I couldn't pay the subscription fee for our big regional paper, so that delivery was stopped some months ago; with it went my Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. Our local paper (which I just managed to pay for) is an afternoon one five days a week, and then one issue Sunday morning. Six papers a week. It contained the non-Sunday New York Times crossword puzzles, Monday's through Saturday's, with the Saturday puzzle being printed in the Sunday morning edition.
*For non-crossword fans, the Sunday New York Times is an extra-big puzzle, usually with some trick or pun to it. It is almost always a challenge, at least for me. The weekly puzzles start out easy on Monday and get incrementally more difficult throughout the week, with the Saturday puzzle frequently being more difficult than even the big one on Sunday.
The Sunday New York Times crossword was always a lot of fun, but I haven't missed it TOO terribly much because I still had a puzzle to do on Sunday morning, a puzzle that frequently took me all day to get solved.
To stretch out the fun, I save the puzzle for last. I read the paper, including the inserts, check the sale ads, chuckle at the funnies, and then, then I turn to the classified section to open it to my crossword. This morning, there was something wrong with the crossword. I thought it was a misprint. It was so small, it didn't take up the space cleared for it, and the answers all looked to be short little words. It had to be a misprint. Then I looked closer. It is a crossword. A baby crossword. A crossword embryo, born prematurely before it developed to the stage of having polysyllabic words. A crossword that couldn't cross a cul-de-sac by itself, let alone go down to the local newspaper.
There was no explanation. How could someone shatter my Sunday mornings with no explanation? What did I do? Did I anger the newspaper gods by my inability to pay the subscription bill to the big paper? Did I enjoy too much the negative view of a modern newspaper depicted in the wonderful, complex offering that was Season Five of "The Wire?" What happened? Where is my crossword? How can I enjoy my Sunday properly without facing a puzzle that at first glance appears insolvable, but that then gradually over the day opens itself to my understanding? And how can I face the week without looking forward to the crossword puzzles from Thursdays on? The anticipation of the more difficult puzzles helps me to face the assault on my resources that is the beginning of each week. Monday's puzzles I scorn. Tuesday's puzzles I scoff at. Wednesday's puzzles I deign to skim over, as once in a while one looks like it might make me think for a moment or two. And then there is Thursday, with a puzzle that I can be sure is going to take me a little while, that will make me think on at least some of the clues, that can fool me and puzzle me and confound me, at least a little bit. Friday's puzzles are even better, then I get the fun of delayed gratification in waiting an extra day for the puzzle prize that is the Saturday New York Times crossword.
Then this. I don't know how I'll face the day. How can I fill my time? What will I do? I am bereft. Will Shortz, is this your fault? Tell me, what did I do? WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID??
The newspaper lies scattered around my chair, mute.
A
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Another Saturday, Another Funeral.
This morning's funeral was for a teen who was successfully disassociating himself from his gang. He had made the choice to leave that life behind him, turned his focus to school, worked hard with his school's football team, and died anyway, shot in the back of the head by some gangbangers who crashed a party he was attending. What a tragedy. This boy had done what KidThree did--he made the choice to leave that life, he made better decisions, he started to work his way out, and still he got popped. What an f'ing tragedy. What a mess. That poor boy. His poor family. Our poor society.
Of course KidThree knew him. Friends and acquaintances of hers die at the rate of almost one a week, murdered, mostly. When I was a girl, I went to my grandfather's funeral and the funeral of a classmate who walked behind home plate when a batter hit the ball and then threw aside his bat, where it struck my classmate in the head. That was it. For KidThree, this was the fourth funeral this summer. One natural, albeit tragic, death and three murders. And those were only the deaths where she attended the funerals.
It was an interesting morning. This family didn't know me, so KidThree very hesitantly hinted that I might not want to attend, as my presence might be somewhat inhibiting to the other attendees. Poor KidThree. She was so careful to assure me that she wasn't ashamed of me, that she was proud to have me as her mom, she just thought the family might not be entirely comfortable with me. I reassured her that I understood, not to blow smoke, but because I really did understand her dilemma.
We went across town to pick up another girl, then headed out to the funeral. When we got there, I was tickled to see that it was at a Catholic cathedral. Ha Ha Ha! I knew it would be as unfamiliar to her as her Baptist services have been for me, and that is what happened. She and her friend didn't understand most of what was going on. Afterwards I was able to explain to them some of the differences they had noticed. I think I may take KidThree to a few Catholic services just to explain to her some basic religious history.
While the girls were at the funeral, I went to Wal*Mart and did some shopping. That was fun. We have trouble shopping for pants for KidThree, as we need a dressing room with a good-sized bench in it in order for her to be able to try on the clothing. It works better to buy things, bring them home to try, then return the rejects. Today I had just cashed her SSI check and so had plenty of cash (NOT my usual situation), so I chose a dozen pairs of jeans and shorts to try. She chose two pairs of the shorts and three of the pants fit me (we wear sort of the same size--just very different styles as we are different shapes). The rest will go back tomorrow.
We have just finished watching the last episode of "The Wire." The very last one. Not the penultimate, the actual ultimate. Drat, Blast, and Darn It All. The last episode of "The Wire." I thought "The Sopranos" was good, but "The Wire" blew that out of the water. Oh my. No more "The Wire." It has so ruined television for me. No more cop shows except things like "The First 48," which KidThree likes to watch. Drat, Blast, and Darn It All AGAIN.
News from the 'hood: KidThree's bio-mother got locked up yesterday afternoon; bio-mother's wife and KidThree's younger brother are still on the run; and KidThree's sister is still in hiding with her babydaddy and their baby. It will take a while for that to resolve. What a mess this world of ours is.
On the plus side, I won one of the spots in the contest "To Replace the Above-Named Columnist" in our local paper. There were ten spots, so it isn't that big a win, but what the heck, I'll take what I can get. I got the chance to get my "Don't Block the Walk" campaign out in front of the public. Ideas keep running through my head for funny signs and flyers, complete with photos illustrating the idiocy of some of the problems we run into out in the Big Bad Inaccessible World. Maybe that will be how I leave my mark on the world--"Don't Block the Walk" can be right up there with "Don't Drink and Drive." That and my lovely trio, Kids One, Two, and Three.
A
Of course KidThree knew him. Friends and acquaintances of hers die at the rate of almost one a week, murdered, mostly. When I was a girl, I went to my grandfather's funeral and the funeral of a classmate who walked behind home plate when a batter hit the ball and then threw aside his bat, where it struck my classmate in the head. That was it. For KidThree, this was the fourth funeral this summer. One natural, albeit tragic, death and three murders. And those were only the deaths where she attended the funerals.
It was an interesting morning. This family didn't know me, so KidThree very hesitantly hinted that I might not want to attend, as my presence might be somewhat inhibiting to the other attendees. Poor KidThree. She was so careful to assure me that she wasn't ashamed of me, that she was proud to have me as her mom, she just thought the family might not be entirely comfortable with me. I reassured her that I understood, not to blow smoke, but because I really did understand her dilemma.
We went across town to pick up another girl, then headed out to the funeral. When we got there, I was tickled to see that it was at a Catholic cathedral. Ha Ha Ha! I knew it would be as unfamiliar to her as her Baptist services have been for me, and that is what happened. She and her friend didn't understand most of what was going on. Afterwards I was able to explain to them some of the differences they had noticed. I think I may take KidThree to a few Catholic services just to explain to her some basic religious history.
While the girls were at the funeral, I went to Wal*Mart and did some shopping. That was fun. We have trouble shopping for pants for KidThree, as we need a dressing room with a good-sized bench in it in order for her to be able to try on the clothing. It works better to buy things, bring them home to try, then return the rejects. Today I had just cashed her SSI check and so had plenty of cash (NOT my usual situation), so I chose a dozen pairs of jeans and shorts to try. She chose two pairs of the shorts and three of the pants fit me (we wear sort of the same size--just very different styles as we are different shapes). The rest will go back tomorrow.
We have just finished watching the last episode of "The Wire." The very last one. Not the penultimate, the actual ultimate. Drat, Blast, and Darn It All. The last episode of "The Wire." I thought "The Sopranos" was good, but "The Wire" blew that out of the water. Oh my. No more "The Wire." It has so ruined television for me. No more cop shows except things like "The First 48," which KidThree likes to watch. Drat, Blast, and Darn It All AGAIN.
News from the 'hood: KidThree's bio-mother got locked up yesterday afternoon; bio-mother's wife and KidThree's younger brother are still on the run; and KidThree's sister is still in hiding with her babydaddy and their baby. It will take a while for that to resolve. What a mess this world of ours is.
On the plus side, I won one of the spots in the contest "To Replace the Above-Named Columnist" in our local paper. There were ten spots, so it isn't that big a win, but what the heck, I'll take what I can get. I got the chance to get my "Don't Block the Walk" campaign out in front of the public. Ideas keep running through my head for funny signs and flyers, complete with photos illustrating the idiocy of some of the problems we run into out in the Big Bad Inaccessible World. Maybe that will be how I leave my mark on the world--"Don't Block the Walk" can be right up there with "Don't Drink and Drive." That and my lovely trio, Kids One, Two, and Three.
A
Friday, August 29, 2008
Yesterday's News.
Yesterday it was well over a hundred degrees here and last night it barely cooled off. Windows open all night, but the apartment is still hot. Miserably hot. Swelteringly hot. Utterly, terribly, roastingly hot. Yuck. The fall can't come quickly enough for this heat-hating blogger.
Yesterday I got in touch with the company through which KidThree originally got her wheelchair to see if they would still take care of the chair even with our insurance change. They will. Thank goodness. Today I have to arrange to get them a prescription, then they will set in motion the procedure to get the repairs authorized. KidThree needs her own chair back. The borrowed one she's in is so rickety, we expect parts to start falling off at any moment.
Our ADA called yesterday to update me on the trial's newest presumed start date. It will start sometime between 09/04 and09/08, with KidThree being the first to testify after opening arguments. I'll be able to listen to opening arguments but KidThree can't because she is a witness. She'll have to stay out in the hall or across the street in the DA's office with our support group. I so want this to be over with. It has been hanging over KidThree's head for so long now, raising her anxiety levels every time it gets continued and rescheduled. She needs to get this over with.
The messy thing about this trial is that not everyone who should be charged was charged. The shooting was between two groups who had been arguing: I'll call them GroupA and GroupB. The argument was on GroupA's territory. Apparently GroupB arrived on the scene to back up one of their members who was being verbally harassed by GroupA. One or two members of GroupB pulled out weapons and started firing on GroupA, who responded by getting a weapon and firing in return. Somehow, those who explained to the police later about the event covered up the fact that GroupB had been firing, had initiated the shooting. No One from GroupB got charged. Two young men from GroupA were the only ones charged, when it is entirely possible their actions counted as self-defense. It is also very likely that a shooter from GroupB was the one who fired the shot that hit KidThree, who was across the street and down a bit. It just feels WRONG to us. Wrong that the members in GroupB didn't get charged. Wrong that the two in GroupA got charged when they were responding to incoming fire. Wrong that the member of GroupB who has bragged about shooting KidThree didn't get charged. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Our ADA told us that he disagreed with the decision to not charge the members of GroupB, but that the decision was made above his head and he couldn't change it. (He was not our original ADA, but we like him much better than the first one.) This whole mess, with the arbitrary nature of who got charged and the continuance after continuance after continuance, has seriously damaged my faith in the justice system. It will be very interesting (and probably more disillusioning) to see how the actual trial goes.
Yesterday I got started moving furniture around in KidThree's room but wasn't able to get much done. 105 degrees outside and no a/c in that room made for a short working session. Maybe by the weekend it will cool off enough for me to do some more work in there. KidOne has two bureaus in there which will be gone in the next week or two, giving KidThree access to all of her room again. We have to set up an exercise spot in there so she can do the routines she learned down at the gym, but we can't do that until the room is cleared of KidOne's extraneous furniture.
And of course yesterday we watched Obama's acceptance speech. I missed Bill Richardson's speech, which I was very sorry about, but at least I got to hear Obama. I thought he was marvelous. Absolutely marvelous. He said all the things I wanted to hear and then some, and what a delivery. It will be quite a letdown next week to hear John McCain give his speech next week, with his anemic "my friends" over and over and over again. He just can't compare when it comes to speaking. But we will be watching, and listening, carefully.
So far school is going well for KidThree. I hope her current level of motivation continues. KidOne started her college semester last week and is adjusting to balancing work and study again; her several weeks of 'vacation' between the summer and fall sessions got her out of practice. KidTwo is out of contact for a bit as her father left the country there and took his laptop with him. I HATE it when she is out of contact. I don't mind a bit when she is out of the country--I miss her like crazy, but I don't mind, because I know I can look at her online journal and hear her voice, and she sends me emails where I can hear her voice, but when she can't access the internet, I don't have that contact. Drat drat drat. She goes to South American next week and will be staying a month. I hope she has access to a computer down there. I miss my KidTwo and want to hear her lovely, funny, idiosyncratic voice. Over the phone or through the computer, I do so love to hear my girl.
My mother is offline too. Her computer is down. Blast! I'll give her a call tomorrow so we can have a good long gab and catch up on all the news.
I finished the biography of Charles Schulz and continued throughout to be enchanted and impressed with the thoroughness of David Michaelis's work. He did such a marvelous job of intertwining 'Peanuts' with the events in Schulz's life and giving us such a clear picture of that complicated man. Like the rest of my generation, I grew up reading 'Peanuts' daily and knew all the characters as well as I knew the members of my own family. That was the only place where I found characters who had the same doubts and despairs that I did, but kept on going nonetheless. I did, and do, love 'Peanuts.' I collect PVC Snoopys, key rings and Christmas ornaments, and have so many my entire Christmas trees are decorated entirely in them.
I then read about half of the biography of Charles Fort but got so annoyed with his stupidity and Theodore Dreiser's gullibility that I quit reading it. The older I've gotten, the less likely I am to finish a book that doesn't keep me interested on at least a couple of levels. So, now I'm reading "The Slaves' War: The Civil War in the Words of Former Slaves," by Andrew Ward. He has done the same sort of amazingly in-depth job as Michaelis, going through what must have been reams and reams of papers to tease out the vignettes he uses in the book. I am enjoying the book and will read bits of it to KidThree after I've finished it; she gets school credit for things like that if she writes short essays on what she has learned.
Now I will finish my coffee and try harder to kill the mosquito that is trying to breakfast on my delectable self. With the computer on my lap, my murderous attempts have thus far been futile.
A
Yesterday I got in touch with the company through which KidThree originally got her wheelchair to see if they would still take care of the chair even with our insurance change. They will. Thank goodness. Today I have to arrange to get them a prescription, then they will set in motion the procedure to get the repairs authorized. KidThree needs her own chair back. The borrowed one she's in is so rickety, we expect parts to start falling off at any moment.
Our ADA called yesterday to update me on the trial's newest presumed start date. It will start sometime between 09/04 and09/08, with KidThree being the first to testify after opening arguments. I'll be able to listen to opening arguments but KidThree can't because she is a witness. She'll have to stay out in the hall or across the street in the DA's office with our support group. I so want this to be over with. It has been hanging over KidThree's head for so long now, raising her anxiety levels every time it gets continued and rescheduled. She needs to get this over with.
The messy thing about this trial is that not everyone who should be charged was charged. The shooting was between two groups who had been arguing: I'll call them GroupA and GroupB. The argument was on GroupA's territory. Apparently GroupB arrived on the scene to back up one of their members who was being verbally harassed by GroupA. One or two members of GroupB pulled out weapons and started firing on GroupA, who responded by getting a weapon and firing in return. Somehow, those who explained to the police later about the event covered up the fact that GroupB had been firing, had initiated the shooting. No One from GroupB got charged. Two young men from GroupA were the only ones charged, when it is entirely possible their actions counted as self-defense. It is also very likely that a shooter from GroupB was the one who fired the shot that hit KidThree, who was across the street and down a bit. It just feels WRONG to us. Wrong that the members in GroupB didn't get charged. Wrong that the two in GroupA got charged when they were responding to incoming fire. Wrong that the member of GroupB who has bragged about shooting KidThree didn't get charged. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Our ADA told us that he disagreed with the decision to not charge the members of GroupB, but that the decision was made above his head and he couldn't change it. (He was not our original ADA, but we like him much better than the first one.) This whole mess, with the arbitrary nature of who got charged and the continuance after continuance after continuance, has seriously damaged my faith in the justice system. It will be very interesting (and probably more disillusioning) to see how the actual trial goes.
Yesterday I got started moving furniture around in KidThree's room but wasn't able to get much done. 105 degrees outside and no a/c in that room made for a short working session. Maybe by the weekend it will cool off enough for me to do some more work in there. KidOne has two bureaus in there which will be gone in the next week or two, giving KidThree access to all of her room again. We have to set up an exercise spot in there so she can do the routines she learned down at the gym, but we can't do that until the room is cleared of KidOne's extraneous furniture.
And of course yesterday we watched Obama's acceptance speech. I missed Bill Richardson's speech, which I was very sorry about, but at least I got to hear Obama. I thought he was marvelous. Absolutely marvelous. He said all the things I wanted to hear and then some, and what a delivery. It will be quite a letdown next week to hear John McCain give his speech next week, with his anemic "my friends" over and over and over again. He just can't compare when it comes to speaking. But we will be watching, and listening, carefully.
So far school is going well for KidThree. I hope her current level of motivation continues. KidOne started her college semester last week and is adjusting to balancing work and study again; her several weeks of 'vacation' between the summer and fall sessions got her out of practice. KidTwo is out of contact for a bit as her father left the country there and took his laptop with him. I HATE it when she is out of contact. I don't mind a bit when she is out of the country--I miss her like crazy, but I don't mind, because I know I can look at her online journal and hear her voice, and she sends me emails where I can hear her voice, but when she can't access the internet, I don't have that contact. Drat drat drat. She goes to South American next week and will be staying a month. I hope she has access to a computer down there. I miss my KidTwo and want to hear her lovely, funny, idiosyncratic voice. Over the phone or through the computer, I do so love to hear my girl.
My mother is offline too. Her computer is down. Blast! I'll give her a call tomorrow so we can have a good long gab and catch up on all the news.
I finished the biography of Charles Schulz and continued throughout to be enchanted and impressed with the thoroughness of David Michaelis's work. He did such a marvelous job of intertwining 'Peanuts' with the events in Schulz's life and giving us such a clear picture of that complicated man. Like the rest of my generation, I grew up reading 'Peanuts' daily and knew all the characters as well as I knew the members of my own family. That was the only place where I found characters who had the same doubts and despairs that I did, but kept on going nonetheless. I did, and do, love 'Peanuts.' I collect PVC Snoopys, key rings and Christmas ornaments, and have so many my entire Christmas trees are decorated entirely in them.
I then read about half of the biography of Charles Fort but got so annoyed with his stupidity and Theodore Dreiser's gullibility that I quit reading it. The older I've gotten, the less likely I am to finish a book that doesn't keep me interested on at least a couple of levels. So, now I'm reading "The Slaves' War: The Civil War in the Words of Former Slaves," by Andrew Ward. He has done the same sort of amazingly in-depth job as Michaelis, going through what must have been reams and reams of papers to tease out the vignettes he uses in the book. I am enjoying the book and will read bits of it to KidThree after I've finished it; she gets school credit for things like that if she writes short essays on what she has learned.
Now I will finish my coffee and try harder to kill the mosquito that is trying to breakfast on my delectable self. With the computer on my lap, my murderous attempts have thus far been futile.
A
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Thursday, Thursday.
Thursday is my favorite day of the week. I get to read "Dear Prudence" on slate.com, which I enjoy, the New York Times crossword gets difficult enough to do (the first several days of the week, it is too easy and so a waste of time), and the weekend is within reach. If last night had cooled off, this morning would be just about perfect.
I'm about halfway through the biography of Charles Schulz; it continues to be excellent. Charlie Brown was always someone I could identify with, being the fourth of six children and not sure if anyone even knew who I was.
School went well yesterday for KidThree. She enjoyed her day (the first day, this school just does a long 'meet and greet') and talked to the principal about attending both sessions, instead of just one. That was her idea, to go to both, and I was very proud of her for talking to the principal on her own.
News from the 'hood: so far, bio-mama is still out of jail, but KidThree's younger brother is on the run from the police. I wish he were locked up--he would be safer. While he is on the run, there is always the chance that he could get hurt or killed. Blast the stupidity of teenagers, and of this teenager in particular.
Yesterday at our support group we met a new member who is very, very active. He told us about programs for the disabled to go skiing, kayaking, and bicycling, and how to find those programs. He is a T-10 incomplete and KidThree is a T-9 complete, so their levels of injury are close. It was so exciting to listen to him. The winter KidThree got hurt, we had plans to go to the snow, as KidThree had never been in the snow. We didn't make it before she was injured. I figured there had to be programs somewhere for disabled folks to enjoy the snow, but last winter we were too busy trying to survive all that life threw at us and didn't have any time or money to investigate where we could go. But this winter? We should have the money and the time, so I'll get the information now and make our plans.
We also gave a thorough report on the special gym and a program we've learned about that assists catastrophically injured folks with fundraising, and gave literature on both to the social worker who moderates the group so he can pass that information on to others.
KidThree has a disabled friend who lives right near the hospital where our support group meets. We've started picking him up after group and going to sit in a McDonald's near his home so the kids can visit. Yesterday we went instead to a Starbuck's, where I was able to sit on a comfortable couch and read my book while the kids sat off at a table to visit. It was lovely, so much nicer than McDonald's. I think that will be our regular spot from now on.
KidOne came over last night to print out some things for school but none of us was able to make the printer work. Drat. I wish I had the money to pay the computer guy so he could come out and make the printer work with both our computers and from all the users' identities.
KidOne had also brought us the last season of "The Wire" on dvd. After we got home from group and our visit, KidThree and I happily watched the first three episodes. After school today we plan to watch several more episodes. Sadly, this season has fewer episodes than the others. Shoot. I could watch "The Wire" forever. I do have one problem with the show, however: it has made it impossible for me to watch shows I used to enjoy, such as "Law & Order," as they are just too contrived and full of things that just couldn't happen in the real world. No real loss, I guess, as I can use the time to read instead.
Today while KidThree is in school I will just do housework. Clear up some things, do a little laundry, vacuum, do dishes. Mom stuff. And if I'm lucky, I'll get a nap. We stayed up a bit past my bedtime to finish that disc's episodes of "The Wire."
A
I'm about halfway through the biography of Charles Schulz; it continues to be excellent. Charlie Brown was always someone I could identify with, being the fourth of six children and not sure if anyone even knew who I was.
School went well yesterday for KidThree. She enjoyed her day (the first day, this school just does a long 'meet and greet') and talked to the principal about attending both sessions, instead of just one. That was her idea, to go to both, and I was very proud of her for talking to the principal on her own.
News from the 'hood: so far, bio-mama is still out of jail, but KidThree's younger brother is on the run from the police. I wish he were locked up--he would be safer. While he is on the run, there is always the chance that he could get hurt or killed. Blast the stupidity of teenagers, and of this teenager in particular.
Yesterday at our support group we met a new member who is very, very active. He told us about programs for the disabled to go skiing, kayaking, and bicycling, and how to find those programs. He is a T-10 incomplete and KidThree is a T-9 complete, so their levels of injury are close. It was so exciting to listen to him. The winter KidThree got hurt, we had plans to go to the snow, as KidThree had never been in the snow. We didn't make it before she was injured. I figured there had to be programs somewhere for disabled folks to enjoy the snow, but last winter we were too busy trying to survive all that life threw at us and didn't have any time or money to investigate where we could go. But this winter? We should have the money and the time, so I'll get the information now and make our plans.
We also gave a thorough report on the special gym and a program we've learned about that assists catastrophically injured folks with fundraising, and gave literature on both to the social worker who moderates the group so he can pass that information on to others.
KidThree has a disabled friend who lives right near the hospital where our support group meets. We've started picking him up after group and going to sit in a McDonald's near his home so the kids can visit. Yesterday we went instead to a Starbuck's, where I was able to sit on a comfortable couch and read my book while the kids sat off at a table to visit. It was lovely, so much nicer than McDonald's. I think that will be our regular spot from now on.
KidOne came over last night to print out some things for school but none of us was able to make the printer work. Drat. I wish I had the money to pay the computer guy so he could come out and make the printer work with both our computers and from all the users' identities.
KidOne had also brought us the last season of "The Wire" on dvd. After we got home from group and our visit, KidThree and I happily watched the first three episodes. After school today we plan to watch several more episodes. Sadly, this season has fewer episodes than the others. Shoot. I could watch "The Wire" forever. I do have one problem with the show, however: it has made it impossible for me to watch shows I used to enjoy, such as "Law & Order," as they are just too contrived and full of things that just couldn't happen in the real world. No real loss, I guess, as I can use the time to read instead.
Today while KidThree is in school I will just do housework. Clear up some things, do a little laundry, vacuum, do dishes. Mom stuff. And if I'm lucky, I'll get a nap. We stayed up a bit past my bedtime to finish that disc's episodes of "The Wire."
A
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The First Day of School.
Today is the first day of school for KidThree. After that, she has an orthodontist appointment and then we have group. Today I'll go in with her to group to give the information on the SCI gym; next week KidThree can be at group on her own again.
KidTwo had a very funny entry yesterday on her online journal. She listed the pointless things she had done at her job to fill the time, then said, "Dad doesn't think this job challenges me enough." Dad is right! KidTwo has such energy and is so quick to complete tasks; civil service folks just aren't used to employees with her abilities. I pity the supervisor who isn't ready to keep her busy and contributing.
Yesterday was a good relaxing day. Six loads of laundry, as of course that never, ever ends, but lots of reading and lots of chocolate. I read John Lescroart's latest, "Betrayal," and enjoyed it. I had goofed, though, and reserved the large print copy. Blast. I hate reading large print--it feels as though the book is shouting at me. Sometimes, when I make that mistake, I just give the book back without reading it and then reserve the regular copy, but John Lescroart is one of my favorites, so I just read the darned thing.
"Betrayal" was good, but not so good as some of his others. Sometimes, authors who are writing about continuing characters can get lazy and write on auto-pilot. Lescroart doesn't appear to be doing that, but he is reducing the importance of his primary characters, making them secondary characters at best. In a couple of his other books, he had former secondary characters as the primaries, which I quite enjoyed. It was like getting to know acquaintances better, with them becoming friends. In this book, he didn't do that: the characters/victims in the legal conflict were essentially the primaries. It was good, and interesting, but I felt the lack. It just felt odd. But still, good, and the plot was complex and plausible, as usual. Lescroart does have us spoiled. (But, John, Frannie is always such a one-dimensional character, with stereotypical reactions. Not my favorite character in fiction.)
Then I read, "The Game of My Life," by and about Jason McElwain, the autistic teen who had a wonderful, inspirational experience with his basketball team when a senior in high school. It was good. It went back and forth between Jason's voice and members of his family and community, giving a well-rounded presentation of this young man and his life. I enjoyed that thoroughly.
Then I started the biography of Charles Schulz, but only just. No comments yet, except to say how much I have loved "Peanuts" my entire life.
And that is it for this morning, as KidThree is going to need some help facing the day this early, after an entire summer of sleeping in.
A
KidTwo had a very funny entry yesterday on her online journal. She listed the pointless things she had done at her job to fill the time, then said, "Dad doesn't think this job challenges me enough." Dad is right! KidTwo has such energy and is so quick to complete tasks; civil service folks just aren't used to employees with her abilities. I pity the supervisor who isn't ready to keep her busy and contributing.
Yesterday was a good relaxing day. Six loads of laundry, as of course that never, ever ends, but lots of reading and lots of chocolate. I read John Lescroart's latest, "Betrayal," and enjoyed it. I had goofed, though, and reserved the large print copy. Blast. I hate reading large print--it feels as though the book is shouting at me. Sometimes, when I make that mistake, I just give the book back without reading it and then reserve the regular copy, but John Lescroart is one of my favorites, so I just read the darned thing.
"Betrayal" was good, but not so good as some of his others. Sometimes, authors who are writing about continuing characters can get lazy and write on auto-pilot. Lescroart doesn't appear to be doing that, but he is reducing the importance of his primary characters, making them secondary characters at best. In a couple of his other books, he had former secondary characters as the primaries, which I quite enjoyed. It was like getting to know acquaintances better, with them becoming friends. In this book, he didn't do that: the characters/victims in the legal conflict were essentially the primaries. It was good, and interesting, but I felt the lack. It just felt odd. But still, good, and the plot was complex and plausible, as usual. Lescroart does have us spoiled. (But, John, Frannie is always such a one-dimensional character, with stereotypical reactions. Not my favorite character in fiction.)
Then I read, "The Game of My Life," by and about Jason McElwain, the autistic teen who had a wonderful, inspirational experience with his basketball team when a senior in high school. It was good. It went back and forth between Jason's voice and members of his family and community, giving a well-rounded presentation of this young man and his life. I enjoyed that thoroughly.
Then I started the biography of Charles Schulz, but only just. No comments yet, except to say how much I have loved "Peanuts" my entire life.
And that is it for this morning, as KidThree is going to need some help facing the day this early, after an entire summer of sleeping in.
A
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
School Is All Ironed Out.
KidThree is going to stay at the continuation high school. This for so many reasons: her emotional stresses right now, her educational gaps, the ability of the staff at this school to watch for strangers and so protect KidThree from anyone who tries to harm her. And the reality that she is just not going to graduate with her age-mates next year.
When KidThree and I got in the car and headed out, she hadn't known that the meeting was at the continuation school instead of the big high school. She only realized that when I turned left instead of right at a particular corner. By the time we got in the conference room with all the others (counselor, nurse, psychologist, teacher, principal), she was utterly unable to say a word when she was asked a question. Too many memories of her friend who died, too much stress from the weekend, etc. So, I hustled her out of the room into the staff room in the back, got her tissues, and went back to talk to the others myself. I was able to explain everything that was going on, KidThree's frantic weekend on the phone trying to keep her mother and sister from killing each other, the stress of the looming trial, the overwhelming nature of KidThree's memories of her friend at that school. All were blown away by the family kerfluffle. All the professionals except the psychologist knew us and have known us for some time, so they were shocked but not shocked--so understanding of how KidThree was so devastated by fear and love for her family, and understanding that KidThree, despite all her issues, was really the most functional person of that particular bio-clan.
We have goals for the year. Get holes in KidThree's math education plugged up, so that the next school year she is ready to start math at a junior college, albeit math at a high school level. Get her able to put down on paper the complexity of the thoughts she can verbalize--KidThree can see the most complex psychological minutiae in things that she reads, and can explain her understanding, but she can't get those complex thoughts organized well on paper. She can certainly get down an approximation of what she wants to say, just not anything that represents the depth of her understanding.
Our goal for September is just to get her to school every day and to keep her protected through the trial. I was so relieved at the end of that meeting. There was such real care and concern in that room for my beloved KidThree, for her well-being and her future and her safety. All seemed truly dedicated towards using this coming school year to best prepare KidThree to continue on her rocky, halting road to adulthood and self-sufficiency and an education worthy of her excellent mind. Thank goodness for people who truly love their work with kids.
An hour and a half after that meeting, PastorJ came over to talk with KidThree. KidThree wasn't quite sure why he was coming over, so I reminded her of the conversation where she had expressed the desire to talk with someone, to get her head straight, to get right with God. KidThree still is sometimes surprised that I am paying attention to everything and taking action wherever I can to make things better. She was a little annoyed with me when I asked PastorJ over the phone what I was to call him, Pastor or J or something else, and with my explanation to him that I didn't know the etiquette, as with Catholicism all priests are Father and that is that. PastorJ didn't mind a bit, he laughed and told me he preferred to be called J, but that yes, some congregants did call him Pastor.
I cleared out and went to the library after his arrival. KidThree does tell me most things, but I know she tries to shield me from the worst and no one should have their conversations with ministers overheard. After he left and I came home, I just asked, "did you like him," "are you glad he came," and "would you like me to take you to his church?" The answer to all was a slightly surprised "yes." So, church on Sunday for KidThree. I told her she could get every second Sunday there with me; she also wants to try to get into a truck or SUV to see if she can get rides to church with someone else on the other days.
At the library, I had fun in the biography section. I found the new biography of Charles Schulz, which I had been wanting to read, as well as several other interesting books. The prize, though, was Bill Bryson's "Shakespeare: The World as Stage." I was so tickled! Bill Bryson is one of my favorite authors, and Shakespeare, of course, is not even on the favorites list--he is way off in the stratosphere above all others. Bill, you're one of the few authors where I will buy your books new, retail--you actually get royalties from me! Let me tell you, there aren't many authors out there who get royalties from my purchases. (My definition of rich is having enough money to buy every book I want, hardcover, full retail price. The heck with cruises and fancy cars--I want books.)
I was so tickled at the chance to see what Bill would have to say about Will, and it was a lot of fun. I finished the book in one straight read. Bill was very circumspect, making it clear that what we truly know about Will is so limited, but putting very clearly the magic that was Shakespeare's ability to waltz and jig and tarantella his way through the English language. But Bill, I really do want to believe the Shakespeare poached something from that august neighbor. Having a deer park set up the year after Shakespeare's apparent disappearance doesn't mean there weren't deer there before, just that they weren't formally parked, and then there were those funny, lewd, disrespectful couplets about that august neighbor. I know we can never really know, not unless something else is dug up from the treasure trove of old documents not yet scrutinized, so I am going to keep myself happy and believe that Shakespeare really did get into trouble from poaching and adding insult to injury with the disrespectful poems.
You know what would be seriously entertaining? To have Will meet Bill. I think Will would like our Bill, and that the two of them together in a pub would be priceless. I would never clear out to give that conversation privacy--I would be all ears. And wearing a wire.
Necessary flashback here to the kerfluffle in the 'hood. It appears that KidThree's bio-mother and bio-mother's wife will be going back to jail on parole violations and that KidThree's younger brother, already a career criminal, is destined for a group home, if he doesn't choose to go on the run instead. KidThree's sister and 'brother-in-law' are still in hiding with their baby, and there have apparently been payments to various people for them to find and then kill the brother-in-law. Neither KidThree nor I are particularly concerned about the brother-in-law, but we don't want the sister or the baby caught in any crossfire. What a stupid, stupid, stupid mess.
Last night KidThree and I watched coverage on the Democratic Convention. We saw Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg's speech about Teddy Kennedy, then Teddy Kennedy's speech, and then Michelle Obama's speech. I thought all were utterly excellent. Of course, this is the group I want to win the election, but I think even objectively all the speeches were excellent. I'll also be watching the Republican Convention and hope I can be objective about their presentations.
KidOne came by for several hours and watched the speeches with us and told us about her first day of school. She is in a class that she has been waiting YEARS to get, literally. Man oh man, is California's junior college system underfunded. I do so enjoy our visits with KidOne. She is such a poised young woman, so beautiful and articulate and vibrant. I look at her and think back on her difficult adolescence and am awed to see how she has triumphed and to think that I had anything to do with the creation and development of her utterly marvelous self.
Today various administrative concerns to address, and KidThree has an eye exam. That is all. A good day to relax a little after the stresses of yesterday. I may even buy chocolate.
A
When KidThree and I got in the car and headed out, she hadn't known that the meeting was at the continuation school instead of the big high school. She only realized that when I turned left instead of right at a particular corner. By the time we got in the conference room with all the others (counselor, nurse, psychologist, teacher, principal), she was utterly unable to say a word when she was asked a question. Too many memories of her friend who died, too much stress from the weekend, etc. So, I hustled her out of the room into the staff room in the back, got her tissues, and went back to talk to the others myself. I was able to explain everything that was going on, KidThree's frantic weekend on the phone trying to keep her mother and sister from killing each other, the stress of the looming trial, the overwhelming nature of KidThree's memories of her friend at that school. All were blown away by the family kerfluffle. All the professionals except the psychologist knew us and have known us for some time, so they were shocked but not shocked--so understanding of how KidThree was so devastated by fear and love for her family, and understanding that KidThree, despite all her issues, was really the most functional person of that particular bio-clan.
We have goals for the year. Get holes in KidThree's math education plugged up, so that the next school year she is ready to start math at a junior college, albeit math at a high school level. Get her able to put down on paper the complexity of the thoughts she can verbalize--KidThree can see the most complex psychological minutiae in things that she reads, and can explain her understanding, but she can't get those complex thoughts organized well on paper. She can certainly get down an approximation of what she wants to say, just not anything that represents the depth of her understanding.
Our goal for September is just to get her to school every day and to keep her protected through the trial. I was so relieved at the end of that meeting. There was such real care and concern in that room for my beloved KidThree, for her well-being and her future and her safety. All seemed truly dedicated towards using this coming school year to best prepare KidThree to continue on her rocky, halting road to adulthood and self-sufficiency and an education worthy of her excellent mind. Thank goodness for people who truly love their work with kids.
An hour and a half after that meeting, PastorJ came over to talk with KidThree. KidThree wasn't quite sure why he was coming over, so I reminded her of the conversation where she had expressed the desire to talk with someone, to get her head straight, to get right with God. KidThree still is sometimes surprised that I am paying attention to everything and taking action wherever I can to make things better. She was a little annoyed with me when I asked PastorJ over the phone what I was to call him, Pastor or J or something else, and with my explanation to him that I didn't know the etiquette, as with Catholicism all priests are Father and that is that. PastorJ didn't mind a bit, he laughed and told me he preferred to be called J, but that yes, some congregants did call him Pastor.
I cleared out and went to the library after his arrival. KidThree does tell me most things, but I know she tries to shield me from the worst and no one should have their conversations with ministers overheard. After he left and I came home, I just asked, "did you like him," "are you glad he came," and "would you like me to take you to his church?" The answer to all was a slightly surprised "yes." So, church on Sunday for KidThree. I told her she could get every second Sunday there with me; she also wants to try to get into a truck or SUV to see if she can get rides to church with someone else on the other days.
At the library, I had fun in the biography section. I found the new biography of Charles Schulz, which I had been wanting to read, as well as several other interesting books. The prize, though, was Bill Bryson's "Shakespeare: The World as Stage." I was so tickled! Bill Bryson is one of my favorite authors, and Shakespeare, of course, is not even on the favorites list--he is way off in the stratosphere above all others. Bill, you're one of the few authors where I will buy your books new, retail--you actually get royalties from me! Let me tell you, there aren't many authors out there who get royalties from my purchases. (My definition of rich is having enough money to buy every book I want, hardcover, full retail price. The heck with cruises and fancy cars--I want books.)
I was so tickled at the chance to see what Bill would have to say about Will, and it was a lot of fun. I finished the book in one straight read. Bill was very circumspect, making it clear that what we truly know about Will is so limited, but putting very clearly the magic that was Shakespeare's ability to waltz and jig and tarantella his way through the English language. But Bill, I really do want to believe the Shakespeare poached something from that august neighbor. Having a deer park set up the year after Shakespeare's apparent disappearance doesn't mean there weren't deer there before, just that they weren't formally parked, and then there were those funny, lewd, disrespectful couplets about that august neighbor. I know we can never really know, not unless something else is dug up from the treasure trove of old documents not yet scrutinized, so I am going to keep myself happy and believe that Shakespeare really did get into trouble from poaching and adding insult to injury with the disrespectful poems.
You know what would be seriously entertaining? To have Will meet Bill. I think Will would like our Bill, and that the two of them together in a pub would be priceless. I would never clear out to give that conversation privacy--I would be all ears. And wearing a wire.
Necessary flashback here to the kerfluffle in the 'hood. It appears that KidThree's bio-mother and bio-mother's wife will be going back to jail on parole violations and that KidThree's younger brother, already a career criminal, is destined for a group home, if he doesn't choose to go on the run instead. KidThree's sister and 'brother-in-law' are still in hiding with their baby, and there have apparently been payments to various people for them to find and then kill the brother-in-law. Neither KidThree nor I are particularly concerned about the brother-in-law, but we don't want the sister or the baby caught in any crossfire. What a stupid, stupid, stupid mess.
Last night KidThree and I watched coverage on the Democratic Convention. We saw Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg's speech about Teddy Kennedy, then Teddy Kennedy's speech, and then Michelle Obama's speech. I thought all were utterly excellent. Of course, this is the group I want to win the election, but I think even objectively all the speeches were excellent. I'll also be watching the Republican Convention and hope I can be objective about their presentations.
KidOne came by for several hours and watched the speeches with us and told us about her first day of school. She is in a class that she has been waiting YEARS to get, literally. Man oh man, is California's junior college system underfunded. I do so enjoy our visits with KidOne. She is such a poised young woman, so beautiful and articulate and vibrant. I look at her and think back on her difficult adolescence and am awed to see how she has triumphed and to think that I had anything to do with the creation and development of her utterly marvelous self.
Today various administrative concerns to address, and KidThree has an eye exam. That is all. A good day to relax a little after the stresses of yesterday. I may even buy chocolate.
A
Monday, August 25, 2008
I'm Not Thrilled with the Level of Help on Blogspot.
FriendL was trying to find my blog and couldn't, even after a couple of suggestions from me, so I poked around a little on blogspot and found that I can't figure out how to find other blogs. Only mine. There is no 'search for other blogs' or 'search blogspot.' Am I missing it? Where is it? It appears that I can't access blogspot's help center without first negotiating their entire indecipherable mess of thousands upon thousands of different topics. What a pain in the neck. Why does the site not let me see the titles of other blogs? Or at least search for a particular blog? I do not understand. Fortunately, I'm used to the sensation; I so rarely understand anything that goes on beyond my four walls here that it won't cause me much distress.
Yesterday the twins' parents brought the whole family over for a visit and to iron out the details of our arrangement. KidThree held BabyTwo while I held BabyOne, and MissN explored. The babies are non-identical twin girls. Their faces have very slightly different shapes and BabyTwo has the darker hair, but as that hair is only visible from the back, it will take a little while for KidThree and me to learn to tell them apart as well as their parents do. MissN is just turned three; the babies are three months. They were premature, so their adjusted age is about six weeks.
It was lovely to hold BabyOne; she felt so good in my arms. KidThree was enchanted with BabyTwo and so at her most captivating on this, her initial meeting with the parents. This has the potential to be a very good arrangement for all. I am giving the parents an excellent deal on price, and they are giving me an excellent deal on flexibility, allowing me to take the babies along to all of KidThree's various appointments and such. They will pay me when the babies are not here (over Christmas break, for example), and I won't charge them extra when MissN comes along. She will come here when she has a bug and thus can't go to her regular daycare center. And of course the babies will get the most loving care they could get anywhere outside their own home. I am looking forward to all of that. We won't be rich, won't be able to buy big-ticket items, but we should be able to meet our monthly expenses and have enough left over for pizza and a movie occasionally.
The big drawback will be that I won't be immediately available to KidThree should she need help, for instance, if she runs into trouble at school. On the other hand, that could be a good thing, encouraging her independence and pushing her to figure things out for herself. It will be a very tricky dance--I hope it works.
This morning I watch LadyP from eight until noon, then come home to get KidThree and go to an IEP at her school (the continuation high school) to see if we can get her back to the main high school. KidThree can't so much as sneeze at school without an IEP because of her various disabilities. She has emotional and behavioral issues from her bio-mother's prenatal drug use and her own chaotic early life, as well as the physical issue of her paralysis. She gets better almost by the day, physically and emotionally, but she does have to work much harder at some things than the more ordinary kid. Of course the payoff is that she is so much more complex and fascinating the more ordinary kid, and has so much more to offer the world because of her extreme experiences.
I don't start watching the babies until the end of September, so we will have a good four weeks to get KidThree transitioned to the routine of school and to work our way through any problems that develop. The vice principal at the high school who was the biggest bane of our previous experience there has retired, to be replaced by a young man of a very different background. I have already been in contact with this new vice principal about KidThree, as have some other people, so he is ready for us and says he will do everything he can to facilitate things for us. I think he was a little concerned at first that I wanted KidThree coddled, which is most definitely not the case; he did seem relieved when I made that clear.
I explained to our new vice principal that our issues were not of wanting special privileges, just the necessary accommodation so that KidThree gets no special attention or causes no special problems when she arrives at a classroom. When KidThree attempted to return to this school after her months of hospitalization, the school failed her miserably. Things like not having the handicapped bathroom ready for her, even after I had checked it out and pointed out what she needed, and classrooms not having an accessible desk or table for her to use, one teacher handing her a clipboard in lieu of a desk, or a teacher trying to put her on the wrong side of the room (in addition to everything else, KidThree is legally blind in one eye and so needs that eye towards the wall and her good eye towards the teacher). I will probably go to school with her the first several days to ride shotgun for her, as it is still easier for me to tell adults that KidThree can't maneuver around a classroom easily enough than it is for her.
I don't mean that to sound as though KidThree is not able to stand up for herself or to state what she needs. She can. It is just that sometimes she has trouble controlling her temper when faced with bureaucratic thoughtlessness (as do I, but I have years more of practice) and other times the issue might be something that is just too embarrassing for her to bring up in public. As KidThree put it when explaining something to me, she is trying to present herself to the other kids as no different from them except that she never stands up, so she doesn't want anyone to present a litany of her disabilities in front of them. I think KidThree will only need help at the beginning and then should be fine on her own.
Thank goodness KidThree has her appointment with the pastor after that. She'll need it.
The kerfluffle in the 'hood continues. KidThree's bio-mother and uncle appear to be trying to have KidThree's sister's babydaddy/boyfriend killed for ostensibly robbing the bio-mother (he probably did, he is a lazy, amoral rat) and the sister wants to press charges against the bio-mother for assault and against the bio-mother's wife for shooting at her. What a family. The sister and boyfriend and their baby are hiding out at the home of one of his relatives and KidThree continues to try by phone to get all to calm down and see the long-term consequences of all of this stupidity. And on top of all this, the trial should be starting any day. If KidThree has a stroke from all this anxiety, I won't be at all surprised, just seriously put out.
Thank goodness KidThree has her appointment with the pastor. She needs it.
More Tomorrow, Same Blog Time, Same Blog Channel. . . .
A
Yesterday the twins' parents brought the whole family over for a visit and to iron out the details of our arrangement. KidThree held BabyTwo while I held BabyOne, and MissN explored. The babies are non-identical twin girls. Their faces have very slightly different shapes and BabyTwo has the darker hair, but as that hair is only visible from the back, it will take a little while for KidThree and me to learn to tell them apart as well as their parents do. MissN is just turned three; the babies are three months. They were premature, so their adjusted age is about six weeks.
It was lovely to hold BabyOne; she felt so good in my arms. KidThree was enchanted with BabyTwo and so at her most captivating on this, her initial meeting with the parents. This has the potential to be a very good arrangement for all. I am giving the parents an excellent deal on price, and they are giving me an excellent deal on flexibility, allowing me to take the babies along to all of KidThree's various appointments and such. They will pay me when the babies are not here (over Christmas break, for example), and I won't charge them extra when MissN comes along. She will come here when she has a bug and thus can't go to her regular daycare center. And of course the babies will get the most loving care they could get anywhere outside their own home. I am looking forward to all of that. We won't be rich, won't be able to buy big-ticket items, but we should be able to meet our monthly expenses and have enough left over for pizza and a movie occasionally.
The big drawback will be that I won't be immediately available to KidThree should she need help, for instance, if she runs into trouble at school. On the other hand, that could be a good thing, encouraging her independence and pushing her to figure things out for herself. It will be a very tricky dance--I hope it works.
This morning I watch LadyP from eight until noon, then come home to get KidThree and go to an IEP at her school (the continuation high school) to see if we can get her back to the main high school. KidThree can't so much as sneeze at school without an IEP because of her various disabilities. She has emotional and behavioral issues from her bio-mother's prenatal drug use and her own chaotic early life, as well as the physical issue of her paralysis. She gets better almost by the day, physically and emotionally, but she does have to work much harder at some things than the more ordinary kid. Of course the payoff is that she is so much more complex and fascinating the more ordinary kid, and has so much more to offer the world because of her extreme experiences.
I don't start watching the babies until the end of September, so we will have a good four weeks to get KidThree transitioned to the routine of school and to work our way through any problems that develop. The vice principal at the high school who was the biggest bane of our previous experience there has retired, to be replaced by a young man of a very different background. I have already been in contact with this new vice principal about KidThree, as have some other people, so he is ready for us and says he will do everything he can to facilitate things for us. I think he was a little concerned at first that I wanted KidThree coddled, which is most definitely not the case; he did seem relieved when I made that clear.
I explained to our new vice principal that our issues were not of wanting special privileges, just the necessary accommodation so that KidThree gets no special attention or causes no special problems when she arrives at a classroom. When KidThree attempted to return to this school after her months of hospitalization, the school failed her miserably. Things like not having the handicapped bathroom ready for her, even after I had checked it out and pointed out what she needed, and classrooms not having an accessible desk or table for her to use, one teacher handing her a clipboard in lieu of a desk, or a teacher trying to put her on the wrong side of the room (in addition to everything else, KidThree is legally blind in one eye and so needs that eye towards the wall and her good eye towards the teacher). I will probably go to school with her the first several days to ride shotgun for her, as it is still easier for me to tell adults that KidThree can't maneuver around a classroom easily enough than it is for her.
I don't mean that to sound as though KidThree is not able to stand up for herself or to state what she needs. She can. It is just that sometimes she has trouble controlling her temper when faced with bureaucratic thoughtlessness (as do I, but I have years more of practice) and other times the issue might be something that is just too embarrassing for her to bring up in public. As KidThree put it when explaining something to me, she is trying to present herself to the other kids as no different from them except that she never stands up, so she doesn't want anyone to present a litany of her disabilities in front of them. I think KidThree will only need help at the beginning and then should be fine on her own.
Thank goodness KidThree has her appointment with the pastor after that. She'll need it.
The kerfluffle in the 'hood continues. KidThree's bio-mother and uncle appear to be trying to have KidThree's sister's babydaddy/boyfriend killed for ostensibly robbing the bio-mother (he probably did, he is a lazy, amoral rat) and the sister wants to press charges against the bio-mother for assault and against the bio-mother's wife for shooting at her. What a family. The sister and boyfriend and their baby are hiding out at the home of one of his relatives and KidThree continues to try by phone to get all to calm down and see the long-term consequences of all of this stupidity. And on top of all this, the trial should be starting any day. If KidThree has a stroke from all this anxiety, I won't be at all surprised, just seriously put out.
Thank goodness KidThree has her appointment with the pastor. She needs it.
More Tomorrow, Same Blog Time, Same Blog Channel. . . .
A
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Bang-Bang-Bang in the 'Hood.
Yesterday there was a bit of a kerfluffle in KidThree's bio-family. It involved drug money, stealing, guns, bullets, real shooting, and so much anger. Poor KidThree spent most of the afternoon and evening trying to negotiate by phone with her mother and her sister. It is so hard to hear her in those situations. She is so torn, loving everyone involved, and so upset that they can behave so stupidly and without any apparent rational thought. It's like Al Pacino in "The Godfather," she keeps getting dragged back in.
Oh my. So today there won't be much but providing support to KidThree while she deals with all of that. Thank goodness she has that meeting tomorrow with that pastor; she needs the guidance and reassurance.
On the positive side, the living room looks terrific and so will the kitchen, once I've mopped the floor. With that, I can face another day.
A
Oh my. So today there won't be much but providing support to KidThree while she deals with all of that. Thank goodness she has that meeting tomorrow with that pastor; she needs the guidance and reassurance.
On the positive side, the living room looks terrific and so will the kitchen, once I've mopped the floor. With that, I can face another day.
A
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Watching Politics.
This morning Barack Obama finally disclosed his VP choice. Joe Biden. On the one hand, I really like and respect Joe Biden, but on the other hand, I think the visual is all wrong. Obama is running against McCain, an older, white-haired man. The contrast between Obama's relative youth and McCain's age is striking, every single time you see the two of them together. I think the choice of Biden mitigates that difference a bit: Biden is also an older, white-haired man. The visual of him with Obama strikes me as almost a capitulation to the belief that Obama is too young, too unseasoned and inexperienced, to run the country. But I do like Joe Biden. I had hoped for Evan Bayh (after the choice was whittled down to Biden, Bayh, and Kaine), if only because the visual of the two young (-ish!) men together, ready to direct their considerable energies towards solving the problems that face our nation and the world, was so attractive to me. I admit, it also would have been fun because my parents are godparents to Bayh's wife, so he is sort of in the family.
I wanted Joe Biden for Secretary of State. I wanted that man to be our Number One Diplomat, making up for Condoleezza Rice's incompetence and toadying. I wanted Biden to be the face of the United States around the world, a regular guy, a trustworthy guy, a guy so obviously in it to make things better and better in every way.
I used to want John Edwards to be Attorney General, as he had so much experience working against corporations for the benefit of the regular person in the street. When he left the presidential race so suddenly, and then was so quiet, I thought there was something that we weren't being told. His departure was so abrupt and his silence so deafening--there just had to be something behind it. Then the story broke about his mistress. Aha. The rat. (And you know what? That baby does look like John Edwards.) I was angry at him for betraying his wife, his family, and all of us. It wasn't so much the infidelity itself--although I hate infidelity more than almost anything--it was that he held himself up as above all of that, too good for that, too faithful for words. As I told KidThree, it was different with Clinton. There, we all knew he was a hound dog. We all were glad we weren't married to him or that our sisters weren't married to him, but we knew he was a hound dog and chose to overlook it because his strengths beyond that were so obvious. He didn't hold himself up as a model for marital fidelity and personal integrity. He was a hound dog, but he was our hound dog and we weren't married to him and we chose to overlook it. And now John Edwards' ego and libido lost us his considerable legal skills, which we could have used. I had wanted him for the Supreme Court after being Attorney General for a little while.
Now maybe we can have Bill Richardson for Secretary of State. I also really like Bill Richardson (and had liked the idea of him for VP). He is a terrific man, smart as anything, experienced in so many facets of government, and so far as I know a good guy.
It will all be interesting to watch.
Our computer here is infected, badly, and about to go at any time. Drat. I can't swing bringing the computer guy out here yet. He has KidTwo's computer all ready to come back home, but I will have to pay him for his work on that, and that money I don't have. I am so very tired of 'not having the money.' KidThree is starting school next week and absolutely has to look good--she has to have her hair and nails done. She has to look as good as possible in order to feel good enough to be able to go out the door and return to the big high school as a crippled kid in a wheelchair. Having her hair and nails done is equivalent to strapping on armor. It is important enough that the computers will have to wait, even if this one fails. KidThree will be facing a couple of thousand kids, many of them overtly hostile, and she needs every bit of reinforcement we can get for her.
Now time to go clean up the living room in preparation for our visit tomorrow from the parents of 'our' twins. I am looking forward to October. I'll be seriously busy, caring for twin babies, and limited in my ability to respond to the needs of KidThree as she works her way back at school, but our extreme poverty will effectively be ended. We won't be well off and won't be able to buy extras or even some more costly necessities, but we will be able to pay the rent and the electric bill and the cable bill and the phone bill and buy basic groceries. What a relief that will be.
A
I wanted Joe Biden for Secretary of State. I wanted that man to be our Number One Diplomat, making up for Condoleezza Rice's incompetence and toadying. I wanted Biden to be the face of the United States around the world, a regular guy, a trustworthy guy, a guy so obviously in it to make things better and better in every way.
I used to want John Edwards to be Attorney General, as he had so much experience working against corporations for the benefit of the regular person in the street. When he left the presidential race so suddenly, and then was so quiet, I thought there was something that we weren't being told. His departure was so abrupt and his silence so deafening--there just had to be something behind it. Then the story broke about his mistress. Aha. The rat. (And you know what? That baby does look like John Edwards.) I was angry at him for betraying his wife, his family, and all of us. It wasn't so much the infidelity itself--although I hate infidelity more than almost anything--it was that he held himself up as above all of that, too good for that, too faithful for words. As I told KidThree, it was different with Clinton. There, we all knew he was a hound dog. We all were glad we weren't married to him or that our sisters weren't married to him, but we knew he was a hound dog and chose to overlook it because his strengths beyond that were so obvious. He didn't hold himself up as a model for marital fidelity and personal integrity. He was a hound dog, but he was our hound dog and we weren't married to him and we chose to overlook it. And now John Edwards' ego and libido lost us his considerable legal skills, which we could have used. I had wanted him for the Supreme Court after being Attorney General for a little while.
Now maybe we can have Bill Richardson for Secretary of State. I also really like Bill Richardson (and had liked the idea of him for VP). He is a terrific man, smart as anything, experienced in so many facets of government, and so far as I know a good guy.
It will all be interesting to watch.
Our computer here is infected, badly, and about to go at any time. Drat. I can't swing bringing the computer guy out here yet. He has KidTwo's computer all ready to come back home, but I will have to pay him for his work on that, and that money I don't have. I am so very tired of 'not having the money.' KidThree is starting school next week and absolutely has to look good--she has to have her hair and nails done. She has to look as good as possible in order to feel good enough to be able to go out the door and return to the big high school as a crippled kid in a wheelchair. Having her hair and nails done is equivalent to strapping on armor. It is important enough that the computers will have to wait, even if this one fails. KidThree will be facing a couple of thousand kids, many of them overtly hostile, and she needs every bit of reinforcement we can get for her.
Now time to go clean up the living room in preparation for our visit tomorrow from the parents of 'our' twins. I am looking forward to October. I'll be seriously busy, caring for twin babies, and limited in my ability to respond to the needs of KidThree as she works her way back at school, but our extreme poverty will effectively be ended. We won't be well off and won't be able to buy extras or even some more costly necessities, but we will be able to pay the rent and the electric bill and the cable bill and the phone bill and buy basic groceries. What a relief that will be.
A
Friday, August 22, 2008
The Check WAS in the Mail.
But, of course, it was short by several hundred dollars. Goodness only knows why. For some reason, victim's comp decided to pay for only one of the slideboards I submitted a claim for, and didn't cover all of several other items. I don't know why and probably don't have a snowball's chance in hell of finding out. At least they coughed up some money. Now I can pay July's rent. In another week or so, I should be able to pay August's rent, and then September's rent might actually be in before it is considered late.
My dilemma now is whether or not to ask Mom and Dad to make the car payment again. I really should, as the car needs insurance and the electric bill needs to be paid, but oh how I hate asking. Hate it, hate it, hate it. The stupid thing is, if KidThree needed something that insurance would not cover and that item cost ten thousand dollars, Dad would have his checkbook out faster than I could specify why the item was needed. But several hundred dollars for a car payment? Why do I need that? Again? What was I doing with all my money? (Laundry, Dad, laundry.) Blast. Have I mentioned how much I hate this? But if they cover the car payment, I can pay the electric bill, get insurance on the car so that I can get the car's registration renewed, and let KidThree get her hair and nails done before school starts (something that is vital for her emotional health).
KidOne told me several days ago that she had been talking with the mother of a friend of hers, a woman who is very active in the community and with charitable organizations. She had known that KidOne had a paralyzed sister but hadn't realized all that was behind the paralysis and how our economic lives got shattered almost as badly as KidThree's poor vertebrae. When KidOne explained all, the friend's mother said, in the best Mickey Rooney fashion, "we should have a fundraiser!" The thing is, that is what this woman does. She does fundraisers. She knows how to fundraise. What a connection. At this point, I'm ready to put KidThree out on the corner with a tin cup, so a real fundraiser would be marvelous. And we actually know of an organization that assists people with fundraising for people with catastrophic injuries. So, research to do on the issue, but I am seriously interested in going to the public and begging for funds.
I sort of asked for help once before, but only from family and a couple of close friends. Since KidThree was shot in the stomach (that one bullet did a LOT of damage to my girl), she was for obvious reasons unable to eat for some time, and then was not able to eat much. She ended up losing forty-five pounds. (I called it "The Gunshot Diet: Weight Loss for Those for Whom All Other Diets Failed." Its corollary diet was the "My Kid Got Shot" diet, which took thirty pounds off of me.) Most of her clothes no longer fit her, and many of them were also unsuitable because life in a wheelchair demands certain things from a wardrobe, like snug pants that don't get twisted around when KidThree transfers to or from her chair. I sent out an email explaining the need for help to my siblings, three of the four of whom are well off, and to some cousins and a couple of friends. The response was less then wonderful. My most poverty-stricken friend, a woman who suffered from her own catastrophic illness ten years ago and has been disabled and living at the poverty level ever since, came through in spades with brand-new trendy name-brand pajamas (I had specifically mentioned the need for pajamas, as KidThree was in bed so much). My one sibling who is NOT well off came through with an entire box of clothing she gleaned from her local thrift stores, and one cousin who has no children of her own came through with a check. That was it. Man oh man, did I appreciate those who responded, but what the heck happened to everyone else? It really struck me that two of the three who responded to my plea were the two with the lowest incomes, both of whom were struggling single mothers. Maybe they were the only ones who understood just how crippling the lack of a few dollars could be.
I also went to KidThree's bio-family once for help. They have been very big on reminding KidThree of the importance of 'family,' clearly meaning themselves and not KidThree's incorporation into our family here, but hadn't lifted so much as a finger to do anything to help. Towards the end of last year, KidThree expressed an interest in returning to church, specifically, to the church her auntie used to take her to. Going to this church entailed getting a new outfit, as all dressed to the nines there and KidThree wanted to look good. She knew she would get stared at and made much of, which she was dreading; looking good would at least help her get through it. So, I asked her auntie (the churchmember) if her family could contribute a church outfit, or funds for a church outfit, so KidThree could return to church. The auntie was so friendly, so sure that all her family would love to give her money, she would take care of everything, she would contact her sister and her brothers and some in-laws and everyone would be so glad to help KidThree feel good enough to go back to her home church and what stores did we usually shop at so she could get a gift card with the donated funds.
Then nothing. Not a word. Not a penny. Christmas came and went and KidThree did not make it back to church. A little while later, I was able to get her a nice outfit and she returned to her auntie's church once, where she was noticed and made much of and fussed over by all who were so glad to see her out in public and alive and sharing church with them. And then silence again. Hypocrites.
At any rate, I'm not going to the family again, not bio- and not adopted. This time, we'll beg from the public. Less embarrassing.
And, KidThree has a meeting Monday with the pastor of the church we had been invited to last Sunday. As I wrote before, KidThree didn't make it to the service but did make it to the coffee shop meeting in the evening, where she was able to meet the pastor. Over the past several weeks, KidThree has expressed a desire to get herself straight with God, I think because she is so afraid she will be killed when she goes to testify against her assailants. The poor kid. I am not religious but understand that she is and fully support her in that. I can take her to this church every other Sunday if she wants to go (I get the alternate Sundays with the Unitarians). The pastor can come over to our home and I will go out for coffee or something so they can have all the privacy they need and he can help my beloved girl feel better about all the things going on in her life.
I left a voicemail message this morning for the ADA, asking where we were in our wait for a courtroom. KidThree will have to testify for a day or two, a week or two into the trial. She has had death threats because she is testifying, and the jailed assailants have been offering substantial amounts of money to friends of hers if they can convince her not to testify. My parents offered to come with us for moral support, but she said no almost before they finished asking; the reason for her 'no' was that she didn't want them to get shot. "Mom, they're old and they can't run!" I am so proud of my girl. Anyone firing at her will have to shoot me first.
A
My dilemma now is whether or not to ask Mom and Dad to make the car payment again. I really should, as the car needs insurance and the electric bill needs to be paid, but oh how I hate asking. Hate it, hate it, hate it. The stupid thing is, if KidThree needed something that insurance would not cover and that item cost ten thousand dollars, Dad would have his checkbook out faster than I could specify why the item was needed. But several hundred dollars for a car payment? Why do I need that? Again? What was I doing with all my money? (Laundry, Dad, laundry.) Blast. Have I mentioned how much I hate this? But if they cover the car payment, I can pay the electric bill, get insurance on the car so that I can get the car's registration renewed, and let KidThree get her hair and nails done before school starts (something that is vital for her emotional health).
KidOne told me several days ago that she had been talking with the mother of a friend of hers, a woman who is very active in the community and with charitable organizations. She had known that KidOne had a paralyzed sister but hadn't realized all that was behind the paralysis and how our economic lives got shattered almost as badly as KidThree's poor vertebrae. When KidOne explained all, the friend's mother said, in the best Mickey Rooney fashion, "we should have a fundraiser!" The thing is, that is what this woman does. She does fundraisers. She knows how to fundraise. What a connection. At this point, I'm ready to put KidThree out on the corner with a tin cup, so a real fundraiser would be marvelous. And we actually know of an organization that assists people with fundraising for people with catastrophic injuries. So, research to do on the issue, but I am seriously interested in going to the public and begging for funds.
I sort of asked for help once before, but only from family and a couple of close friends. Since KidThree was shot in the stomach (that one bullet did a LOT of damage to my girl), she was for obvious reasons unable to eat for some time, and then was not able to eat much. She ended up losing forty-five pounds. (I called it "The Gunshot Diet: Weight Loss for Those for Whom All Other Diets Failed." Its corollary diet was the "My Kid Got Shot" diet, which took thirty pounds off of me.) Most of her clothes no longer fit her, and many of them were also unsuitable because life in a wheelchair demands certain things from a wardrobe, like snug pants that don't get twisted around when KidThree transfers to or from her chair. I sent out an email explaining the need for help to my siblings, three of the four of whom are well off, and to some cousins and a couple of friends. The response was less then wonderful. My most poverty-stricken friend, a woman who suffered from her own catastrophic illness ten years ago and has been disabled and living at the poverty level ever since, came through in spades with brand-new trendy name-brand pajamas (I had specifically mentioned the need for pajamas, as KidThree was in bed so much). My one sibling who is NOT well off came through with an entire box of clothing she gleaned from her local thrift stores, and one cousin who has no children of her own came through with a check. That was it. Man oh man, did I appreciate those who responded, but what the heck happened to everyone else? It really struck me that two of the three who responded to my plea were the two with the lowest incomes, both of whom were struggling single mothers. Maybe they were the only ones who understood just how crippling the lack of a few dollars could be.
I also went to KidThree's bio-family once for help. They have been very big on reminding KidThree of the importance of 'family,' clearly meaning themselves and not KidThree's incorporation into our family here, but hadn't lifted so much as a finger to do anything to help. Towards the end of last year, KidThree expressed an interest in returning to church, specifically, to the church her auntie used to take her to. Going to this church entailed getting a new outfit, as all dressed to the nines there and KidThree wanted to look good. She knew she would get stared at and made much of, which she was dreading; looking good would at least help her get through it. So, I asked her auntie (the churchmember) if her family could contribute a church outfit, or funds for a church outfit, so KidThree could return to church. The auntie was so friendly, so sure that all her family would love to give her money, she would take care of everything, she would contact her sister and her brothers and some in-laws and everyone would be so glad to help KidThree feel good enough to go back to her home church and what stores did we usually shop at so she could get a gift card with the donated funds.
Then nothing. Not a word. Not a penny. Christmas came and went and KidThree did not make it back to church. A little while later, I was able to get her a nice outfit and she returned to her auntie's church once, where she was noticed and made much of and fussed over by all who were so glad to see her out in public and alive and sharing church with them. And then silence again. Hypocrites.
At any rate, I'm not going to the family again, not bio- and not adopted. This time, we'll beg from the public. Less embarrassing.
And, KidThree has a meeting Monday with the pastor of the church we had been invited to last Sunday. As I wrote before, KidThree didn't make it to the service but did make it to the coffee shop meeting in the evening, where she was able to meet the pastor. Over the past several weeks, KidThree has expressed a desire to get herself straight with God, I think because she is so afraid she will be killed when she goes to testify against her assailants. The poor kid. I am not religious but understand that she is and fully support her in that. I can take her to this church every other Sunday if she wants to go (I get the alternate Sundays with the Unitarians). The pastor can come over to our home and I will go out for coffee or something so they can have all the privacy they need and he can help my beloved girl feel better about all the things going on in her life.
I left a voicemail message this morning for the ADA, asking where we were in our wait for a courtroom. KidThree will have to testify for a day or two, a week or two into the trial. She has had death threats because she is testifying, and the jailed assailants have been offering substantial amounts of money to friends of hers if they can convince her not to testify. My parents offered to come with us for moral support, but she said no almost before they finished asking; the reason for her 'no' was that she didn't want them to get shot. "Mom, they're old and they can't run!" I am so proud of my girl. Anyone firing at her will have to shoot me first.
A
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The Laundry Will Always Be With Us.
Ten loads today. Three loads of towels, three loads of sheets, two mattress pads, and two loads of clothes. It costs us around one hundred dollars a month just to do the laundry. I surely do miss having machines in the apartment. At least we have a good laundry room, and the college kids who live here don't do their laundry when I do ours. I almost always have the room to myself.
I re-read John Lescroart's "The Oath," which of course I enjoyed. I like the complexity of his plots and the reality and depth of his ongoing characters. His jabs at San Francisco politics are a hoot. San Francisco is my mother's (and grandmother's) hometown and we still have a lot of relatives there, so it's fun to read about it.
From the library, I just finished "America's Hidden History: Untold Tales of the First Pilgrims, Fighting Women, and Forgotten Founders Who Shaped a Nation," by Kenneth C. Davis. It was interesting to read, full of vignettes of the sort of people and incidents that the more ordinary history books don't discuss. Davis has a series, "Don't Know Much about. . . ," which I'll look up. I like to learn some of the little weirdnesses that have gone on in the shadows of history.
I just started "Lincoln and Douglas," about their debates. Those debates must be a hot topic now, as there were two separate books on the new non-fiction shelf about them. Either that, or it's a startling coincidence. Lincoln is someone I find endlessly fascinating; I look forward to learning some more about him.
Tonight KidThree and I are going to a meeting to kick off the local campaign against Proposition Eight. That is the proposition to restrict marriage in California to male-female couples only. I've never done anything political other than work as a pollworker and am looking forward to seeing how it all works. I don't know what we will be able to do, given our extreme poverty, but maybe there is something administrative we can do that won't cost us anything.
And now to have some coffee before that meeting.
A
I re-read John Lescroart's "The Oath," which of course I enjoyed. I like the complexity of his plots and the reality and depth of his ongoing characters. His jabs at San Francisco politics are a hoot. San Francisco is my mother's (and grandmother's) hometown and we still have a lot of relatives there, so it's fun to read about it.
From the library, I just finished "America's Hidden History: Untold Tales of the First Pilgrims, Fighting Women, and Forgotten Founders Who Shaped a Nation," by Kenneth C. Davis. It was interesting to read, full of vignettes of the sort of people and incidents that the more ordinary history books don't discuss. Davis has a series, "Don't Know Much about. . . ," which I'll look up. I like to learn some of the little weirdnesses that have gone on in the shadows of history.
I just started "Lincoln and Douglas," about their debates. Those debates must be a hot topic now, as there were two separate books on the new non-fiction shelf about them. Either that, or it's a startling coincidence. Lincoln is someone I find endlessly fascinating; I look forward to learning some more about him.
Tonight KidThree and I are going to a meeting to kick off the local campaign against Proposition Eight. That is the proposition to restrict marriage in California to male-female couples only. I've never done anything political other than work as a pollworker and am looking forward to seeing how it all works. I don't know what we will be able to do, given our extreme poverty, but maybe there is something administrative we can do that won't cost us anything.
And now to have some coffee before that meeting.
A
Good Morning to Me!
It is a lovely morning, my favorite sort. It's early, I'm awake, and no one else is. I have enough quarters and then some to do all the laundry piled up around the corner, a good book to read, and plenty of coffee to drink.
Yesterday was our usual Wednesday afternoon SCI support group meeting. We were half an hour late because of yours truly. It was one of those drives where every single choice I made was the wrong one. I started out heading towards the wrong facility; for reasons unknown to my conscious self, I headed towards the ancillary site where the psychologist has her office in the spine clinic (miles from the actual hospital where the support group meets). When we were leaving the freeway, KidThree asked, "do we usually go this way?" Uh oh. Drat and Blast. More errors and misjudgments later than I care to admit, we got to the right place half an hour late. It was embarrassing. At one point, as I was staring right at a sign telling me to turn to the left but stayed to the right, KidThree asked with real concern, "are you alright?" (I was, it was just too late to change lanes safely. But still. . . .)
KidThree went right up to the meeting and I stopped at a specialty clinic 'just for a minute' to make her a needed appt, and there went the rest of the meeting time for me, as I had to explain that yes, even with our out-of-county coverage we were allowed to be seen at that facility because of KidThree's special needs, then the staff had to find an office location with accessible exam tables, and so on and so forth.
When I got to the floor where the support group meeting was held, KidThree and a friend were waiting by the elevators to come down; I had missed the entire thing. Drat again. But it probably turned out to be a good thing, as KidThree had to do the talking all for herself, instead of relying on me to do it for her. There were three new SCI folks there this time (attendance is never the same from one meeting to the next, but we know most of the regulars) and so lots of comparing notes. And, KidThree reported on her experiences at the wonderful, wonderful gym, which all were pleased to hear about. Of course I had the gym literature in MY bag, so it didn't make the meeting. Next week for that. KidThree thought that it would be a good idea for me to sit out some of the meetings, as it did force her to talk, but that I should attend some of them as I can tell more about logistics and such than she can. What a good kid. So sometimes I will take a book and read in the cafeteria (which we JUST found a week ago--it is unlabeled and not listed on the directory), and other times I will go to the meeting.
Two days ago I remembered to stop at the optometrists' office to see if my glasses were in: they were. I now have lovely new glasses, for the first time in nine years. The technician could hardly believe it when she saw them. I only use glasses now for distance. When my eyes did that 'over age forty' change, I was able to read without glasses for the first time in thirty years. What a treat. It is annoying to have to take the glasses on and off, though; I keep misplacing them.
KidTwo has chosen a school for herself. This was a big deal, as her country location changes periodically and she had been expecting to be in one country (with a university she wanted to attend) but is now going to be in another, where attending a university in person might not be the safest choice ever made. Online it is for her, with a major in International Relations and a minor in Latin American politics. This is exactly what she has been interested in and headed for her entire life--Mama here is thrilled. She is having so much fun working at the embassy and is so intrigued with all she has seen and heard there that she is looking at a Foreign Service career. And full-service mother that I am, I have a cousin who has done that very thing--made a career in the Foreign Service. One of these days, I'll get around to putting KidTwo in contact with that particular cousin.
KidOne is doing well at work and is about to start classes for the fall. This is her last semester (finally!!) at the junior college, after years of false starts and logistical delays and personal problems delaying things. I am so proud of her for sticking to her goals no matter what the obstacles in her path. Now she will be trying to find a spot at a four-year school, which might be an issue. Her choice of career is quite impacted at this level and her scholastic record is a bit uneven.
KidThree has forgiven me for saying a mean thing about her boyfriend. Thank goodness for good kids. What I said was true, but I should not have said it. I know from experience with the other girls that nothing will push a girl closer to an unacceptable guy than parental disapproval, and this particular boyfriend is not a bad or dangerous kid, he is just not nearly good enough.
Next Monday KidThree and I have a meeting with school personnel to determine her placement for her senior year. She will have to have two senior years because she missed so much school after the shooting, but she understands that and is okay with it. The tricky thing is that she has not yet been able to return to the high school because of PTSD and other issues, so she has been at the small continuation school. She now feels ready to return to the big high school, which presents many, many logistical difficulties that will have to be ironed out. Picture me apprehensive at her choice but supporting her nonetheless.
Nothing more to say this morning, so off to do laundry I go.
A
Yesterday was our usual Wednesday afternoon SCI support group meeting. We were half an hour late because of yours truly. It was one of those drives where every single choice I made was the wrong one. I started out heading towards the wrong facility; for reasons unknown to my conscious self, I headed towards the ancillary site where the psychologist has her office in the spine clinic (miles from the actual hospital where the support group meets). When we were leaving the freeway, KidThree asked, "do we usually go this way?" Uh oh. Drat and Blast. More errors and misjudgments later than I care to admit, we got to the right place half an hour late. It was embarrassing. At one point, as I was staring right at a sign telling me to turn to the left but stayed to the right, KidThree asked with real concern, "are you alright?" (I was, it was just too late to change lanes safely. But still. . . .)
KidThree went right up to the meeting and I stopped at a specialty clinic 'just for a minute' to make her a needed appt, and there went the rest of the meeting time for me, as I had to explain that yes, even with our out-of-county coverage we were allowed to be seen at that facility because of KidThree's special needs, then the staff had to find an office location with accessible exam tables, and so on and so forth.
When I got to the floor where the support group meeting was held, KidThree and a friend were waiting by the elevators to come down; I had missed the entire thing. Drat again. But it probably turned out to be a good thing, as KidThree had to do the talking all for herself, instead of relying on me to do it for her. There were three new SCI folks there this time (attendance is never the same from one meeting to the next, but we know most of the regulars) and so lots of comparing notes. And, KidThree reported on her experiences at the wonderful, wonderful gym, which all were pleased to hear about. Of course I had the gym literature in MY bag, so it didn't make the meeting. Next week for that. KidThree thought that it would be a good idea for me to sit out some of the meetings, as it did force her to talk, but that I should attend some of them as I can tell more about logistics and such than she can. What a good kid. So sometimes I will take a book and read in the cafeteria (which we JUST found a week ago--it is unlabeled and not listed on the directory), and other times I will go to the meeting.
Two days ago I remembered to stop at the optometrists' office to see if my glasses were in: they were. I now have lovely new glasses, for the first time in nine years. The technician could hardly believe it when she saw them. I only use glasses now for distance. When my eyes did that 'over age forty' change, I was able to read without glasses for the first time in thirty years. What a treat. It is annoying to have to take the glasses on and off, though; I keep misplacing them.
KidTwo has chosen a school for herself. This was a big deal, as her country location changes periodically and she had been expecting to be in one country (with a university she wanted to attend) but is now going to be in another, where attending a university in person might not be the safest choice ever made. Online it is for her, with a major in International Relations and a minor in Latin American politics. This is exactly what she has been interested in and headed for her entire life--Mama here is thrilled. She is having so much fun working at the embassy and is so intrigued with all she has seen and heard there that she is looking at a Foreign Service career. And full-service mother that I am, I have a cousin who has done that very thing--made a career in the Foreign Service. One of these days, I'll get around to putting KidTwo in contact with that particular cousin.
KidOne is doing well at work and is about to start classes for the fall. This is her last semester (finally!!) at the junior college, after years of false starts and logistical delays and personal problems delaying things. I am so proud of her for sticking to her goals no matter what the obstacles in her path. Now she will be trying to find a spot at a four-year school, which might be an issue. Her choice of career is quite impacted at this level and her scholastic record is a bit uneven.
KidThree has forgiven me for saying a mean thing about her boyfriend. Thank goodness for good kids. What I said was true, but I should not have said it. I know from experience with the other girls that nothing will push a girl closer to an unacceptable guy than parental disapproval, and this particular boyfriend is not a bad or dangerous kid, he is just not nearly good enough.
Next Monday KidThree and I have a meeting with school personnel to determine her placement for her senior year. She will have to have two senior years because she missed so much school after the shooting, but she understands that and is okay with it. The tricky thing is that she has not yet been able to return to the high school because of PTSD and other issues, so she has been at the small continuation school. She now feels ready to return to the big high school, which presents many, many logistical difficulties that will have to be ironed out. Picture me apprehensive at her choice but supporting her nonetheless.
Nothing more to say this morning, so off to do laundry I go.
A
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
My Contest Entry.
Our local paper has a columnist who runs a contest every year to choose ten columns from the community to run while he is on vacation. This year, I decided to write an entry. I wanted to write about KidThree and our experiences since she was shot, but it took me a while to figure out which aspect of those experiences I wanted to write about. After days and days of running different possibilities through my mind, I chose to write about our problems with getting around in public. For several months, I've had an idea in the back of my head for a public service campaign to stop people from blocking sidewalks--Don't Block the Walk! I even have signs made up in my head to illustrate the problem.
Here is my 'Don't Block the Walk' column for the contest to replace the columnist. If it is not a winner, at least it will have seen the light of day over here. The only change I made was to replace KidThree's name with her blog designation of KidThree. And I did get KidThree's permission to write this column about our experiences.
Here is my 'Don't Block the Walk' column for the contest to replace the columnist. If it is not a winner, at least it will have seen the light of day over here. The only change I made was to replace KidThree's name with her blog designation of KidThree. And I did get KidThree's permission to write this column about our experiences.
"The unidentified girl was walking along. . .when she was struck as shots were exchanged between two groups during a street argument. . . . The victim's injuries were not considered life-threatening, but she may have suffered spinal damage."
"The victim" in that dispassionate little blurb from the large newspaper across the causeway was my daughter, KidThree, and she did suffer spinal damage. The bullet hit her spleen, stomach, and diaphragm before fracturing three of her vertebrae and leaving her paraplegic.
Since then, we have been learning how to negotiate the world of the mobility-impaired. So many of the minor obstacles we run into are things that I never noticed prior to KidThree's injury, as the issue was not something I was aware of, and I thought this would be a good opportunity to bring this issue to the attention of others. In my dreams, this is the beginning of a public service campaign called, "Don't Block the Walk!"
Some of the problems we encounter are that some people don't notice we are coming and others don't think it is polite to notice that we are coming. Other places, sidewalks are rendered impassable for any number of reasons. Sometimes a motorist will block a wheelchair ramp or driveway because "they're only running in for a minute," and sometimes there is just no place to park where KidThree can get out of the car (we need four to five feet of clear space on the passenger side).
When you are out and about and notice someone coming who is mobility-impaired, it isn't impolite to notice. Take a moment to look around to see if there is a clear path. Smile and step aside, push a chair out of the way, move your textbooks from their spot on the floor next to your table in the coffee shop. We will smile right back and say 'thank you.' If you hold a door open for us, we will smile even more broadly and thank you again. If you don't notice that we are there and we have to get your attention, remember, we're not annoyed with you; we understand that you're involved in your conversation or your studies. Just take that moment to smile and clear the path.
Impassable sidewalks are another problem. Dumpsters don't get pushed back after being emptied, too many vehicles are parked in too small a driveway, work trucks get parked willy-nilly, vegetation grows where it will. If a sidewalk is blocked, a wheelchair user can't just step around the obstacle. He has to go back to where there is a driveway or other ramp, go out into the street, travel past the obstacle, and then continue on until he finds another driveway or ramp to get back on the sidewalk. This involves going around parked cars, dodging bicycles, and coming entirely too close to motor vehicles for comfort.
When you are at home, take a look around your neighborhood. Do cars extend past the limits of the driveway? This is common where there are more cars than driveway space. If your vehicle doesn't fit entirely in the driveway, please, park it in the street. If the plumber’s truck needs to be in your driveway, move your car to the street to clear space for it. Does your apartment complex's dumpster need to be pushed back a little bit? Push it back into place. When parking in the street, keep your tires off the sidewalk.
Do you have hedges or other vegetation along a sidewalk? Take a look to see if brush extends across the sidewalk. A pedestrian can just push a few branches aside and continue on her way, but someone in a wheelchair is using her hands to maneuver the chair and can't brush away the branches. Vegetation will slap her in the face, snag her clothing, and deposit spiderwebs in her hair.
If you’re doing yardwork, make sure debris isn’t left on the sidewalk. A pile of branches left blocking the sidewalk 'just overnight’ is enough for us to have to go out into the street to get past.
The city also needs to take some responsibility. For example, on 14th St just east of F St, there are some bushes that extend quite a ways across the sidewalk. On 5th St, just past the downtown area, there are sidewalks so overgrown they look like jungle paths.
Sometimes there isn't accessible parking, especially downtown. If you see someone stopping their car in an inconvenient spot so a mobility-impaired person can get out close to his destination, please be understanding. The driver will move the car as soon as possible, and will appreciate your patience until she does.
Thank you for listening, and remember, Don't Block the Walk!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Me and My Big Mouth.
Yesterday started out so wonderfully, too. I spent four hours with LadyP while her husband went to the gym and did the grocery shopping. He had left the television on, something he usually didn't do, and LadyP kept getting startled because someone else in the room was talking. I offered several times to turn the television off, but she liked it on. It was on the news channel, so we kept seeing pictures of bad weather in Florida and congratulating ourselves on having the sense to live in California.
Side note: When I was in the military, over and over again I met people who refused to accept orders to any base in California because of their fear of earthquakes. Folks who could accept hurricanes and tornadoes and blizzards quailed at the thought of earthquakes. Bizarre. Give me an earthquake any day. One day in Japan, I was at sick call, questioning a sailor about his symptoms when a good-sized earthquake hit. We each grabbed our side of the little table between us and as the ground rattled our teeth together the terrified sailor asked me, "a-a-aren't you-u-u scared-d-d-d?" I grinned and answered, "I'm-m-m from-m-m-m C-C-California-a-a!"
Sunday morning KidThree did not make it to our friend's church service, so I went alone. It was lovely and had skits put on by the children of the congregation that KidThree would have enjoyed. That evening, some of the church folks were gathering at a local coffee shop; we were invited to go. KidThree had expressed recently her desire to get back to church and get her conscience straight, so I thought this was something we should pursue. When we got there, we sat and talked with FriendJ, the woman who had invited us to the event. She knew the parents of KidThree's friend who recently died so tragically and discovered through our conversation that he and KidThree had gotten to be very close in the months they knew each other, with the young man providing a lot of support and encouragement to KidThree as she struggled with her new reality. FriendJ asked KidThree if she would like to meet the young man's mother, and KidThree nervously said yes. FriendJ, never one to let the grass grow under her feet, went to a quiet corner of the coffee shop and called the mother on the spot, making an appt for yesterday afternoon. Yesterday KidThree got ready after I came home from staying with LadyP. Poor KidThree--she was so nervous.
We got to the coffee shop at the designated time and the father was there in addition to the mother. After a few minutes of FriendJ doing introductions and helping to break the ice, KidThree started talking to her friend's parents and sharing with them her memories of him. It was wonderful. We talked for two and a half hours about the kids, their school, their romance (it was a real romance), and their lives in general. The parents had not known about their son's relationship with my lovely KidThree and were so pleased and proud to hear what a positive difference he had made in her life here, and I was able to express my gratitude directly to them for the good their son had done my daughter. As we drove home afterwards, KidThree was almost giddy from relief and happiness at how much she enjoyed meeting her friend's parents and how kind they were to her, and how they repeatedly asked her to keep in touch with them. I reminded KidThree how my own parents lost one of my brothers thirty years ago and how his best friend has kept in touch with them ever since, visiting them as recently as two weeks ago when he came from his out-of-state home to visit his mother, so KidThree understood that her friend's parents really did mean the invitation and really would welcome contact with her. What a marvelous couple this pair was, and how wonderful they were to share that time with my girl amidst their own pain and loss.
On the way home, we stopped at the mailbox and found the last two discs, six episodes, of Season Four of The Wire and came home to have a tv marathon. That was wonderful.
Then I blew it. KidThree disclosed something and in my anger and frustration I said something I shouldn't have. How many times have I done that as a parent, and why do I never learn to just keep my mouth shut? Poor KidThree was justifiably upset and I was crushed. We were able to talk about it and resolve the immediate problem, but the underlying issue remains and has to be dealt with, more delicately than I managed last night. I wish tomorrow was KidThree's appt with her psychologist, instead of it being the following week.
Picture me kicking myself in the fanny at having been a mother for over twenty years and still saying things to my girls that I shouldn't. After KidThree was shot, I got her a shirt that read, "Too Bad Life Doesn't Come with an Rewind Button." I'm the one that needs the rewind button.
A
Side note: When I was in the military, over and over again I met people who refused to accept orders to any base in California because of their fear of earthquakes. Folks who could accept hurricanes and tornadoes and blizzards quailed at the thought of earthquakes. Bizarre. Give me an earthquake any day. One day in Japan, I was at sick call, questioning a sailor about his symptoms when a good-sized earthquake hit. We each grabbed our side of the little table between us and as the ground rattled our teeth together the terrified sailor asked me, "a-a-aren't you-u-u scared-d-d-d?" I grinned and answered, "I'm-m-m from-m-m-m C-C-California-a-a!"
Sunday morning KidThree did not make it to our friend's church service, so I went alone. It was lovely and had skits put on by the children of the congregation that KidThree would have enjoyed. That evening, some of the church folks were gathering at a local coffee shop; we were invited to go. KidThree had expressed recently her desire to get back to church and get her conscience straight, so I thought this was something we should pursue. When we got there, we sat and talked with FriendJ, the woman who had invited us to the event. She knew the parents of KidThree's friend who recently died so tragically and discovered through our conversation that he and KidThree had gotten to be very close in the months they knew each other, with the young man providing a lot of support and encouragement to KidThree as she struggled with her new reality. FriendJ asked KidThree if she would like to meet the young man's mother, and KidThree nervously said yes. FriendJ, never one to let the grass grow under her feet, went to a quiet corner of the coffee shop and called the mother on the spot, making an appt for yesterday afternoon. Yesterday KidThree got ready after I came home from staying with LadyP. Poor KidThree--she was so nervous.
We got to the coffee shop at the designated time and the father was there in addition to the mother. After a few minutes of FriendJ doing introductions and helping to break the ice, KidThree started talking to her friend's parents and sharing with them her memories of him. It was wonderful. We talked for two and a half hours about the kids, their school, their romance (it was a real romance), and their lives in general. The parents had not known about their son's relationship with my lovely KidThree and were so pleased and proud to hear what a positive difference he had made in her life here, and I was able to express my gratitude directly to them for the good their son had done my daughter. As we drove home afterwards, KidThree was almost giddy from relief and happiness at how much she enjoyed meeting her friend's parents and how kind they were to her, and how they repeatedly asked her to keep in touch with them. I reminded KidThree how my own parents lost one of my brothers thirty years ago and how his best friend has kept in touch with them ever since, visiting them as recently as two weeks ago when he came from his out-of-state home to visit his mother, so KidThree understood that her friend's parents really did mean the invitation and really would welcome contact with her. What a marvelous couple this pair was, and how wonderful they were to share that time with my girl amidst their own pain and loss.
On the way home, we stopped at the mailbox and found the last two discs, six episodes, of Season Four of The Wire and came home to have a tv marathon. That was wonderful.
Then I blew it. KidThree disclosed something and in my anger and frustration I said something I shouldn't have. How many times have I done that as a parent, and why do I never learn to just keep my mouth shut? Poor KidThree was justifiably upset and I was crushed. We were able to talk about it and resolve the immediate problem, but the underlying issue remains and has to be dealt with, more delicately than I managed last night. I wish tomorrow was KidThree's appt with her psychologist, instead of it being the following week.
Picture me kicking myself in the fanny at having been a mother for over twenty years and still saying things to my girls that I shouldn't. After KidThree was shot, I got her a shirt that read, "Too Bad Life Doesn't Come with an Rewind Button." I'm the one that needs the rewind button.
A
Sunday, August 17, 2008
It Finally Cooled Off Last Night.
Thank goodness. The heat has been driving me crazy. I am lazy by nature--I have to talk myself into doing anything that isn't fun--and when it is hot, I do even less than usual. Last night the delta breezes kicked in and cooled things off right around sunset, so I was able to go out and do laundry because the kitchen was dirty. You see, there were no clean towels of the sort that go underneath the dish drainer, so of course I couldn't wash dishes. To do the dishes, I had to do the laundry first. So five loads of laundry. Two or three more to do sometime today. Somehow the laundry always manages to get its importance felt.
Yesterday FriendL came over for a good catch-up visit. She's been out of the state for several weeks and had only just returned. The past year or so, it has usually been my life that has more upheavals in it, but the past week or so, it is hers. Oh my. Romance issues, roomer issues (she rented a room to a grad student), and a meltdown with her KidOne (this friend also has three daughters). We laughed together over the hope that one day, we will be able to have a visit over coffee and have everything be okay with all of our girls, her three and my three and her little granddaughter. Someday we will get to that point--we are determined. When she left, I reminded her to stay away from bridges and she reminded me to stay away from trains (so as not to jump off of or in front of). What lives our children lead us. Honestly, if people really understood what was in store for them after giving birth to that sweet little bundle of joy and its siblings, no one would ever hop into bed again with someone of the opposite sex.
My tentative journey into romance with match.com is so far a total bust. Maybe my little ad would be more interesting if I knew how to put a picture up, but I doubt it. I've read and re-read the ads posted by men and so many of them seem to be looking for an impossible woman. Where do they think they will find someone like what they describe? "Slender, who can go from jeans to heels in a moment, who love to laugh and drink wine, yada, yada, yada. . . ." Guys, those women don't exist. Advertising made them up and surgeons and drug dealers filled the orders. Real women get cranky, get dirty, have gas, have periods, forget to do the laundry, carry a few extra pounds or too few, and throw up when you keep taking them out on all those river excursions you claim to go on every spare minute of the day. Oh well, I've been alone for almost twenty years--one of these days I'll get used to it.
Yesterday at the library a book caught my eye in the new non-fiction American history section, so the next entries will be heavy on American history. But first I read "Laughing Without an Accent," by Firoozeh Dumas. Thank you again, Firoozeh! It was marvelous. Last night I read it after going to bed and laughed and laughed and laughed. From the open door to KidThree's room, I could hear her, laughing at my laughter. Firoozeh Dumas is that funny--even secondhand, without the book being in the same room, she can make someone laugh. Her father likes to talk about how he actually met Albert Einstein. Well, I can do him one better. I met Firoozeh Dumas! Really, I did. Sort of. It was at a book event down in San Jose; my mother and I go to those together. I wanted to get Firoozeh's book, "Funny in Farsi," for KidThree, but there were none left at the sale table. Mom and I were wandering around, desolated, looking in vain for a copy of that book, when who should walk by but Firoozeh Dumas. I don't remember what I said but it involved doing something to impede her progress while I explained my dilemma. Firoozeh grabbed my hand and cheerfully dragged me to another room, where copies of her book were still available. After I bought it, she obligingly inscribed it to KidThree; it is right now as I type on KidThree's desk in her bedroom. "Laughing Without an Accent" I got from the library, but, Firoozeh, when I see you at another book event, I'll buy a copy and ask again for an inscription to KidThree. She loves you almost as much as I do.
Now off to go do things here. The laundry is waiting to be put away, soaking dishes are waiting to be scrubbed, and KidThree needs help with a bath. This morning we're going to a friend's church, as the friend and her family are putting on a skit and they invited us to come.
A
Yesterday FriendL came over for a good catch-up visit. She's been out of the state for several weeks and had only just returned. The past year or so, it has usually been my life that has more upheavals in it, but the past week or so, it is hers. Oh my. Romance issues, roomer issues (she rented a room to a grad student), and a meltdown with her KidOne (this friend also has three daughters). We laughed together over the hope that one day, we will be able to have a visit over coffee and have everything be okay with all of our girls, her three and my three and her little granddaughter. Someday we will get to that point--we are determined. When she left, I reminded her to stay away from bridges and she reminded me to stay away from trains (so as not to jump off of or in front of). What lives our children lead us. Honestly, if people really understood what was in store for them after giving birth to that sweet little bundle of joy and its siblings, no one would ever hop into bed again with someone of the opposite sex.
My tentative journey into romance with match.com is so far a total bust. Maybe my little ad would be more interesting if I knew how to put a picture up, but I doubt it. I've read and re-read the ads posted by men and so many of them seem to be looking for an impossible woman. Where do they think they will find someone like what they describe? "Slender, who can go from jeans to heels in a moment, who love to laugh and drink wine, yada, yada, yada. . . ." Guys, those women don't exist. Advertising made them up and surgeons and drug dealers filled the orders. Real women get cranky, get dirty, have gas, have periods, forget to do the laundry, carry a few extra pounds or too few, and throw up when you keep taking them out on all those river excursions you claim to go on every spare minute of the day. Oh well, I've been alone for almost twenty years--one of these days I'll get used to it.
Yesterday at the library a book caught my eye in the new non-fiction American history section, so the next entries will be heavy on American history. But first I read "Laughing Without an Accent," by Firoozeh Dumas. Thank you again, Firoozeh! It was marvelous. Last night I read it after going to bed and laughed and laughed and laughed. From the open door to KidThree's room, I could hear her, laughing at my laughter. Firoozeh Dumas is that funny--even secondhand, without the book being in the same room, she can make someone laugh. Her father likes to talk about how he actually met Albert Einstein. Well, I can do him one better. I met Firoozeh Dumas! Really, I did. Sort of. It was at a book event down in San Jose; my mother and I go to those together. I wanted to get Firoozeh's book, "Funny in Farsi," for KidThree, but there were none left at the sale table. Mom and I were wandering around, desolated, looking in vain for a copy of that book, when who should walk by but Firoozeh Dumas. I don't remember what I said but it involved doing something to impede her progress while I explained my dilemma. Firoozeh grabbed my hand and cheerfully dragged me to another room, where copies of her book were still available. After I bought it, she obligingly inscribed it to KidThree; it is right now as I type on KidThree's desk in her bedroom. "Laughing Without an Accent" I got from the library, but, Firoozeh, when I see you at another book event, I'll buy a copy and ask again for an inscription to KidThree. She loves you almost as much as I do.
Now off to go do things here. The laundry is waiting to be put away, soaking dishes are waiting to be scrubbed, and KidThree needs help with a bath. This morning we're going to a friend's church, as the friend and her family are putting on a skit and they invited us to come.
A
Saturday, August 16, 2008
One More Cup of Coffee,
then I'm off to the shower and then to the next town over to go get KidThree's wheelchair back. That trip I'm not looking forward to. A few weeks back, a bolt snapped on the chair and the back came off, theatrically dumping KidThree onto the floor. Fortunately she was not hurt, just scared, as was Mama here. FriendL used to be in a chair and still had hers in her garage, so we borrowed that and had KidOne take the broken one to the place FriendL so highly recommended. I sent KidOne with the necessary info written down: doctor's name, where he worked, phone number, and the name of a staff person to contact for further info, along with all KidThree's info. (To get Medi-Cal to fund the repairs, the doctor has to write a prescription and then Medi-Cal has to decide whether to authorize the repairs. Not a short process, but also not one that should take over a week or two.)
The 'business' sat on things for over a week, claiming in phone messages that they didn't have enough information to get the prescription. We played phone tag back and forth, but finally I got in contact with a real person. (I could tell she was a real person as a robot would have been more helpful--it takes a human to be that obstructive.) We got things ironed out, she conceded they had the necessary info, and would get the rx. After another couple of weeks, I chased down that real person again by phone and got the story that they couldn't get the prescription signed. Then I turned to the social worker in the pertinent department, who swore that such a delay could never happen as their procedures were much more finely tuned than that. (Social workers are also human--obstructive, but polysyllabically so.) It took over another week for an rx to be filled out. Gotta love those finely tuned procedures. As of two or three days ago, the people at the medical supply store were still waiting for an approval from Medi-Cal, and thought they would check on the status of that approval and get back to me on it. Picture dead silence from my phone since that call.
Last night I went online to see if I could get some more info on wheelchair repairs in the area and found a review of this medical supply store by someone else who needed a wheelchair repair. The reviewer said it was the worst customer service she had ever received, described a situation just like this one, said she went to the store and found her file hadn't been touched in a month, and that when she complained she was told that "people like her" didn't appreciate how the store personnel were working to help them. Uh oh. I don't know who FriendL interaced with, but my experience has been just like the reviewer's, not FriendL's. The reviewer was writing within the last year and FriendL hasn't needed her chair for longer than that, so maybe something changed in the staff. At any rate, I've had it. After the shower, off to the medical supply store to retrieve the broken chair and the prescription. There are more medical supply stores in the area that I can go to, including the one where I've been buying some supplies for KidThree for the past year. I just didn't go there with the chair because FriendL raved so highly about this other one and both the stores were about the same distance from here. (For anyone who doesn't know, using someone else's chair is like playing football in clown shoes--possible, but cumbersome, slow, and dangerous.)
Coffee water boiling. Good. I always tell the kids, "legal drugs, kids, legal drugs!"
At the library a couple of days ago, I browsed through the mystery section. Several times I've found real treats doing that--I look for authors who have more than a book or two on the theory that someone must have liked what they wrote in order for a publishing company to pay them to do it again. This time, total bust. I got "Death of the Party" by Carolyn Hart, a Death on Demand Mystery. I got several pages in, then decided it wasn't for me. No real introduction to the characters, simple, declarative sentences, stock background descriptions. Here's a sample: "Max glanced at Annie. "I'll take a look." His tone was calm; his eyes were wary. He pushed the door open, stepped inside. He muttered an exclamation and strode across the room." Sorry, Carolyn, that's boring, and how often does anyone actually stride across a room? How about something like 'Max glanced at Annie, picking up on her tension, and said calmly, "I'll take a look." Eyes wary, he pushed open the door, stepped inside, then muttered an exclamation as he headed across the room.' Still not terrific, but at least a little more interesting to read.
Another 'just to see' book was "Bindweed," a Gardening Mystery by Janis Harrison. That one I chose because I have an aunt named Janis and rarely see the name spelled that way. Sorry, Auntie, I didn't care for that one, either. Same sort of thing. Stock characters not fleshed out and a developmentally disabled character who didn't ring true. I do admit, the sentence structure was better, but that wasn't enough to make up for the story, which I didn't care for and which had too many standard plot devices screaming at me from the first several pages. Back to the library for Janis and Carolyn both.
On the plus side, I found a book called "Charlatan: America's Most Dangerous Huckster, the Man Who Pursued Him, and the Age of Flimflam," by Pope Brock, about the life and career of John R. Brinkley. I hadn't known the name Brinkley, but recognized the description of treating men with goat glands. I'm happily into that one now, just a little bit so far, but more than enough to make up for Carolyn and Janis. I'll head to the library on the way to the medical supply store to drop these off and pick up "Three Cups of Tea," which is waiting for me. "A Thousand Splendid Suns" is going back for someone else to enjoy. Thank you again, Khaled Hosseini--you do more than the Afghan and American governments together to humanize your home country and its people for those of us outside its mountains and borders.
Yesterday was KidThree's last session at the gym. In another week or so, we will get the dvd of her home exercise program and a list of supplies to purchase for it. That will be good. KidThree is feeling so much better after the two weeks of exercise. I wish we could go down there every week. That will have to go on my Lotto list, even before seeing Alaska again.
Next week it's back to making phone calls and trying to get things rolling on various projects. KidThree stopped going to the physical and occupational therapy sessions funded by the insurance. She was not doing as well emotionally as she is now, and resented the attitude of the therapists. The therapists were right in what they said to her, but they didn't say it as well as they could have, given that KidThree processed things differently than most of the kids they dealt with. I talked to them and made sure we could return when KidThree was a little more amenable. KidThree doesn't want to go back for the therapy, but understands it is necessary to get a piece of equipment that insurance will pay for if it is ordered through that therapy department. After we have the equipment (a standing frame, which costs thousands), she can stop going again.
We also want to get the special bicycle that uses electricity to stimulate KidThree's leg muscles into pedalling the bike. That one insurance almost certainly won't cover, as Medi-Cal funds only bare-bones necessities; California Children's Services is what will cover the standing frame but I don't think they want to pay for the $17,000 bicycle. I'm hoping to get Victim's Comp to do that. Maybe if I keep bothering them with my state elected officials, they'll just approve everything I ask for to get me to leave them alone. I've contacted by email the company that makes the bicycles, so step one of trying to get one for KidThree is taken care of. Next it will be trying to pry a letter out of her current doctor that says the bicycle is medically necessary. Good luck to me on that, given how hard it was just to get a prescription for a wheelchair repair.
We're also ready to start the process for getting a service dog. KidThree had dogs around when she was small and has sorely missed them since joining my family here. One of her best friends from rehab had one that KidThree really got to like. But, both the rehab folks and the service dog folks told me to hold off on getting a dog for at least a year, as getting one too early actually delayed recovery by giving kids something to focus on besides their own situation. We are at a year and a half now, so this seems like a good time. I think a dog would be better the best antidepressant out there for my wonderful KidThree, and I could learn to live with one. (I never have lived with a dog.)
And, KidThree has decided she wants to try to attend the regular high school instead of the continuation school she attended last year. The primary reason for this is that her closest friend (and sometime sweetheart) from the continuation school died two months ago (from a sudden and catastrophic illness) and she can't face the idea of returning to that little school without him. So, Monday it is back to the high school to see how we can arrange her return there. Dealing with public schools with KidThree can be a logistical nightmare, given her educational record, emotional state, and physical disabilities, but what the heck, I haven't got anything better or more important to do.
Picture me fastening on my armor to go to battle with bureaucracies on behalf of my girl, fortified with coffee and chocolate and the sure knowledge that my heart is pure and my motives golden.
A
The 'business' sat on things for over a week, claiming in phone messages that they didn't have enough information to get the prescription. We played phone tag back and forth, but finally I got in contact with a real person. (I could tell she was a real person as a robot would have been more helpful--it takes a human to be that obstructive.) We got things ironed out, she conceded they had the necessary info, and would get the rx. After another couple of weeks, I chased down that real person again by phone and got the story that they couldn't get the prescription signed. Then I turned to the social worker in the pertinent department, who swore that such a delay could never happen as their procedures were much more finely tuned than that. (Social workers are also human--obstructive, but polysyllabically so.) It took over another week for an rx to be filled out. Gotta love those finely tuned procedures. As of two or three days ago, the people at the medical supply store were still waiting for an approval from Medi-Cal, and thought they would check on the status of that approval and get back to me on it. Picture dead silence from my phone since that call.
Last night I went online to see if I could get some more info on wheelchair repairs in the area and found a review of this medical supply store by someone else who needed a wheelchair repair. The reviewer said it was the worst customer service she had ever received, described a situation just like this one, said she went to the store and found her file hadn't been touched in a month, and that when she complained she was told that "people like her" didn't appreciate how the store personnel were working to help them. Uh oh. I don't know who FriendL interaced with, but my experience has been just like the reviewer's, not FriendL's. The reviewer was writing within the last year and FriendL hasn't needed her chair for longer than that, so maybe something changed in the staff. At any rate, I've had it. After the shower, off to the medical supply store to retrieve the broken chair and the prescription. There are more medical supply stores in the area that I can go to, including the one where I've been buying some supplies for KidThree for the past year. I just didn't go there with the chair because FriendL raved so highly about this other one and both the stores were about the same distance from here. (For anyone who doesn't know, using someone else's chair is like playing football in clown shoes--possible, but cumbersome, slow, and dangerous.)
Coffee water boiling. Good. I always tell the kids, "legal drugs, kids, legal drugs!"
At the library a couple of days ago, I browsed through the mystery section. Several times I've found real treats doing that--I look for authors who have more than a book or two on the theory that someone must have liked what they wrote in order for a publishing company to pay them to do it again. This time, total bust. I got "Death of the Party" by Carolyn Hart, a Death on Demand Mystery. I got several pages in, then decided it wasn't for me. No real introduction to the characters, simple, declarative sentences, stock background descriptions. Here's a sample: "Max glanced at Annie. "I'll take a look." His tone was calm; his eyes were wary. He pushed the door open, stepped inside. He muttered an exclamation and strode across the room." Sorry, Carolyn, that's boring, and how often does anyone actually stride across a room? How about something like 'Max glanced at Annie, picking up on her tension, and said calmly, "I'll take a look." Eyes wary, he pushed open the door, stepped inside, then muttered an exclamation as he headed across the room.' Still not terrific, but at least a little more interesting to read.
Another 'just to see' book was "Bindweed," a Gardening Mystery by Janis Harrison. That one I chose because I have an aunt named Janis and rarely see the name spelled that way. Sorry, Auntie, I didn't care for that one, either. Same sort of thing. Stock characters not fleshed out and a developmentally disabled character who didn't ring true. I do admit, the sentence structure was better, but that wasn't enough to make up for the story, which I didn't care for and which had too many standard plot devices screaming at me from the first several pages. Back to the library for Janis and Carolyn both.
On the plus side, I found a book called "Charlatan: America's Most Dangerous Huckster, the Man Who Pursued Him, and the Age of Flimflam," by Pope Brock, about the life and career of John R. Brinkley. I hadn't known the name Brinkley, but recognized the description of treating men with goat glands. I'm happily into that one now, just a little bit so far, but more than enough to make up for Carolyn and Janis. I'll head to the library on the way to the medical supply store to drop these off and pick up "Three Cups of Tea," which is waiting for me. "A Thousand Splendid Suns" is going back for someone else to enjoy. Thank you again, Khaled Hosseini--you do more than the Afghan and American governments together to humanize your home country and its people for those of us outside its mountains and borders.
Yesterday was KidThree's last session at the gym. In another week or so, we will get the dvd of her home exercise program and a list of supplies to purchase for it. That will be good. KidThree is feeling so much better after the two weeks of exercise. I wish we could go down there every week. That will have to go on my Lotto list, even before seeing Alaska again.
Next week it's back to making phone calls and trying to get things rolling on various projects. KidThree stopped going to the physical and occupational therapy sessions funded by the insurance. She was not doing as well emotionally as she is now, and resented the attitude of the therapists. The therapists were right in what they said to her, but they didn't say it as well as they could have, given that KidThree processed things differently than most of the kids they dealt with. I talked to them and made sure we could return when KidThree was a little more amenable. KidThree doesn't want to go back for the therapy, but understands it is necessary to get a piece of equipment that insurance will pay for if it is ordered through that therapy department. After we have the equipment (a standing frame, which costs thousands), she can stop going again.
We also want to get the special bicycle that uses electricity to stimulate KidThree's leg muscles into pedalling the bike. That one insurance almost certainly won't cover, as Medi-Cal funds only bare-bones necessities; California Children's Services is what will cover the standing frame but I don't think they want to pay for the $17,000 bicycle. I'm hoping to get Victim's Comp to do that. Maybe if I keep bothering them with my state elected officials, they'll just approve everything I ask for to get me to leave them alone. I've contacted by email the company that makes the bicycles, so step one of trying to get one for KidThree is taken care of. Next it will be trying to pry a letter out of her current doctor that says the bicycle is medically necessary. Good luck to me on that, given how hard it was just to get a prescription for a wheelchair repair.
We're also ready to start the process for getting a service dog. KidThree had dogs around when she was small and has sorely missed them since joining my family here. One of her best friends from rehab had one that KidThree really got to like. But, both the rehab folks and the service dog folks told me to hold off on getting a dog for at least a year, as getting one too early actually delayed recovery by giving kids something to focus on besides their own situation. We are at a year and a half now, so this seems like a good time. I think a dog would be better the best antidepressant out there for my wonderful KidThree, and I could learn to live with one. (I never have lived with a dog.)
And, KidThree has decided she wants to try to attend the regular high school instead of the continuation school she attended last year. The primary reason for this is that her closest friend (and sometime sweetheart) from the continuation school died two months ago (from a sudden and catastrophic illness) and she can't face the idea of returning to that little school without him. So, Monday it is back to the high school to see how we can arrange her return there. Dealing with public schools with KidThree can be a logistical nightmare, given her educational record, emotional state, and physical disabilities, but what the heck, I haven't got anything better or more important to do.
Picture me fastening on my armor to go to battle with bureaucracies on behalf of my girl, fortified with coffee and chocolate and the sure knowledge that my heart is pure and my motives golden.
A
Friday, August 15, 2008
August Is a Difficult Month.
It is so long, so hot, and so bereft of holidays. Thirty-one days of heat, one after the other, in a line that disappears into the shimmering waves of heat coming off the baking ground. Days of hiding in the dark, trying to avoid cooking, stretching days between laundry loads so as to avoid going outside to the laundry room.
Last night I had to give in and go out to do laundry. I waited until 9:30, after dark and after the heat had started to lift, at least a little, and then did only three loads. Just clothing. No bedding, no towels, just clothes. A young man was starting to do his wash as I was taking mine out of the washing machines. My wash was in three of the four machines; he had just loaded the fourth with his. I started to unload the first of my machines and told him it would be clear for him in just a minute. He was startled, I think, that I spoke to him, and said, "thank you," very nicely. What a pain in the neck generation gaps can be but probably they are necessary, somehow.
I'm almost done reading "A Thousand Splendid Suns." It is so good. So very, very good. When I read it, I am in Afghanistan, under a burqa, feeling the dust and the heat and the tension. A good August book, especially, to match the endless days of heat and more heat. What an incredible gift Khaled Hosseini has, and how hard and long he must have worked to turn out such a book. Mariam and Laila are so real, their relationship so true. What an amazing soul to be able to get inside the heads and hearts of women, where so many men cannot see. This is a book I will buy--used and in paper, but I will buy it.
In three more weeks, KidOne's rental is available and she will have her household goods moved out. Really she doesn't have much here, but it is enough to make my bedroom impassable. There are her bed and bureau, her clothes and her snake tanks. When they are gone, I get to arrange my bedroom the way I'd planned when we first moved here. I never did get that done, as KidFour arrived before we had finished getting things put together and then KidOne arrived and somehow my bedroom never got addressed. KidOne's bed went in there, and the tanks, and became the repository for all other things that hadn't yet found a home. When KidOne's things are gone, I can get my futon out of KidThree's room--the futon is folded up, but still taking up floor space and blocking wheelchair access to her closet. KidOne's bureaus are also in KidThree's room. One of the bureaus she is leaving; I will put a sign in the laundry room that it is free to a good home. The other bureau, the one I bought for KidFour after she arrived, will leave home with KidOne. KidFour didn't want to take it with her, but KidOne likes it and decided it fit her needs better than the other one she originally had (that is the one that can go to another home). When my futon and KidOne's bureaus are out of KidThree's room, I can finish making it wheelchair accessible. The past several days, I've been working on her desk area and the built-in bookshelves above the desk, but it is all moot right now as she can't get to the desk. Soon, though, she will be able to, and it will all be ready for her. Just in time for the beginning of school.
In my room, oh my. I can't wait. The full-size bed from the living room is moving into my room to become my regular bed, as we decided it would be better to have only a twin bed in the living room, to use less space. My twin futon will go in the living room, on a frame we buy from IKEA. That is already picked out. Then in my room I get to put the bookcases where they should live. My room shares a wall with the living room and another with the bathroom. Right now the wall shared with the living room is lined with bookcases that I'm using for storage cabinets--they are two bookcases deep, with the front set having no backs so that they function as fairly deep storage. They reduce the noise from the living room to almost nothing. I'll do the same on the wall shared with the bathroom--line it with the bookcases that are actually used for books. That way, I can go in my room and pretend that there is no one else around. My bed will be in there and one of the recliners and KidTwo's computer, which doubles as a television. It might be difficult to get me out of there once I have it put together. The only piece of furniture I need for that room that I don't have already is a file cabinet. Before KidThree got shot, I didn't need a full-sized file cabinet: my records all fit in one file box. Since the shooting, though, the paperwork of our existence has exploded all over. Medi-Cal, Social Security, In-Home Support, UCD Medical Center, Shriners, Kaiser. The court case, other legal issues, and so many resources to keep track of. Victim's Comp. Durable Medical Equipment. Service Dog programs. I definitely need a file cabinet, as my files boxes now number three and are full.
The trial appears to be on this time, but we're not holding our breaths. I spoke with our ADA, who said it won't actually start on Monday but not because of a continuance, just because of a dearth of courtrooms. We are waiting for one to become available. Within the byzantine rules of the system, they have to make one available to us on or before the 28th of this month. That is just what August is good for, more waiting. Waiting for the trial to start. Waiting for KidOne to get her belongings moved out when her rental opens up. Waiting for October.
In October, or actually, the last week of September, I start babysitting here at home. The babies are the twin daughters of a vet student and her husband. He has already finished school and is at work in the Bay Area, coming home for weekends and only occasionally during the week. They have a three-year-old daughter who is in a pre-school near our apartment here. MamaK will drop the babies off each day on her way to school and then pick them up on her way home. The pay will be enough to end our money issues here. We won't be rich, not by any stretch of the imagination, but we should be done with looking for loose change to get another carton of milk and figuring out just which loads of laundry are needed most urgently. What a relief that will be. The knowledge that our extreme financial crunch was only temporary (although while we are in it, of course it feels interminable) is the only thing that's kept me from driving in front of a train. I was not cut out to live this close to the edge day after week after month. But six more weeks? We can handle that. The babies will be here four days a week, four to eight hours a day. I'm hoping to still be able to stay with LadyP a couple of times a week, as I do enjoy her company so and know how much it means to her husband to be able to get away for a little while. That family plans one more big Thanksgiving together, then LadyP will go stay at a nursing home, as her condition is too far advanced for the family to handle at home. They had been looking at places up to fifty miles away, but decided in the end on one in the next town, just fifteen to twenty minutes away. I'm glad for that, as I would want to be able to visit LadyP occasionally.
Now off to do the dishes and then clean the bathroom. The heat has already started coming up, so I've closed all windows and turned on the a/c. If I don't do that housework now, it won't get done until tomorrow, as in this heat, I am only worth a darn in the morning. And tomorrow I need to clean and vacuum the living room.
A
Last night I had to give in and go out to do laundry. I waited until 9:30, after dark and after the heat had started to lift, at least a little, and then did only three loads. Just clothing. No bedding, no towels, just clothes. A young man was starting to do his wash as I was taking mine out of the washing machines. My wash was in three of the four machines; he had just loaded the fourth with his. I started to unload the first of my machines and told him it would be clear for him in just a minute. He was startled, I think, that I spoke to him, and said, "thank you," very nicely. What a pain in the neck generation gaps can be but probably they are necessary, somehow.
I'm almost done reading "A Thousand Splendid Suns." It is so good. So very, very good. When I read it, I am in Afghanistan, under a burqa, feeling the dust and the heat and the tension. A good August book, especially, to match the endless days of heat and more heat. What an incredible gift Khaled Hosseini has, and how hard and long he must have worked to turn out such a book. Mariam and Laila are so real, their relationship so true. What an amazing soul to be able to get inside the heads and hearts of women, where so many men cannot see. This is a book I will buy--used and in paper, but I will buy it.
In three more weeks, KidOne's rental is available and she will have her household goods moved out. Really she doesn't have much here, but it is enough to make my bedroom impassable. There are her bed and bureau, her clothes and her snake tanks. When they are gone, I get to arrange my bedroom the way I'd planned when we first moved here. I never did get that done, as KidFour arrived before we had finished getting things put together and then KidOne arrived and somehow my bedroom never got addressed. KidOne's bed went in there, and the tanks, and became the repository for all other things that hadn't yet found a home. When KidOne's things are gone, I can get my futon out of KidThree's room--the futon is folded up, but still taking up floor space and blocking wheelchair access to her closet. KidOne's bureaus are also in KidThree's room. One of the bureaus she is leaving; I will put a sign in the laundry room that it is free to a good home. The other bureau, the one I bought for KidFour after she arrived, will leave home with KidOne. KidFour didn't want to take it with her, but KidOne likes it and decided it fit her needs better than the other one she originally had (that is the one that can go to another home). When my futon and KidOne's bureaus are out of KidThree's room, I can finish making it wheelchair accessible. The past several days, I've been working on her desk area and the built-in bookshelves above the desk, but it is all moot right now as she can't get to the desk. Soon, though, she will be able to, and it will all be ready for her. Just in time for the beginning of school.
In my room, oh my. I can't wait. The full-size bed from the living room is moving into my room to become my regular bed, as we decided it would be better to have only a twin bed in the living room, to use less space. My twin futon will go in the living room, on a frame we buy from IKEA. That is already picked out. Then in my room I get to put the bookcases where they should live. My room shares a wall with the living room and another with the bathroom. Right now the wall shared with the living room is lined with bookcases that I'm using for storage cabinets--they are two bookcases deep, with the front set having no backs so that they function as fairly deep storage. They reduce the noise from the living room to almost nothing. I'll do the same on the wall shared with the bathroom--line it with the bookcases that are actually used for books. That way, I can go in my room and pretend that there is no one else around. My bed will be in there and one of the recliners and KidTwo's computer, which doubles as a television. It might be difficult to get me out of there once I have it put together. The only piece of furniture I need for that room that I don't have already is a file cabinet. Before KidThree got shot, I didn't need a full-sized file cabinet: my records all fit in one file box. Since the shooting, though, the paperwork of our existence has exploded all over. Medi-Cal, Social Security, In-Home Support, UCD Medical Center, Shriners, Kaiser. The court case, other legal issues, and so many resources to keep track of. Victim's Comp. Durable Medical Equipment. Service Dog programs. I definitely need a file cabinet, as my files boxes now number three and are full.
The trial appears to be on this time, but we're not holding our breaths. I spoke with our ADA, who said it won't actually start on Monday but not because of a continuance, just because of a dearth of courtrooms. We are waiting for one to become available. Within the byzantine rules of the system, they have to make one available to us on or before the 28th of this month. That is just what August is good for, more waiting. Waiting for the trial to start. Waiting for KidOne to get her belongings moved out when her rental opens up. Waiting for October.
In October, or actually, the last week of September, I start babysitting here at home. The babies are the twin daughters of a vet student and her husband. He has already finished school and is at work in the Bay Area, coming home for weekends and only occasionally during the week. They have a three-year-old daughter who is in a pre-school near our apartment here. MamaK will drop the babies off each day on her way to school and then pick them up on her way home. The pay will be enough to end our money issues here. We won't be rich, not by any stretch of the imagination, but we should be done with looking for loose change to get another carton of milk and figuring out just which loads of laundry are needed most urgently. What a relief that will be. The knowledge that our extreme financial crunch was only temporary (although while we are in it, of course it feels interminable) is the only thing that's kept me from driving in front of a train. I was not cut out to live this close to the edge day after week after month. But six more weeks? We can handle that. The babies will be here four days a week, four to eight hours a day. I'm hoping to still be able to stay with LadyP a couple of times a week, as I do enjoy her company so and know how much it means to her husband to be able to get away for a little while. That family plans one more big Thanksgiving together, then LadyP will go stay at a nursing home, as her condition is too far advanced for the family to handle at home. They had been looking at places up to fifty miles away, but decided in the end on one in the next town, just fifteen to twenty minutes away. I'm glad for that, as I would want to be able to visit LadyP occasionally.
Now off to do the dishes and then clean the bathroom. The heat has already started coming up, so I've closed all windows and turned on the a/c. If I don't do that housework now, it won't get done until tomorrow, as in this heat, I am only worth a darn in the morning. And tomorrow I need to clean and vacuum the living room.
A
Thursday, August 14, 2008
On the Horns of a Dilemma Here.
The direct deposit from my Saturday job went in, so my checking account is $85 to the positive. Tomorrow the automatic withdrawal for our blockbuster account is coming out--this will be about $60, as we reported two movies lost (really we just wanted to keep them). That would leave me only about $25 plus the $20 in my wallet to last me until the end of next week. That really isn't going to be enough to get us through, especially as tomorrow is our last trip to the gym and that takes $25 in gas alone. Blast blast blast. I do so hate being in this situation. And blast again. What I am going to have to do is go to the atm tonight to take most of the $85 from the account, which will give me cash to last until the end of next week but will also cause the account to get overdrawn tomorrow when the blockbuster payment is taken out. Blast blast blast blast blast blast and blast.
This morning I spent four hours with LadyP, my elderly woman with Alzheimer's while her family went shopping. LadyP is such a marvelous woman. She has trouble walking and so goes very, very slowly. When we were heading out the door to take our usual walk to the park, I made a joke about running away together. She looked at me and grinned and said, "we are walking away together!" I love the glimpses of her love of jokes and laughter.
LadyP has trouble following things on television, so sometimes I read to her. She is very proud of her Irish heritage, so I've been bringing books of Irish fairy tales and stories to read to her. Fairy tales are good because they are short, the plots are simple, and it doesn't matter all that much if she dozes a little while I read. Today it was "Myths and Folk Tales of Ireland," by Jeremiah Curtin, a Dover reprint of a book published over a hundred years ago. Curtin used such wonderful phrasings in it, such as, "there was a time long ago, and if we had lived then, we shouldn't have been living now," and "when they had gone on a piece of the way together. . . ." I like to read books with distinctive word choice and sentence structure to KidThree, as that is such a good way to expand her vocabulary and show her the fun and flexibility of English. I did the same with KidOne and KidTwo, both of whom are now excellent writers with distinctive voices.
Other than that, no reading today. After watching LadyP, I came home and went straight for a nap, as last night KidThree and I stayed up well past eleven to watch all the episodes we had of The Wire. We are so totally hooked on that show. There are two more dvd's of episodes from Season Four, then we have to wait a bit for Season Five.
Such a dull day.
A
This morning I spent four hours with LadyP, my elderly woman with Alzheimer's while her family went shopping. LadyP is such a marvelous woman. She has trouble walking and so goes very, very slowly. When we were heading out the door to take our usual walk to the park, I made a joke about running away together. She looked at me and grinned and said, "we are walking away together!" I love the glimpses of her love of jokes and laughter.
LadyP has trouble following things on television, so sometimes I read to her. She is very proud of her Irish heritage, so I've been bringing books of Irish fairy tales and stories to read to her. Fairy tales are good because they are short, the plots are simple, and it doesn't matter all that much if she dozes a little while I read. Today it was "Myths and Folk Tales of Ireland," by Jeremiah Curtin, a Dover reprint of a book published over a hundred years ago. Curtin used such wonderful phrasings in it, such as, "there was a time long ago, and if we had lived then, we shouldn't have been living now," and "when they had gone on a piece of the way together. . . ." I like to read books with distinctive word choice and sentence structure to KidThree, as that is such a good way to expand her vocabulary and show her the fun and flexibility of English. I did the same with KidOne and KidTwo, both of whom are now excellent writers with distinctive voices.
Other than that, no reading today. After watching LadyP, I came home and went straight for a nap, as last night KidThree and I stayed up well past eleven to watch all the episodes we had of The Wire. We are so totally hooked on that show. There are two more dvd's of episodes from Season Four, then we have to wait a bit for Season Five.
Such a dull day.
A
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