January 28: That Museum, Different, My Holden, "Rye" Dip

...The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was.  Nobody'd move.  You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south, the deers would still be drinking out of that water hole, with their pretty antlers and their pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be weaving that same blanket.  Nobody'd be different.  The only thing that would be different would be you.  Not that you'd be so much older or anything.  It wouldn't be that, exactly.  You'd just be different, that's all.  You'd have an overcoat on this time.  Or the kid that was your partner in line the last time had got scarlet fever and you'd have a new partner.  Or you'd have a substitute taking the class, instead of Miss Aigletinger.  Or you'd heard your mother and father having a terrific fight in the bathroom.  Or you'd just passed by one of those puddles in the street with gasoline rainbows in them.  I mean you'd be different in some way--I can't explain what I mean.  And even if I could, I'd not sure I'd feel like it.

Holden is talking about the Museum of Natural History in New York.  He remembers going on class field trips to that museum when he was younger.  He describes his favorite exhibits in detail and then talks about nothing ever being "different" there,  Holden finds that comforting.  His brother, Allie, is dead.  His friend, Jane, is dating his dorm mate.  He's just been kicked out of another prep school.  Yet, the Eskimo at the museum is still ice fishing.  The deer are still at the water hole.  The birds are still flying south.  Nothing is different.  Except Holden himself, of course.

Holden craves stability, I think.  That's why his memory of the museum brings him so much pleasure.  He knows that, if he walks up the steps of the Museum of Natural History,  he will be greeted by the same sights and sounds from his childhood.  Nothing will have changed.  And it's change, the process of growing up, that Holden is struggling with.

I have a Holden in my life.  He's in his early fifties.  I had dinner at his house last night.  My Holden is tightly wound.  His parents are aging, and his job causes him huge amounts of stress.  He finds little pleasure in life.  Everything for my Holden is a battle for control.  Holden doesn't want his mother to get old.  He doesn't want his father to slow down.  He's afraid every day that he might lose his job.  He feels out of control.

My Holden's solution is structure and schedules.  He gets up at the same time every morning.  He works pretty much the same hours every day.  He arrives home around two or three o'clock in the afternoon and changes into his pajamas.  Supper has to be on the table by four.  By six o'clock, he's getting his mother to bed, and then he goes to bed himself.  That's his life.

Yesterday, dinner almost wasn't ready at 4 p.m.  Holden lost it.  He started slamming dishes and swearing.  He got into a huge argument with his sister, who was cooking.  There were quite a few "fuck yous" tossed back and forth.  Holden was red-faced and crying by the time dinner was on the table at 3:55 p.m.  Yes, dinner was five minutes early, and he was on the verge of a nuclear meltdown.

I don't know how to help Holden.  He doesn't readily accept advice, and he won't go to a therapist or counselor.  He's headed for a nervous breakdown.

So, my questions for Rye Dip Monday is simple:

Will my Holden get help for his mental health problems?

And the answer from J. D. Salinger is:

"I like Allie," I said.  "And I like doing what I'm doing right now.  Sitting here with you, and talking, and thinking about stuff, and--"

I'm not sure I like that answer.  That's Salinger's Holden talking to his little sister, trying to name something that he likes to do, something that gives him pleasure.  All he can come up with is thinking about his dead brother, Allie.  He's stuck, just like the exhibits at the museum.


So is Saint Marty's Holden.

It's true,  Nothing changes at the Museum of Natural History.  As this guy.