tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82781627405947181472024-03-05T00:19:36.385-08:00Considerable OpinionsMusings from a professor emeritus on autism and other disabilities, social responsibility, music, and living life as a joyful EpiscopalianAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-81857487735262790212016-01-15T11:38:00.000-08:002016-01-15T11:38:24.590-08:00My Colon Exploded in My Surgeon's HandsOn May 1, 2015, my colon exploded. Literally blew the hell up in my surgeon's hands. <br />
<br />
I had been terribly ill for months. My gut was sick, and the needs of Dear Husband, who requires constant supervision and care, were exhausting me. I ate well but grew weaker and weaker. I dropped all my community involvement, one organization at a time. The last thing to go was writing this blog.<br />
<br />
The gut pain became so great that I thought I had yet another kidney stone. My PCP sent me to a urologist (an urologist???). He ordered an MRI and then went out of town. His surgeon colleague read the MRI and sent word that I needed surgery for diverticulitis.<br />
<br />
I asked my PCP's office for a referral to the surgeon. The nurse told me that I didn't need surgery, that my diverticulitis could be cured by antibiotics, so she had my PCP order yet another round. I asked why the surgeon would say I needed surgery if I didn't. She said, "That's what surgeons do."<br />
<br />
I finished the antibiotics. And I got sicker. <br />
<br />
I went to the local urgent care clinic because it was a Friday and my PCP is gone on Friday. All the toilets at the clinic were filled up, shaken together, and running over down the hallways, which was causing great consternation to the nursing staff. A nurse stood at the door and turned patients away. She told me to go to the ER. After six hours in the ER and another MRI, the doctor sent me home with more antibiotics.<br />
<br />
Ten days later, still desperately ill, I went back to my PCP on a Wednesday. He wasn't in. The office sent me to the ER. The ER MRI'ed me and offered to admit me to the hospital. I asked the ER doctor whether he would be admitted if he were I. He said, "No," so I declined. <br />
<br />
The next day, the hospital's gastroenterologist reviewed my MRI. Her office called and told me to go to the ER and be admitted to the hospital. I needed IV antibiotics for raging antibiotic-resistant diverticulitis.<br />
<br />
I spent six days on multiple types of antibiotics, even having an infectious disease specialist become one of my consults because of the intransigence of my infection. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that I am severely allergic to penicillin and Keflex. I developed a localized allergic reaction to Levaquin while I was there. Watching my veins turn red as the Levaquin worked its way up my forearm was both fascinating and frightening. The nurse shot me full of Benedryl and we watched the arm turn white again. Continued the Levaquin paired with Benedryl. And continued trying a bunch of other antibiotics that I can't remember the names of.<br />
<br />
After six days, I went home weak, but better. The gastroenterologist and the surgeon said my sigmoid colon needed to be removed, but I needed to get my gut calmed down before surgery. The plan was to do surgery in three to six months; six was ideal. A quarter of the people who have colon surgery during a severe diverticulitis attack die during their hospitalization. You don't want to operate on a sick colon, but a healthy one. Ideally, one that's been healthy for six months.<br />
<br />
Two days after I returned home, I fell down the stairs and broke my ankle. <br />
<br />
Back to the ER, this time in an ambulance because my husband can't drive.<br />
<br />
Two weeks later on a Sunday, my gut was so sick that I knew I was in trouble. I wasn't supposed to have surgery for a minimum of three months of uninfected colon, so I went back to the ER. More oral antibiotics. Back home. Weak and visibly losing my life force. Pretty sure I was dying. Which I was.<br />
<br />
The surgeon's office called me the next day and said we were moving the surgery up. The date was set for three days later, even with the risks of a raging infection. I picked up the drugs to clean out my colon, and when I started on them I became so ill that I knew I was in trouble. I started to cry and called the surgeon's nurse. After calls back and forth, she said, "Go admit yourself through the ER. We will have the papers ready when you get there."<br />
<br />
Fifth trip to the ER. By ambulance. I was too sick to drive, and Dear Husband can't. Admission, IV antibiotics. <br />
<br />
Next morning, surgery. Supposed to be one hour.<br />
<br />
The surgeon removed my sigmoid colon and attached my descending colon to my rectum. He inflated it to ensure that it had no leaks. <br />
<br />
That's when my descending colon exploded. <br />
<br />
Literally exploded. <br />
<br />
Blew the hell up.<br />
<br />
Surgeon said he'd never experienced anything like it in his 22 years as a surgeon. Never even heard of it happening. He said, "I had one minute to decide what to do. I could either give you a colostomy bag that I might never be able to reverse, or I could take out your entire colon and attach your small intestine to your rectum. That's what I would have wanted if I had been lying on the table, so that's what I did."<br />
<br />
I asked this unemotional man later what he felt at The Moment. He said, "They teach you in school that surgery is 99% boring procedure and 1% sheer terror. That moment was terror."<br />
<br />
Then, unemotional again, he sliced open my belly right under my rib cage to match the slice he'd initially made right above my pubic bone. First he peritoneal lavaged me. Then he surgically disemboweled me. Literally dis-em-boweled me.<br />
<br />
Everything in my abdomen was stuck to everything else from the years of infection in my gut, as well as from my previous surgeries and recurrent UTIs from kidney stones. In places where my colon should have been two inches in diameter, it was five due to the current infection and previous scarring. The surgeon had to meticulously detach the hideous, seething colon from my other abdominal structures, and a one hour surgery became five. The hospital had to cancel the rest of his day's surgeries.<br />
<br />
I was in the hospital for eleven days, much of which I can't remember because I was so close to death. Part of the problem was that I was acutely malnourished since my body hadn't been able to absorb any protein for God knows how long. I received multiple pure-protein IV drips, and as I understand it, four packed-red-blood-cell transfusions, which is the equivalent of eight regular red-blood-cell transfusions. <br />
<br />
My surgeon wanted me to go straight downstairs into in-hospital rehab for three weeks because I was so ill. He said, "You're not strong enough to go home. We need to build your body back up. You can't take care of yourself, much less your husband." <br />
<br />
I will not go into all the details about why I had to go home instead of in-hospital rehab, but suffice it to say that the journey has been long and difficult. The gastroenterologist said it would take a year for me to be well again. She's right.<br />
<br />
I've learned to live with diarrhea eight to ten times a day, but at least I have no pain with it. I will never have colon cancer. I will never have another attack of diverticulitis. I will never have to have another goddam colonoscopy. I can eat popcorn, tomato seeds, and strawberries. And no one can EVER tell me, "You're full of shit," because I can provide medical documentation that I am not.<br />
<br />
So I here I am, such as I am. A significant portion of my brain is gone from my golf-ball sized meningioma; the hangy-down-thing in the back of my throat is gone because it was 250% too large and choking me; my adenoids and tonsils are gone from chronic infection; my uterus and cervix are gone from endometriosis; my gall bladder is gone from a near rupture; the appendix went as a freebie with the gall bladder; a third of my rectum is gone from maceration and was rebuilt from colon tissue twenty years ago when I still had a colon; and now my colon is gone. As my junior-high-band-director dad says, imitating the Palace Guard skit from the old Carol Burnett Show, "She's HALLOW!"<br />
<br />
So that's where I've been since my last blog post. Spending hours a day having diarrhea. Going to doctors. Coming to understand the finer points of toilet paper and baby wipes. Developing an appreciation for Boudreaux's Butt Paste on my poor, sore bottom. <br />
<br />
I'm not well yet. I have another five months before my recovery year is up. But I'm back writing again, and I'm starting to play my clarinet with my band friends again. So I'm healing. And that's a good thing.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-32438474356970323712015-03-21T17:29:00.000-07:002015-03-22T07:18:38.865-07:00Rubber Bands and Melted Butter<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I have been thinking about rubber bands and melted butter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I started thinking about rubber bands when my dad told me, “I
am cleaning out my file cabinets, and I need heavy-duty rubber bands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t buy heavy-duty rubber bands in this
town.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad lives in Tucumcari (New
Mexico) with 5,362 other people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tucumcari is not to be confused with Tumacacori (Arizona), population 393.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Many people do confuse Tucumcari with Tumacacori.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know this because a man, having learned
that my dad lives in Tucumcari, told me that he’d visited the National
Historical Park there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him that I
was pretty sure that Tucumcari didn’t have a national historical park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said I was wrong because he clearly remembered
going to the hot springs there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I asked my dad if a national historical park and a hot springs I didn’t know about
had sprung up in Tucumcari.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Then he told me about Tumacacori because several
people over the years have tried to convince him that Tucumcari had a national
historical park and a hot springs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
dad is pretty stubborn, so you just as well forget about trying to convince him
that he that he’s somehow overlooked a national park and a hot springs in a
town of 5,363 where he’s lived for forty years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So that springs me back to where I started:
rubber bands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I thought I would try to be a dutiful daughter and
Amazon dad some rubber bands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I may be
the first person to verbify Amazon.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
I searched Amazon for rubber bands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Good grief!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had no idea that rubber-band-buying was so complicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Postal-approved rubber bands are #64.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did Dad need his rubber bands to be approved
by the post office?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The most popular rubber bands are #19 and 33.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was pretty sure that Dad didn’t give two hoots in hell about whether his rubber bands were popular.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I discovered that regular rubber bands come in sizes
ranging from 7/8 X 1/16 inch to 7 X 5/8 inches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That doesn’t include 112-inch-long rubber bands for bundling
pallets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even know that people
bundled pallets with rubber bands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t
imagine why anyone would want to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I learned that you can buy rubber bands that are
latex-free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can buy them in an assortment of primary
colors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can buy them in small
packages of a dozen or in big boxes of thousands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can buy them in handy Kleenex-type boxes
so they pop out one after the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizusfFeZW_Ukdo34nwVABYIt4EdppHThy2_uRoH53Ib93XeOF1e5PPK5o3TuEhR3aS4teFxE4FjspevT07ACNRj-zTdGyqfMzugPGQ-hTrGT64f6sCUdU11r-ejkre-3aLkMd2H-E_AYo/s1600/rubber+band+ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizusfFeZW_Ukdo34nwVABYIt4EdppHThy2_uRoH53Ib93XeOF1e5PPK5o3TuEhR3aS4teFxE4FjspevT07ACNRj-zTdGyqfMzugPGQ-hTrGT64f6sCUdU11r-ejkre-3aLkMd2H-E_AYo/s1600/rubber+band+ball.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Best
of all, you can buy them in balls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
always wanted a ball of rubber bands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought
about Amazoning myself one just for the fun of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I wondered whether the guy whose job is making
rubber band balls would be 1) a fun guy to hang out with or 2) really, really anal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p>I learned that people do strange things with rubber bands, like Joel Waul, who holds the world's record for the largest ball of rubber bands: an 8-foot-tall, four-and-a-half-ton ball of 700,000 rubber bands. He sold it to Ripley's Believe It or Not for a ton of money. Believe it or not.</o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p>Some other things people do with rubber bands are even stranger. </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm27WUmCWhyphenhyphenXD0ffUrnuHPfN_atPycD7D_uaK69SCfl_8F8P4YWPPlACtG4xPERzu21YXbWGSzXZwO9eXSAepwP0f44sJMHm0kg_SFhTBTy7oLxoqcxGjfi5be9qYRHnpFDUqwGITJak0/s1600/Rubber+band+boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm27WUmCWhyphenhyphenXD0ffUrnuHPfN_atPycD7D_uaK69SCfl_8F8P4YWPPlACtG4xPERzu21YXbWGSzXZwO9eXSAepwP0f44sJMHm0kg_SFhTBTy7oLxoqcxGjfi5be9qYRHnpFDUqwGITJak0/s1600/Rubber+band+boy.jpg" height="280" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I had forgotten that my home of Hot Springs,
Arkansas is home to Alliance Rubber Company (ARC), which makes rubber bands,
but I was reminded of it as I was googling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I learned that ARC is third-generation family-owned and the current owner
is a woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned that ARC was one
of two companies to win the US Department of Commerce’s Excellence in
Innovation Award recently, and they are civic minded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They ask people to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>Buy American</u></i> by spending one additional dollar per day on
American-made goods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe on their
rubber bands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I learned that ARC makes ergonomically-correct
rubber bands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never knew that rubber
bands could be ergonomically incorrect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0QJAR2JttOERECVRcWoaKB2eI9W8R5jYMEgby0FcIEMKjLb5md6DC5bQRmeIpWRoDtBTTEe2mFrUGAT58m4NgAP8QHkS9LuMZj4duni75D-JpX2Adhx5d0uPFvMuhtPpA4jOiMU0nj1E/s1600/bonnielobster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0QJAR2JttOERECVRcWoaKB2eI9W8R5jYMEgby0FcIEMKjLb5md6DC5bQRmeIpWRoDtBTTEe2mFrUGAT58m4NgAP8QHkS9LuMZj4duni75D-JpX2Adhx5d0uPFvMuhtPpA4jOiMU0nj1E/s1600/bonnielobster.jpg" height="147" width="200" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The only picture of the owner of ARC showed her
sitting at a table in Nova Scotia with a live lobster. She was pointing to the
big rubber bands on its claws.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said
the lobster was one of her favorite customers, Lawrence the Lobster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I’d bet five bucks that Lawrence the Lobster wouldn’t
return the warm sentiment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty
sure that if he could get loose from her rubber bands, he’d pinch her all the
way from Nova Scotia to Tucumcari, where she ought to be civic-minded enough to
send a ball of rubber bands since you can’t buy them there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe he would pinch her all the way to
Tumacacori, where she could visit the National Historic Park and treat him to a
dip in the hot springs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then some
melted butter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-79407746366473202092015-03-09T19:16:00.001-07:002015-03-09T20:20:06.523-07:00The Most Important Question<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week, Mr.
Wilson, my like-a-dad-to-me-junior-high-school-band-director, said, “I was wondering
this morning what people would say if you asked them what the most important question
was that anyone ever asked them.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I know what
your question was,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yep,” he
said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My mother handed me my brother’s
old horn and said, ‘Think you’d like to try to learn to play this trumpet and
be in the band?’”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Changed
your life,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yep,” he
said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He took that
proffered trumpet, joined the band, and learned to play the devil out of that
old horn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mr. Wilson’s
mother’s question gave him friends he would have never otherwise met, a sense
of belonging to something greater than himself, and a band director who became a
father to him just like he became a father to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her question
gave him direction to his life, a career he loved, an avocation as well as a
vocation, and a way to serve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her question
led him to a position of leadership in his faith community: at almost 80, he’s
still the Cantor and Director of Music at his church. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Her question
even led him to his beloved wife of more than fifty years (a cute little bassoon
player who became mother to his seven musical children).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnrUh4zxGn9I_10NHucvB7VzzLkrK8rB7kb9Ey38qjAnXHJqnRj8JUlFg2ngOYnQn8VVoXEHO5SQwRvxDQo9H-q5gIPwO5QBA4dj4tSB1qSpC4dddIZKdmAR6l5D3P7up84iWzEW0LYc/s1600/Dad+conducting+HSCB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnrUh4zxGn9I_10NHucvB7VzzLkrK8rB7kb9Ey38qjAnXHJqnRj8JUlFg2ngOYnQn8VVoXEHO5SQwRvxDQo9H-q5gIPwO5QBA4dj4tSB1qSpC4dddIZKdmAR6l5D3P7up84iWzEW0LYc/s1600/Dad+conducting+HSCB.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because he
became a composer and arranger, the question that his mother asked Mr. Wilson
lives on; both of the bands I play in have performed his compositions this
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because he
is a teacher, the question that his mother asked him lives on: he taught music
to countless youngsters, a gift that has enriched the tapestries of their lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because he
is a band director, the question that his mother asked him lives on; a thousand
students, of whom I am one, grew up to be who they are in part because of who
he taught them to be in lessons learned in the band hall, on the marching field,
and hanging around in his office after school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So what’s
the most important question anyone ever asked you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know
what the most important question is that anyone ever asked me, but I do know
this: the most important question that anyone ever asked my
like-a-dad-to-me-junior-high-school band director- <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Think you’d like to learn to play this trumpet and be in the band?</i>-
turned out to be a question that changed my life and made me who I am today.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks, Mr.
Wilson’s mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We never met, but your
question to your son changed my life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-10577565458448495212015-03-08T10:03:00.000-07:002015-03-08T10:03:15.317-07:003- Transition to College for Students on the Autism Spectrum: Don't Skip Class
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A parent told
me, “My child with Asperger’s has tunnel vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can only see what’s of interest to him at
the moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of the world
doesn’t exist.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed, the term <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tunnel vision</i> has been applied to people
on the Autism spectrum since Lovaas first used it in 1971.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Keeping in
mind the caveat that My Young Traveler who has ASD taught me, “When you know
one person with autism, you know ONE PERSON with autism,” I offer what seems
like an obvious piece of critical advice to students with ASD who are preparing
for post-secondary education.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never skip a college class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a lecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a lab. Not a field experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>JUST. GO. TO. CLASS.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This advice
sounds so obvious as to be ridiculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
it needs to be said because when our students with ASDs failed their college
courses, lack of ability was seldom the reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Skipping class often was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We never
expected that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes one
of our students didn’t arrive at campus until after the first day of class and
thereby started off in the academic hole, missing the course overview, the
professor’s syllabus review, the reading assignment due for the next class day,
and a shot at choosing a good seat to reduce potential student-specific
distractions (air vent noise, window glare, open door distractions).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some
students started skipping class the very first week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the freedom of sleeping in with no
parent to enforce getting to class was irresistible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the anxiety of going to a first class
where one didn’t know what to expect was the reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe the anxiety of failing to read the
assignment given on Monday for Wednesday’s class caused the absence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes
students skipped class because they were upset about a personal problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes they skipped one class to finish
the homework for another class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes they hadn’t awakened early enough to have breakfast, so they opted
to go eat instead of go to class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes they were having such fun with their new friends that they
didn’t want to leave the camaraderie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>None of these choices had a good outcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Missing a
class the first time seemed to be a watershed moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We found that once a student missed her first
class, her attendance often cascaded downhill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Skipping the next class was easier; attending, harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A professor told us, “Your freshman is a
genius.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her comments are like those of a
graduate student.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she’s already
missed half the classes during the first three weeks, and I can’t allow her to
continue.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I offer some
advice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t schedule classes before noon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Try an online class, but don’t fall
behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Live at home so your parents can help
you stay accountable for attending class.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Go to class even if you haven’t
completed the homework.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Go to class even if you don’t feel
like it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Go to class even if you don’t like
the instructor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">JUST. GO. TO. CLASS. PERIOD.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-47472180856870106072015-02-28T19:56:00.001-08:002015-03-01T06:55:41.388-08:00Collecting Lexical Memorabilia<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I own ten
globes, including a chinoiserie, a gemstone, and an astronomical night sky
globe. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to call yourself a
collector of something, you must have at least three members of that class of items and then must study,
organize, display, and enjoy discussing them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I meet that criteria, so I can call myself a collector of globes.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I collect
dog art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have framed prints of dogs, paintings
of dogs, sculptures of dogs, books about dogs, and stuffed dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have two real dogs, Old Lady Dog Callie and
Great Big Baby Dog Woodrow, but they don’t count. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhXk1Qw3l9USbgMpn4nUObUqTujOWeDcMgiHsfNazwTWhmy0jqeS-a0734EKR9LyjDE15EL5tRh3oPyigoeWeatNoUfK4GyzYsBb9POwuxxhxANZvSDrFN9_YObi-QMX1oQE8zIjESvE/s1600/collie+girl+corner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhXk1Qw3l9USbgMpn4nUObUqTujOWeDcMgiHsfNazwTWhmy0jqeS-a0734EKR9LyjDE15EL5tRh3oPyigoeWeatNoUfK4GyzYsBb9POwuxxhxANZvSDrFN9_YObi-QMX1oQE8zIjESvE/s1600/collie+girl+corner.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do not own this painting. It's by Charles Burton Barber, titled <em>Special Pleader</em>, and costs about a million dollars. My dad loved it and had a framed postcard of it on the wall of his bedroom that Mom said was his favorite picture. After he and Mom died, I didn't want many things from the estate, but I wanted this framed postcard. So I took it. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhup1n89-X3IwDXRRXB8TJZUHkfeNt2nIuVSbdPsWL3fQZRMm5b_7NQV6Pd0CsyWdsTdi0KdnIEQgG9Ms_HN1ikHnQPNakyytSPmnyh8QiaXxmNFx_iqbLztDluHtsEMeKAg17s_1dr7Mc/s1600/clarinet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhup1n89-X3IwDXRRXB8TJZUHkfeNt2nIuVSbdPsWL3fQZRMm5b_7NQV6Pd0CsyWdsTdi0KdnIEQgG9Ms_HN1ikHnQPNakyytSPmnyh8QiaXxmNFx_iqbLztDluHtsEMeKAg17s_1dr7Mc/s1600/clarinet.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a
music collection: some framed and unframed originals of my like-a-dad-to-me junior-high-school band director's manuscripts; twenty or thirty books about music; odds and ends of sheet music; a plastic bust of Beethoven I bought for 50 cents at a thrift shop; five harmonicas; a clarinet I play almost daily; a saxophone I don't; and a euphonium that I share with my brother but haven't a clue how to play.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a
wall-to-wall custom-made bookshelf in my library, and I probably have 500 books
on it that I study, organize, display, and like to talk about, so I'm a book collector.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have sections for books on music; art;
dogs; history; writing; fantasy; Scotland and England; Episcopaliana; children’s
picture books; reference books; books I have written; and old books handed down
to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a book of Plutarch’s
essays that’s 200 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have
a framed single page from a Scottish Episcopal Prayer Book from 1635. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaEIIQh0iFyy1LAj8ZxyqQYwmvJkEf_TAM34hUR4DyvGSN-jSLYoF5hGO2qubHv-Cx0UxTo1iIFOQpUev2I5dJpvStxM9w5hYlfV9gQtCdUdjM93qv-US-roUjDsFsp4BEbRuGWYVwl0/s1600/inclusion.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaEIIQh0iFyy1LAj8ZxyqQYwmvJkEf_TAM34hUR4DyvGSN-jSLYoF5hGO2qubHv-Cx0UxTo1iIFOQpUev2I5dJpvStxM9w5hYlfV9gQtCdUdjM93qv-US-roUjDsFsp4BEbRuGWYVwl0/s1600/inclusion.png" height="200" width="155" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is one of the books I wrote. If you're a secondary teacher, buy it. I get a 10% royalty. While that won't buy me a cup of coffee at Starbucks, it will buy me a cup at one of the locally-owned restaurants I frequent.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But my favorite collection is my collection (sic) of lexical memorabilia. Words are the best thing to collect. You don't have to give up one cubic millimeter of space in your house for them. You don't have to insure them, or dust them, or worry about the dog knocking them off a table and breaking them. You can discuss them endlessly. They tell a story, either in isolation or combined in infinite ways. They are free. You can share them with your friends without losing them. And they are both beautiful and useful.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can
collect words that already exist: alluring words like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">laurel, whimsy, </i>or<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> amber</i>;
delightful words like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pooch, draconian, </i>or<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> limerence</i>; funny words like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whippersnapper, vocabularian, </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">adoxography</i>; or words for things you
didn’t know had names, like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">glabella</i>
(the space between your eyebrows), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mizzle</i>
(a misty drizzling rain), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cornicione</i> (the
outer part of the crust on a pizza), or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">barm</i>
(the foam on a beer). <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or you can
make up words that need to be made up, like words my dad and I have been making
up for 50 years, words like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">interminabominable</i>
(time that seems to pass so slowly while you’re waiting for something you’re
looking forward to that you think you might die); <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">panduckulation</i> (the act of an aquatic bird stretching its wings); <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">almostest</i> (the superlative state of
being almost), or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">eggelegant</i> (an
adjective referring to a gorgeous omelet).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ergo, I urge
you to consider collecting words if you do not already do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll give you three of my favorites: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ubiquitous, egregious, </i>and<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> platypus</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Okay, fair's fair. Now you give me three of yours...</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">... ... ... ... ...</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I'M WAITING.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-85042288797495013722015-02-24T10:28:00.000-08:002015-03-25T18:59:22.278-07:00Lessons My Band Director Taught Me: #3 Grow a Pair<span style="font-size: large;">Before the fall of my eighth grade year, I believed in a lot of principles that I didn't have the courage to do anything about. My Just-an-Old-Country-Lawyer father was committed to civil rights, and he taught me and my brother to value justice for ALL people. But he didn't teach me how to put those principles into practice. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know whether or not our father taught my brother how to actually stand up for what he believed in, but he didn't teach me how to, perhaps because I was a girl. Girls were supposed to be seen and not heard. Girls were supposed to be nice and not make waves. I know this because my mother told me so. Repeatedly.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So until the fall of my eighth grade year, I was nice. I had principles to which I was committed, but I lacked the know how- <em><u>or the courage</u></em>- to do anything about them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then came The Day That Everything Changed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My junior high band director, Mr. Phillip Wilson, had reserved the football field for first period so we could practice our half-time show for the game that night. The rest of the week, we practiced on the old marching practice field north of the football field. But we always practiced on the football field on game day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When we marched out to the field, we were met by a large PE class with their fearsome teacher and monstrous student teacher. Mr. Wilson politely told the PE teachers that we had reserved the field for that morning. The fearsome teacher refused to leave and told the students not to give up the field to the band.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Wilson stormed back across the field to us like MacArthur, Montgomery, Marshall, and Patton rolled into one. Face crimson with the little patches of white he got when he was mightily riled, he shouted, "People, you are the <em>Marshall Junior High School Band</em>! This field is reserved for you this morning. Those people refuse to yield it to us. This field is ours, and we are going to take it!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We woodwind players stared wide-eyed. The brass players squared their shoulders. The drummers whispered, "Hot Damn!" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then General Wilson said, "People, you are to march straight ahead. Do not look to the right or left. Do not step to the right or left. If those people don't move, you are NOT going to march around them. You are going to march right over them. Do you understand me?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We understood.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mr.Wilson signaled the drum major who counted us off. Then the snare drums started to roll, the bass drum shook the earth, the brasses straightened the pipes, and we woodwinds shrieked until we split the heavens. The irresistible force began marching toward the immovable object. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In an instant, I understood what I was part of. My fear evaporated, and I realized that this was a watershed moment for me. I not only believed in justice, but I was going to act on that belief for the first time. I was going to stand shoulder to shoulder with my band of brothers and sisters and confront the enemy. I was brave.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As we marched across the field, the PE students scattered, and even the fierce old PE teacher headed for the sidelines. But the monstrous, murder-in-the-eyes student teacher wasn't going to move and squared off with us. So our feisty little trombone player followed orders and plowed right into that immovable object. Then he stomped hard on the foot that was in his path and kept moving forward. He was the hero of the hour.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That day, Mr. Wilson taught the entire band that we could fight injustice. That we could be brave. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That moment was such a hallmark in my life that I have fought abusive authority ever since. That moment was the reason that decades later a respected colleague told me, "You've got brass balls, you know that?" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, I knew that. Because I earned those brass balls on the football field at Marshall Junior High School as part of the Marshall Junior High School Band. I earned them because my band director, Mr. Wilson, taught us that we had brass balls by expecting us to act like we did. He taught us courage.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So I thank you, Mr. Wilson, for what you did for all of us. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But I thank you especially for what you did for me. You took me, an eighth grader who believed in justice, but who was too scared to do anything about it. And you gave me brass balls that have lasted for the rest of my life. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And for that, Sir, I am eternally grateful.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-20533539358656898342015-02-23T15:08:00.000-08:002015-02-23T15:08:16.454-08:00On Hissy-Fitting and Lickety-Splitting
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-GPhu7SUMdjkrCAOwFZZc9q8k-TvawlV8ACfc71vcBoJF3NPnCWMr4b3aFa-kYw47qAzcycED01_ZPz_9Ve5ed0ncNVdZhOFg-ddx8YZEZUyG6xlY-vtc2mHRFsR_PjkDReZsXynBMI/s1600/0223150748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-GPhu7SUMdjkrCAOwFZZc9q8k-TvawlV8ACfc71vcBoJF3NPnCWMr4b3aFa-kYw47qAzcycED01_ZPz_9Ve5ed0ncNVdZhOFg-ddx8YZEZUyG6xlY-vtc2mHRFsR_PjkDReZsXynBMI/s1600/0223150748.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Great Big Baby Dog Woodrow, Old Lady Dog Callie, and
I were lying on our bellies looking out my attic-bedroom window at 6:15 this
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Snuggling in bed with your
dogs looking out the window together in the early morning is one of the great
pleasures of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I commend it to you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB13dbMTVacohzAezWJZ_1cx9RSMSQkahwD11DgBK5ZG4ubSfrtn-48duquD8unTQNngpJxJo4Y0EW3cYdqT94OCF0hQKOF6EFoV7KpTF2PRMCs378BFlM3i7Tw8EjC2LDqDGcarjVE-4/s1600/0223151145a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB13dbMTVacohzAezWJZ_1cx9RSMSQkahwD11DgBK5ZG4ubSfrtn-48duquD8unTQNngpJxJo4Y0EW3cYdqT94OCF0hQKOF6EFoV7KpTF2PRMCs378BFlM3i7Tw8EjC2LDqDGcarjVE-4/s1600/0223151145a.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">While we were gazing at the ice-covered woods, the
dogs began throwing a hissy-fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
are not from the American south, you may not know that a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hissy-fit</i> is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a tantrum.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cambridge
Dictionary</i> defines <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hissy-fit</i> as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a sudden period of uncontrolled and silly
anger like a child’s.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not think
people from Cambridge throw hissy-fits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">In addition, one does not HAVE a hissy-fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One THROWS a hissy-fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not know why. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Perhaps it’s because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">throw</i> is a strong verb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
good hissy-fit is always thrown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most
recently I threw a hissy-fit when I dropped my phone in the bath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">But back to the dogs’ hissy-fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They threw it because Young Red Fox was
lickety-splitting down the cart path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oxford
Dictionary</i> defines <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lickety-split</i>
thus<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: as quickly as possible</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">OD</i>
says lickety-split is an adverb, but I prefer it as a verb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know the word more intimately than the writers
of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">OD</i> do because I’ve been lickety-splitting
all my life, and I doubt that anyone who ever worked on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oxford Dictionary</i> has ever lickety-splitted.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t imagine a wizened don sitting in
a dusty library telling another wizened don, “I need a definition of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">perspicacious</i> lickety-split.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Please note that I like verbing nouns, adjectives,
and adverbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lickety-splitting</i> is a more powerful verb than <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">running lickety-split.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Lest you wonder whether <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">verbing</i> is a verb, it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Antimeria/anthimeria</i> is the act of
changing one part of speech into another, such as verbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you change the word, it’s a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">derivation</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t change the word, it’s a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">conversion </i>or<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> a zero derivation</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Lest you think this essay is pointless, let me
assure you that I have a point: life is too short to throw hissy-fits by annoyances
lickety-splitting through our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like
other people’s antimeria:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday I was
lickety-splitting past another white-haired woman who was throwing a hissy-fit about
her daughter-in-law’s use of the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cocooning</i>,
as in, “We’re staying home cocooning this weekend.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I wanted to say, “Lady, at our age, life is too
short for throwing hissy-fits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">“Instead, we should each go home and snuggle on our
beds with our dogs and gaze into the snow-filled woods.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Dogs who get hissyfied by foxes lickety-splitting
by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Hissyfied</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my favorite antimeria is making
predicate adjectives by adding <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fied</i>
to almost any part of speech. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I hope
you have been smartified today because I taught you about
antimeria/anthimeria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">And I hope you stop lickety-splitting for the rest
of the day, get unhissyfied, and go snuggle with your dogs on your bed and stare
out the window together. And thus be blessifed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-35444306445698973492015-02-17T09:57:00.000-08:002015-02-18T05:13:07.182-08:00Asperger's Syndrome and Personal Hygiene<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Standing
under the steaming shower yesterday, I thought about the years between my first
brain tumor symptoms and its diagnosis: 1990-2004.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In those fourteen long years, I became
irritable and tactile defensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Light
touch hurt my skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could tolerate
deeper pressure, but light touch hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
told my doctor, “The top sheet hurts my skin. So do my clothes, showering, and
wind.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said I had fibromyalgia, and
he put me on nortriptyline, an antidepressant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He didn’t know I had a meningioma brain tumor, nor did he know that
nortriptyline is the drug of choice for inoperable meningioma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He heard horses; I had a zebra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So he masked my symptoms while the tumor grew
for fourteen years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fortunately,
my tumor was operable, and from the day I had it removed, I lost the tumor-induced
aversion that I had developed to the sound of violins and to florescent light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I became my usual imperturbable self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I lost my tactile defensiveness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then I
thought about the college students with Asperger’s syndrome whom I have
known.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For most of them, tactile
defensiveness made personal hygiene an issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They hated showering, bathing, washing their hair, or brushing their
teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wore the same clothes day
after day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At first, we
tried hinting. “Susan, let’s put bathing twice a week on your schedule.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t
want to take a bath.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Okay… Then
let’s put changing clothes daily and using deodorant on your schedule.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t
want to.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally, we
found a student who interpreted for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She said, “Water hurts our skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The shower is like little sharp needles hitting us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bathwater feels bad in a different way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I get out of the water, the air on
my wet skin hurts.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had no idea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some
students would get into the water but refuse to use soap or shampoo, and we
asked her about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said, “Soap
and shampoo feel slimy on our skin, like rubbing the slime in a stagnant pond
on your body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Using a washcloth is like
rubbing your skin with sandpaper. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
the smell of shampoo and soap makes us sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You have no idea how awful toothpaste feels in our mouth, or how much a toothbrush
hurts us.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We learned
that the acoustics of the shower make sounds hurt, that deodorant feels gross
and smells worse, and what the clothing industry has come to appreciate: that
tags in clothes irritate the skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We learned
that some clothes feel better than others, and when you are dealing with the
stress of college life, you need to wear your most comfortable sweatshirt and
jeans every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing feels as good to me as my old pjs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We argued, “We’re
so sorry!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when you smell bad or look
dirty, other people have to smell you and look at you, and they won’t want to
be around you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That argument didn’t
work because, by and large, our students weren’t interested in what other people
felt or thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If people don’t like
the way I look, they don’t have to look at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If they don’t like the way I smell, they don’t have to sit by me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their problem, not mine.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A more
helpful argument involved discussing the overgrowth of bad bacteria colonies on
unwashed skin, hair, teeth, and clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We explained that soap broke the surface tension of water so bacteria
could then be dislodged by friction, and that using water without soap merely
resulted in wet redistributed bacteria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We explained that water could then rinse the bacteria off the body, hair,
teeth and clothes, and then down the drain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The argument
was useful, but the aversion to hygiene regimens prevailed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I offer
some outside-the-box solutions to consider.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">First,
unless they are working up a sweat, people don’t need daily baths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As long as hands, underarms, the area between
the legs, and the bottoms of the feet are cleaned daily, much bacterial growth
can be controlled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Single-use pre-moistened
cleansing cloths can serve as a bathing alternative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ancient auntie used these daily for years
and bathed only every couple of weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unscented
shampoos and soaps may help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bar soap may
be preferable to shower gel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No poo”
advocates have recipes online for alternatives to shampooing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Honestly, it’s the “no poo” movement. Make
of that what you will.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chewing on
and brushing with miswak sticks may be easier for people with oral sensory
issues than is toothbrushing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miswak
sticks are pieces of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Salvadora
Persica</i> (Toothbrush Tree). The chemical properties of the miswak decrease
gingivitis, and at least one clinical study found miswakking more effective
than toothbrushing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can buy miswak
sticks from Amazon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ordered some this
morning so I can tell people that I’ve been miswakking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What works
for one person with ASD may not work with another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ergo, ask the person who resists a typical
hygiene routine what is uncomfortable about it for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then look for ways to minimize or eliminate
that factor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Change one thing at a time
and see what works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try to have the
solutions in place before your child leaves for college when his world will
become even more stressful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If water
hurt your body, soap and shampoo felt like slime, brushing your teeth was torture,
and most clothes irritated you, wouldn’t you resist subjecting yourself to them?
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So think out of the box and work with your loved one who has ASD to
figure out person-centered solutions to make life better for everyone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-26588202654915362012015-01-25T15:58:00.000-08:002015-01-25T15:58:15.054-08:00My Mother's Damned Egg Slicer
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My mother hoarded stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mother and Daddy’s house didn’t look like the
houses on the TV show <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hoarders.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It looked like a fancy antique store bulging with
exotic artifacts from Europe and Asia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Except for the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
kitchen looked like a stage set from the 1970’s: countertops and cabinets crammed
with Veg-O-Matics, garlic peelers, avocado slicers, nut choppers, corn holders, pie
birds, fondue forks, plastic butter tubs, tin pie-plates, and wax fruit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think they even make wax fruit anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they do, they shouldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mother’s wax fruit was sticky with years of grime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several times over the years, I tried to get
her to throw it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d say, “Mother,
if you want a hanging basket of fruit in your kitchen, I’ll go to the store and
buy fresh fruit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eat it and replace it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Leave my wax fruit alone,” she’d say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you don’t like it, don’t look at it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Each time I made the long trip home to see my
parents, I tried to clean out one drawer or cabinet while they napped in the
afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once, my MIL had accompanied me on the 700-mile round-rip and was keeping me
company when my mother caught me cleaning out the lowliest of her thirteen
kitchen drawers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drawer was full of yellowed
newspaper recipes from 1965, sandwich bags of bread-sack twist-ties, and orphaned
plastic lids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the back, wrapped in decayed
plastic wrap held together by a rotted rubber band, was an egg slicer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had tossed everything into a trash bag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">With few exceptions, I don’t own single-purpose
kitchen items, yet I’m a competent cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I make mouth-watering chicken’n’dumplings, authentic Tex-Mex enchiladas,
and savory finkadella, all without specialized kitchen utensils.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Granted, I do own a knife sharpener, and it’s a
single- purpose item.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Likewise my potato
peeler (although I managed without one for years), and a toaster (ditto).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I do not own a waffle iron, a Panini maker, or an
apple corer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly don’t own an
egg slicer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do own a vegetable knife, a
butcher knife, and three handy-dandy paring knives that I use daily; an electric
knife that I use weekly; and a serrated knife that I seldom use and have decided
to get rid of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any of my knives can
slice an egg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t need an egg
slicer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But apparently my mother thought she did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She grabbed the trash bag into which I had tossed
the egg slicer and started digging through it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“It’s all trash, Mother,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let it go.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No,” she said. “You are always throwing away my
good things.” She glared at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She found the egg slicer in the trash bag and held
it up triumphantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There!” she
cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My egg slicer!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were going to throw it away!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She waved it around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I’ve been looking all over for it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She jabbed it toward my MIL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look!”
she cried, “She threw it away!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My MIL
covered her mouth to hide her laughter and shook.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I took a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mother,” I said patiently, “This egg slicer
has been in the back of this drawer for so many years that the plastic is
yellow and the rubber band around it has rotted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t use it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Well, I wanted to use it, but I couldn’t find it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Mother, you have 35 knives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you need an egg slicer?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Because I might want to have a party, and I’d need
it to slice the eggs on top of the potato salad!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My MIL bit her lip while tears rolled down
her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Mother, you are 85 years old, Daddy is 90 and has
Alzheimer’s disease, and you haven’t thrown a party in twenty years.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Well, I just might, and if I do, I’ll need this egg
slicer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So the egg slicer went back into the drawer, and
there it sat until Mother died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The day after the funeral, I called my MIL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is there anything of Mother’s that you’d
like to have as a memento of her?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Yes, she said, there was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so I dug through the bottom drawer again,
found the damned egg slicer, tucked it lovingly in my purse, and drove it 350
miles to its new home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-7683441483010233202015-01-22T06:40:00.000-08:002015-01-22T06:43:09.433-08:00The Old Man in the Yellow Hat- EpilogueThe Old Man in the Yellow Hat was found dead in the hours after I wrote about him.<br />
<br />
Rest in Peace, Old Man in the Yellow Hat.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-21762233540669494692015-01-11T19:59:00.000-08:002015-01-11T19:59:59.706-08:00A Tribute to Two Musicians
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Many years ago, my friend, Harvey McIntyre, wrote:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO95Yt1-kGzaRz-Yic-4kOq5HuZe0vvOOtzO5bZjjdT3JWixuxmvUQBAY70Sbp7ZXGSLo1L4Zp6CtOTI6_kDaYugAkfrHurjba6ROTaVm22I-U7V-6xxJviXl8qmuumNb_zhVTzZfmAGg/s1600/Just+Harvey+Clarinet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO95Yt1-kGzaRz-Yic-4kOq5HuZe0vvOOtzO5bZjjdT3JWixuxmvUQBAY70Sbp7ZXGSLo1L4Zp6CtOTI6_kDaYugAkfrHurjba6ROTaVm22I-U7V-6xxJviXl8qmuumNb_zhVTzZfmAGg/s1600/Just+Harvey+Clarinet.jpg" height="200" width="95" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Some thirty years ago
as a high school student, I had worked my way up to first chair clarinet in the
band, and as such, I had been asked to perform at some civic function in Big
Timber (MT).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My accompanist for that
performance was Elnor Overland, a man who’d worked his way through college
playing piano in a movie theater during the era of silent movies; he’d later
worked his way through Law School giving organ recitals with the world-famous
Eddie Dunstetter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the jargon of the
day, he could make that organ stand up and talk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">About two-thirds of the
way through the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clarinet Polka</i>, the
easiest piece I played all night, my mind went completely blank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In stark terror, I looked at Mr. Overland,
and he just winked at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then
launched into an improvisation of my part until I’d regained my thoughts and
composure and could play that wooden licorice stick again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one in the audience probably realized that
a true professional had rescued a rank amateur that evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day, I am indebted to Mr. Elnor O.
Overland, Attorney-at-Law, composer, organist, and friend for what he later
told me that evening: “Anyone can make good under the best conditions;
professionals do it under any condition.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpP5Z0UlBaz0g_7T6iSUCzt95fKlbnM8feGEQJtV467FwPDD45VfAl93-M77tA2i34WMMU-wkc2PURoNOO9DifWCcC0XU5dt3IdR2eCjcoPuxrJyy8Ze-5Hbnpf_WcH0ymNYngri52ao/s1600/Jackie+Flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpP5Z0UlBaz0g_7T6iSUCzt95fKlbnM8feGEQJtV467FwPDD45VfAl93-M77tA2i34WMMU-wkc2PURoNOO9DifWCcC0XU5dt3IdR2eCjcoPuxrJyy8Ze-5Hbnpf_WcH0ymNYngri52ao/s1600/Jackie+Flowers.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">When I read Harvey’s story, I nodded my head in
recognition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That week, virtuoso flutist
Dr. Jackie Flowers had agreed to play with me, an amateur clarinet player, at a
cocktail-party fund raiser. We had selected several Bach and Mozart duets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guests were gabbing, and clinking, and
yumming, and making all the noises that people make at cocktail parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t expecting that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know why I wasn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know people make a lot of noise at cocktail
parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I still wasn’t expecting it,
so I started out a bubble off plumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">When we got ready to play, I sat down to Dr. Flowers’s
left, which meant that the sound of her flute was projected away from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I didn’t think about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until we began playing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Immediately I realized that I couldn’t hear Dr.
Flowers’s flute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, I couldn’t hear my
own clarinet over the party-goers’ noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On our third number, a particularly complex invention, I lost my place
in the music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at Dr. Flowers in
a panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She nodded and continued
playing while I figured out where we were and joined her again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before the next number, she suggested we
exchange places so I could hear her flute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Afterward, I told her how embarrassed I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The consummate professional, she laughed and
reassured me, saying, “No problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
one else even knew it happened.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">That night, Dr. Flowers rescued me just like Mr.
Overland had rescued Harvey many years before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">So Dr. Jackie Flowers, Connsumate Professional, accept
my profound thanks and admiration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">And Mr. Elnor Overland, rest in peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may be gone, but you are not forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-6674600851723355312015-01-10T20:30:00.000-08:002015-01-10T20:30:05.577-08:00The Old Man in the Yellow Hat
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At this moment, 8:10 at night, 25 degrees outside, an old
man in a yellow hat is lost near my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I fear he will die.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I came upstairs to my bedroom at 6:00 tonight to read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I returned downstairs at 8:00, I saw the
headlights of a vehicle drive up the golf cart path beside my house and turn
down the path on the fifth green. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First
I thought, “Kids!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I thought, “Oooh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old people having a secret assignation!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then the vehicle started shining a spotlight around in the
trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Surely no one would be poaching in the middle of the village,</i> I
thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe it’s the police. Maybe someone has seen a peeping tom. </i>When I
was tiny, we had a peeping tom in our neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom said a group of our neighborhood men “ran
him out of town on a rail.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I imagined my dad and a dozen other men running east down
Gidding Street all the way across town, and then north up First, and then east
again on Prince Street out into the country with torches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of them were carrying a railroad rail,
and the peeping tom was riding it like a horse in the moonlight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagined the neighborhood men shouting, “Get
out and stay out!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had heard of tarring and feathering, and I imagined some
of the men running with buckets of black tar and carrying white geese under
their arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These they would pluck after
they had thrown the tar on the man on the rail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(I had no idea that the tar would be hot and burn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would have just been like my Elmer’s School
Glue.) Then they would throw goose feathers at the man, and some of them would
stick to the tar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought this would
be a helluva strange thing to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I
thought that grown-ups were strange, so there was no telling what they might
do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But back to tonight…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Don,” I said, “A vehicle is driving down the golf path
shining a searchlight!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well,” he said, “While you were upstairs, three men came to
the front door and asked if I had seen a man wearing a yellow hat.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Had you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh, my,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Someone
who has dementia is lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His people are
looking for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they don’t find him tonight,
he’ll die of exposure.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Probably.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now it’s 8:50. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The vehicle has not returned.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wonder if the men found The Old Man in the Yellow
Hat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if he was already dead
from exposure when they came to our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If he is still alive, I wonder if he’s frightened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know he is cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if he was a war veteran and thinks
he is a young soldier in enemy territory, if he’s seen the searchlight, but he’s
hiding from it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wonder if he’s dying as I write this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>God, have mercy.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><o:p></o:p></em></span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-56550831495998355142015-01-01T12:46:00.001-08:002015-01-01T18:09:26.807-08:00Autism Lesson 1: Disequilibration<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My New Year’s resolution is to post monthly essays about
autism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People who love someone on the
ASD spectrum need all the knowledge they can get, and post-secondary education
for students with autism is one of my areas of expertise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ergo, this post on New Year’s Day, 2015.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My friend and I are Harry Potter scholars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My HP house is Harry’s own Gryffindor; hers,
Slythindor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leave it to my friend to
create Slythindor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No house fit her
exactly, so she created her own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My friend calls me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Professor Dumbledore</i>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I call
her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Young Traveler</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drove 250 miles
round trip to attend the midnight premier of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Half Blood Prince</i> with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We also went together to the midnight release of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Tales of Beadle the Bard</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I was a fifty-something college professor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a teenager with Asperger’s syndrome
in our university’s Autism Support Program. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My Young Traveler (whom I shall call YT) taught me
much about people on the autism spectrum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of the most important lessons she taught me was why change in routine
distresses them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Last night I watched an episode of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big Bang Theory </i>in which Sheldon left
home because impending changes threatening his life routine terrified him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leonard wanted to live with his new fiancé,
Penny, instead of Sheldon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other life changes
also threatened him, so he felt that he had no option but to run away somewhere…
anywhere… indefinitely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My friend, Rosie, told me how her five-year-old son escalated
when she varied her route home from his school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Logan’s after-school routine was to get into Rosie’s car, ride to
McDonalds® for a snack, and then ride home while eating his snack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day Rosie detoured to the dry cleaners
while Logan was eating his snack. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Logan panicked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is not the way we are supposed to
go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are supposed to go to McDonalds®.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am supposed to get a snack there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we are supposed to go home while I eat
my snack!” He burst into tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Autistic ABA Therapist</i>, Kelly Londenberg explained how changes in routine
affect her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She plans her movements like
a movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she wants a glass of water,
she visualizes standing up, crossing the living room, entering the kitchen,
selecting the glass, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once she
begins this routine, an interruption causes her to escalate because it disequilibrates
her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When I asked My Young Traveler to explain what made
a change in routine so difficult for people with autism, she asked, “Dr. Gore,
have you ever been walking along the sidewalk thinking about something and then
fallen off a curb?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I have.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“You know how jarring that feels?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Well, that’s how it feels when something changes
our routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You weren’t expecting to
fall off the curb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were startled and
your body filled with adrenaline. It made you feel sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s how it feels to us when somebody
changes something in our routine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So if you love someone with ASD, think about how
upsetting falling off a curb feels to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then when you must change your loved one’s routine, remember that he’s
going to feel that same panicky, sick feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Avoid the change if you can, but if you can’t avoid it, prepare him for
it gently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Make that your New Year’s resolution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And make me stick to mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-47792476150035238152014-12-31T12:28:00.003-08:002014-12-31T12:39:04.122-08:00Funky <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I arose at
five this morning and Swiffer®ed my glass-block shower walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stroke of genius.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what possessed me to arise at
five and Swiffer®, but that’s what I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt so self-righteous that I proceeded to Swiffer® the floor of my
30-square-foot shower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t recall
ever having mopped a shower floor, much less Swiffer®ed one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can’t
imagine the power you feel when you Swiffer® your shower.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thus
invigorated, I decided to clean the rest of my bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My bathroom
is funky, but not funky in a bad way; funky in a good way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I bought this house (Don was taking a
Sunday afternoon nap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he awoke, I
said, “I bought a house while you were asleep.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He said, “Oh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we have any
chips and salsa?”) I told the contractor, “I want a huge bathroom in my bedroom
in the attic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tear out the tiny
bathroom, the two little hallways, and the mini-bedroom and make one huge,
funky bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Huge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And funky.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He said, “I
have been building and remodeling houses for 40 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody has ever told me that they wanted a
funky bathroom.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well, I
do.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t even
know what that even means.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You’re an
old white guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course you don’t know
what it means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll teach you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I handed him
pictures cut out of magazines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
clawfoot bathtub and a pedestal sink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Walls a color that no one has ever named, but are a cross between watermelon
and terra cotta (I call it meloncotta).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Purple towels hanging from hooks on the walls; no towel rods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suntube.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hidey-holes. A glass-block o-p-e-n European-style shower: clunky glass walls
that don’t go to the ceiling; no door or curtain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big as a ballroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Carson from Downton Abbey could waltz in
it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Antique
furniture instead of cabinets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because I
live in the attic, my sloping ceilings are already funky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I looked up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">funky</i> in an online etymological
dictionary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">First known
use of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">funky</i>: 1620’s. Definition: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">having an offensive odor</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was not the funky I was going for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Used in French from the Latin <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fumigare</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Smoky
smell</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evolved into meaning <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">musty smell, especially as associated with
cheese. </i>Not what you want when you remodel your bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not at all what I had in mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But in the
1900s, funky began to have a positive meaning associated with jazz: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">strong, earthy, deeply felt. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Earthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s going the right direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wanted my bathroom to proclaim me as earthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted it to evoke strong, deeply-felt
earthy emotions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By the
1960’s, funky meant <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fine, stylish, and
excellent</i>.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>My definition was building. Stylish and earthy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Oxford
Dictionary defined <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">funky</i> as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">modern and stylish in an unconventional or
striking way.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People from Oxford
should know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Merriam-Webster
added: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">odd or quaint in appearance or
feeling; unconventionally stylish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>That
completed my ideal bathroom plan:<em> A fine, odd, quaint, earthy, unconventionally
stylish place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Deeply Felt retreat
where I could take bubble baths and feel free and unenclosed by shower walls.<o:p></o:p></em></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so it
is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So the New
Year will be here in a few hours, and I will have a freshly-scrubbed bathroom.
I commend New Year’s Eve bathroom cleaning to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clean your bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Swiffer® your shower. Then get funky and take
a bubble bath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless you think that’s
hinky, of course.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-91638569755811007502014-12-30T15:13:00.000-08:002014-12-30T15:31:16.108-08:00Confessions of a Carnivorious Lexophile<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I am an omnivore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wish I were not carnivorous, but I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not proud of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there you have it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I tried being a vegetarian twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time was thirty years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After four months, I was invited to the home
of a couple for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They served steak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t know I was a vegetarian, and I
hadn’t thought to tell them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I
wasn’t a very good vegetarian because I ate the steak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The effect?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Like I’d taken a dose of heroin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was hooked again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The second time I tried being a vegetarian was in
2003.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Husband Don agreed with me (he
doesn’t like beef, and prefers sweets or chips’n’salsa to most anything), and
we set upon a year of being vegetarians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I got sick. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I went to my doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She sent me to an O.D. neurologist, a Dr. V. Radkar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spent fifteen minutes with me and didn’t
order any tests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He patted me paternally
on the knee and said, “You’ll be fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re
just a busy little housewife with a lot on your plate.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear on my mother’s grave that he said
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to kick him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I got sicker and sicker, so after filling my bedroom
and wardrobe with pink things for three months (I’d read that seeing pink
produced important neurotransmitters), I decided that maybe my brain needed
amino acids found in meat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a year
as a vegetarian, I ate a big plate of liver and onions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a steak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the vegetarian life style was only a memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">(Actually, I had a brain tumor, but by the time my family doctor sent me for an MRI a year after I presented with symptoms, I was a full-fledged meat-eater again.)</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I wish I weren’t a carnivore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I didn’t eat the flesh of dead
animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am, and I do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">So this morning I started thinking about the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">carnivore</i>, and I came up with the
following definitions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Carnivore- one who eats animal flesh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Coneivore- one who eats ice cream in a crispy,
handheld container<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Cornivore- one who eats maize<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Caulivore- one who only eats the white member of the
brassicaeceae family, which also includes broccoli, cabbage, and kale<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Cannivore- one who only eats food in tins, such as
Spam or canned tamales<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Caneivore- an aggressive older woman with an Electra
complex<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Coneyvore- one who only eats hot dogs or rabbits<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Canaryvore- one who eats small, yellow songbirds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Colavore- one who only drinks carbonated beverages in
the coca family<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Callivore- one who tries to eat Old Dog Callie,
which is pretty much limited to Baby Dog Woodrow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Carneyvore- one who eats people who work on the
midway at travelling fairs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Cannyvore- one who eats clever people<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Carinivore- one who eats rocks, but only if stacked
in piles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I ran these by my dad. He suggested:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Clandivore- one who eats in secret.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably on a diet, but cheats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Comavore- one who could eat even if totally
unconscious<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Crankivore- one who gripes about whatever is on his
plate<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Cleanivore- one who eats so fastidiously that when
he is finished eating, his napkin is still creased<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
added: But sometimes when he finishes his tidy eating, he licks his plate clean
and then eats his napkin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I finished with:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Commavore- a high school English teacher who slashes
through inappropriate soft stops on students’ papers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Commavore is the sworn enemy of the class
of student known as the Commakazi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Happy New Year, my friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know who you are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Your Old Commavore</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-2145625748978307252014-12-18T11:14:00.000-08:002014-12-18T15:43:37.865-08:00Young Fathers and Cell Phones<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I sat near a father and his three children at McDonald’s
last October.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boys were maybe eight
and ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little girl, perhaps five.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">The children ate quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The young father, who wore a ball cap pulled down, hunkered over his
cell phone texting or playing games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The entire time</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little girl repeatedly tried to engage
her daddy, but he didn’t even look up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The little boys didn’t even try. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wanted to shake that young man and say, “Grow up!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be a father! Put your toy away and talk with
your children!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today I went to HFC for lunch: Higdon Ferry Café. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tasty, inexpensive, country fare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Local color.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">When a young father wearing a necktie came in with his
little girl, I perked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was four
or five. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Watching them talk and play together during their meal will be
delicious</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">But as soon as they sat down, instead of playing with his
little girl, the man grabbed his cell phone and started playing with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">When the waitress came, the child ordered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t hear what she ordered, but her
father said, “No, she can’t have that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then he ordered for her and himself, not taking his eyes off his toy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He probably
doesn’t have enough money to pay for what she wanted. He ordered what he could
afford.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll put down his phone in a
minute and talk to her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Ha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">When the waitress left, the little girl tried valiantly to visit with her daddy, but he ignored her and
continued playing with his phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
she reached for him, he grabbed her arm and hissed, “Be still!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She continued trying to engage him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He grabbed her arm again and spat, “Stop it!”
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thirty seconds later, he grabbed her
tiny wrist and snarled, “Shut up!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then she said something and he jerked her up and pulled his
right arm back as though he were going to backhand her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gasped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I knew not to make a scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She would suffer the consequences later if I embarrassed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I had to interrupt this escalation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I plucked a small toy from my purse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked over to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“May she have this toy?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s hard to sit still for a long time. I
know because I’m an old first-grade teacher.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">He neither looked at me nor spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His lips formed a thin, white line, but he
took the toy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He realized that someone-
maybe everyone- had been watching him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">This afternoon, I have tried to see the world through that
young father’s eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What heartache
could cause a daddy to ignore and then threaten his little girl so he could
play with his cell phone? Had he just lost his job? His fortune? His love?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don’t know the answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I do know the prayer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Father God, turn men
with children into daddies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make them
patient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make them gentle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make them kind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And teach them that their children are infinitely
more important than fancy phones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amen.</span> </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></i> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-89516135094817410302014-12-11T13:50:00.000-08:002014-12-11T13:50:23.804-08:00The Circle of Life: The Red Fox
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Until we moved to Arkansas, I only seen a red fox once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He came through the back garden of the
English cottage where I was staying. He was not the gorgeous fellow of fairy
tales.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His hips, backbone, and ribs
protruded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of his hair had fallen
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tossed and turned all night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I began studying about red foxes. I learned that December is
the month when young females come into estrus and young males try to establish a
territory where they can start a family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I learned that red foxes live in Arkansas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I was living in a city in the Texas desert where no red fox had ever
trod.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The first morning that I saw a red fox from my bedroom
window here at my retirement home in Arkansas, I raced down the stairs to tell
Husband Don.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I was sure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A big, beautiful red fox. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My big red fox trotted by the house every morning about
seven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stopped in the commons area
behind the creek that borders our yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the summer, I couldn’t see him through the trees, but when the leaves
fell, I could watch him from my bedroom in the attic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">He would stand in the clearing and peer north and south,
nose testing the wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Satisfied, he
would head west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stuff of fairy
tales.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, late last summer, I saw him lying in the middle of the
road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A turkey vulture was pulling his
already-ravaged body into the gutter where it could feast safely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s
the circle of life,</i> I said to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s the circle of life</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I grieved for weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, yesterday morning, Old Dog Callie woke me up when she leapt
from my bed and began to bark and scratch at my bedroom windowsill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baby Dog Woodrow began barking and running in
circles to help his sister, although he had no idea why she was excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I looked out the window, but because of the quilt of red,
gold, and brown leaves covering the ground, I couldn’t see anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Callie insisted that something was happening.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let my focus go hazy and stayed alert
for movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I saw it. In the
trees, north of where Old Red Fox used to test the air, stood a young red fox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sniffed the air to the east and north for
a minute and then headed west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart
thundered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“It’s okay, Callie,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“He’s supposed to be here.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yes,
he’s supposed to be here.</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat up
on the side of the bed and thought, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He’s
the son of Old Red Fox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s
establishing his territory, filling the vacancy left by his father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s looking for a vixen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To mate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To start a family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the
Circle of Life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Circle of Life.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Old Dog Callie and Baby Dog Woodrow hopped up on the bed next
to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wrapped my arms around them
both and hugged them close.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-3494572424143447202014-12-07T14:16:00.000-08:002014-12-11T15:49:50.063-08:00The Kindness of Strangers: Green Beans<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last week I took my car to Little Rock for its 12,000 mile
oil change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dealership sits on the
east side of six lanes full of hurtling traffic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A supermarket sits on the west side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although rain was falling intermittently, I
was determined to walk to the supermarket to eat lunch while I waited because I like their
fried chicken and tender green beans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I zipped up my raggedy bum-around jacket, took a deep breath,
and then barreled into the traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dodged
three cars to get through the first three lanes to the median, but I made it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I scrabbled over the stickery bushes on the median. No mean
feat, that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The second three lanes were easy after the first three and
the median, and I reached the parking lot safely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The rain started pouring, so I ran the last twenty yards to
the supermarket’s doorway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time I
got inside, I was a mess: wet, cold, bedraggled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My bum-around coat was neither waterproof nor
warm enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My white hair was plastered
down on my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose I looked like
I didn’t know where my next meal was coming from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A woman I had not seen before waited on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had the leathery skin of someone who had
worked outdoors all her life, or perhaps had smoked for years, or drank too
much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t have any teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She’s
had a hard life,</i> I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She looks like she doesn’t know where her
next meal is coming from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I could
help her.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Lunch special, please,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fried chicken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dark.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She dug through the chicken for a thigh and a leg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sides?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Corn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And green
beans.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She ladled me up a scoop of
buttery corn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“What other side did you say you wanted?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Green beans,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“They look real good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She raised her head and studied me for a long moment. Then
she served me a giant helping of green beans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She paused, then dipped her spoon in the beans again and added a second big
helping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked up, and at the
moment our eyes met, I read her thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She’s had a hard life,</i> she thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She
looks like she doesn’t know where her next meal is coming from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can do this to help her.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So that day, two old women touched each other’s hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and I saw in each other a needy stranger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I could do nothing for her, but she knew
she could do something for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
ladled me a mountain of tender green beans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the gift of kindness to a stranger.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-34959753909118194162014-12-02T15:17:00.001-08:002014-12-02T15:18:23.003-08:00My First Cooking Disaster<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">For a week, I lay in bed at night and dreamed about preparing
my first dish for my daddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mother was a
gourmet cook: people begged to be invited to parties where she served her Greek-style
leg of lamb, the mouthwatering Onion Cheese Pie that she created, Cherries
Jubilee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she gave me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Betty Crocker’s Cookbook for Boys and Girls</i>
for Christmas, I was delighted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the
tender age of eight, I was being invited to become a princess in this realm
that my mother ruled as queen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">She said that the following Friday night, I would be allowed
to prepare a dish from the book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
salad, perhaps, or a vegetable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
decided that I would prepare a salad that would please my daddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(You might have to be a southern girl to
understand this.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A vegetable would be
lost on the plate beside the starch, bread, and entree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A salad would be a
first course that would be the center of attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mother announced to Daddy that I was going to prepare the salad
course for him on Friday night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
brother, who was three years older, would be at a party that evening, so this
would be a special night for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daddy
asked me what I was going to prepare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
said, “It’s a surprise.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">The recipe was Candle Salad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I set the table beautifully and hid the salads in the refrigerator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Daddy and Mother were seated and grace
was said, I went to the refrigerator and with great dignity carried Daddy’s
salad to the table and set it before him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I brought Mother's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
mine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">By the time I arrived at the table with my salad, tears were
running down Daddy’s cheeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
biting his lower lip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He began to
shake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Then he started to roar with laughter. </span>“Daddy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stop that!” hissed Mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was devastated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
daddy was laughing at my salad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
did I do wrong?” I cried, jumping up from my seat wanting to correct my
mistake.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Nothing!” he shouted, trying to control himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Absolutely nothing!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the best damn salad I’ve ever had in my whole
damn life!” he cried.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Then why are you laughing at it?” I whimpered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Honey, I’m not laughing at the salad,” he said trying to regain control of himself. Then he
snorted and laughed harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In spite of
herself, Mother started laughing, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was not laughing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Finally he got out, “I’m laughing because I’m so pleased
that my little girl is learning how to cook from her mother!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Affronted, I said, “Mother didn’t teach me how to make
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned it on my own from Betty Crocker.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Daddy howled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">I did not figure out until years later what was so funny.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is the recipe from the book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might want to try it yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or not.</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0SHmjyJTpAdoVbvIKQ8bSe8ruV5QUkOHKFw9s3stGyizChG4Q3koB8eSzZEOTGvmVqY3ZiUUKFp-MDirGC3tJ-l4qU-NxmXYDc3SPJvzfL6dH9_TF6gnI6NR4hlzyBjuEny7TJy3C-k/s1600/Candle+Salad.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0SHmjyJTpAdoVbvIKQ8bSe8ruV5QUkOHKFw9s3stGyizChG4Q3koB8eSzZEOTGvmVqY3ZiUUKFp-MDirGC3tJ-l4qU-NxmXYDc3SPJvzfL6dH9_TF6gnI6NR4hlzyBjuEny7TJy3C-k/s1600/Candle+Salad.png" height="640" width="496" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-39976545111388352532014-11-30T15:55:00.000-08:002014-11-30T15:55:59.718-08:00An Adventuresome Sort of a Person<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Madeline ran her thumb over the smooth bowl of the silver spoon in her pocket. Then she slid her wrinkled hand back into her doe-skin glove. She interlocked her fingers and twiddled her thumbs. Bus 113 came and went. Bus 847. 361. When 431 pulled up, she knew it was the right one because the digits equaled 8. She poked a ten-dollar bill into the slot and walked to the eighth row. A seat <span style="color: white;">was available, but the person sitting next to it was all wrong. No seats were available in the ninth row. The lone person in the tenth row was asleep. The eleventh row was the right one. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Madeline sat down next to a young woman holding a baby. The woman wore a threadbare coat, but the baby looked warm. “Excuse me,” said Madeline as she sat down. The baby smiled.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The woman nodded and smiled. “Lovely child,” Madeline said. She held one gloved finger out to the baby. He reached out and curled his fingers around hers. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Thank you. He’s eight months old today.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Madeline reached into her pocket and held out the teaspoon.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Would you like a spoon?” she asked.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“I beg your pardon?”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Would you like a spoon?” Madeline repeated. “This spoon,” she said, waving it gently. “You could feed the little one with it. It could be an eight-month birthday present.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The woman raised one eyebrow and tilted her head. She reached out and took the spoon. <i>Her hands are red and raw,</i> thought Madeline. <i>She works hard. Her life with a baby must be hard.</i> “You may sell it if you wish. You might get $50 at a pawn shop. It’s worth over a hundred. Perhaps two.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The bus clanked to a stop. Before the startled woman could answer, Madeline skittled out the door and was sitting on the bus-stop bench. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Madeline looked around. <i>Colors seem brighter,</i> she thought. <i>This is what life must be like for adventurous persons. </i><span> </span>From somewhere far away, she heard an accordion playing. “I will find that accordion,” she whispered aloud. “I will sit and listen to the accordion player, and I will drop twenty dollars into his monkey’s cup.” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Before today, Madeline would not have given an accordion player the time of day, much less put money in his cup. Then she wondered whether the accordion player might be a woman. An old woman like herself. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">She wondered whether the old woman would even have a monkey. <i>Monkeys can bite</i>, she thought. She decided to google where one could go to see monkeys in the wild. She did not approve of keeping a wild animal tied to a musical instrument. But she would like to see one in the wild.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Madeline smelled warm bread and wondered if she would have even noticed it under ordinary circumstances. She followed her nose to an Italian bakery with three tables. She ordered a latte and a slice of Italian wedding cake. She sat in the corner and watched people come and go. A busty woman with a small child bought the child a giant pretzel. The clerk ran a ribbon through the pretzel and tied it. The busty woman slipped it around the child’s neck.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">When she finished her cake and coffee, Madeline bought a giant pretzel. “Tie a ribbon through it, please, like you did for the little girl.” The clerk handed her the pretzel and giggled when Madeline slipped it around her own neck. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Sorry,” said the clerk. “I just thought you were buying it for a grandchild.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“I did buy it for a grandchild,” she said. “Do you think that I never had grandparents? That I am not someone’s grandchild?”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The clerk blushed, mumbled, “Sorry” again and counted Madeline’s $5.75 change back to her. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">“That’s alright, dear,”</span> said Madeline as she shoved the change back across the counter. “Keep it.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">With her pretzel around her neck, Madeline set off to find the accordion player and her monkey. <i>What sort of person would play an accordion and own a monkey?</i> Madeline wondered. She had never known such a person. She decided that such a person would most certainly be the adventuresome sort.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">She closed her eyes and listened. She held one hand over her left ear and cupped the other hand around her right. She turned slowly in a circle, and when she located the direction of the sound, set off. Two blocks later, she saw the accordion player, who even from a distance was indisputably male. He did not have a monkey. He did have the accordion case open on the ground. People had dropped change and a few dollar bills in the case.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Stop,” commanded Madeline. “Stop playing. Please. I want to talk to you.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The accordion player wore a grey beret on his greying hair that complemented the blue foul-weather fisherman’s sweater on his substantial frame. <em>Very handsome</em>, thought Madeline. <em>Handsome and Italian.</em> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Where is your monkey?” she asked.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"> The man drew himself up to his full six-foot two. “I am not an organ grinder,” he said. “I am a musician. I play the accordion.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“I will pay you handsomely to come home with me and play for an hour.” She dug two one-hundred dollar bills out of her purse and handed them to him. “Come along,” she commanded. She turned and hailed a taxi. The taxi driver loaded the accordion player’s instrument into the trunk. The driver blinked in surprise as Madeline gave him her address. So did the accordion player.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">When the taxi pulled up at Madeline’s building, a doorman stepped forward to open her door while the driver fetched the accordion. Madeline tipped the driver a twenty. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">A nervous young man in an Armani suit rushed out of the building. “Madam!” he cried. “Where have you been? I was terrified when you didn’t answer my knock this morning! We have correspondence to attend to!”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Do it yourself,” she said as she waved him away. “For the next hour I will be unavailable. I am going to listen to the accordion.” She turned to the bewildered accordion player. “Come,” she commanded. Then she asked, “Are you married?”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">After the accordion player finished his concert and drank a cup of tea, he left with a promise to return for lunch the following day. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Madeline’s secretary rushed into her library. “Madam, what is the meaning of all this? You disappear for hours, you come home with a pretzel tied around your neck, and you bring an accordion player for tea? Have you lost your mind?”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Quite the contrary,” she said, “I have found it.” She held out the half-eaten pretzel. “Bite?” she asked.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Madam, I am worried,” he said. “I should call your nephew!”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“That is the last person you are to call,” said Madeline. “I informed him yesterday that I have decided to leave my entire estate to charity instead of to him and his spoiled offspring. He threatened to have me declared incompetent. I am, I assure you, quite competent.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">She patted the couch next to her, and her secretary sat down. “You know that I have spent my life penny-pinching and running this company. I have always done what was expected of me. Yet I have wondered about the people who live other kinds of lives: people who ride on busses, people who eat pretzels, people who stand on street corners and play musical instruments." </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">She placed her hand gently on his arm. "I have wondered about people who go hungry at night while I sit alone and dine on soup from thousand-dollar tureens in hundred-dollar bowls with hundred-dollar spoons. I have decided that I am going to start giving these silly things away. I do not need them. And they can do some good feeding the poor who can either eat out of them or sell them for cans of soup they can eat with plastic spoons.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“What I do need,” she said, “Are memories to keep me warm. I need adventures. I need to meet adventuresome sorts of persons who do not do what is expected of them, but rather do whatever it is that they themselves wish to do. So I am going to become an adventuresome sort of person. Tomorrow I will turn 80. I will turn the company over to one of the vice presidents. And I will have adventures for as long as I am able. When I am on my death bed, I do not wish to wonder what might have been.” She patted the secretary’s hand. His mouth hung open. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Close your mouth,” she said. He didn’t move. She gave his leg a sharp slap. “You look like a fool.” Then she added, “Tell Cook to prepare a special Italian lunch for tomorrow. And call my travel agent. Tell her to arrange for the first possible cruise to some place where one might see a wild monkey. Two tickets. Captain’s suite.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">As the secretary turned to leave, shaking his head, Madeline added, “One more thing. Tell the chauffeur to be available tomorrow after lunch.” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Where shall I tell him you wish to go, Madam?” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Madeline smiled. “Tell him I am going to buy an accordion.”</span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-67413091001270239812014-11-30T13:47:00.000-08:002014-11-30T16:03:08.768-08:00Addendum to My Taxonomy of Urination<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Knowledge is dynamic; research constantly reveals new truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That which was once impossible is now a
reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New species are
discovered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old taxonomies must be revised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ergo, I am revising my month-old <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Taxonomy of Urination </i>with this addendum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
A few days after I posted my taxonomy, my “like a second dad
to me” junior high band director called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He said, “I have read and been thinking about your taxonomy of urination.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“So what have you been thinking?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“It’s good, but I decided that I need to tell you that you
left something out.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“What’s that?” I asked, grabbing a pencil and notepad so I could
get every word down correctly.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Taking a piss</i>,”
he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You left out <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">taking a piss</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s an important omission.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Okay,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
didn’t think about it at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk
to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need you to do a semantic
analysis to differentiate <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">taking a piss</i>
from the other types of urination I listed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Well,” he said, “When I was a young man, I could take a piss
several times a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s what you do
when you really have to go, and your stream is strong and vigorous, and you can
pee a perfect arc up into the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
have a powerful feeling of relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
usually follow it with a big sigh and a smile.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“It gives you great pleasure?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Oh, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking a
piss is definitely a great pleasure.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“But you’re old now, Dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Can you still take a piss?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Only rarely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly
I tinkle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But once in a while, I can take a piss, like
after a long car ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s
glorious.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“How does it make you feel now at your age?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Oh, it makes me feel like a young man again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a wonderful pleasure.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Got it, Dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll update the taxonomy
soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So please add <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">taking a
piss</i> to my Taxonomy of Urination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And thanks, Dad, for your contribution to science.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May you still be taking an occasional piss when
you’ve turned 105.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-84638577201086125002014-11-30T13:40:00.000-08:002014-11-30T13:40:25.774-08:00Lessons My Band Director Taught Me: # 2 Never Be a Prima Dona<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My junior
high band director, Mr. Phillip Wilson, grew up in the moving business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Founded by his late father, Wilson Transfer
and Storage in Santa Fe, New Mexico, is still family-run nearly a century later.
Mr. Wilson, who gave up his share of the business to be a band director, told
me about one of the family's notable customers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“When I was
a little boy, we had three enormously rich and important clients: Mrs. Cyrus
McCormick of International Harvester, Mrs. Frank Rand of Remington Rand/Sperry
Rand fame, and Mrs. David Lippincott of the eponymous publishing company.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“All three
were lovely women, but Mrs. McCormick and Mrs. Rand always came to the transfer
to conduct their affairs in their chauffeur-driven limousines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Lippincott, who was probably the richest
of the three, drove herself in her Studebaker.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Once our
foreman asked Mrs. Lippincott why she didn’t have a chauffeur drive her around in
a limo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said, ‘I like my Studebaker
because no one else likes them.’”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
he added, “Mrs. Lippincott never gave a hoot about what other people thought.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Mr. Wilson told me a story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Because our
house was on the property in front of the company headquarters and warehouses,
we had an enormous driveway where the moving vans could come and go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Addresses were not clearly marked on houses in
those days, so taxi drivers would come to our house to find out where someone’s
address was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As long as they came to the
door and knocked, we were happy to tell them what they needed to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But invariably while we were eating dinner, a
taxi driver would pull up in the driveway and blast on his horn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He expected us to come out of our house, go
to his car window, and tell him what he wanted to know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Whenever
that happened, one of my big brothers or sisters would stick their head out the
back door and holler, ‘We don’t offer curb service!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the taxi driver got out of his car and came
to the door, we were happy to help him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I was a
little pitcher with big ears, so one day when I was about six, Mrs. Lippincott
drove up to the loading dock in her Studebaker and honked her horn, I stuck my
head out of the warehouse and hollered, ‘We don’t offer curb service!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“The foreman
across the yard came running as fast as his little short, fat legs could carry
him scolding me all the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘That’s
Mrs. Lippincott!’ he cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘We don’t
say that to Mrs. Lippincott!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She can
honk her horn for us to come out any time she wants!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Then Mrs.
Lippincott climbed out of her car, and the foreman fell all over himself
apologizing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“’Nonsense,’
said Mrs. Lippincott to the foreman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The
child is right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a perfectly
able-bodied woman capable of getting out of the car to ask for assistance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t you dare scold him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leave him alone.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“That endeared
Mrs. Lippincott to me forever after,” said my band director.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She was immeasurably rich, yet she was
humble and never expected any special treatment.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The point of
this lesson my band director taught me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You may be a first chair, but be an humble
first chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t expect special
treatment and never be a Prima Dona.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks, Mr.
Wilson, for that life lesson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks,
too, Mrs. Lippincott.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rest in peace.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-31192536756919464652014-11-25T16:48:00.001-08:002014-11-25T17:55:55.149-08:00The Gore Thanksgiving RitualMy father, Harold O. Gore, Esq., was a devout Episcopalian whose profound Christian faith guided his life, so in 1980, he started a new Thanksgiving tradition in our family. I am asking you to make it part of your tradition.<br />
<br />
But first, a story that took place 21 years later.<br />
<br />
In 1991, at the age of 80, Daddy knew he was developing Alzheimer's disease. In 2001, on the night before Thanksgiving, my mother ordered a pizza from Papa John's for dinner. My brother, Halbert, had arrived at their house minutes earlier from his 500 mile trip, and I from my 300 miler. The four of us sat down at Mother's tiny kitchen table. Mom placed the pizza box in the center of the table with paper plates and napkins around it.<br />
<br />
"Say grace, Daddy," she instructed.<br />
<br />
By this time, Daddy was deep into Alzheimer's, but he always said grace before meals, so we four bowed our heads. Daddy clasped his hands before his chest and closed his eyes. But he couldn't remember how to say the "Bless this food to our use and us to thy service..." prayer that Episcopalians often use. We sat quietly to give him time to think.<br />
<br />
Then he opened his eyes. Hands still folded devoutly, he looked at the pizza box and read from the cover, "<em>Better ingredients, Better pizza, Papa John's.</em> Amen."<br />
<br />
Mother, Halbert, and I echoed Daddy's amen, chuckled, and then wiped the tears from our eyes. <br />
<br />
That has become a traditional Thanksgiving memory in our family, and sometimes, in reverence and humility, we actually offer it as grace over pizza. God understands.<br />
<br />
But that was not the tradition Daddy started in 1980 that I am hoping you will adopt. The night before Thanksgiving that year, Daddy called Halbert and me into the living room. "Children," he said, "I want us to start a new Thanksgiving tradition tomorrow. We will each steal off quietly from the festivities and telephone someone to tell them that we are thankful that they are in our lives. The person we call must not be a relative. We will not tell each other whom we called or that we have made the call. This is to be strictly between ourselves and that one other person. Please think tonight about whom you will call. We won't talk about this again."<br />
<br />
Halbert and I looked at each other. This was the way our daddy lived his life: quietly, humbly, thankfully. And his tradition remains ours today. <br />
<br />
On Thanksgiving Day, we slip away from the festivities and call someone- not a relative- for whom we are thankful. We do not have a conversation with that person. When that person answers the phone, we identify ourselves and quickly say, "In our family, on Thanksgiving Day, we each select one person for whom we are thankful. Then we call that person and thank them for being in our lives. You are the person I wanted to call this Thanksgiving. Thank you for your kindness to me." Then we hang up.<br />
<br />
Halbert and I agree: Thanksgiving would not be Thanksgiving without our daddy's ritual. <br />
<br />
I know that he agrees with me when I urge you to adopt our ritual. Your Thanksgiving will never be the same.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><em></em></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-3962759950352014182014-11-25T16:46:00.000-08:002014-11-25T17:56:36.922-08:00The High Cost of Pet Ownership<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Saturday, Baby-Dog Woodrow ate a bar of soap for
$140.75.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bar of soap: 75 cents. The vet
bill: $140.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our Woodrow is going to recover completely, perhaps because
my soap is ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths percent pure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(If you are over 60, you know what brand my
soap is.)<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE31sMpWj0ekxvdI6jSpaQPIipSkBp7nU0phnnnw-HOm9gaP3hXsUObsO2IDU-K3kpl9aYi4oA3coHbpL2amNqncRER_kcLxWEbdFsf037fbSMfeVm77565AMj-EvQmSPAHr72OtUpw8s/s1600/1125141523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE31sMpWj0ekxvdI6jSpaQPIipSkBp7nU0phnnnw-HOm9gaP3hXsUObsO2IDU-K3kpl9aYi4oA3coHbpL2amNqncRER_kcLxWEbdFsf037fbSMfeVm77565AMj-EvQmSPAHr72OtUpw8s/s1600/1125141523.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because of his Saturday indiscretion, Woodrow vomited three
times on Sunday, so I fed him small amounts of rice and rice-water throughout
the day. I skipped church to take care of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He slept most of the day, wanted me close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stayed on the bed with him for hours, whispering
“I love you,” reading, and watching John Wayne movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Although he woke me with lively kisses before dawn this
morning, we were sitting in the vet office by 9:00. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Woodrow’s Great Soap Escapade started me thinking (once
again) about how much money adequate pet care costs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And about how many people who have pets can’t
afford to have them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">While I was in the vet’s office, I overheard the
receptionist talking to a potential client.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The woman had a voucher to have her dog spayed, and she wanted to know
how much money she would have to pay the vet if she used it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The voucher paid $45 for the spay surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The owner would have to pay $20 for pain
medication and $15-18 for something else (I couldn’t hear what).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The owner said that she didn’t want to pay
for the pain medication or the required something else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The receptionist explained that the vet would not perform a
spay surgery without pain medication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Thank God,” I thought, having had a hysterectomy
myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not only did I think about the cost of dog ownership at that
moment, but I spent fifteen seconds wondering whether a lady who didn’t want to
provide pain medication for her post-hysterectomy dog should even own a dog. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Please understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I personally
know many people who dearly love their pets but who cannot afford their
care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I once knew a double-amputee military
veteran who deeply loved his dog and almost died of a broken heart when she
died. She died because he could not afford her monthly heartworm
preventative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps if I had known it
before her death, I could have located a veterans’ organization who would have
helped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope she was waiting for him
when he finally reached Heaven’s gates, and with his legs restored, he could
run with her through sunlit meadows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The truth is ugly, but people who want to adopt a pet need
to understand that the cost of the adoption is only the tiniest tip of the
iceberg of years of significant financial commitment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who carries a credit card balance
can’t afford a pet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Breaks my heart
because disposable income should not be a condition of giving and receiving the
love of a dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or a cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But caring for a pet is expensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Love ought to be enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But it isn’t.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8278162740594718147.post-39338002598338646822014-11-22T18:10:00.000-08:002014-11-22T18:10:26.120-08:00Tales of a Book Room Lady: A First-Class ManI am The Book Room Lady at the local humane society thrift shop (or <em>charity shop</em>, as they say in Britian). <br />
<br />
As The Book Room Lady, I spend two afternoons a month sorting through books that people have donated. I have to decide which books to put on the shelves and which ones to put in the "FREE" box. Some I have to throw away because they are so mildewed or silverfish-infested that no one should take them home. But that's another post.<br />
<br />
For every newly-donated book I shelve, I have to discard one we already have. We have limited space, so if I decide to shelve a newly-donated book, I have to remove a shelved one in that same category, eg. fiction for fiction, biography for biography, etc. Simple geometry: I only have X cubic inches of space for each category of book, so one in, one out. <br />
<br />
I quickly screen the new donations for obvious faults you wouldn't believe I have to screen for: Does the book have peanut butter on it? Are the pages water-damaged? Cockroach chewed? But once a book has passed my screening, then I have to examine it more closely. That's when I make some wonderful discoveries because people tuck things into books. <br />
<br />
I've never found money, although I've heard stories of purveyors of used books who have. I find lots of notes in nonfiction books, ideas the reader wants to remember, like "Good mutual funds for retirement," or "Possible paint colors for the kitchen." Occasionally I find shopping lists or to-do lists and wonder whether the groceries got bought or the chores got tackled. I sporadically find commercial bookmarks with insipid verses that make me cringe. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, though, I find notes that <em>are</em> remarkable. Yesterday, in book on how to be a better father, I found two index cards. A boy's name was written on each, and then what appeared to be the result of the father's introspection after interviewing each son.<br />
<br />
<em>Bruce- Spend more time with him. Play video games with him. Invite him to go to the gym. Play basketball with him. Why don't I do those things already? Why did I not know that he wants to spend more time doing things with me?</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Stephen- Praise him when he does something right. Listen to him when he has a problem. Don't try to fix it. Don't criticize. Just listen. What makes me always criticize him? Why am I acting like my own father? He always criticized me, never would listen to my problems without telling me what a screw-up I am. Why am I treating Stephen like my dad treated me? Why haven't I learned from his mistakes?</em><br />
<br />
I wonder whether those boys are fathers themselves now. I wonder whether that man became a better dad than his own father was. God bless him. I hope he did.<br />
<br />
But the note I found that has moved me most was one I found last spring. Written in an old book, on a yellowed piece of paper, in an old man's shaky handwriting, it read, <em>"<u>Dan Smith: a first-class man.</u>"</em> Then it had a phone number. <br />
<br />
<em>A first-class man</em>. Wow. To be called a first-class man is a thing devoutly to be wished. <br />
<br />
I thought about <em>"a first-class woman,"</em> but something changed for me in the translation. <br />
<br />
I think of a first-class man as brave, strong yet gentle, humble, a man who spends time with his children and listens to them without criticizing, a man who would lay down his life for his family and friends. <br />
<br />
I think of a first-class woman as wearing an elegant navy skirted-suit and heels. I see her directing a board meeting or speaking on behalf of endangered whales at a senate hearing. <br />
<br />
I don't know why I have those pictures in my head, but I do.<br />
<br />
Sitting there in the book room in the thrift shop, I picked up my cell phone and called the phone number listed as belonging to the first-class man. It was disconnected. I wasn't surprised. The first-class man probably died long ago. The old man who wrote the note probably died long ago, too. <br />
<br />
The first-class man's name was so common that trying to find him or his family wasn't practical. So I put the note in my wallet, brought it home, and tucked it in a book of my own for safekeeping. To throw away a note with the name of a first-class man on it seemed... well... it seemed.... just WRONG. Maybe some day after I am dead and gone, a book-room lady will find the note as she goes through my books in her charity shop. Maybe she will take it home and tuck it into her own book to continue to keep it safe.<br />
<br />
All summer and fall I have wondered what kinds of things one need do in order to be called a first-class man. I want to do those kinds of things, to be remembered in that way. I want to be that kind of person. <br />
<br />
So tomorrow, and every tomorrow hereafter, I will try to do something befitting of my image of a first-class man. I will try to live my life so that although I happen to be a heterosexual woman, after I die, someone will think of me and tuck a piece of paper in a book, a piece of paper that says, <em>"Millie Gore-Lancaster: a first-class man."</em><br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07219794407168809176noreply@blogger.com1