-counting walks. Living in a doorman building, I have help in opening jars and assembling items I buy. Their presence is very reassuring and welcome. My SAJ synagogue community is very important to me. I now have two families who celebrate Jewish holidays with me; their children refer to me as Grandma, which is a genuine pleasure.

With the current political situation, I have gathered a small group to attend protest marches among. I work  hard to get to know people. All I ask, is that you make an attempt to get to know others better, too. Do not dismiss anyone due to their apparent superficial differences, including white hair and perhaps a slower gait.

Caregiving Support from Afar

How can I support someone who is suffering from a mental health illness who lives in another state?

First, I have to really understand that my son has a serious mental health problem. Check! But that realization is quite recent.

Then I had to process all the guilt and sadness and responsibility questions. Well, I m still working on all of those issues, sometimes beating myself up, ( it's because of x,y and z I did or did not do)sometimes distancing myself emotionally (he's an adult, it's not my problem anymore) sometimes feeling so upset all I want to do is sleep.  Lucky for me, sleep is something I do quite well.

At the first realization that my son was not recovering from a traumatic event well, I put on my travel shoes and went to where he lives.I pushed a n d shoved, threatened a n d dared, until my son told me to go home. 

He refused to seek professional help or to take medication, which of course also required professional consultation. I decided tough love was needed a n d I stopped helping him financially. He responded by no longer speaking to me.

A lose-lose situation for both of us. His life became smaller and smaller. His anxiety grew to fear of living. He was fired from jobs due to excessive absences and unable to receive benefits. 

He called me in distress. "I'm sorry, you were right. I can't do this by myself." He sent me a recent photo. He looks gaunt, having lost more than 20 pounds as he was having difficulty shopping and eating.

I advised him to seek counseling that was part of his insurance plan. He balked at being offered only virtual counseling from a behavioral therapist. He consulted a psychiatrist who prescribed,  but my son did not follow through with appointments and stopped taking the meds.

Slighlty less than a year ago, he connected with a virtual psychologist and he is following the protocols and weekly sessions online. He has a job which he has kept for more than six months,  but he is having a very hard time, worrying about everything.

But this post is about me and for other parents in similar situations.

As you may know, I am a retired talk therapy psychologist so my son's prejudices come partially from his experience being my son. Coming around  to the benefits of cognitive behavioral treatment is real, but necessary. For him and for me. Fortunately,  I had been learning about behavioral therapy from my grandson, whose college studies and work experience is in long term behavioral change.

My son's reluctance to seek professional help is also in part due to his mom being a therapist to whom he could come for assistance. 

Now I have accepted the challenge of supporting an adult son from a distance.

The first thing I did was to consult NAMI the national grassroots organization on mental illness.  They referred me to local chapters near me. They offer me counseling on dealing  with my newfound recognition and personal issues relating to my son's illness. There's online help, support groups and information .

More immediately,  they offered the following guidelines.

Communication:

Ask directly how often and in what way your child would like to hear from you. Don't expect callbacks. Try to use video chats, if he is willing. Keep the conversations short and light.

Practical assistance:

Send food by Doordash or other delivery methods. Choose easy to prepare or readymade so the person can just pick up something nutritional. Boost might work. Granola bars, soups, Mac and cheese,.

Suggest bills be paid by autopay.

Ask your child for a friend or neighbor he can go to  for help in a crisis or you could contact.

Educate yourself on any meds they take. 

Encourage his progress. Refer individual issues back-to-his therapist."Have you spoken about this with.  ?"

Foremost, take care of yourself. Keep up with your own nutritional, exercise and social interaction needs and goals.

I will keep you posted on my progress. Keep me posted on yours.

Actually… November 9, 2025

 Do you ever have a day, a week, or even a month when life just doesn’t seem like it’s going your way? Do you ever blame yourself for not being able to accomplish what used to be easy?

At those times, my dance teacher might say to me “Are we having a down on Phyllis day?”

I caught myself self-sabotaging yesterday. There was an event at my synagogue that I didn’t want to attend, but that I felt I should. Always a trigger for me. What did I do? I decided to go for a walk to see the sunset. I had changed from my Shabbat clothing into jeans and a sweatshirt. I was undecided until the last minute whether to go or not. I went, but I didn’t change my clothes, which made me feel quite uncomfortable. Most of the members of the audience had not been to services in the morning; they were dressed for the synagogue. I sat in the back and left after the presentations without joining for food and small talk afterwards.

Of course I could find external reasons for my malaise, including the topics I was not interested in discussing. The recent mayoral election, the war in Israel, the hostages, the Gazans, not to mention national politics. I do my best to voice my opinion when I think it might matter; afterwards, I have had enough and I won’t speculate on “What if’s.”

I call upon my Grandma Rosa’s mantra. In German it is “Man muss das Leben eben nehmen vie das Leben eben ist.” Do you know how hard it was to write that sentence while autocorrect tried to make it into English? Another one of my pet peeves.

Generally the translation is You must take life as it is. Grandma Rosa was a practical person. She had survived so many losses and had decided to accept her life. Well, not really. Grandma Rosa never chan ged her clock to Daylight Savings time. In the 1950’s, the trains still ran on EST all year long and Grandma Rosa saw no reason to change. We all had to accommodate to her time all summer long!

But there is an interesting word in Grandma Rosa’s mantra. “Eben” in both parts of the sentence puts another possibility into my head. I had always translated the adjective-adverb to mean “actually.” You must take life as it “Just” is, or “precisely” as it is or “simply” as it is. And that’s just the first use of “eben.”

In the second part it could be that “it now” is. There are conditions about accepting life. Life can change. So can I. The command “You must” is another trigger for me.

But of course I digress. I am unhappy accepting my life as it actually is. I had difficulty changing the time back to EST this week. My appetite and eating habits were disrupted; my sleep was disturbed. I gained two pounds and I found I need an afternoon nap. When I sit down to read, I find I’ve fallen asleep instead in my favorite chair.

And that “What if’s?” Question that I dislike ? I adopt it into my life. What if this is another sign of aging that I must accept?

Trauma Transmission Redux March 23, 2023

I and many others, including a study by Mt Sinai hospital, heve experienced personally and have seen in my friends and patients the  occurrence of anxiety related to past trauma experiences, their own, or that of their parents, and grandparents, significantly for me, during the Holocaust.

In my story, I experience this body-shaking, sweat=producing  anxiety whenever I am confronoted by authority. When a police car behind me engages a siren or bright lights as I am driving, I immediately worry that he wiill stop me and I plan what I am going to say.

One day, as I was driving my then new hybrid car, I was trying to stay within the speed limit that would allow the car to remain in electric drive mode. I heard a siren behind me, and through a megaphone, the policeman ordered me to "Pull over!"

I panicked. "What did I do wrong? I wasn't speeding, for sure, but I wasn't paying good attention either. Was there a stop sign I missed? 

I opened the driver's  side window.

"License and registration, please."

Ok,  but I need to reach into the glove compartment to get the registration,I mumbled. but having short arms, ,I couldn't reach to open the glove box from behind the wheel.

"I need to exit the vehicle in order to retrieve the registration," I said formally. The police officer shrugged, but moved away from the door. When I got out, I was even more afraid. This man was huge. I had heard a story of a police officer trading a ticket for sexual favors and I thought to ask him to meet me at the police station, but I was too scared and I walked around the car to get the paper he needed. Finally, I was brave enough to ask, "What did I do wrong?"

"The frame on your license plate  is obscuring the  number. Your license plate says you drive a 1989 Oldsmobile."

I hadn't thought about that story since 2012, when the car was new.

Until now.

I have recently returned from the Montgomery Alabama Lynching Museum where I read all the reasons a person of color, including women and children, as recently as the 1960's were lynched.

And considering the number of black men being killed every day as they drive their cars, it continues today. 

All four of my grandparents were born in the 1880's, in Galicia, a part now of Poland, which had been ruled by Russia and Germany before the end of  the First World War. During that time, there were many violent attacks on Jewish people, plus rules on where they could live and how they could earn money. They were not allowed to own property.

 One grandfather left in 1906 for Germany, partly due to a violent outrage against the Jews because a Christian girl was killed and the Jews were blamed. He sent for his sweetheart whom he married in 1910.

He fought in the First World War from 1914-1918 on the side of Austro-Hungary because that's where his citizenship was. He was awarded an Iron Cross. 

In 1938 he and his wife had to board a cattle car which took them from their home with just one suitcase each, and dumped them on the Polish border. They tried to walk out of Poland to Romania but were stopped and jailed, accused of smuggling. They were freed in late September 1939 when the Russians invaded Poland. They spent the next four years walking and hiding in Ukraine, Russia and finally arrived in Tashkent, Uzbekistan where they spent the rest of the war.

My other grandfather tried to flee the Nazis also by walking, but he walked east to Austria, then south to Croatia, which at that time was a neutral part of Yugoslavia. He was captured in Zagreb and shot in Jasenovac concentration camp in November 1941

The survivors carried the scars of trauma ever since. I felt I really understood the fears Black parents and grandparents have for their children, living in a hostile environment all their lives. When one woman claimed, "I am color=blind. I don't see color. I treated all of my schoolchildren the same," I overheard a woman of color whisper, "Yes, she's white. She doesn't have to see color every day."

Anti Semitism hasn't ended since the war and it most likely never will. But aside from mass murderers and terrorists who want to use the Jews to further their own political agendas, we are safe in the United States. All people of color are not.

I have worked among people of color all my life. I was a volunteer teacher for migrant children in New Jersey when the children were here as their parents harvested tomatoes and other foods. I taught first grade in an inner city school in Newark, New Jersey. I supervised the social workers who counseled the children at a Coney Island day care center. I ran a mother-toddler group in the center. I took playground duty, making friends with the children who were there for a few years until first grade. But I have no friends of color. I do not know as much about any person of color as I have revealed here today. The opportunity for that kind of friendship has not presented itself for me so far. I hope that will change. As W.E.B.Dubois said "Get to know one person so you ca see they suffer like you, they laugh like you, they breathe like you and you cannot hate someone you know."

Poop Progress Report February 8, 2023

Part of the reason for sharing this blog is to note the progress of aging on my body, in the hope of providing a guideline of sorts for others who follow me.

Everyone has some ailment or other, especially after we reach eighty. I am fortunate not to take any prescription medications and not to need surgery on any part of my body. My only difficulty has been, since I was fifty years old, problems with digestion, which was diagnosed as lactose intolerance after two years of  eliminating foods and adding them back into my diet.

Last week, I just started taking the stronger probiotic and I was having no diarrhea, but lots of flatulence. The Garden of Life company reassured me that they are not physicians and are not prescribing, but the product is reorganizing my gut and it will take time for the good bacteria to overcome the bad bacteria. Only folks who also have this problem will be interested in this description, but I find it fascinating to watch. The stool is getting more organized and the flatulence is decreasing, day by day. I did not increase the dose of one capsule per day of 80 billion CFU's and 15 strains.

I have a normal full movement in the early morning and a process after lunch and/or before noon . Then nothing for the rest of the day or evening, no matter what I eat for dinner.

I am not letting this process interfere with my activities, but I am constantly aware and wary. I have no pain or bloating and no change in my weight. I am drinking lots of water. No more halitosis either.

I watched the State of the Union speech happily last night and I have invited people from the Reconstructing Judaism group who are going with me to Alabama in March to watch a film here tomorrow evening. I hope I do not embarrass myself!

Journal or Blog..How are they different ? Feb 3, 2023

The difference for me is that a journal entry is for me.. to remember thoughts, feelings and events so I will be able to recall them when needed. The blog is for publication , an attempt perhaps to inform, to teach, to share my feelngs with others, who may identify or benefit in some way from my thoughts, feelings and life cycle events.

Today it seems to be both. I am lactose intolerant, and so is at least one of my grandsons. They may someday benefit from what I write. Maybe there will be advances in microbiome studies which will resolve the issue for them before they are inflicted with this embarrassing problem in the future.

Right now I need to vent.  Ihesitate to get medical advice from folks who know less about a problem than I do. But first, the primary care md has to run the tests she knows on how to eliminate more serious issues. The blood test results are negative. I still don''t have the stool sample results, but they may not find anything worthwhile as Dr. Astor once expained to me. The gut bacteria die soon after they are removed from the body.  The stool n eeds to be examined shortly after production which no one does anymore.

When I was in Florida, Ted fouund a new probiotic that, instead of 50 billion cfu's has 80 billion. Instead of 10  strains, it has 15. I started taking the new ones this week and for the third day, I have had no explosive diarrhea. But I do have smelly flatulence! From oatmeal, salmon and tuna salad! I now need to search for a homeopathhic md. They are hard to find!

New Year Anxiety January 5, 2023

Yesterday I began to sort out the piles of unopened mail and credit card bills to read before paying,  The AMEX card finally entered correctly into the computer, etc. These are not New Year's resolutions, merely doing what I usually do every month but have been procrastinating. Why?

I know I  worry about Teddie. When I shared with my sister Rita, she actually called Ted and listened to him for an hour. Now she sent him a check for a thousand dollars.

Yesterday he accepted a menial job at a donation center, checking donations from the trunks of cars that drive up. This is not what I want for my son. It's another hiding job, as he had in Arizona when he worked for a cleaners, sitting there taking in and giving back laundry.

I can't fix him and he won't go to therapy.

He has befriended three Italian fellows who live in his trailer park. And a few neighbors who are helping him fix his house.

I am going there next week. I thought I was going to help him sort out FEMA stuff, but now he will be working. Why am I going?

The NOKBOX I ordered has been delivered but not opened. It is my resolve to open it and fill each section with my records so that my next of kin will  have access to everything when I am no longer able to show anyone where everything is.

Can I be supportive without being critical or controlling? The weather will be in the 70ies, which is soothing but I am okay here in NY . I bought myself a new longer down coat so the 20's were bearable for a short while, enough to get me to where I wanted to be.. and home again. 

I have paperwork to do to get ready to have Joanne do my taxes. I need to have a tooth capped, I need to have my hearing aids recalibrated, I want to do these things in Arizona when I move my stuff out of storage and give most away ,but save some for Steve's house. I wrote an email to Linda and Steve but Linda is ignoring it so far. I am not  doing well today. Maybe after my Jazz it up class I will feel better.