Monthly Archives: October 2008

HOMELESSNESS AND THE CHECKERED MUG

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I am standing in my kitchen holding a white coffee mug with a checkered band and it gives me enormous strength. I am facing the possibility of homelessness and I can use all the strength I can get right now. I have been homeless before and know its merciless grip all too well. Now I face that stark reality again. I’ll get to why in a minute. But first, back to the mug with the checkered band.

I bought it one summer morning in 2001 while having breakfast with my mother Leona in California. She was dying of liver cancer and we both knew it.

My mother surrendered me for adoption seven days after I was born on October 2, 1953. We were reunited in Stamford Connecticut on January 8. 1987. By 2001 we had grown close and developed deep understanding that in many ways we mirrored each other. Those who knew us best said we each had uncanny levels of prescience, deep reserves of courage, and enormous compassion for all who have been brutalized in life. We were both deeply sentimental. Which is why, when we were having breakfast that morning, I asked the waitress if I could buy the cup I was using.

The waitress and my mother had been talking about cancer. My mother’s and someone the waitress knew. She said, “I’ll do you one better, wait her.” She went into the kitchen and soon returned with another mug in better condition tucked in a brown paper bag. “Just take it,” she said. Then, nodding towards the man behind the register she added, “That sonuvabitch will charge you an arm and a leg. Take it.”

As some of you know, I am in the process of applying getting back onto the disability rolls. My brain injury along with an ample supply of depression, agoraphobia and PTSD have taken there toll. A man I once worked for has been helping me keep my head above water until my disability kicks. However, without warning he let me know Saturday he can’t help me anymore. With no family to fall back on coupled with being in the midst of filing for disability, the situation is not good.

I spend much of my life helping others so believe me, the act of asking for help buckles my knees. But I must live the things I have taught others for more than two decades now: just because you feel hopeless does not mean there is no hope; just because you feel humiliated does not mean you are humiliated; just because you feel weak does not mean you are weak; and just because you feel it is weak to cry doesn’t mean crying is an act of weakness, else why is it so hard to do?

A friend of mine said, “Peter, you live a simple live. It’s not about extravagance.” She went on to say you are asking for help to keep a roof over your head, food in the refrigerator, your bills paid. She and others have urged me to ask for help and support here on the blog. Lest you think I am sitting quietly by, let me reassure you that is not the case.

I will be going to the Department of Social Service this week for emergency food stamps and support. If I am approved, I will only receive half the money towards my rent. I rent a modest home for $650 per month, have the attending car payment along with utilities and, of course, food, phone, electric and, God help us all, oil heat.

My life is about helping others survive. Now I am in a position to ask others to help me survive. Not an easy thing to do, but there is a reason they say pride goeth before a fall. I can tell you Iwould a lot better if you asked me for help. But I recognize this is a personal crisis. I also recognize I am only trying to keep myself alive and functioning to keep doing what I know I do best; help and advocating for others. I have spent the better half of my life doing that.

A lot of my readers don’t know me personally. But I have done my best to give you a glimpse of my life through the blog. I want to continue to be able to use this tool to write and give others hope. This will be impossible for me to do without the support of others. I am hoping some of you can send a donation to help me. In doing so I will be able to keep my home and pay the bills for food, heat, rent and electricity until the disability kicks in.

The donations can be made out to and sent directly to me at:

Peter Kahrmann
P.O. Box 19
Westerlo, NY 12193

I understand these are hard times for everyone. My basic belief though, is that people in general are good hearted and can be called upon in times of need. I honestly never thought I would be in this position to ask for help from my readers. If you are able to come to my aide I would deeply appreciate your generosity. I hope I will be able to give back to you as well.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Peter
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BOOBS, PENIS, STREET SIGNS & A THANK YOU

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The readership in the Kahrmann Blog has been increasing steadily and I want to thank all of you who visit here often, as well as those of who drop by from time to time. It is a humbling thing to see people give value to what you write. There are now regular readers in several countries in addition to my own: Australia, Canada, England, and Venezuela (countries listed alphabetically).

Recently a friend of mine, who knows I have a penchant for going off on comedic riffs, said why don’t you put that stuff in the blog? Even better, go do some standup. The idea of doing standup is scary – but I just might. If you ponder the fact that much of comedy comes from tragedy, there’s plenty of material in the world these days. Now that doesn’t mean all comedy comes from tragedy. Here are some examples of the latter, questions I’ve been pondering.

1) Why is the penis the only body part that has a name you can’t say out loud without sounding as if you’re whining? It has to be one of the most avoided if not the most avoided words in the English language, save for medical professionals, urologists and such. Moreover, no man in the throws of sex has heard the words; I love your big penis. If he did, it didn’t stay big.

2) What is up with the word boobs for women’s breasts? How do we know they’re stupid? They are the only body part given a name that defines their intelligence. And let me tell you what, given all the attention breasts get in the world, I’d say they are anything but stupid. Instead of boobs, why not say something like, nice pair of geniuses?

3) Lets talk about street signs. When I left New York City in 1987, I left a place where street signs made sense. SLOW meant slow and STOP meant stop. The NYC no parking signs were crystal clear in their meaning, so much so that there were no parking signs in the well-heeled neighborhood of Sutton Place that read, and I quote, DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT PARKING HERE.

In 1987 I leave the city and move to Sullivan County and everything changes. I love Sullivan County. The people are nice and the land is magnificent beyond description. However, whoever designed the street signs there (and it seems in all the upstate counties) smoked better pot than I ever did. The team that design these signs had passed the bong around a few times before getting down to work. How else can you explain the signs? . I would see a sign that said SPEED ZONE AHEAD and so I would do what I was told and hit the gas. I couldn’t figure out why on earth they wanted you to speed through the more populated areas. Later on I would find out SPEED ZONE meant slow down. Yeah? Then say slow down.

And then there was the sign that scared and confused the hell out of me the first few times I saw it until I finally asked someone what the hell it meant. I’m driving on a road that has signs that say 35 MPH. So, I do 35 MPH because I’m a newcomer to the area and I want to establish straight away that I respect the area. And then the nightmare sign. It says, END 35 MPH……….. And then…nothing…..no follow up sign, nothing. I didn’t know whether to come to a complete stop until someone came along who would tell me what to do next. I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do. A week or two later I was told that when you see that sign it means you can then do 55 MPH. I thought, so why not have a sign that says that.

I can tell you one thing, the people who designed those signs, now they were boobs.

Thanks for reading the blog.

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BRAIN INJURY INCLUDES ALL OF US

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– The word is getting out that you are planning a book on your experiences working in the field of brain injury.

– Almost. A book about living with a brain injury and working in the field.

– Where does it stand right now?

– Planning it in my head. It’s a narrative of the experience. What I’ve encountered, seen, experienced. People I’ve met, worked with, the survivors, their families, and the healthcare system itself is a character.

– Is it a tell all book?

– You mean like a gotcha piece?

– Yes.

– No. It’s a tell the truth book. When it comes to programs that provide services to those of us with brain injuries living in the community, it’s essentially a new field. So there’s a real mix on the results front as everyone is on a learning curve.

– So mistakes get made?

– Sure, but that’s part of life and not necessarily a bad thing at all. As long as the motivations behind people’s actions and choices are in a healthy place, mistakes are growing pains. When the motivations turn poisonous, then the process becomes diseased, and that’s pretty tragic.

– You seen that?

– Sure. It’s like any field, really. Some folks in it are amazing, some aren’t. Some are honest and honorable, some aren’t. What the field is missing, at least in my state, is real thorough oversight. Too often, those that are in the field for the wrong reasons are not held accountable. There are people in the Department of Health in my state for example that I like and admire and then there are others I don’t. I know one woman, the wife of a survivor of brain injury, who has filed complaints on her husband’s behalf and the DOH looks into it, or says it looks into it, and then tells her the complaint was unfounded. The curious thing is the DOH never talks to her or her husband during the investigation. That’s kind of like a mechanic signing off on the health of your car without ever looking at the engine.

– The book will focus on what you’ve encountered in the field as well?

– Absolutely. There have been times I’ve had to educate people I work with about the impact my brain injury has on my life. More often than not, they were great, got it, and translated the knowledge into their work. Other times, they’d nod, say yeah, okay, and then march on as if I’d said nothing.

– Sounds frustrating.

– In a way. But I think more than anything I was grateful to be alive to be in the position to try to help people understand, not just my injury, but the injuries others live with as well.

– What’s your next step in the book process?

– I’m working out a questionnaire for bunch of people, about demographics. One of the amazing things about those in the field of brain injury is their diverse backgrounds. People from different fields. Different educational backgrounds, different economic backgrounds, and more. While it’s not the main thrust of the book, its material I want to lace into the book. I mean look at me, I’m a high school drop out with a GED and a few college credits, and a former New York City cabby. So you have a real rainbow of folks.

– So the questionnaire is –

– Just to get peoples demographics collected so when I interview them I can focus on their experience and not waste their time with things like what types of jobs have you worked at or where did you go to school or where’d you grow up. When I meet with people to interview them I want to focus on the content of their experience in the field.

– And survivors?

– I will absolutely be talking with survivors and their families, absolutely, I’ll be sending the same questionnaires to them for the same reason; survivors, like those in the field come from every background you can imagine. Same with the advocates.

– It’s as if brain injury in a way includes all of us.

– Now you’re getting it.
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SARAH PALIN: A MOOSE SHOOTIN’ BULLSHITTIN’ (FILL IN THE BLANK)

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Sarah Palin. There, I said it. I had hoped to get through this election without writing her name. While this is not a poison pen letter, I do think writing her name runs the risk of poisoning the finest of pens.

But, Sarah Palin? Are you kidding me? Her response to a bi-partisan report that concluded she had broken her state’s ethics laws was to say the report cleared her of, brace yourself, any “ethical wrong doing.” Reminds me of the Richard Pryor line: “You gonna believe me or your lying eyes?”

Listen, Sarah, if you’re gonna bullshit us, put some effort into it. Live on the edge; why not throw caution to the wind and use both digits of your IQ. Common, you can do it. No? We may not all be going to Mensa meetings anytime soon but the kind of dishonest and disingenuous garbage you’re spewing has no place in American political life, now – or ever.

However, we are in the now and now is a dangerous time for my country. The economy, our reputation around the world and our infrastructure is in shambles. Our ability to trust our elected leaders, always tenuous at best, is now nearly non-existent. We have a president and vice-president that aspired to be and came close to being our American Dictators. They should be charged as war criminals and jailed as far as I’m concerned. As a rule, dictators rule by fear. And there’s Moose Shootin’ Palin out there firing up crowds to the point they are yelling “Kill him!” about Obama.

We don’t need this or deserve this in my country. Thousands upon thousands of American men and women have lost their lives, their limbs, and their sense of safety in the world so the United States could be the United States.

As for Senator John McCain, let me be maybe the first to say it. While he was, without question, courageous beyond description in Vietnam and during years as a POW, he is a political wimp – a coward. He has abandoned all that in his heart he probably still believes in to win the election and placate his dysfunctional party leaders. That’s cowardice, bro.

As for Ms. Palin, go back to Alaska and chill out. Hey, it’s Alaska. It should be easy.
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WE OUGHT TO JAIL FEAR

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I live in fear every day. Some days more than others. Like the London fog, it rarely leaves. And when it does leave, it hasn’t gone far. Fear can be crippling. It is a master thief. It robs us of more than we realize.

An extraordinary song by Marc Cohn, an e-mail exchange with a loved one, and a recent discussion with a group of trauma survivors has me pondering the presence of fear in far too many lives. Like the song, “One Safe Place,” by Mr. Cohn reminds us, we all deserve a sanctuary.

Life happens to us whether we like it or not. Life, unlike people, knows no bigotry. It visits all of us. It brings us its greatest rewards if we stay open to them: the love of a fellow human being, the joy of loving another human being, the sweetness of a soft morning mist, a baby’s laughter, a piece of music that sends chills of joy riding up and down our spine and wets our eyes. Life brings fear too. There is a Life Growth phrase that says, It’s okay to be afraid, don’t let is scare you. The phrase seeks to help someone discover they have a relationship with the fear and thus have some say in the relationship. The idea is to wrest as much decision making power from the fear as possible by going towards and through the fear. Believe me, I am not always able to do it. But when I do, the results are not as horrifying as I thought they would be.

Not long after I was shot in the head in 1984 I was held up again at gunpoint and did what any sane person would do, I retreated into my home and did not leave it for nearly one year. Fear had me by the throat. It robbed me of participation in the world around me. How did I get free of it, at least to the point I could leave my home? Acceptance. Acceptance does not, I repeat, does not mean giving in to it. The equation goes like this; you have to accept it in order to manage it and you have to manage it in order to get free of it. You have to go through it.

We can be a spoiled lot at times. We want short cuts. Smokers want to defeat the cigarrette habit with a patch, hypnosis, nicotine gum, or accupuncture (I’ve always thought there should inaccupuncture too. Fairness, you know). In other words, they want to kick the habit without going through the experience of, well, kicking the habit (bet you didn’t see that coming).

There are some common sources of fear: violence, disease, death, loss of employment, end of relationship, of marriage, and so forth. But there are other fear-laden landscapes where the master thief robs more from our lives: fear of loving someone fully and allowing someone to love you. Fear of following your dreams: going back to school, picking up some paints because you’ve always wanted to paint, learning how to play an instrument because you think you’re too old or lack talent, and so forth.

We ought to jail fear every chance we get. The only way to jail it is to move through it. Will it be easy? No.

Hear me. You go through the fear and you will come out the other side. You will notice that you made it. You’re still breathing. It didn’t kill you (that’s what we think it wants to do, isn’t it?). You are alive and face to face a new kind of glory – you. Each time you go through the fear you erase more and more of its ability to control you and rob you of your dreams in life. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll paint that painting, play that instrument, love that person and let that person love you. Impossibilities become possibilities. And one of the last things in the world that deserves to rob you of your dreams and your possibilities is fear.

Remember, it’s okay to be afraid, don’t let it scare you. Remember to live.
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