Harlequin

Spelling is important.....

2012-01-21T11:32:00.000-05:00

so, here's the latest.
i return from a great visit to newfoundland early in the new year. partner and i had been noticing some weird stuff about the upstairs bathroom for a week or so before i left for the trip, but what the heck.... probably nothing to worry about.....
WRONG!
about a week after my return, i am up in my study working away, grading, doing email, whatever. i head down for a last cup of screaming hot tea before i turn out the lights and head off to sleep. i'm noodling around in the dining room, poking at the mail and other stuff i have on my table, and i hear this TAP TAP TAP sound, although it's almost a WET sounding tap, if you know what i mean.... kind of a SLAP SLAP SLAP. or a SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT..... so, i look left and right and finally ( !! ) up and there in all its soaking glory is a large flap of my dining room ceiling hanging in a surprisingly symmetrical triangle ( tell me, how does this happen?? the triangle shape i mean.... i have a clue about the soaking part) and dripping with a remarkably regular rhythm. i gasp and curse and run to grab towels and buckets and plastic..... first, get a bucket under the damn leak and get the water that has accumulated on the hardwood floor cleaned up asap..... then put a towel in the bucket because the SPLAT sound is even louder now..... sheesh. i then go and fill many containers with water and hurry downstairs to turn off the water valve in the basement. then i get plastic down under the bucket.... it's a good thing i am a flexible gal because i had to call on my best contortionist skills to get this task done without adding more water to the floor.

ok, immediate crisis averted, i settle down to sleep downstairs to monitor the situation after i have given the quick and dirty version to partner who has long since gone off to bed......

in the morning we call the plumber and i go to work. partner and i text through the day. plumber arrives and puts a new seal under the commode. flushes s dozen or so times and pronounces it ok.
i get home, the triangle is dripping again. partner is quite hard of hearing and cannot hear the SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT. we repeat the ritual of water containers and then turn off the valve again.
luckily, we left all the buckets and plastic in place..... aren't we proactive??
next day, plumber returns, so, i guess it wasn't the seal on the toilet, heh heh heh.....
he proceeds to go up through the ceiling and check out the bathtub drain. yup, that's it. he wrestles with that for an hour or so, replaces the gasket and now all is well again.
he does suggest that we make sure we have checked the bath for any leak areas.....
partner texts me.... "on your way home pick up some caulk ( spelling is important)"
funny. i text back and say i'd be happy to bring home some caulk. ha ha. i spend the evening caulking the seals on the tub. so far so good, although i have to say that this piecemeal approach to repair really vexes me....
i go to the basement and notice that the handle on the valve is now leaking. SIGH.
call again the next say. i decide to go with the distraught spouse routine which gets us a different plumber who tightens and adjusts the water shut off valve and says it's fine. no charge, thanks to my distraught spouse performance on the phone before i left for work.

now, we await estimates from contractors both of whom have told us that the bathroom floor is spongy and uneven, the fan is not working, hence the mould on the celing in the bathroom, the vent will need to be replaced and redirected, obviously the dining room ceiling will have to be fixed, and, oh by the way, that shut off valve?? that needs replacing too.
i am embracing this as an opportunity for a long overdue bathroom renovation.
and i am hoping that i can learn to trust the wisdom of the specialists who do the job.
quite the intriguing beginning to this new year.
time to bow to the absurd.

Violet

2012-01-10T23:09:00.000-05:00

flower

name

or the colour of your eyelids

that first hour after you came

into the world

or the colour of the sky

that moment before

twilight

or the colour of that

moment

and so many

moments

drenched...

glorious

Hazel

2011-12-31T10:53:00.000-05:00

for years I simply couldn't see

the colour of hybridity

and, close at hand, the greenest eye

as elemental as a sigh....

Sweet pendulum of rise and fall

responded to the silent call

of amber's strange familiar glow

relying on my heart to know

this grove of wild affinity

both wrecking ball and harmony

this tender ambiguity

hazel

....the pedigree of honey

2011-12-29T00:21:00.002-05:00

a good thief needs a good plan

especially
when

thieving is the difference

between

food & clothing

or
hungry & cold

a good thief needs a good conscience
so utterly convinced of the justice
of
necessity
she can , without guile or shame, load a space - heater and a mini -fridge
into
a
shopping cart
and, with an industriousness bordering on sincerity,
push that cart
past the checkouts
through
silent
sliding
doors

a good thief needs a good memory
so she doesn't arrive at meetings, conversations
or
work
wearing clothes that other people don't realize they have
lost

a good thief needs a good story

because

every day life

is
often

not

believable

Solstice

2011-12-24T22:31:00.000-05:00

.... on the other side of longest night
I wish you all
the gift of deep intimacy
the contentment of a heart at peace with itself
the sweetness of one's own solitude
the joy of friends and colleagues, renegades and rogues, poets and story-tellers

all the best of whatever season you celebrate
thank you for the blessings of your creative energies

I heard the Stream call my name.....

2011-12-07T01:01:00.002-05:00

November ended with definite rain, heavy enough to sound like slap, feel like lash...
that was the morning of that day, slap & lash, wet, but still preferable to the human versions...
of slap and lash, that is

then, the day itself, beautiful work and raw hope, embarrassing in their earnest intensity
buttressed against bureaucracy & habit, desperate not to succumb
wondering if triumph is nothing but a carrot or maybe a lemon
make lemonade,
there's a noble venture
exhausted, treading water end of day, almost dark a red dusk sky stopped me in my tracks
in the middle of the parking lot, tranquil pink pouring stark and lovely over tree silhouettes
so calm, I am present for my breath
I see it become part of the twilight
remembering a saying about red sky at night

November. The most bipolar month so far. Not its fault. Warm & cold;
wet & dry;
grass & gravel
wired & tired
cheerful & jaded
sick & tired
good intentions no excuses
nothing but excuses, rationalizations, really... & deceit
supposedly all that distinguishes humans from animals
there's a noble venture
just admit being swamped even though there's no good reason
as if some awesome judge is taking account of the good reasons
oh, wait, I guess I'm the judge, the committee in my head, whoa...
pride, my old nemesis, is that it?? But it's not
not the same as in the before time
I've got no trouble owning the darkness
saying I don't know how to do that, help me. My mistakes no longer make me small...
so, WTF with treading water, who's in charge of water, damn, it's me
overcommitted
again
haven't written from my heart in weeks for myself for others who care enough to read
haven't read from others' hearts in weeks for myself for others who care enough to write
yeah, yeah, I know, no sense of obligation, I get it...
but I want to be haunted by what matters
there's a noble venture

sickness asserts itself
something I cannot get over
days pass
puking, urging, shitting, groaning, staggering, stinking, shivering, sweating, pathetic
huddled, sipping screaming hot herbal tea,
savoring cold orange juice & water, as if I had never tasted it before...
soothed by time & gravity
I yield. There's a noble venture.
I move into December, feeling the pull of the long night, realizing that I'm longing for it...
longing for it

thanks to forethought, fore-ordained plans
I head North, where clean cold awaits. I know this cold
delightful
necessarily unhurried
waiting, I notice simple, silly things
is there anything more absurd than a pigeon running away from a bus?
I feel something give inside
I yield.

Black Thumb

2011-11-12T23:25:00.000-05:00

a lifeline

of 12 steps

advises: get a plant

or a pet

if it's alive in 6 months

move on to a person...

risky business, in this garden

weeds

are the only plants that grow around me

all the others die as soon as I bring them

inside

not a metaphor for anything

except dead plants

one has lasted for over

3 years it sits in my kitchen

drinking in water and stray strands

of sunlight

I think it's waiting

for

the cat

this is a story about time when i was afraid in the dark

2011-11-09T23:24:00.000-05:00

My spouse believes in being energy efficient. When we leave a room, we turn out the light. I frequently come home to a dark house, one brave light valiantly beckoning in the room at the end of the upstairs hallway. That would be my spouse’s study, and the only light on in the house.

The laundry room is in the basement, at the bottom and to the right of a long, wooden stairway. There is a light switch at the top of the stairs, said switch being a key feature in my decision to buy the house.

On a typical weekend, I get myself pumped to do a round of laundry. It’s immensely satisfying to begin a task that has a finite and achievable end. This particular weekend, I am home alone, a somewhat unusual Saturday afternoon with spouse out on an errand. I take the two storey trek with my piled high blue hip-hugger laundry basket, down the stairs from upstairs, round the corner, down the stairs to the basement, flicking on lights as I go. I slide the basket onto the top of the dryer, and am happily humming and sorting. Colours, bright colours, whites….colours first, detergent, dials and then the sweet sound of water surging and squishing into the washer… and then….. for no reason that I can fathom, I am plunged into a blackness so sudden and complete that I gasp; I actually put my hand on my chest and reach frantically for a surface….

…. And then I hear these….sounds….the door clicking shut at the top of the stairs, and, unthinkably, FOOTSTEPS, on the ceiling above my head. I’m talking to myself as I gaze about looking for some landmark amidst the hovering looming shapes and then there is a huge CLUNK that literally propels me towards what has to be the door, and away from those awful chugging breathing sounds….

I scrabble my way to what I pray fervently is the bottom of the stairs and, stealthily, I crawl up, one stair at a time, ears attuned to every squeak from the upstairs intruder. I turn on the light switch… softly, slow motion, silently turn the knob and open the door a crack. I peer into my darkened downstairs and see…nothing. I run wildly about the space and turn on every light. Breathlessly, I look around. The next move is mine.

Re-solution

2011-10-31T00:14:00.000-04:00

it was one of those

moments

so cruel that I was too

shocked

to be angry

I feel the unguarded gasp in my chest

the terrible oh

of more terrible

knowing

this is one of those

lines

I will remember

what I need to do

to keep myself

safe

from now on

perhaps

I keep that

readiness

ready

sweet dreams are made of this*

2011-10-14T22:57:00.001-04:00

* with apologies to Eurythmics

The dream feels real. Dropped into a corridor teeming with people, scattered carelessly all over the floor, I pick my way through the vastness of strewn bodies, some awake, some asleep, some stoned, some moaning, some staring, laying in various positions of twist and turn. I recognize no one, yet I know that I need to be afraid. I make my way as best as I can, and, as is typical in many of my dreams, I am carrying too much, a purse over my shoulder, a larger satchel, my coat over my arm, since it has gotten unexpectedly unbearably warm in the moments since I have arrived. Suddenly one of the quiet staring men grabs my ankle. I startle and gasp, and in that moment I drop my coat. He holds on tightly. I pull against his grasp, I wrench myself free, and I reach down to get my coat and get the hell out of there..... and then I am running for my car, and I reach into the coat pocket for the keys... no one is following me, but it's only a matter of moments until something awful happens, I can feel it.... and that's when it hits me..... I have his coat... and all I can do is sob....I halt and turn and look at the door and shudder at what awaits me on the other side even though I know I have to go back and get my own coat and in order to do that I have to find ...him.. And not get caught again. ..... my despair and resignation and fear are humming .... and then I wake up. I think two things: time to move my keys to my purse, and, at least my dreams are not subtle.

My Dreams are Not Subtle

My dreams are not subtle
they boil and they bubble
the tower I'm climbing is turning to rubble
with each step I'm trying to outrun the trouble
that's chasing my heart
can't stop racing
the clock winding down
all the windows have lights facing east

My dreams are not subtle
confusion and muddle
dilemmas around every turn there's a puddle
and when I splash through
winter winds make me huddle
I'm placing my hands
begin lacing
my snowshoes leave tracks
misdirection
is facing the beast

My dreams are not subtle
all crush and no cuddle
my dreams are not subtle
silk smooth feels like stubble
I look at one face
and can only see double
dreams bracing
against time erasing
the stars falling into
an ocean of sorrow at least
my dreams are not subtle

Sword-swallower, centrefold, balls & babes

2011-10-09T00:27:00.003-04:00

A month later, Autism camp continues to give rise to memories and insights. Perhaps these memories remain so vivid and insistent because autism is such an ongoing part of my necessarily intertwined personal and professional life. This past weekend, almost a month to the day since camp ended, I facilitated a workshop on Movement Education and Autism, an achievement of sorts, since I've been beating the movement education drum for 15 years .... now, it seems, administrators, policy makers, therapists, specialists, EA's, PSW's, and other decision makers have "discovered" the value of meaningful movement experiences for kids, youth and adults with autism.
Perhaps they should come to camp and see first hand these kids, youth and young adults in action....

I want to tell you about two such young men.... Alexander and Billy. Take a quick glance up at the title, and read on.
Alexander is 17 this year. Tall, dark and handsome; incredible eyes, a long history of self injury and anxiety; mostly non verbal but an immensely effective communicator. Even though he is over 6 feet tall, he frolics and cavorts around like a 5 year old. He loves jumping on any surface that has even a hint of springiness to it, and he loves the water. We swim at a gorgeous pool that has wonderful extras... water slide, warm jets, sprays, an incline entry for wheelchair users or anyone with mobility challenges, loads of water toys.... the pool is surrounded by glass and it's easy to see everything that is going on from the lobby. Alexander gets in and swims, floats, bobs, his eyes the only thing visible except for his occasional head lift to pull in a breath. He can be in the water for hours and is usually easy to coax out with little fanfare or drama..... and then there are days when he is ready not only to be out but also to be done.... one such day he gave the spectators in the lobby quite the show. He gets out, goes to his towel, whips down his trunks and displays himself in all his glorious manhood. Lots of wide eyes in the lobby. Lifeguards and camp workers rush to assist him with his towel, but he is in noooo hurry as he does a leisurely turn to and fro.We eventually get him mummied in a towel and then he skips off the deck, chuckling, supremely contented. What a great swim! This same young man has the most insatiable thirst ... he frequently goes scavenging for water bottles, his own and any one else's in reach. On our week two trip to the amusement park, he went through the picnic area grabbing and draining water bottles until we were able to chase him down and give him his own quite large bottle of water. He chugs that and while we are congratulating ourselves on this feat of re-hydration, he manages to get into The Hungry Bear restaurant , grab a lady's beer right off the table and chug that down as well.... we are quite used to running interference for our campers and we offer to buy the nice lady a beer to replace the one she just lost. She graciously accepts and gives Alexander a high five... "he's a natural" she says, admiringly. Alex has a big grin.
Billy, on the other hand, is more subtle. Also an older teenager, 18 this year, another kid who is non verbal but who has no trouble at all with communicating, all arms and legs, two monster prosthetics on his huge feet, blond, with a dreamy expression on his face since he became a teenager and figured out that gorgeous young women dominate the field in disability services. He has a goofy laugh and big arm gestures that accompany that laugh. His favourite trick; convincing the girls who work with him that it is their job to go and get the ball when he throws it, or his version of fetch..... and it is usually a cute girl in tight jean shorts, and the shorter the better. The shorts I mean, not the girls. Billy throws the ball... cute girl goes to get it , cute girl bends over and picks up the ball, Billy does the goofy laugh and the big gestures. I give him the eye. He laughs even more. He knows that I know what he's doing. I shake my head, Billy, you are so busted.... but I am trying not to smile..... what's up here I ask .... he likes it, says cute girl. No shit, I think. As gently as I can while preserving both their dignity I explain to her what is likely going on.....she looks at Billy and decides that maybe he ought to be the one doing the running and bending..... he shrugs. Ya can't blame a guy for trying.
Camp is a place where we can participate in meaningful movement, something that everyone needs and deserves. And, it's a place where meaningful things happen between people who care about each other. Till next summer.

Life line

2011-09-30T01:24:00.000-04:00

Any teacher will tell you this.... the first few weeks back, everyone gets sick. It's all those kids with their sweaty snotty sneezing and breathing and mauling swarming around together; no way not to get sick amidst all those bodily fluids. My level of teaching is not so different, same swarm, different age. So it's no surprise that I am sitting hunched and huddled in a dark room at midnight wrapped around a steamy mug of hot lemon. The house is so quiet that I can hear all its machinery creaking and wheezing; I am quiet, miserable, achy... a strange twin of the house, creaking and wheezing myself. It's one of those wild moments .... you know, when you're thrown back to all the other moments just like this one, some karmic rabbit hole slide to another universe of the mind... my posture calls me to other such hunched over hot mugs quietude, hot toddies as a kid, a forbidden soothing swallow, more potent than all the vicks vapour rub in the world, the searing comfort pulling me down into a dreamy sleepiness better even than sleep, more of them as an adult, with my own unregulated proportions of medicinal ingredients, and later, when the rum and whisky could no longer be counted on to provide anything other than numbed slumber, the move to less enjoyable concoctions.... but always the heat, the hunch.... I wonder if I ever drank one of those knowing that I would not be getting right back at whatever it was that was waiting for me after I got up.... and there was no doubt that I would be getting up. How did I learn to deny the call of necessary rest.... I wonder... how can that surrender to the solace of hot lemon not carry me on to day of rest, to taking a break.... it's unthinkable... funny how that memory works, that unthinkable ....
funny how that all came back just sitting here, hunched over the comfort drink, with its promise of respite, which is all I can get my head around right now; which is enough...
it is.

Orpheus

2011-09-22T01:08:00.000-04:00

first, a necessary wound

pain's intimate clarity

finds its mark

hurts

like hell

no where to hide

imagine instead

rushing & crunching

through pile after pile of fallen leaves

soft amber swirling

floating...

then, one long, soaring moment

pours strange benevolence into a necessary scar

imagine its sweet resilience

cradling every treachery

released into soft amber

swirling

floating...

M.I.A.

2011-09-18T01:31:00.000-04:00

Nothing like one's partner having major surgery to keep one compassionately occupied for a whole string of days.
The worst is over..... back home soon and with perspective on the continuing saga of health care... or are those two words becoming an oxymoron?

Looking forward to writing my way out of .... and into .. . the highs and lows of this experience.

Hope y'all are your usual subversively creative and intriguing selves.

Back to the regular workplace

2011-09-05T20:26:00.000-04:00

When I know myself, I know others

When I master myself, I do not need to master others

Tao Te Ching

Chapter 33

Son

2011-09-03T23:45:00.000-04:00

Did you know

you were born

before

dawn

after

a night of wondering about

your

ocean

you began

wondering

again

Would you rather.....

2011-09-03T00:46:00.002-04:00

Boys (and, sometimes, girls), of a particular age play " would you rather", a game of word play, a game of awful choices, all the while trying to out- gross each other with progressively disgusting leaps of imaginative comparison. I have heard the exchanges for the past two weeks at our autism camp. Here are a few examples:
"would you rather eat the gum off the sole of my shoe, or eat boogers out of your brother's nose?"
"would you rather pick up a dead squirrel or kiss a boy on the mouth?" ( I should point out that homophobia runs hot and high among the 8-13 year old boys at camp).
"would you rather drink snot or drool?"

You get the gist , I'm sure.

I 've also heard some other versions of "would you rather" over the past two weeks, choices impossible and necessary, choices that have made me laugh and made me cry. Here are a few examples:
Kimmi is a 6 year old Romanian adoptee at our camp. She has autism, but is in most ways anyone would notice a typical little girl who likes to swim and play and have friends, who is afraid of bees and loud noises, who perhaps cries more readily and more intensely than might be comfortable for some, and who perhaps has more focused interest in the minute details of every situation. Kimmi 's mom tells me that Kimmi will miss the last day of camp. She hates to do this, but Kimmi has received a play date invitation and it happens so seldom that mom feels that she can't say no. Would you rather have your daughter miss the last day of a camp she enjoys more than anything else she does during the year or miss a play date that hardly ever happens?
Bowling is a new activity for camp. Our first foray into bowling was last year with only half the campers going. This summer, we take the whole pack of them..... yup, 55 campers week one and 60 campers week two. Manager of bowling alley week one tells me the kids cannot bring their lunch into the establishment. I tell him they will inhale their lunch in 10 minutes and will be up for their shoes and bowling within five minutes of said inhalation of lunch. He had that look of non-negotiation on his face. I say, if these kids don't eat their lunch NOW, you will experience a catastrophe beyond your wildest imaginings. He and I engage in a brief, yet meaningful, staring contest. He says, fine, they can eat. Would you rather let 55 kids and young adults with autism carry out their scheduled lunch or have them move into their respective demonstrations of profound confusion and anxiety?
Dimitri is a genius inhabiting the body of a 7 year old, who looks like a 5 year old, who thinks everyone at camp is stupid except him. He needs a predictable schedule and will tantrum at the slightest variation. He is a drama king, a true virtuoso. One of his tactics is the flop and wail while protesting the gross injustices of the universe. I ask, do you want to walk or be carried? He wants to tell me that of all the stupid people at camp, I am the stupidest. Maybe so, I agree, but I am not laying on the floor crying like a baby. This is what is known as redirection. Something that gets his mind off his distress. He stops and considers the scenario I have just presented ..... his little forehead scrunching up in concentration. Do you want to walk or be carried? Would you rather get yourself under control or choose to get some help with that?
This summer is the 15th year of this camp. Would I rather be on vacation, or here, with these oft-times complicated, most times delightful kids and young people who want nothing more than to be treated like they have a right to belong?
No contest.

Just Another Manic Monday

2011-08-29T22:47:00.002-04:00

So begins day one of week two of autism movement camp for the summer of 2011. Readers of this blog will know that I have written here before about the adventures of offering a camp for kids, youth and young adults with ASD (autism spectrum disorder). I always protect the anonymity of my campers with pseudonyms or avatars and I sometimes conflate a couple of experiences into one so that the protagonists cannot be identified.
Last week's camp had some intriguing events, and I likely will elaborate on them in future posts. Today, I feel compelled to approach the dramatic similarities between several of this Monday's experiences and last Monday's experiences. Day One of each week has a special flavour all its own. One might say that day one really brings things out in both the campers and the students who work with them. Last week 55 campers attended with 23 students and 9 angels (angels are senior students with previous experience or former students who return to contribute their experience to assist the students who are in the instructional role for the first time). This week we have 65 campers with 30 students and 12 angels ( although two of these angels can only be there for one day each).
So, the bookend thematic is: poop. What else?
One little guy (older, age 13, but still quite small and cute as a button) celebrated last Monday with a marvelous poop episode.... he pooped in his pants, so we brought him to the bathroom and cleaned that up and then he pooped in the toilet and we cleaned that up and then he pooped a nice little pile on the bathroom floor, and we cleaned that up. All this time, the rest of the campers are waiting on two large, hot, noisy buses to go to a fun place for lunch and then a swim. Cute little guy finally gets on and we go off to the lunch and swim venue. No more poop that day from anyone, although we did have some pee from the cute little guy and then another little guy felt compelled to make a pee contribution as well. On the bus, of course. Well, not ON the bus, exactly, but while sitting on the bus. On the way back someone opens the window of the emergency exit and the beeper goes off so the driver has to pull over and one cute little girl panics and begins wailing that she has to get off the bus and she wants to go home. Wailing is contagious, so we want the beeping to stop and the bus to start up again so that takes a bit more time than anyone likes, but we get going. The wailing stops (whew) and all is well for the rest of the ride back . One of the camper's (Victoria, of previous blog fame) parents has run out of gas and so Victoria must sit and wait until an alternative is arranged. Change in schedule is not the strong suit of most folks with autism, so she is NOT IMPRESSED. Victoria's dad says he's getting a T-shirt that says " I'm the fucking asshole" . That was last Monday. But, hey, no one died, no one got hurt and no one got lost. And we did not have to use a hose to clean down the walls. All things considered, a good day.
Today, the poop theme continued. A bit of a wild morning.... a couple of my very good male students were unexpectedly, albeit, unavoidably absent..... this meant re-jigging the groupings. Note the change reference in the previous paragraph. We begin with 6 UNIMPRESSED boys who can be remarkably ingenious in how they make their disappointment known. But we manage. We get through the morning. We load up the buses, we get to our destination. Lunch is busy, but then, wonderfully, it is time for swim. At 2:10 pm, approximately 40 minutes after we all get in the pool, there is a " fouling" (that means someone, likely one of my guys, shit in the pool and there are little rabbit pellet brown turds in the shallow end where 30 of my youngest AND SHORTEST kids are swimming). Note the change reference in the previous paragraph. Now we must get out of the shallow end and somehow fit them all in the deeper end where they cannot touch bottom [an aside here... of course, we obviously have to carry the little guys and /or do a major run on the water wings and other personal flotation devices (PFDs... this field has numerous TLA's (three letter acronyms)]. Half of the group opts to get out and head outside to the lovely splash pad, almost as good as the pool. The rest remain in the water looking longingly at the warm, fun, bubbly and infinitely more attractive shallow end which they are not allowed to enter, and wail and moan and complain about how we are ruining their lives and everything is absolutely awful and they hate us.
So then, we finish swim and get out and get them changed into their dry clothes..... we get them on the bus and, yes, ta da, the cute little guy from last Monday, him?... he poops his pants right there on the bus. So we have to stay put and take him off and drag him (carefully ) to the bathroom and clean him up. While we are waiting, one of my angels inadvertently grabs the overhead emergency exit handle and sets off the beeper. The cute little girl, ... yep, the same one from last week... begins to wail that she has to get off the bus and she wants to go home. Consistency is a hallmark of autistic behaviour. We get the beeping stopped (the angel is mortified.... but what the heck, these things happen...), the de-shitted cute little guy back on the bus, and we are on the go. Whew. (Again)
We get back to our home base and two of the older boys have peed themselves while on the bus. Their parents assure us that they do not pee themselves. Of course. It's been a long day. We are having tactile hallucinations.
Did I mention that Day One really brings it out of them??

and now... on to day two. Boldly go.

Show Me a Sign

2011-08-23T00:54:00.001-04:00

Back from a week long sign language immersion camp in northern Ontario. Partner and I arrive and commit to " turning off our voices" with the exception of any medical emergencies (partner has some significant health issues that I would not want to trust to my fledgling ASL competence). With the exception of a few more or less unexpected incidents ( an unimpressively underempahsized bed bug outbreak that resulted in six hours of clothes/bedding/towels/ luggage washing with the hottest water possible and the hottest drying possible and a door to our room that had no way to close except to place a chair against it), some typical attention seeking behaviours from the students under the age of 25, and some cheating (!) from students (speaking in whispers so as not to be detected by the Deaf instructors and other hard of hearing participants), the experience was amazing. I would do it again in a heartbeat. There is a marvelous intimacy in this kind of shared silence and commitment to respecting Deaf culture. I was proud of partner for his steadfastness and his sweet sense of fun in the learning context, and I was proud of myself for the ways I was able to be present for the diverse and textured signs of culture and communication. There is still lots to process..... and as soon as we returned to home base, I began ramping up for my own camp for kids with autism (which began this week .... as in today....more on that in future posts). But, that's the beauty of reflecting on critical incidents like this immersion camp... there are expressive gifts that await me in the days and weeks ahead. I'm looking forward to visiting fellow bloggers and catching up.... and getting out some posts of my own.

Immersion

2011-08-14T11:32:00.002-04:00

Partner and I will be attending a sign language immersion camp for the next week in a beautiful setting in northern Ontario. No speaking allowed. Good reflective grist for the mill for future posts.
Have a grand week, y'all.

Eye of the beholder haiku

2011-08-11T22:28:00.000-04:00

white wings settling

among red leaves branches sway

blossoms become birds

... and where we love

2011-08-02T23:40:00.000-04:00

And where we love is home,

Home that our feet may leave, but not our

hearts.

The chain may lengthen, but it never parts.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Across time and distance

2011-07-24T16:33:00.001-04:00

yesterday

drinking coffee

with a woman who has no reason to lie

she tells me

how heavy i seem

to her

heaviness not in substance

but in spirit

she recalls

how light i seemed

for awhile

how different that was

today

drinking coffee

with a woman who has every reason to remember

being light

for awhile

how different that was

not only in spirit

but in substance

she absolves

heaviness

of its necessary resolve

for putting one foot in front of another

doing the next right thing

feeling its breath

across time and distance

carrying

light

against the odds

Punching Smoke

2011-07-10T14:53:00.002-04:00

trying to be

mature

at my age

continuing to be

something

struggling to be

better than I am

encountering
gossip
&

deceit

claiming to be

authentic

trying to be
fair...
I tend my own garden

looking over my shoulder only

occasionally

learning to trust

instincts

after all this time

learning to be

Humidity

2011-07-03T00:01:00.000-04:00

weeds grow

defiantly

blow

once the evening

breezes (in)

begin (s)

teasing

it's easier to believe

tomorrow's heat

will not be so

impossibly

wet

55

2011-06-26T23:35:00.000-04:00

old enough

to know better

than

to pay attention

to anyone

who says

i should have known

better

old enough

to dance with the ghosts

who might have slain me

in another life

before

i was

old enough to know

better

Keynotes & little gems

2011-06-24T01:14:00.000-04:00

Just back from a teaching and learning conference in beautiful Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Tis the time of year known as conference season in my line of work.... I've been to four in the past six weeks... love going and love learning and love getting home.
... teaching and learning are two obsessions close to my heart, and this particular conference had some wonderful key note speakers, one of whom was Buffy St. Marie, still feisty and smart and gorgeous and going strong at 60 plus... here are two little gems from her:
Bitterness ... treat it like shit; let it dry out and use it for fuel... don't use it when it's wet, and don't use it as make-up, ever.
Lots of people in power want you to believe that what you want isn't on the menu... don't believe it. Cook it up yourself and serve it ...

and a couple of other gems from the other keynote speaker on too much content ( ie, what happens to learners when teachers at any level try to cram too much material into the time available)-- students drinking water from a fire hose and trying not to drown ( great metaphor, I thought...)
AND the way to prevent this tragedy?? TEACH LESS BETTER.

and now that conference-ing is done, I will happily devote more time to being on my ( and others' ) blogs.
Happy Solstice ( albeit, belated) to everyone.

How to get a raccoon out of your fireplace....

2011-06-12T02:31:00.001-04:00

no, you don't start a fire in the hearth. sheesh!
typically, this wouldn't be something i'd be thinking about, but raccoons have been a bit of a theme in the past few months and years... when my son was living nearby, he had a little fella (ok, a big fella) inhabiting his upper eaves. i'd drop by and if it was twilight or later, i'd see his (the raccoon's ) little eyes peering down at me from a hole in the eave, just over the door frame. in the summer of '08, i was at a lovely retreat at a converted church camp in paris, ontario, and happened to see a family of raccoons, a mother and four babies... such cute little fuzzy bums following the mother as they all ambled off up the hill. i'd go out to the same spot for the four days i was there so i could see them walking away from me.

recently one of my colleagues had a raccoon in her house and she was totally grossed out by it.... she had to leave and stay with friends until her landlord got it out of the house.... she could not even be in the same house! clearly, she does not think they are cute and fuzzy.
and then there was my ASL instructor ( i believe i mentioned in an earlier post that i was learning ASL... still at it.... loving it.... but i digress) who had one living in his fireplace. my instructor is profoundly deaf, so the solution he discovered is not without irony (and really, why else would i be writing this post if not for the irony?), and he found it through google (no less!) so it has at least the qualification of others trying it and being successful. he did not want to start a fire either, so here's what he did: he put a boom box/cd -dvd player next to the fireplace and put on music and turned it up as high as it could go .... apparently he had to leave the screeching loud noise going for a time, until the uninvited guests got tired of all that racket and left, but what the heck, he couldn't hear a thing.
supposedly, the tolerance for noise is the downside of this solution. but only if you can hear it.
there ya go!!
you're welcome.

Either way...

2011-05-30T23:49:00.000-04:00

being

thought about

moments of tenderness

luminous

sweet

unbidden

everydayness

being

thought about

moments of everydayness

luminous

sweet

unbidden

tenderness

Transition...

2011-05-19T00:29:00.001-04:00

Spring is here, the grass is riz, I wonder where the thoughtfulness is

It used to show its open arms and nurture difference, free from harm

And now I hear a warning hiss

Foretelling creeping Animal Farm

Not strange the changes stalemate makes

I’m stumbling over ladders and snakes

Especially with so much at stake

But what the hell, folks, them’s the breaks

I wonder if I need the night

To train discernment without light

Or if I need a light at all

To feel my way along this wall

Perhaps it’s light that plays me false

I need to lean into the fall

And when I reach and seek a pulse

I hope to recognize its call

Before its decency has faded

Before I get too mean and jaded

Spring is here and summer’s soon

Civility is free, a boon

And thoughtfulness, a twilight sigh,

Awaits, just nigh

Where also lurks a snarling, feral

And I ignore these at my peril

... one week ago...

2011-05-15T00:16:00.000-04:00

you leaned across the table

in that way that beckons

my own leaning in

unhurried

i meet your soft gaze

in a moment

so vast

it goes unnoticed by those around us

so fast

as to be completely still

you say to me

happy mother's day

knowing

moments like these

mean everything to me

the tunnel and the light... I think ( for now...)

2011-05-06T00:29:00.001-04:00

These past couple of weeks following my father's death have been reflective and exhausting. Reflective because I feel compelled to dwell with thoughts and feelings and not rush anything. It feels like it is important to be present for what is.
Exhausting because the day after I arrived back in my home province, I had to get my body ready for two abso(f*#@ing)lutely deeeeelightful medical procedures that would happen the next day. I know I am not alone in this prep for medical procedures, but shitting for an entire day is NOT a fun way to spend a day. Not to mention that there was no way to get any of the backlog of work done .... perhaps I could have moved a lap-desk into the bathroom. Um, no. Then two reasonably uncomfortable days following the procedures where the fermenting pile of backlogged material keeps getting higher and higher ( that's a pile of paper... the work backlog... not another kind of backlog). Finally got the pile down to manageable proportions and then got through the next phase of a new fermenting pile of material.... don't get me wrong, I love my job; working in the education field is a privilege... however, there are certain times of the year when the work feels endless and thankless.
OK, got through that endless thankless phase.... now, today, partner and I fly to Washington, DC for a conference ( oh, yeah.... that was the other thing, getting the writing ready for this conference... but it's all good). As a Canadian, living quite near the U.S. border I have been somewhat baffled by the various stages of alertness that my neighbour to south has been experiencing lo these past few years. As a Newfoundlander, I wonder who is benefiting from such a thoughtfully crafted scam. Today, as a traveller in a U.S. airport, I am realizing I would rather be going to any city .... except Washington, DC.
And, I hate, hate, hate flying. I was still a practicing alcoholic when I first began air travel, and was blissfully unaware of, well, pretty much everything, really, but especially the sounds, turbulence, shifts in speed, take offs and landings... ok, all of it. My first flight sober was horrific. I was nervous as a cat, ready to jump out of my skin at every nuance .... as they say about living sober: son of a bitch, everything's real.
Anyway, back to today's flying adventure. It was a " hop" (hah, I love the casual treatment of that word; a hop, you say) from Buffalo to Washington DC, so the plane was small. Small. I am no great height (barely 5'4") and I banged my head into the ceiling numerous times as I fidgeted and organized myself into a semblance of obedient seatedness. And again on my way to the bathroom. And on this, the bathroom... here 's a body cue to help you turn around: raise your arms over your head and shimmy around in a small circle before you sit; also, do a good shoulder warm- up before you head back there so that you don't have to be contortionist in order to finish up the paper work when you're done with the.... other business. I return to my seat and Partner consoles me; be grateful that you don't have to stand up and aim, he says.
I am grateful; I now have a visual to take my mind off the wind gusts that rocked the plane on the approach to Reagan International. Obviously, we landed and I once again evaded the jaws of death. Fear is what it is; there's nothing rational about it. And for that, I am also grateful.

One more thing, while I am practicing my gratitude.... I am grateful for the opportunities blogging gives me to write, to read others' writing, to enjoy funny, thoughtful, irreverent, poignant and tender writing and comments from people who feel moved to express and encourage. I find this community of writers to be patient and supportive, and am impressed in ongoing ways with the acts of bravery, kindness, creativity and humanity that I have the privilege to encounter. I know that writing and reading have inevitable ebb and flow and that life's unfolding does not happen on a schedule. That said, when the ocean finds its way back to calm, it's nice to have a harbour waiting for the boat.
Namaste.

Partner

2011-05-01T23:34:00.001-04:00

being in a life partnership is more than being

love

it's about being

honest

about

feelings

fears

hopes

pain...

it's about being

serious

about

fun

laughter

absurdity...

you asked if i was ready for another decade or so

bring it on!

words that need to be said

2011-04-19T00:31:00.000-04:00

During these past months and weeks leading up to my father's death, my mom and my brother and my brother -in -law have been doing the bulk of the at home care-giving. The rest of us siblings and other family members have been doing what we can given the contingencies of distance and job contexts. It was loving and intense work and it took its toll, both physical and emotional. I said in an earlier post that I expected to learn, and that there was much to learn when a family goes through the catastrophic health decline and death of a loved one.
What is most present for me now, as insight, these days immediately following the funeral and the ongoing and amazingly tender interactions with my mom, and my sister and my son, and also with my brothers and my brother in law ( who is a brother in every sense of the word!) is the need to say the words that often get forgotten or dismissed as unimportant in the larger swirl of more intensely felt emotions, like love and fear and confusion and despair, and the more intensely felt physical states, like exhaustion and pain... the words that those giving and receiving care need to say and hear, the words that enact love with humility and grace.
Here they are: I'm sorry. I was wrong. I need help. I don't know.
I had expected to learn. I am learning. There is much to learn.

... I knew I could trust you

2011-04-14T23:25:00.000-04:00

you cast your words

out into the deep

crafted to touch that space

under my heart

where your first poem

was

rhythm

motion & stillness

moon dance

swimming

sleeping

bobbing

gently

whispering into my breath

bone

and

gesture

memory

you would call forth

three years ago

today

when I turned and reached for your hands

I knew I could trust you to reach for mine

The Old Skipper: October 2, 1930-- April 10, 2011

2011-04-13T22:11:00.001-04:00

Life is the childhood of our immortality

Goethe

Fortnight

2011-03-30T22:23:00.000-04:00

My father flirts

with death

from as far back as I can remember

this relationship

shaped my world

the worlds of his other children

the worlds of his wife

risk and its terrible

wonderful consequences

a border

who never left our home

inhabits me still

My father fights

with life

from as far back as I can remember

he took the driver's seat

knew the road

never showed panic

no matter how lost he was

My father waits

for spring

maybe summer

if he can lean into this life that death has

offered

recent forays into heroism

leaving him fragile, wondering about who he is

what time is where space is

compassion

a stranger better late than never

maybe

it can be

learned

dwelling in the small gifts of tenderness

Hint Fiction 2

2011-03-25T00:28:00.000-04:00

Sarah was Charlie's spouse #4; Charlie was her #2. No rebound. Just wistful, unfounded hope in spite of staggering evidence to the contrary.

Hint Fiction 1

2011-03-20T23:35:00.000-04:00

Having decided there was no more damage to be done, Charlie moved on. Sarah, blissfully alone, contemplates first contact with a room of her own.

Hint Fiction: Prelude

2011-03-12T23:48:00.000-05:00

I love bathrooms. Small, contained. Great for warming, sleeping, crying. Most people honor the closed door. No wonder I spent/d so much time in them.

Hint fiction is a prompt that challenges the writer to create a short fiction of 25 words that "hints" at something more complex beyond the words given. I am going to be experimenting with this form over the next few weeks, as an expressive adventure and a writing challenge, interspersed with my regular blog posting. Comment as you wish.... just thought I'd provide a bit of context. As always, I am delighted and humbled by the comments of those quite generous writers who visit my blog. My thanks and regards to you all.

Sister

2011-03-10T02:14:00.000-05:00

years and time

don't matter

there dwells an old wisdom

a brave heart

hopeful tomorrows

fierce tenderness

and

your unconditional open arms

8 over 6... another go at it

2011-03-02T00:38:00.000-05:00

The day that came broke dawn in half

crawled over glass and cried

its red rough heart had lost its laugh

the exacted price for pride

then leaning on its twisted staff

relieved it hadn't died

that day grew soft for cow and calf

a generous countryside

tomorrow's open wide

8 over 6... a fledgling first try...

2011-02-26T22:39:00.001-05:00

Deadly underestimating

the day I went to hell

heart of stone sensations grating

I know those feelings well

(And) it won't hurt, this hostage taking

my beating's dulled with swell

(And) tending wounds of my own making

I find the words to tell

I find a place to dwell

In this place

2011-02-20T00:40:00.000-05:00

In this place called home

storms blow in

no one panics

no matter what falls from the sky

how

falls

In this place called home

wind & water

forge wild misty silences

so deep

my solitude's heart

beats

like a gift

In this place called home

your voice reaches

I remember

how important is the work of honesty

risk

In this place called home

you bring me back

yielding,

I lean into this place

Called

Home

W(e)ary...

2011-02-09T23:24:00.000-05:00

... wish I wasn't

but

Ironic tribute triolet

2011-02-06T00:16:00.000-05:00

Paradox

tales of woe

empty box

paradox.

Wounded fox

silent crow

paradox

tales of woe

Stumbling blocks

who's to know?

Keys, no locks

stumbling blocks.

Scattered flocks

bleeding snow

stumbling blocks

who's to know?

Dry Date

2011-02-01T23:58:00.001-05:00

In the fall of 1987 I brought temporary closure to a writing project that had brought me back to life... literally, it re-animated me. Writing that story allowed me to honour two people whose stories deserved thoughtful attention through a powerful process of reflection, poetics and narration, and also allowed me to realize that I could feel all there was to feel and not implode with sorrow and longing. Up to that point in my life as an adult, I had managed the emotional dimensions of my life with alcohol and other substances, but after living the process of bringing that story to disclosure, I could no longer find refuge in feeling nothing at all. I stopped using alcohol and other substances shortly after.
But, I did nothing else, really, in the service of living mindfully except stop. I may have been "dry", but I sure as hell was not sober. It took me almost three years before I took ownership of my alcoholism and addiction, with neither pride nor shame. February 1, 1990: the date I got honest with myself. My dry date.

Gratitude

2011-01-31T23:13:00.000-05:00

for those moments

when

life's

teeming, vibrant

everything

moves into hushed

hoarfrost

silver

quiet

enough for every twig's

graceful breathless sway

to take my breath away

for those moments

when wild tender

transparency

calls me to be

than what I am

and I can be

still

the shape of this space

2011-01-28T00:52:00.000-05:00

nestled

near the telephone

a makeshift chair creates a corner

I fold myself into the curve of its shoulder

and breathe in

the sound of your voice

Limerick, for now

2011-01-21T01:55:00.000-05:00

At the moment I think I'm alone

There's the sound of the door or the phone

I don't want to be rude

Questing for solitude

But it's like getting blood from a stone

Two haiku... based in fire *

2011-01-15T23:56:00.000-05:00

haiku one:

their eyes might deceive

you see them only as sparks

but the howls burn hot

haiku two:

hearing the owl's sigh

I bring a flame into the night

it shivers and flares

Sanctuary

2011-01-14T01:41:00.000-05:00

that place where

yielding

can mean

something

other than defeat

Ever wonder

2011-01-07T23:55:00.000-05:00

ever wonder

about the lines

you crossed

and

your reasons

for crossing them?

yeah.... me, too

Hi ho, hi ho..... it's back to work I go...

2011-01-05T17:16:00.000-05:00

oh.... that Golden Rule...

Resolution: Just say no

2011-01-03T11:30:00.000-05:00

say

only

give

reasons

less

'tis the season ... for Bowls

2011-01-02T18:53:00.004-05:00

no one wins...

one side loses more slowly

This is a quote from a fella named Prezbylewski, a character in the series, "The Wire", commenting on football. Football ( not soccer, for the "real" football fans)... I've watched it for decades and have even taught it for a number of years in another life context, and although I have lots of good things to say about the game, this time of year, when SO MUCH of it is available for viewing, I admit to feeling a twinge of sympathy for the above characterization!!

Hope you are dwelling in the new year's beginning(s) in ways that are giving you joy.

mist and murmur, hold fast and howl

2010-12-31T00:23:00.000-05:00

coming home requires

flying

attempting to touch down

with no way to see solid ground below

trusting unseen

assurances that what has been

exists

still

hold fast and howl

as if this were the last cry to be heard

or the first one

bringing breath into being

coming home

demands nothing more than breathing

easy

for a change

not having to brace against anything

except the wind's reminder if its insistence on being

itself

coming home

mist and murmur

more lovely even than brightness

needing neither promises nor shame

seabirds

sing call caw scree

sirens

hovering between sea and sky

barely discernible from each other

white and grey

threads

cradling

sorrow tenderness memory hope

casting out past the furies

stories

telling themselves back into wild

being

coming home

the

ground

where

wonder

begins

always in my thoughts always in my heart

2010-12-24T14:53:00.001-05:00

And ever has it been that love knows not its own depths

until the hour of separation.

--Kahlil Gibran

The Prophet

Whirlpool of torment

2010-12-22T01:53:00.001-05:00

You will need some back story to appreciate this one.
Partner and I are learning American Sign Language ( ASL). Many of the folks that I work with need alternative forms of communication and partner is also on the hard of hearing spectrum, so it is a good time to be embarking on this adventure, even though at my tender age ( fifty plus), perceptual motor learning is going to be challenging, no matter what it is and no matter how motivated I am ( and I am quite motivated). One of the culminating assignments was a video of partners enaging in a series of signed dialogues, which would necessarily include a broad sweep of all the vocabulary from the past 12 weeks of the course. To say that the instructions were a bit unclear and ambiguous would be an understatement, but we persevered all the same, and our instructor brought in a demo video as a template, so we figured we had it figured out and we proceeded, onwards through the fog. One of the instructions was that the total running time was to be 10 minutes, max. No way, unless us two rank novices become the flying hands project ( which we didn't!! ). A few other details to include here would be that a) our whole downstairs was given over to this production, with a backdrop and lights and camera, b) partner cannot memorize to save his ass so we also had tri-fold poster boards filled with our dialogue in 36 font placed strategically on dining room chairs behind the camera c) the dialogues were preceded by "mandatory" signing of our name ( hi, my name is.... ) followed by "the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dogs", followed by the numbers 1-100, then addition and subtraction, and concluding with objects and colours ( black coffee, brown chair, red table.... ).
And, remember, we are working towards a 10 minute deadline.
So, we practice and practice and then do the first video... over 14 minutes; then another 13: 40 something; then another and another. Now our forearms are cramping from the numbers, so we pack it in and pick it up the next day. Next day, we make some adjustments in our scintillating dialogue and we get it down to 13: 11.... amazing; partner needs to adjust the poster boards since we had to do some re-typing and re-applying, and now he can't see it quite evenly, and that's when we decided to use some books to raise and stabilize the posters. Another detail that you should know is that partner is a supremely over-educated man, one of his areas of study being religion, and we have MANY books on that subject.... thus it was that one such book made its way into one of our stabilizing piles but at a critical juncture slid out and landed on the floor. We had by that time gotten our speed down to 12:20 but the camera did not record.... so, while we wailed and gnashed our teeth, we noticed the title of the book.... yes, indeed " A Whirlpool of Torment". It's obviously a sign. Or at the very least, a theme!
Next take, 12:09. At that point, we said, oh gosh darn, that will do** (or words to that effect).
That's the saga; we handed in the video last Thursday night, still awaiting another sign... ( thumbs up or down!! )
This week's class, our last one, spontaneous storytelling and conversation. I'll keep you posted...
regardless, this has been one of the most intriguing learning experiences of my life... and I am looking forward to continuing. Onwards, through the fog.

Transitions...

2010-12-16T02:21:00.000-05:00

pause

funny word, that...

like it's a momentary thing

turns out, it's a tease

or a grand deception

not a moment at all

more like sequences, strung one after the other, lessons from the body

that feel like practical jokes

and recently, this latest:

a bladder, that used to be the size of a peanut

is now the size of a lentil

stay tuned...

This is how I know...

2010-12-12T22:30:00.000-05:00

This is how I know that I was dirt poor growing up
without a thought that anyone around me
might have it different
early realizing all that we didn't have
when my father thrust a pillow case into my hands
& told me to pack
we were leaving
I bawled my eyes out
until my hands shook
sobbing shocked at how little there was to leave behind
& how frightened I was to go

This is how I know that I was cut from tougher cloth
coarse enough to shield me
from barbed wire and broken glass
knowing all the ways a good coat can be more
than just a garment to stop the cold
but also a blanket
a shelter
cloaked, I hunkered down until the storms had blown through
until the trouble and the terror subside

This is how I know that memory is a glorious and risky indulgence
it's not that I'm afraid to be alone with my own thoughts
it's the way that sorrow beckons, reminding me of all
I never want to forget
where I came from

some one else's words

2010-12-08T00:52:00.000-05:00

Love blooms like crocuses:

dirty, brave

Antay Bilgutay

from Six Word Memoirs on Love & Heartbreak

by writers famous and obscure

edited by Smith Magazine

I thought I heard...

2010-12-07T01:58:00.001-05:00

I thought I heard the sound of the moon

pouring silver onto winter's branches

braiding ribbons between thorn and bramble

breathing secrets through the ocean's whispers

I thought I heard the sound of the moon

I though I heard the sound of the moon

holding tears and wishes for tomorrow

flickering through tangled frosted lace

carrying the tender hope of sorrow

I thought I heard the sound of the moon

Happiness

2010-12-02T22:55:00.000-05:00

early on

in my (re)discovery of living

in the world of feelings

I thought happiness was an emotion

now

I know it is

by-product

I'm afraid

2010-11-28T01:29:00.002-05:00

i'm afraid of so much

more than i'd like

to admit

even owning it

makes me shudder

it's why i work

so hard

being

brave

me,1963;1980;2010....

Fear Factor

2010-11-24T00:49:00.002-05:00

Last Friday, I had a flashback to that television show..... Fear Factor. A show that places willing participants (usually in teams of two) in humiliating, terrifying and often gross situations. The team that manages to get through the terror and grossness of a given episode then gets to move on to even more imaginative ways to engage in terror and grossness. My flashback was to an episode where the "challenge" was to swallow bull testicles, boiled, I think. It was an effective discriminator.
How is it that I was drawn, implausibly, back to this experience of deep and meaningful revulsion? Perhaps a mention of my context at the time will explain it....
I am at a med lab, getting ready for an upper G.I. series. I 've had one of these before a few years back and the lingering memory of how long it took me to swallow the disgusting stuff that is required so that the techs can take great pictures of my insides still ... lingers. Back then, I took me a good half hour to get it all down, with much urging and gagging and puking.... and then three hours to track it through the GI tract and the lab was behind on all the procedures thanks to me. I am here again and in no mood for a repeat performance.
The cheery perky gal who will bring me into the examination room hands me a warm blue gown, and tells me everything off on top and leave the gown open at the back. Of course. She then returns and ushers me into the inner sanctum where I meet a guy who could be Herman Munster's twin brother who all involved are expected to address as " DR." Ok, then, pecking order established, Cheeryperky hands me two paper cups, one half filled with little white granules and the other filled to the rim with cold water. Toss the pellets in your mouth and guzzle the water, get it down as fast as you can, they say in tandem, an unwelcome chorus if ever there ever was. I am already wary, but I do it and as soon as the water enters my mouth and touches those vile little pellets, my mouth explodes with foam, as big and squishy as marshmallows but with the consistency of caulk, the thick icky foamy kind, not the neat fine white line kind, and I have to swallow it .... and all the while I am urging and gagging and almost puking, but I manage to get it down even though gulping and urging and gagging at the same time does strange things to my throat. Then DR invites me to lay down on my right side on the oh so warm and comfortable stainless steel table and another cup of water ( at least it looks like water) is placed unceremoniously in front of my face. Cheeryperky plunks a straw into the mixture.The plunk should have been a clue...Drink this down as fast as you can.... it's the halleluiah chorus again and so I get to it, thinking that this speediness might mean that this awful experience may not have to last three hours this time.... it is sooooo NOT water.... it is gross, a liquid with the consistency and taste of a blend of petroleum jelly and toothpaste and I am sucking this through the straw and swallowing it as fast as I can, and the urging and gagging thing is still happening..... and that's when the flashback hits me, that's when I realize that I could probably swallow those bull testicles... how wonderful that there is a positive transfer for this dubious urging/gagging/ swallowing skill....and then there are a series of X-rays and then I am sitting up and waiting for the good news about getting the hell out of here.....

... glad to have that little med lab adventure done. I will likely not follow up on the flashback, though. Sometimes, one just has to be realistic about what one is willing to swallow.

....this compelling fiction

2010-11-18T00:01:00.001-05:00

don't

let my lightheartedness

fool you

see

down deep

inside

stillness

works

magic

builds songs

tumble

stumble

recover some

stones

hold the hands

carry the load

call the shots

fire

no regrets

only exhausted howling

self

restraint

smiles

all day cries

all night

owls offer patient timeless regard

unhurried

watchful

gazing dispassionate

silence

a great and dangerous deception

hovers

poised

falling into a darkness of its own

making

this next breath the next

right

thing

Haiku: Rock, Paper, Scissors

2010-11-11T21:58:00.000-05:00

silver tongued light gleams

thrown stone skims smooth crease belies

a swift heavy hand

.... it's in you to give

2010-11-07T14:06:00.001-05:00

This past Friday morning I attended a blood donor clinic at my workplace. I haven't given blood in over a decade, partly because I had some mitigating health issues that kept me out of the blood pool for a number of years and partly because, well, other things kept getting in the way, like work and family and community service priorities..... all this is a nice way for me to say that I replaced it as a priority with other things that became priorities. I am a B positive donor ( please, no opportunistic comments about that..... as futile as this request no doubt is) and previous to my long blood donation sabbatical, was frequently called upon since my blood type is typically less available than other blood types. Long story short, I called in and re-registered myself and am back in the blood pool. I show up at the clinic and my lifelong borderline anemia is above the line ( whoo hoo ! ) and after all the question screens get done, I then proceed to a comfy reclining chair. There was a first time donor young guy on the reclining chair next to me and when the nurse unsheathed the needle before that lovely push into my protruding vein this young fella says, whoa, that's a really big needle! I had forgotten how big the needle had looked to me way back more than thirty years ago when I saw it for the first time. The nurse and I looked at this young guy and said, almost simultaneously, you hardly feel it .... but you'll feel good after!!
I did feel good after. I had also forgotten how fulfilling it is to give in this wonderfully anonymous and physically generous way. I will not be removing myself from the blood pool again. It's good to be back.

Revolt

2010-10-31T17:42:00.000-04:00

lake

stretches out

before me, grey &

shimmering lovely starkness

broken by breeze, leaves & loon

call stars in the offing

leaning back

the

boat

is all it takes to begin

its release from shore

drifting

into

the

cool

silver beckoning

bowl of twilight

Bumper sticker

2010-10-22T20:37:00.000-04:00

Keep honking....

I'm reloading.

Rage.... some days, I totally get it.

Learning... always learning

2010-10-19T23:49:00.000-04:00

We shall not cease from exploration

and the end of all our exploring

will be to arrive where we started

and know the place for the first time.

T.S Elliot.

week in review

2010-10-15T23:52:00.000-04:00

Credo quia absurdum est

( I believe it because it is absurd)

consolation

2010-10-06T22:48:00.001-04:00

... after several weeks of somewhat frustrating glitches and snafus in contexts meant to be respectful, transparent, functional and helpful, I am left with a lingering wonderment about how someone ( i.e., me) can move from place to place, meeting to meeting, this thing to this next thing for much of the work day and cover so little ground.....

thankfully, i find solace in J.R.R.Tolkien: Not all those who wander are lost.

Vive ut vivas

2010-10-02T22:37:00.001-04:00

the past

practice

author unknown

winter's long night

2010-09-29T01:59:00.001-04:00

Faith is a bird

that feels
dawn
breaking

and

sings

while it is still dark

Scandinavian saying

Co-morbid

2010-09-20T21:11:00.002-04:00

Madelyn enters the crowded reception area with deceptive stealth and purpose. All of a sudden she is right next to me, a request spilling into the space between us. A small beautiful child hugs her leg; she rests her hand on his little round head. Her other hand touches my arm. We meet each other's eyes.
In a voice barely above a whisper, yet absolutely discernible, she tells me the name of the little boy. Dominic, her next to youngest son. He is at camp for the first time. Her eldest son has been coming for several years and she is ready to entrust me with this one. She has an even younger one at home who is likely going to be a future camper, but it is to the eldest boy that our attention now turns.

Might you ask the student who will be working with Daniel to accompany me to the car and invite him to come in? Madelyn asks this as if it were the most mundane of requests. Her decision to bring in Dominic without Daniel lets me know that a serious negotiation has already failed and that she will not allow herself the luxury of annoyance or disappointment. Daniel is the priority. His anxiety and pride blend to create this present situation, one where he will not be able to give in and so will be forced into a default position of depriving himself rather than capitulate. It is a cycle with Daniel and one that he cannot break out of on his own accord. His autism and his anxiety combine to complicate simple events, the complication then becoming a spiral in itself, one with seemingly no way out .... this combination of two intertwined disabilities is often referred to as a "co-morbid" condition. Not a word one hears used unless it is to describe someone whose idiosyncracies are a tad too ....idiosyncratic. One does not hear about someone who is co-morbid with shopping and driving, or with headache and nausea, or burgers and fries. No, indeed; some terminology is reserved for the best of us.
Madelyn sees the way out. She sees how she is intertwined in Daniel's spiral and is humble and wise enough to get out of the way. He needs to engage with someone who has not witnessed his being caught in his own web and his accompanying shame. He needs it to be simple, again.
Madelyn knows that she cannot even be a witness to his rescue. She steps back. I admire her. I want to tell her so. Her mothering is a dance of stepping back; like a tango, the dance always begins with a backwards step.
I send my student out. I tell her how casual to be with Daniel. No big deal, he just felt like hanging out in the car so his little brother could have some special attention. Thanks for being such a caring big brother.
Madelyn hands Dominic over to me. I take his little hand and bring him to his group. He is welcomed and fussed over. He smiles and giggles. Madelyn leaves before anyone notices she has gone. Daniel saunters in with his student worker. I give him a glance and a nod. Nice to see you again, buddy, I say.
Nice to be here, he says.

T.F.B.

2010-09-10T21:22:00.001-04:00

John Livingston, a naturalist of some acclaim and author of a wonderful book, Rogue Primate, proposes that there are two characteristics or habits that seem to distinguish animals (who co-exist in communities) from humans (who co-exist in communities), these being rationalization and deceit. Apparently, animals do not engage in these distinctly human behaviours. Why do I include this information here, at the beginning of a post that will take up some recent adventures at autism camp? Well, dear reader, perhaps you might consider it a courtesy, a foretaste of what is to follow, an anticipatory set....I'll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions.

I believe I've already mentioned that the autism camp I so affectionately write about has been in operation for about 15 years. I believe it would also be fair to say that I am a tad protective of my camp and my campers. It's also unfortunately accurate to say that in spite of my (admittedly anal and compulsive) attentiveness to detail and organization, every year something seems to slip through my grasp.This year was no exception. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that another camp was going on at the same time as mine, that another HUGE event was also taking place on the campus where I hold the morning half days of my camp and that my camp and the other camp would be sharing space. Somehow, this did not translate into my NOT using a gymnasium space that I had counted on in my schedule rotation. So, when I arrived a little before 8:00 am on the first day of camp after having spent the previous day hauling and setting up equipment for my activity and arrival stations, and encounter the other camp's director and his entourage of camp counsellors assembling outside the entrance doors of MY arrival space, I was unimpressed. You might even say perturbed. Others on the scene used other words as well..... I think I heard one of the entourage use the phrase Total eFfing Bitch (except he didn't use the word eFfing... if you get my drift). The Other Guy and I exchanged mature pleasantries that went something like this:
OG: the building manager was supposed to have told you about our camp
me: he did
OG: so why the surprise
me: i'm not surprised about the camp.... i'm surprised about the space that your camp is using ( i am also getting a bit panicky about the 60 plus autistic camp participants and the 60 students who will be arriving ANY TIME NOW who will NOT have an arrival gym.... not good, not good at all)
OG: i had this space booked already....
me: could you have said anything that could be more unhelpful than that statement?!
OG: ( slack jaw stare)
me: i don't CARE about that.... what are we going to do now? right this moment!!!
OG: ( slack jaw stare)

[pause.... imagine 60 autistic people spread over a large arrival space, say the size of a large gymnasium wall; they can arrive and bring their stuff to a designated spot, it will stay there undisturbed while they can go to the other activity spaces and begin their large equipment activity, or their fine motor activity or their outdoor activity.. following these activities, they can return to that large arrival space and use its spacious bottom half (divided by a sound barrier curtain) to engage in games skills activities. the 60 campers are divided into four groups so that no more than 15 people are in an activity space at a time.... perfect for this population... this is now dismantled by the loss of the second gym to the Other Guy's camp. just thinking about it makes me livid]

me: so, my campers, who always get the shit end of the stick, will have to be the ones to do the adjusting ?! my campers who have meltdowns when a back pack is misplaced by a quarter of an inch will be the ones doing the adjusting?!! [ you can see, i was livid]
OG: ( clenched jaw terror)
OG's barbie doll counsellor [ ok, that's totally unfair, but did i mention i was livid?] : well, if you like you can see the schedule... right over here on the wall [my schedule is also on numerous surfaces, but never mind; the writing is now on the wall as far as i'm concerned]
me: please do not placate me; in fact, it would probably be a good idea not to speak to me at all for at least the next hour or so.... i shall certainly be verbally abusive [ i wondered at the time about the word "placate" .... my therapist tells me that i ought not to wield my intellect like a weapon.still, it was out of my mouth before i could stop myself]

upshot: my camp moved across the hall; we reorganized one space so that three different types of activity could go on in more or less divided and function -specific stations and we got it done in the 15 minutes we had before the campers arrived. i was seething and putting considerable energy into not letting it spill over onto my camp counsellors and certainly not my campers. we get the day going and even though the kids are more agitated than i'd like for what i usually am able to achieve at my camp ( so much unavoidable human noise from all of us sharing one big space for at least three of our activity stations), the day goes reasonably well ( but you can check back to the day one blog and see all the goodies that did happen). we have this arrangement for the next day as well, and then have a big trip to a theme park on day three. by day four, we get our other gym back and move things around again. our more vocal and observant campers point out to me that the space is different and don't i realize that this is a stressor for someone with autism.
no shit.
next time, i am going to invite my campers to be my negotiators. why waste this valuable resource ? and who better to make the point? sometimes, ya just gotta let a crisis happen.

btw, pride not being one of my deficits ( i swallow it with great regularity) i apologized to OG for being a T.F.B.
he accepted.

Triolet Interlude: commemorating birth/day

2010-09-03T20:43:00.002-04:00

Love is a habit of heart
weaving its spell over time
holding a flame is its art
love is a habit of heart.
Strange, it begins; doesn't start,
stays at the scene of the crime
love is a habit of heart
weaving its spell over time.

Time is a habit of care
word is a habit of craft
walk on this path if you dare
time is a habit of care.
Trusting with feelings laid bare
tears taste much better when laughed
time is a habit of care
word is a habit of craft.

Care is a habit of word
space is a habit of dance
watching as clear becomes blurred
care is a habit of word.
Solitude's lessons are heard
here, when the heart takes a chance
care is a habit of word
space is a habit of dance.

Heart is a habit of hope
you are a habit of heart
tethered, as if by a rope
heart is a habit of hope.
Climb is a matter of slope,
sweet craves the temper of tart.
Heart is a habit of hope
you are a habit of heart.

Autism Camp 2010: a.k.a. I don't usually learn much on a " good" day

2010-09-02T23:15:00.004-04:00

that being said, the past two days have been decent, considering.
Victoria, my oldest camper and by far my most irreverent, had a huge seizure in the pool locker room, giving her head and cheek bone quite the crack against the wall on her way to the floor. she was shocky for awhile after and then consented to being driven back to the home site in a car instead of on the bus... it likely helped that she was driven by two " hunks" ( last week, before camp, she had spoken with me via email and reminded me that i had to have " hunks" ( ie, handsome, young men) at camp for her amusement). all the same, she was in rough shape and i called her mom and dad to be ready for her once we got her back there. later on in the evening, i called and spoke to her dad. i heard victoria yelling in the background: is that her?
her dad: yes, it is
victoria: give me the phone. hi,you. tell me a joke
i comply.
then i ask if she has a bruise on her face
victoria: yes
me: well, we will be painting faces tomorrow for our out-trip, so no-one will notice
victoria: i will be a rat... maybe a princess rat; but a rat for sure. my dad's a rooster and my mom's a pig.
beat.... a pause just long enough for me to catch the code ( chinese astrology, in case you are still wondering...)
me: i'm a monkey
victoria: i shoulda known that!
me: you're some tough ( that's my newfoundland heritage coming out, there)
victoria: t'anks ( that's her making fun of my newfoundland heritage)

what else... our pristine non-pooping record was broken today with a spectacular spray of shit that earned us a shrill whistle blast and an everybody out.... only ten minutes left, so the damage was not as great as it could have been. moral: promises are empty in the presence of warm bubbly water, and so are bowels.

other gems borne of a few not so good days.....
* planning works
* sleepy kids are cranky when mom has to wake them up to get them to camp (hey, it's our job to wear them out, and we pride ourselves in doing just that)
*balloon badminton is fun ( and possible)
* no matter how badly you toss ( drop) a bowling ball, it manages to hit something and knock it down
*when the kid you're working with makes funny noises and/or does strange things, other people look at you

perhaps the " not so good days" are gems in themselves and perhaps this camp is like a river... we never dip our hands into the same water twice

Autism camp 2010: writing from the inside out

2010-09-01T23:19:00.002-04:00

... you need to know up front that i am a deeply damaged person & the mere fact of my survival with/in this world of others is an accomplishment; that, you need to know

you need to know that preferences are baffling and i have no idea what one is and i wouldn't know one if it bit me on the arse and i wish i was not called upon so often to have to know what the damn things are much less express them, and thinking about this all the time is exhausting; this you need to know

you need to know that i don't know what triggers those awful responses i sometimes have and that i don't know when or how those things roll in like thunder clouds and those cracking and crashing sounds i hear might be only mine but i hear them anyway and i feel them too and i am scared shitless and ashamed but i do the things i have to do to get through; that you need to know

... and by the way, you need to know that darkness has a sound and a touch and a temperature; this you need to know

you need to know that some mornings it can take me hours to get dressed because i have to change my clothes so often because they ITCH or they don't feel right or they don't work together or they aren't matching the ways they need to or they are and it still doesn't matter because something could happen later on and what i am wearing will not be what is needed in the time when i should have been wearing something else and i forgot about this thing that was going to happen in this time when i was getting ready earlier and that is what was making it so impossible earlier, so much to consider, so many ways that things can turn out; that you need to know

you need to know that i might have lots of times when i appear to be just like you and that perhaps i am more like you than you know; this you need to know

that is enough for now; so much for this and that

Autism camp, 2010: day two

2010-08-31T23:07:00.003-04:00

When I began this camp back in 1996, the campers of that summer decided on the names of their groups. Four groups, divided roughly by age, anointed themselves Wild Dogs, HellCats, Savage Beasts, and Bloodthirsty Cannibals. I've worked with kids for lots of years and am always delighted at the names they come up with when they are given the liberty to do so. In another life as a gymnastics coach, I remember my youngest, sweetest, daintiest little girls naming themselves Vandals and Cockroaches and so forth. But I digress. I've kept the names over the years and this summer's kids seem to relish them as much as the original kids ( some of whom are still attending!). This summer, the Wild Dogs are my youngest, ages 3-6; the Hellcats are next, ages 7-10/11; the Savage Beasts are next, ages 11-14/15; and the Bloodthirsty Cannibals are the oldest, ages 15 - 26. The original Cannibals had a typically warped- and accurate-Aspergers' sense of humour, and chose the name because of how many biters were in the group.

Today's anecdote comes out of the Hellcats. Two little fellas decided to turn the tables on the wasps who have been ferocious and plentiful this summer and set about to capture one. They proceeded to torture it and then, tiring of toying with it, squashed it under foot and then got down for a closer inspection of its little corpse. Fascinated with how the squishy organs were strewn about, they suddenly announced: its body is dead but its brain is alive. And insisted that anyone passing by drop down to take a CLOSER look at the vibrating brain.... at least they think it's the brain. No matter; these little dudes are developing their necrophiliac tendencies while one of my older gals, a 20 year old who is EXTREMELY tactile aggressive ( read: craves intense sensations) swallowed a wasp. Live. For a gal who takes her time with everything else, she has amazing reflexes where her tactile needs are concerned. And it could be, she takes her responsibilities to her group name seriously.

Hopefully, the wasps have a decent communication system. I 'm betting on my kids.

anon....

Autism camp, 2010; Day One

2010-08-30T22:47:00.002-04:00

... and at the end of the day, we counted:
five bites
three hair pulls ( one of them an armpit hair... yeowww!)
one errant smooch
two punches
one head butt
one shameless boob grab
one crafty testicle squeeze
four kicks
six beauty tantrums
two spectacular masturbation episodes ( discretely and gently re-directed)
four bloodcurdling shrieks
NO poop in the pool ( whoo hoo !!)

two relaxed bus rides
one totally fun swim
dozens of remarkable conversations
hundreds of memorable interactions
hours of physical activity and play
a thousand moments of wonder and insight
one day of firsts
one hell of a learning experience
62 tired & ( reasonably ) happy campers
60 exhausted and ( reasonably) fulfilled students and helpers
one grateful camp director
nothing we can't handle together
a deep respect for the absurd

onwards, through the fog

The turtlehead

2010-08-24T13:08:00.007-04:00

Mario recalls how he had willingly volunteered for this experience. He'd known what he was getting into... at least he'd thought he knew. His first week had been somewhat more difficult than he'd anticipated, but he'd adjusted, realizing that grunt work and dirty work and body work were tasks he didn't think he'd be doing but tasks that everyone was expected to do. So, he did them... he is doing them, and he figured he'd been pulling his weight. In spite of his long term commitments to kids with disabilities, this group was a tough group... high need, messy(especially with food and toileting), loud, uncooperative. The camp director had given him the look last week when he'd mentioned how much work these kids were. Of course they're lots of work, she'd said, they're autistic. I thought you knew that....

well, yes, he'd known that but he hadn't known what that meant, really; that he was going to be wiping noses and bums and helping kids get changed into and out of swimming attire and cleaning up spaces after the kids had blown through them. Thank goodness there were so many girls at camp... they were better at that stuff anyway.
He had decided to work with the older kids; who knew they would be worse than the little ones?! Four other guys were working with this older group, too. Pretty good bunch, Mario had to admit. They'd been around kids like this for years and seemed ok with all the snot and shit and mangled food and odd behaviours and noises... they even seemed to like the kids; they were patient and gentle. Mario remembered how he'd been impressed those first few days of camp.

Today had been a strange day so far. The other fellas had been in high spirits, lots of laughing and back slapping. He felt included today, like the guys were recognizing how hard he had been working, like they knew he had lots to offer; so, here in the boys' change room, he was unnerved by his awareness of his own growing unease. Everyone had been his usual efficient self, helping the kids dry off after swimming, getting the kids' stuff into their backpacks, doing the bathroom checks. So why was he, Mario, here with Jack, a tall, skinny, gawky, goofy 16 year old with a sweet smile and a finger pinch that could ( and, frequently, did ) draw blood? Why was Jack still naked, dripping wet and doing this strange little whiny groan and his own special version of the swirl and twirl dance? Mario suddenly notices he is alone in the change room with Jack. How has this happened? Mario is usually the one filling up the backpacks and getting them outside ready for the bus. Everyone seemed to appreciate this; yet, here he is, alone with Jack. Mario gets Jack dried off and gets going on getting him dressed and outta here. Jack is pawing at him and moving towards the toilets, pulling away from Mario's efforts to get him clothed. Oh, no... Mario is NOT going down the toilet road. Jack's got a pile of Depends and Mario is going to get one on him... right fucking now.
He calls out to his gang. Hey, fellas, I could use some help in here.
Keith, one of the guys, calls back. Sorry, man, we're totally busy out here; what's up?
Mario: Jack's heading for the toilets, he's starting to grunt and squat... I'm just trying to get a Depends on him...
Keith: sounds like he needs to go now, man; I'd say go for it.
Mario: awwww, shit, no... not that...
he grabs Jack around the upper chest. Jack's knees are still in the bent position and Mario's carrying him, kind of, moving randomly.... thinking, saying, over and over again, Shit, this is awful....
He glances down and around. Mario is frantic now. He yells: I'm trying to get him into the stall
Keith: he'll be ok once he gets in there.... he's quick once he gets started
Mario: I can see the turtlehead poking out ( he is screaming, desperate) ...Oh, god!!
he sprints to the stall, carrying Jack by the armpits. Jack is giggling madly, touching Mario's face and looking at him intently. Mario plops Jack down into a seated position on the toilet and steps into the next stall, puking while Jack is pooping.
Keith: stay in there with him, man, you don't want him playing with it....
Mario is horrified. Wipes his face. Dashes back into Jack's stall. Mario's all business now. He stands Jack up, does the paper work, gets him out into the change room, helps him into his clothes, giving soft encouragements, making sure his hair is tidy, wiping his nose.
Mario: put your stuff in the pack, Jack, and we'll get going.
Jack packs up his stuff, holds Mario's arm and they head for the exit just as Keith is hustling back into the corridor.
Keith: you ok?
Mario: I am now
Keith nods and pats Mario on the shoulder. You did good, he says.

Fair Warning

2010-08-18T01:29:00.004-04:00

so, it's that time of year again..... in a couple of weeks my autism camp that's been running every summer since 1996 is back in all its glory.

last summer I did a little series on some of the characters and events that are so much a part of what makes this experience the funny, sad and human experience that it is; this summer I'd like to give that another go. I realize that autism is not everyone's cup of tea as an interest area, so I will also work at making the stories and descriptions something that can be appreciated as glimpses of what is sweet, poignant and meaningful in the every day, mundane world of summer autism camp.

thanks for reading and here's hoping I can do these kids a bit of justice.

Truism (?)

2010-08-16T00:36:00.002-04:00

the
reward
for
good work
is
more
work

the devil is in the details

2010-08-12T23:55:00.009-04:00

As the daughter of a mechanic, schooled by my father in his ongoing mantras on the geneology of torque, independent suspension and combustion, I should have known better.
You know that slow, sluggish can't even get the chug finished sound that a car makes when it barely has a hope in hell of starting and then, miraculously, it does start, tentatively... you know the sound I mean? that sound that a sane person pays attention to? I should have known when I heard that sound that the trip was doomed. But, hey, the car started, so who was I to argue with karma like that?

I should have known that even though the car started just fine after I filled it up with gas not a block from my house that this was just a tease, a way to lull me into an even deeper sense of false security. I should have been alerted by the prayers and appeals to any deity who would listen that I was not quite as confident in this mission as I was pretending.

I should have known when I got to the highway outside the city and saw the wait times posted for going over the bridge to the U.S that now is the time to turn around, no harm no foul. It is definitely too late to turn around when one is on the bridge.

I should have known that sitting at a stop and go idle for over 45 minutes on the bridge on a day with 100% humidity and blazing heat would place undue stress on an already diagnosed terminally ill alternator ... and did I mention that this same alternator had been sounding like a vacuum cleaner for about a week or so??

I should have known that even though I made it over the border and got the must have them now items at our US mailbox that the awful sound the car made when it ( finally ) started up again was simply a harbinger of the death throes of an electrical system long since exhausted by time, miles and (apparently) abject stupidity.

I should have known that the 40 minute wait on the way back was the last straw and that the moment when every light on my dash board was flashing was the beginning of the end. The surge of panic I felt was matched only by the adrenalin rush accompanying my mind's eye vision of my pathetic self attempting to steer with my arms wrapped around the airbag ( yes, that light was flashing too....).

I should have known that when the speedometer needle and the odometer needle did a tandem swift last gasp sweep to maximum and then a fall to zero that the next thing I felt would be .... nothing. Nothing. Eerie as hell, feeling the life of a thing go out while one is enclosed in the belly of the beast that is dying.

I should have known that even though the momentum was enough to get me to the side of the road so I could pull over safely, that thanks to the marvels of the car's touch of a button seat adjustment, that no one taller than a dwarf would be able to get into the driver's side of this car if I ever had the good fortune to be rescued.

I should have known that the person on the other end of the line at my C.A.A. 1800 save my ass phone call would have no idea how to describe my location to the fella in the tow truck that they sent to get me, and I should have known that my cell phone would run out of battery juice as soon as my save my ass phone call was made.

so, yeah, I should have known better.

Upshot is, the fella in the tow truck was a mechanic who knew how to keep his eyes peeled for stranded vehicles and he found me after not too long a wait. I had a good book to keep me company, and a cool breeze appeared out of nowhere while I was waiting, and the tow truck had air conditioning and the drive to the shop was painless, one might even say pleasant.

and the moral?
well, the devil is in the details, and you've already read the moral.

there's a story there.....

2010-08-07T23:57:00.002-04:00

and the moral of the story is :
when your car sounds like a vacuum cleaner, DO NOT drive it a distance that will require roadside assistance ... from a tow truck!

( sigh)

Somewhat oblique

2010-08-04T23:40:00.002-04:00

seeing the desperate core
of who I am
at the heart of my strangeness
you ask(ed)
why
would you want to change
( it)
I suppose
I don't
when I am human
I cannot examine myself
as human
a dilemma of finding
words
to say the (in)between(s)

Mindfulness meditation

2010-08-02T00:41:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, turmoil is a great teacher. Sometimes.
Sometimes, slowing down and taking a long, hard look is the next right thing. Sometimes.
Sometimes, you just have to be alone with your own thoughts. Sometimes.
Sometimes, you just have to sit there and hurt. Sometimes.

Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?

not seeking, not expecting
can you be present and welcome all things ?

Quoting a favourite source

2010-07-27T23:39:00.003-04:00

.... to quote a favourite source, and especially so over these past few ( and likely the next few) days, my heart is filled to the brim.
I will dwell with the beautiful now, delight in all its sweet tenderness.
Soon enough, I will write like one possessed.
For now, I will rely on the words of others.

Can you coax your mind from its wandering
and keep to the original oneness?
Can you let your body become
supple as a newborn child's?
Can you cleanse your inner vision
until you see nothing but the light?
Can you love people and lead them
without imposing your will?
Can you deal with the most vital matters
by letting events take their course?
Can you step back from your own mind
and thus understand all things?

Giving birth and nourishing,
having without possessing,
acting without expectations,
leading and not trying to control:
this is the supreme virtue.

from the Tao te Ching, Verse 10

Sarnath ...

2010-07-25T00:41:00.002-04:00

..... the place where the Buddha is said to have given his first teaching, containing the simple message: you have it within you to discover how you should relate to this world; now, let me give you a gentle nudge in that direction.

here, at the conclusion of my first fully online teaching experience, I am reminded why it is that teaching ( and learning, and readiness and willingness to learn) is ( are) important.... the sweet dance of nudging and being nudged.

Copenhagen

2010-07-20T01:29:00.006-04:00

here is an image I heard spoken
given to me in story
it has taken hold of my heart

Imagine one of the busiest cities on earth
during rush hour
a horrific accident
stops
everything in its tracks
people gather in huddled witnessing
police redirect traffic, bicycles, pedestrians
struggling to maintain composure and the necessary dignity
of
the
moment

here is an image I heard spoken
given to me in story

Think about what it might mean
for dwelling
if regard were as deep and plentiful
as Copenhagen's canals.
Boats of all sorts and speeds share
liquid space and time
Swans mingle like citizens, welcomed
for their grace and beauty,
their delicate sustained stepping and gliding and leaning
their steadfast commitments
unfettered, unhurried
always
in proximity of mate
or young

here is an image
given to me
it has taken hold

A careless driver kills a swan
leaves
its soft lifeless form
white against the too black asphalt
its slender beautiful neck
elegantly posed, breathless
its mate hovers, his head a hair's breadth from her
chest feathers, absolutely still
motionless as death
in reverent, silent loyalty
if swans could weep
the terrible grief
of one who is left standing
those attendant kindred souls
might keen and howl
in shameless agony
or hold vigil in hushed, unrequited sorrow

here is an image I heard spoken
it has taken hold of my heart

then

I tried to offer up this story

too soon
after being locked in
rapt attentiveness
I wept at its re-telling
I could not do justice to its sweetness
or longing
nor can I
now

here is an image I heard spoken
given to me in story
it has taken hold of my heart

Soldiers

2010-07-18T00:44:00.004-04:00

In the contradiction

lies the hope

Bertoit Brecht

Poetry begins with a lump in the throat

Robert Frost

While all are conditioned to resist sadness
a poet must embrace and be attentive to sadness

R.M. Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Live life; don't solve it

No clue who offered this as a statement for reflection; but I like it!

Unhurried

2010-07-15T00:32:00.005-04:00

falling follows
fallow
time for digging
deep
& surfacing
edges beckon
the only way
out
is
through
willingly falling
following
unhurried gestures
reaching
for a thousand and one
stars

Yellow Rose

2010-07-13T23:13:00.002-04:00

Her sister finds a secret drawer
filled with lifelines cast
out into depths and birdsong, more
poignant for its sweet, steadfast
audacity. Who knew this shore
was a port where mists might last
beyond this moment's telling for
days, for futures, present, past ...

Yesterday I vowed....

2010-07-11T00:16:00.002-04:00

yesterday I vowed
I will weed tomorrow
furiously
today I weeded
furiously
kept my vow
wondering
what is being weeded
furiously

Relativity

2010-07-07T23:52:00.001-04:00

A snail was mugged by two turtles. When the police asked him what happened, he said, "I don't know. It all happened so fast. "

The Four Laws

2010-07-06T00:25:00.003-04:00

In the barnstorming days, the county fairs would have as attractions "wing walking" where the sensation seekers of the time ( usually more likely to be women than men!) would voluntarily walk on the two-tiered airplane wings while the plane was in flight.
The story goes that these gals had rules of engagement for anyone who felt the urge; they were passed on to me by a great great grand-daughter. I pass them on to you....
the four laws of wing walking

If you want to get off the ground, you've got to lighten your load.

Do not let go of something unless you've got a hold of something else.

In order to take a step, you've got to spend a terrifying amount of time in mid-air.

Flying isn't the miracle.... landing is.

sounds good to me!

how to be....

2010-07-04T01:37:00.000-04:00

how to be a life long learner:
stay hungry
stay humble