Happy birthday, Diane

Today is my sole sibling’s birthday. She turns 80, and lives — still I imagine — in a stationary, double-wide trailer* in the Northern California town of Arcata. We have not communicated in nine years. I was the one who called it off.

Around 1955.

She was a good Big Sister in our youth, always having my back, but in her late 30s she got involved in what many consider a cult, and things went drastically downhill from there.

It’s a “therapy” cult that had a guru in New York City. He had many slavish female followers. It’s, not surprisingly, called Social Therapy, and the guru is Fred Newman, now deceased.

I often asked actual therapists whom I ran into if they had heard of Social Therapy, and no one had.

Diane was married briefly in her 20s to a guy I liked. She once said this: “He zips, flips and knows where it’s at.” This was the 1960s, and some people actually talked like that. She dumped him after a few short years, but they remained friends for a spell.

About the same time she enlisted in the cult, she decided she was a Lesbian, and her personality began a descent into fanaticism. She developed a hair-trigger personality. Her politics went hard left. She became a fan of the French writer Michel Foucault. Her guru, Newman, also has a book. My mother and I tried to read it, but it made no sense to either of us. It was utter nonsense, but it became Diane’s Bible.

She was a university English instructor through much of her 20s and 30s, but then she turned to her “therapy.” The cult runs “therapy” centers, which are actually traps, around the United States, and she co-managed one in Atlanta. She found a partner, a California woman named Roxan who was divorced with three adult children. They stayed together for decades till Roxan died about four years ago, something I learned on Facebook.

They moved from Atlanta to Arcata to be near Roxan’s family, most of whom were not overly fond of Diane. So they were two divorcees, one with kids, who had flipped to Lesbianism. I liked Roxan quite a bit. Unlike Diane, she was not explosive. She was cuddly.

Diane had a falling out with the co-manager of the cult’s Atlanta outpost, so she opened a private therapy practice that focused mostly on occupational issues, and later became a “life coach.” You may have heard of that relatively new field. It’s all the rage. Interestingly, my second ex-wife also became a “life coach” after our divorce.

I have been surrounded by female “therapists” for years. My first ex-wife is a therapist. My daughter became a therapist. And there, of course, is Diane. I wonder if she still practices. Her website remains online but looks inactive.

Until I canceled my Facebook account a few months ago, I used to look at Diane’s page where she almost daily posted “Woke” pronouncements and other leftist, PC nuttiness.

Many people mellow with age. I have. She hasn’t. And today she is 80. I wonder if someone brought her a cake.


* Which I learned via Google Street View.

22 thoughts on “Happy birthday, Diane

  1. Yeah, that’s too bad, Felipe. It seems that a lot of these so-called “therapists” are the ones who really need the therapy.

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    1. Brent: There are exceptions, of course, and I think they are in the minority, but most people in the therapeutic profession landed there because they, more than most, are in need of help.

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  2. People need someone to lean on and give them direction. Life is so hard now it’s so much easier to just ask someone else what would make you happy. I’m surprised that my ex-wives didn’t get into that. They were always telling me what would make me happy, and it turned out I already knew what to do.

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    1. Kirk: I have done therapy a time or two. Never found it to be any sort of help whatsoever. I think emotional problems are almost invariably buried so deeply that no amount of traditional therapy helps. Many will disagree, and they can certainly do that. I will not complain.

      Funny story: As my second marriage was spiraling into the black hole, my wife and I went to a therapist, a high-end woman in a pricey part of Houston. So, right off the bat, it was two women versus one guy, and that’s how the entire, relatively short-lived, process progressed. A gang-bang with me getting it in the backside.

      On the last session, the therapist ($100 an hour which was quite high in those days) had me bend backward over one of those big, inflatable balls usually used in gyms. As I was duly bent back over it, she came close and asked, “How old are you?” I suppose I was expected to say 8 or 9, but I just responded correctly. “I am 50.” I stood up shortly after, walked out, and never returned. Marriage over. Oh, well. You win some, and you lose some.

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  3. What’s her last name. If you would like, I’ll look her up?

    Side note, have you been following that new congresswoman, Marjorie Taylor Green? Holy smokes, man, she is a firecracker, I love her take-no-prisoners attitude towards the Kool-Aid drinking leftists!

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    1. Marco: Her last name is the same as mine, which you already know. But look her up? For what purpose? You could send her birthday greetings, I suppose. Go for it.

      Yes, I know of Marjorie Green, and I love her too. By the way, I changed your referring to her as a “person,” and changed it to “woman.” There is nothing wrong with being a woman. Don’t buy into the PC nonsense. And people are not chairs either. They are chairmen and chairwomen. Indoctrination is very sneaky.

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  4. Wow, I’m impressed: dress shirt and tie, white sports jacket and contrasting slacks. I grew up in a small town, and my twin brother and I dressed alike. We had a problem getting two of the same suit in the same size. Sometimes the store would take one from a larger suit and have the tailor scale it down. We ended up getting most of our clothes from J. C. Penny for that reason.

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    1. Phil: I’m fairly positive that photo, which was taken in the back yard of the house I wrote about recently, was shot on an Easter Sunday, which was about the only time we ever got decked out in that way. I would have been 11, her 14.

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  5. Sad to be estranged so long and at your ages. Since you cut off contact, it is up to you to reestablish it. She may not be so angry at her age, and you may be a bit more understanding. We all have our right to some weirdness in this life. Give it a try.

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  6. One of the dangers of writing these introspective pieces is that it induces people to hand out unsolicited advice. I almost did it myself. I was into a brilliant piece of advice that would have made your life practically perfect in every way. Then, I realized I was doing what I really dislike seeing in the comments section of my blog. People who think they are qualified to live my life far better than the obvious car wreck I am living on my own.

    So, let me say just this: do what you choose to do. Your life. Your choice.

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    1. Señor Cotton: You are fortunate to have a good relationship — it appears — with your brother. You have no idea how much I envy such things. I am, for all practical purposes, totally family-less, if you do not count my Mexican relatives. I do count them, however, and I appreciate them, but we live in very different worlds. Our closeness, such as it is, is superficial, and it always will be. My wife is an exception, though there is a bit of that there too.

      As for your initial impulse to offer advice, it would have been a waste of time. Good that you did not bother with it.

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        1. Steve: People who think they are qualified to live my life far better than the obvious car wreck I am living on my own.

          Thanks for a good laugh!!!

          Cheers,

          Kim G
          Boston, MA
          Where it’s more like a car stalled by the side of the road than any wreck, with the concomitant excitement.

          Liked by 1 person

    1. Dave: I started writing this thing in 2005, and I’ve never received any indication that either she, my first wife or my second wife read The Moon though surely some or all do.

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      1. Felipe:

        If my own experience is any guide, the less well you know someone, the more likely they are to read your blog. Unless you met them via the blog, in which case it’s the reverse. While my own blog is currently comatose (but not officially dead), very few friends ever read it, and even fewer ever left any comments.

        As for your sister, what is there to say? My own sister has grown more and more distant, but there was never any real break. Just less and less interest in being my sister and more in living her own life. It saddens me, but I’m getting over it. And frankly, I don’t even have any idea as to why. It has nothing to do with politics.

        Saludos,

        Kim G
        Boston, MA
        Where one has to keep finding new friends and relationships because few of them will last forever.

        Liked by 1 person

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