1/24/2022 0 Comments MEDIATION - A CAT TO THE RESCUEIn the fall of 2018, before the pandemic, my co-mediator and I were waiting in the North Shore Community Mediation Center (NSCMC) conference room for the parties to arrive. The conference room is a no-frills affair with a conference table that could easily convert to a picnic table. The well-known mediation center has been running for 25 years and has helped thousands of people. The parties enter. They sit as far apart as possible in our small conference room. One party is stout and glares; the other is thin and cowers. They have been referred by a local town Housing Authority. They both live in the same senior housing two-story complex. The stout one (Mrs. Downstairs) has a downstairs unit. The thin one (Mrs. Upstairs) lives directly above her. They both have complained excessively to the Housing Authority who referred them to us. Both women are in their 80s. MRS. UPSTAIRS had been living happily in her upstairs unit for four years with a different person downstairs. That person moved out a year ago when Mrs. Downstairs moved in. Since then, her life has been a misery. Mrs. Downstairs believes that she is intentionally making loud banging and clanging noises, both day and night. Mrs. Downstairs takes her broom and bangs it against the ceiling. Mrs. Upstairs hears this banging, both day and night. She has spoken with Mrs. Downstairs and told her that she NEVER “bangs or clangs” anything. Mrs. Downstairs called her a liar. Mrs. Downstairs tells us that she has tried everything she can think of including getting extra carpets, not flushing the toilet in the nighttime, and not even having her teenage grandson visit because he “walks heavy.” Before she moved in, she had been advised by friends that the sound insulation between floors in the building was very poor. She waited an additional year before a second-floor apartment opened up. She is now at her wit’s end. She does not want to leave but she cannot continue like this. We asked her if we could share any of this information with Mrs. Downstairs. “Anything you wish”, she replied. I then asked one of my favorite mediator questions that sometimes produces surprising results – “Is there anything else important to you that you would like to share?” “Well yes, my cat. I stopped letting him go out because I was afraid that he would bother Mrs. Downstairs. He likes to peer into her window.” Whenever an animal, especially a pet, shows up in mediations, something in me wakes up. I am very aware of the powerful relationship between people and animals and, sometimes, this can be very helpful. In this case, I just filed the info. The story from MRS. DOWNSTAIRS corroborated some of the facts we had already heard but from a very different angle. She told us that she had been in a bad situation before she was able to get her apartment. In addition to many physical ailments, she also had PTSD. Loud noises triggered terrible thoughts and anxiety. She had not had a good night’s sleep since she moved in. She had done everything she could think of to make the situation work including buying additional soundproofing, installing a “white noise” machine, and using earplugs. Nothing worked. The banging and clanging have continued to drive her crazy. She had told Mrs. Upstairs her problems but Mrs. Upstairs lied and said she was not doing anything. “That was not possible with the degree of banging”. She even had brought the people from the Housing Authority to listen, but unfortunately, when they were there, there was no banging. “Probably Mrs. Upstairs saw them coming and stopped the noise.” She was utterly distraught. She had no money to move out and yet staying was not working at all. We discussed other possibilities for the noise such as old plumbing systems in the building, toilet flushing, and banging from other neighbors. Mrs. Downstairs was not convinced. We shared the sacrifices that Mrs. Upstairs had made to keep things quiet including not allowing her grandson in her apartment. She paused for a moment to consider, but then went back to her former position. She felt she had done everything she could and was at her wit’s end. We asked if we could share this with Mrs. Upstairs. “Sure, why not!” Then I asked my favorite question again – “Is there anything else important to you that you would like to share?” “Yes, there is”, she shouted. “It’s about the cat. I love cats and my cat died before I came here. One of the only good things about being here was that nice cat who visited me. Then, Mrs. Upstairs did not let the cat visit me anymore.” Now tell me, is that spiteful or what?” LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS I saw a possible light in the darkness. We brought both parties together to see if something useful might be made of all this. We reviewed everything they had shared. Both listened and were somewhat surprised that the other was as miserable as she was. Both wanted to find a way out. Then I quietly asked, “Can you tell us more about the cat?” Mrs. Upstairs, with tears in her eyes, said that it made her so sad to keep her cat inside all the time, but she did not want to disturb Mrs. Downstairs. Mrs. Downstairs said that the cat was her only contact with life. She had thought that Mrs. Upstairs was depriving her because of spite. Tears also rolled down her cheeks. And something quite magical happened – the tension that both parties had been carrying simply dissolved. Mrs. Upstairs sat up straight and no longer looked afraid. Mrs. Downstairs’ voice softened. They looked at each other and leaned in getting closer. They understood each other’s pain and hopes. They chatted for a while and decided to go “as a team” to the Housing Authority to work out a solution. They walked out of the room together. All of this is particularly intriguing when you realize that nothing external had changed. The building would still bang and clang. Mrs. Downstairs would still have PTSD. Mrs. Upstairs would still continue to be as quiet as possible. But now, both Mrs. Upstairs and Mrs. Downstairs would share the joy of a loving, happy cat.
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1965 - In my second year at college, I signed up for a course in Japanese literature and culture. I had heard that the professor was particularly good. Fortunately, his course also fit into my schedule. Mr. Solomon, an appropriate name for a wise man, had a unique way of getting us to inquire about our own concerns. One day, Mr. Solomon stated that anything done with attention becomes interesting. It cannot be annoying or irritating, a popular complaint among the students. One classmate argued, “Yeah right, but what about when the faucet won’t stop dripping? That is just IRRITATING.” This was surely the experience for many of us who lived in high-rise apartments in New York City. In fact, there was an entire protest movement based on dripping faucets featuring the protest song “The Faucets Are Dripping.” I had heard Pete Seeger sing the song with its biting verses and learned to play it on my guitar. Here’s the chorus: The faucets are dripping in Old New York City The faucets are dripping and oh what a pity The reservoir drying because it’s supplying The faucets that drip in New York To hear Pete Seeger sing the entire song go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtQ94J8qLD4 Mr. Solomon smiled and challenged the student. “I don’t believe you have ever actually listened to the dripping faucet. If you did, you could not possibly find it irritating.” This was completely baffling for both the student and for me as well. I had been listening to dripping faucets since I could remember. Mr. Solomon proposed the following assignment for the whole class. “See if you can actually listen to your dripping faucet. Don’t judge what is going on, don’t label it, just listen to it. See if you notice your thoughts while you are listening. See if you can let yourself settle and experience what is happening. Try this for the next three days until our class meets again. Do it for at least 10 minutes at a time”. Although I really had no clue what he was talking about, I decided to give it a go. I chose the leaking faucet in my bathtub for my “listening pleasure”. The first few times I “tried” to listen I found all sorts of excuses for not listening. My thoughts buzzed around: including where I should sit in order to listen. It is a small bathroom. Should I sit on the toilet or the floor? Time passed and I ended the first two sessions still not able to listen. On my third try, I decided to actually focus on whatever listening might really be. I would intentionally leave my thoughts and other distractions alone, select a place to sit, (I sat on the toilet with the seat down), and settled in and listened for the drips. However, I still did not hear the dripping, What I did hear was a cacophony of noise from the apartment building. I heard swooshing water from flushing toilets, creaks from walls, muffled human voices, footsteps in the apartment above, and a number of sounds I could not easily identify. “Wow, this is really loud and I never hear these sounds”. At first, I did not hear anything that sounded like a “leaky faucet,” and the thought popped into my head that the leak was fixed somehow. But I decided to continue listening and then … “plink”. Oh my gosh, I heard the “plink”. I did not hear a “leaky faucet”. It is not possible to actually “hear” a leaky faucet – just the “plink.” Then, a little while later, another “plink” and then two “plinks” in quick succession, and so it continued. I was amazed. Mr. Solomon was quite correct. It is not possible to actually listen and be “irritated” by a leaky faucet. I reported my discovery at our next class meeting. Mr. Solomon simply said “Good start”. 2022 - 57 years later – Most every week, Catherine and I drive with our four dogs to the drive-up window of our local bank. We deposit our checks and withdraw four dog cookies. The dogs are completely familiar with this routine, choose their favorite waiting places in the car, and intensely stare at the window that will deliver the cookies. One of the dogs, Molly, a lab – pit bull mix, stands in such a way that her mouth is directly above my right thigh. While impatiently waiting, the drool begins to form at the corner of her mouth and then it “drips” onto my jeans. I watch as the liquid spreads out and the pattern it makes and, on some occasions, the wisdom of Mr. Solomon comes to mind. |
David FeldmanDog walker, Dog Mediator, Father, Husband, Categories |