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
Thursday, August 21, 2008
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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