Wednesday, July 8th, 2020

             I slept well and was up before the alarm went off.  In June, it was light at 5:30, but now, it is not so much.  Being close to the equator, the swing between sunrise and sunset isn't as great as it is further north. There is about an hour difference in the sun's schedule between the dead of winter and summer height.  Paulette, who moved here from Detroit, misses those late sunsets. It is often still light in Detroit at 9 pm in the summer. Not here.

            Elsa and I went for our walk. I'm still walking up and down our street. While my leg is 'improving,' doing that puts a strain on my hip joint. When I came in, I meditated. Then, I went outside to do some gardening. I had a 10 a.m. appointment with my therapist. I had an interesting observation during my meditation, which I worked on in the session.

            Out of the blue, I thought of a friend who enjoys the admiration of men.  It occurred to me that she interprets that as having power. On the other hand, I see that kind of attention as an expectation I can't or don't want to fulfill.  It makes me feel powerless.  I realized that is what is going on with my work.  I want the work out there, appreciated and used, but I don't want the attention. My fear of being unable to fulfill someone's expectations is one factor that made me decide against having children. Where do I get this burden from? Let me see.  I had a father who hoped I would solve the problem of world conflict, and a mother who was afraid of everyone and expected me to protect her. I'm lucky I have any marbles left. I had only two choices: have no boundaries or keep everyone out.  My relationship with Mike worked because he wanted me to take care of myself and not satisfy his demands without regard for myself.

            I left for the DMV to file Josh's title. This was the last piece in getting the car out of my name and into his. Done! When I arrived, there was no one there. At first, I thought they were closed.  But the greeter's window was open.  I got my number and sat down, waiting to be called. I must have taken half an hour. No one's number was called.  No one came out of the office.  No, they were not at lunch.  I can't begin to imagine what they were doing.  When it was called, it took two minutes to get to speak to an agent. Then I headed home, plugged in the car, and lay down for a nap.

            I have been struggling with figuring out how to deal with the Tree man who massacred my lime tree, cutting a one-story tree down to shoulder height.  When I was dealing with the car purchase, Scott told me that he could help me if I needed him.  I called him and asked him if he would help me deal with this guy.  I figured if I called and complained, his only response would be, "Stupid bitch!"

            Fortunately, Scott came down to look at the tree before we made that call.  He told me the guy probably cut it down that far so I could pick the limes more easily, cutting it to the height of the keiki, kids. I should think of trimming the tree like a bonsai.   There is no way I can safely reach the top of the tree.  He told me to buy a pole pruner. B. said Elijah can easily do that work under my direction.  He also said he would contact a friend of his and determine the best fertilizer for a lime tree. He'll pick it up for me. 

            Judy called while Scott and I were at the bottom of the property.  When I called her back, I told her what was going on with the tree. I feel much better knowing that my wonderful lime tree isn't a lost cause.

            However, I am a gardener's worst nightmare. Nothing I plant, nothing I ask to have planted, grows well. It's absurd.  Now, that isn't quite true.  I planted some lavender in a tub, and it is doing beautifully.  Judy said she would help me distribute the fertilizer to deflect my curse.  She said she didn't know if she could do much better. I proposed that Paulette, the good gardener, be the one to put down the fertilizer, and Judy and I stand by singing hymns and shout Hallelujah! 

            Yvette came up bearing gifts: sourdough baguettes, two muffins, and a Ziploc bag with popcorn.  She had made a Costco run and was sharing the haul.

_  _   _ __ __ -__ __

Musings:

  I am reading Spiritual Bypassing by Robert Masters.  Spiritual bypassing results from using spiritual practices to avoid the negative aspects of self rather than facing them in constructive ways to heal. The goal of spiritual practice should always be to be a better person for oneself and others.

            I just read his chapter on Spiritual Gullibility and Cultism. This results from people looking for a shortcut, bypassing the problematic aspects of spiritual growth. (As I write this, I can picture people who wallow in their dark side, punishing themselves always for not being perfect- another form of spiritual bypassing.)  Masters defines a cult as any situation where beliefs cannot be challenged.  There can be a cult of one, where a person believes that their point of view cannot be contested.  Or a group with a charismatic leader who insists that their point of view is beyond question. 

            At the same time, I am reading a Very Short Introduction to Hobbes.  I knew something about his theories.  I knew he argued for strong central leadership, but I had no idea how far it went.  His theory is that human beings are impulse-driven and are incapable of making decisions that benefit the whole community. The solution is for a leader to determine what people should think and believe.  He argued for state control except in the case of religious beliefs.  He argued that religious leaders should determine what people should think or feel. Huh? Do these leaders transcend the human limitations the rest of us suffer from?

            We need to find a balance between a monolithic social structure that guarantees protection from others and thinking for ourselves. It's the argument being acted out now on a national level, if not a worldwide one. It's which group gets to be the controlling voice, defining reality for one and all.  If that voice can't be contested, it's a cult. As we all know, when a state becomes a total dictator, dissenting voices are eliminated by rather brutal means.    

Tuesday, July 7th, 2020

 Again, I woke up before 4 a.m. and had trouble falling asleep. I figured out I was cold. I put on a shirt and doubled up on my covers. I was out like a light. I have no idea why our mornings have been cold, actually cold, in July. This isn't our hottest month of the year. No, that is August, September, through mid-October. It always breaks right after Iron Man, around Yvette's birthday on October 10th. 

 I put on two sweatshirts for my morning walk. I only did 3,000 steps because my left hip was achy. It was not miserable, but it was not comfortable either. I am straighter, but that means putting more weight on that left leg. Again, we're at a juncture. 

 I called a clinic on Oahu that does stem cell transplants shortly after the pandemic started. They never got back to me.  I want to go through with that when it becomes possible. I will have to pay out of pocket, but I would much prefer that over surgery.

 I went out to check the items on the laundry line.  It had poured, really poured, the other day. The towel was dry, but the wee-wee pad I had hung up after use wasn't.

 Why do I hang out a dirty wee-wee pad? Oh, a multitude of reasons. I don't have that many.  When we first got Elsa, we had wee-wee pads. She never used them; they finally disintegrated.  As a result, it didn't seem worthwhile buying fifty pads for $45. Instead, I bought the ten-pack for $12.  The ones I bought are also biodegradable.  Neat. 

 Next, I hate to throw anything into the garbage. The county ended paper and plastic recycling because China refused our trash. Broke my heart. Then, I learned that the sun bleaches out pee, or at least human pee, out of pillows and mattresses. Here, parents just put soiled items in the sun and let it do its work.  I figured it could do the same job on the wee-wee pads. So far, that has worked fine. Only one problem: it takes forever for them to dry.

 These wee-wee pads are designed to hold liquid, and they do. Boy, do they ever. While a towel is dry after a severe soaking, the pad is still quite wet. This becomes an interesting question for me: how long will it take to dry?  I regularly check during the day to see the progress.  Today is a bright, sunny day with no threat of rain. Let's see if the sun wins or the pad does. Who wants that moisture more?

 There were only four students today for driveway yoga—four students and four dogs. One of the students informed Yvette that he had been exposed to someone who tested positive for the virus. He would be quarantined for the next two weeks. I also discovered that the server at Gertrude's tested positive for the virus and got it from her mother, who was visiting her from the mainland. Let's see if we can squelch this surge. 

 I spoke to Scott about selling the Prius.  He has been handling the sale online.  I want to be rid of it by the end of the month. I must keep it on my insurance as long as I own it. That costs a pretty penny. I told Scott to reduce the price. Then he told me he had many responses to the ad, even without the car's pictures. Wow! 

_____-_____-_____

 Musings:

 There's been talk of late of eliminating terms that remind us of racial discrimination. The terms black and white are two of them.  The terms black and white have cross-cultural significance as words describing good versus evil. The problem is that they have been misappropriated to depict skin color.

 'Whites' are not white, and 'blacks' are not black. 'Whites' are a shade of tan, and 'blacks' are a shade of brown. Even the darkest 'black' is only a very deep shade of brown.  

 These terms were imposed on the races by whites to reinforce their belief in their racial superiority. "Whites' were good, and 'blacks' were bad. It is the application of these terms that should be banned. The terms' white' and 'black' to describe racial differences should go the way of the word 'nigger.'  

 I did some cursory research on the history of white/black symbolism for good versus evil. I did find a reference to it in Homer's writings in ancient Greece. However, it strikes me that the symbolism runs deeper than that. It's the light of day versus the dark of night. A pitch-black night is more dangerous because it limits sight. You can't see your enemy. 

 Black is associated with death, not one of man's favored outcomes. We slip into darkness when we sleep.  When we faint, everything goes black.  Black has many frightening associations, having nothing to do with race.

 White and black also represent clean versus dirty.  A pure white garment without a stain represents purity.  A stain so bad that it blackens the garment is major. 

 I think eliminating the terms white and black from our use presents a huge challenge. We would have to overcome our associations with day versus night, clean versus dirty, and life versus death.  Instead, eliminate the use of these terms to describe racial differences.  We are all shades of brown.     

Monday, July 6th, 2020

             I went to bed early and was awake at 4:30, struggling to fall asleep again. I got up and 5:30 and went out for my walk with Elsa.  My left leg has been bothering me. When I get up from sitting or lying on my back, there is pinching in the hip area. It goes away after taking a few steps, and it doesn't even show up if I have been lying on my side.  Elsa wasn't up for the whole walk. 

            It was uncomfortably cold this morning.  I wondered if it was the weather or if I was getting sick.  I ran into one of my fellow morning walkers; she confirmed it was the weather.  It was cold enough that I stopped off at the house to put on a second sweatshirt.  This made for excellent weeding weather. I did more weeding in the yard area outside my bedroom door.  After I finished that, I meditated for half an hour. I must do more of this.  It helps me feel better.

            I had a 10:30 Zoom tutoring appointment. I was very frustrated with D. during the last session. Part of it was that he was working on a tablet, and I had the hard copy of the book; it was hard to help him find his place. I asked him to find the other books Mrs. B. had given him, which were on a lower reading level, but I had hard copies of them. 

            He read more words accurately today in the easier book, but he still made mistakes. 

D. is making slow progress in applying what I do teach him to do. He doesn't apply the decoding strategies I have taught him.  I have to remind him each time.  While he self-corrects more than he used to, he still slides over mistakes rendering the sentence nonsense. 

            I decided I was going to try a different strategy.  I was going to reduce the cueing when D. made a mistake. To begin with, I was going to use a sound to signal if he made an error.  I was going to use my voice only to praise him.  I had bought a dog clicker.  It wound up not being loud enough for him to hear as he read.  Instead, I banged on the side of my cup with a spoon when he made an error.  That worked better, but he still sometimes ignored the signal. It makes me think, does he ignore his internal signal when he makes an error?  Well, if that's what's going on, he's doing it less. 

            After I finished with him, it was off to the DMV to get the title for Mike's car put in my name to sign it over to Josh.  The line wasn't bad. Today I had to go inside the office.  Even that wait wasn't bad.  The whole process was easy.

            I brought a container of Clorox wipes with me to clean the counters at the DMV. We have had an increase in virus cases on the Big Island. We have jumped from zero to six.  Even scarier, one of the servers at a local bar was diagnosed with the disease. The bar was closed down. How many people did she have contact with before the closure? 

            The clerk at the DMV  was a lovely, intelligent lady. I wanted to ask her what I could do, so the courts put up a menu of possible forms and what they did so people wouldn't make the same mistake I had made.  I told her I had asked the greeter at the DMV what form I needed to get a list of accidents I had had.  She said, "Driver's abstract," without missing a beat.  I told her that was not the case. It is called a driver's history and costs only $9.00 rather than $20.00.  The Driver's Abstract provides information on traffic violations.  Maybe most people who get into accidents where they are responsible have violated some traffic ordinance.  This has not been the case with any of Mike's or my accidents.  

            As I left, I nearly ran over a woman.  It was a freak situation that I have repeatedly experienced. I didn't see her because the support beam on the car's left side window blocked her view. It was a 'freak' situation because of how often it happens.  I have had it happen several times. My way is clear; I pull out, and Yikes! There's a car, or in this case, a person, in my path.  Fortunately, I saw the other person she was walking with.  I braked to allow him to cross.  It was only then that I saw her.  He gave me a dirty look. I thought, What's his problem? I stopped. Little did I realize how close I came to doing damage. But all's well that ends well.

            On the other hand, I love the safety features on my car.  I have a backup camera.  Mike had one on his 2010 Ford, but I didn't on my 2007 Prius. The car beeps when someone's at my side, or I go out of my lane without putting on my signal.  But best of all, it brakes for me if I get too close to the car in front of me.  I love it. I need all the help I can get. 

            I went to Safeway afterward to pick up eggs, bread, and apples. I did some impulse shopping, California rolls, and an Amy's frozen food.  I like her stuff. Then I went to Costco to pick up salad and lemons.  The parking lot was jammed; almost every space was taken. I have no idea what was going on. Did people get paychecks, or was it the beginning of a new month for discounts and sales? I went home. I didn't need anything immediately. When I got home, I unpacked the car. I confess to having a slice of the in-house baked bread I bought at Safeway with some butter. 

            Paulette called when I lay down to tell me she had dropped off my face shields.  I had bought two at Ace Hardware. Judy and Paulette were painting the headbands, so they were more attractive. I had given them two; they painted one purple and one blue. 

            I didn't call the State insurance regulatory agency to complain about Progressive charging me for Adam's accident today.  It would only be two hundred dollars  I have to see if it's worth the aggravation. 

            I worked with K. on the phone today on comprehension. She's going into sixth grade and asked for help. She selected a book that was on grade level. As I always do, I start with sentence comprehension, which is the comprehension of a single sentence. 

            I have found that sentence comprehension isn't taught. You would think it is obvious, but it's not. This basic level of comprehension is skipped over. As a student said many years ago, "Oh, language is a puzzle." You'd better believe it.  

            Here's the first sentence we worked on.

            "Rachael lay in bed, reading, waiting until the last possible minute when she absolutely had to put down her book and get out of bed." The first step in sentence comprehension is answering questions about the sentence.  For example, 'Who lay in bed reading, waiting until the last possible minute when she absolutely had to put down her book and get out of bed," or "What was Rachael waiting for?" This sentence is jammed with information. I'd detail what I do, but it would be a whole chapter in my book on comprehension. It's basic sentence diagramming, identifying the relationship between the words, phrases, and clauses in the sentence by asking questions instead of making a chart.

            As with most people, it was confusing for K. at first. However, I could feel her brain changing after we had worked for fifteen minutes. For students who do not have clear-cut neurological problems, this is a quick fix. 

            I showed this to a Somali high school student many years ago whose word recognition was excellent, but comprehension was poor.  I asked detailed questions about a single sentence and told him to work on this at home.  He responded that the process took too much time. I told him to do one sentence a day, and his subconscious mind would quickly take over the process, and he would no longer have to think about it consciously. He came back to me a few weeks later and said, "Thank you."

 

   - - - - - - - - - -

  Musings:

        There was a lot of talk about defunding police. I can't imagine that anyone except for the most militant believes that the police force's guns-ablazing approach is the best.  There has been talk about redistributing the funding to other professions who would then respond to calls where mental illness or domestic situations were involved. 

The police departments currently have meter maids—or at least that's what they were called when I was young. It says a lot. The job of checking meters to ticket expired ones was delegated to 'maids,' 'women's work.' This has a lot to do with the macho image of the police department rushing into 'dangerous' situations. What we are seeing now is that if you approach a situation anticipating danger, it becomes dangerous.  

         Someone said it would be too expensive to have such a division of labor.  Well, there would be fewer police officers armed to the teeth going into 'battle.'  That's certainly true.  They would be reserved for situations that truly call for that. 

           In medicine, we have PAs, physician assistants, and trained people who don't have the training to be doctors. Why can't people be trained to deal with situations with the mentally ill? Hospitals have non-medical staff who deal with mentally ill patients all the time. They're not trained in long-term therapy like a social worker. They just respond to the immediate situation with empathy and kindness to calm an excited person.

Sunday, July 5th, 2020

             Elsa and I spent the whole evening of the fourth in the library with the doors and windows shut. She spent a fair amount of time clinging to my neck. Those firecrackers.  But she took her place on the floor peacefully before the evening was over.  She seemed to get used to the sounds.  I went to bed before midnight. There weren't too many firecrackers, probably because there were only small gatherings, and it rained.  Elsa and I didn't do our before dinner or our before bedtime walks. I found she had used the wee-wee pad. This system is working.

            I woke up a 7 am.  Because I wanted to do some gardening, I decided I wouldn't go to church but spend the morning hours ripping out weeds before it got too hot. It took a while for me to get myself out there. My reluctance is based on how difficult it is for me to get down on my knees and then back up again. I managed and got a fair amount done. I was pretty pleased with myself.  I have been looking at those weeds in the backyard out of my bedroom door, or should I say they have been accusing me.  I didn't get them all, but I did pull up all the knee-high grass. 

            While I weeded, I listened to a TED talk by Michael Merzenich on brain plasticity. I was particularly interested in his comments about a program that actually altered the brains of the learning disabled.  Since he is a neuroscientist, I assumed his remarks are made as a result of fMRI results. He referred to a program that took 30 hours that did that job.  I suspected it might be Fast Forward. When I checked it out on the Internet, sure enough, that's what it was.  I got badly upset.  The audio file I produced has a similar effect. Of course, I have no scientific evidence, but my audio file is free. Fast Forward costs $1100 for a computer program for thirty hours of exercises and $3500 for work with a tutor.  No program can guarantee success for everyone. I have had a lot of success with my audio file. 

            While I don't have scientific evidence, I do have anecdotal evidence. I had one case with a seven-year-old whose speech was unintelligible to his older brother and sister.  I got his older brother to play the audio file for him while he slept. No, I didn't note how many times. I would say at least fourteen. The older brother told me he noticed his younger brother understood what was said to him more, and his speech became more intelligible.  Shortly, his speech became normal. 

            I started working with him on reading. He was still at a low kindergarten level in the middle of first grade. I applied my method of teaching reading, and he rapidly progressed.  Because my focus is on teaching and not proving anything, I never make notes. However, my audio file is free, and I have never had it do any damage, not even to someone's pocketbook.  Why not try it? You may like it. 

            Since the seven-year-old and the older brother shared a room, I thought to ask the older brother if he experienced any differences. The older brother was getting As and Bs in high school. At first, he said no. But I had seen something in his eyes, less fear. That made me ask him, "Do you understand what you're teachers are saying better?" Surprise came to his eyes, "Yes." Making this ninety-minute audio file improved my listening skills as well as my speech, and my reading speed increased. I was fifty-four when I first made a copy. I had completed my master's with straight As. Oh, yes.  I had a 760 out of 800 on the verbal section of the GRE.  This audio file will impact anyone. It may make a great difference for those with auditory processing problems that interfere with their reading.

            I don't listen to the audio file now, but I use the work's approach with students when teaching reading.  I don't know if it continues to develop my processing skills. Perhaps it delays their decline. I am almost eighty now. 

            Since January, I have been trying to get my grandson to help me get the audio files on YouTube. There was one problem after another with his schedule and formatting the file to work on YouTube. We had put it on bandcamp.com, but something went wrong, and it only played one track at a time instead of all the tracks for a single story in one sitting. Maddening. That's why I wound up looking for other sites to post it on. 

            After listening to the TED talk this morning, I was angry to the point of tears that that audio file wasn't out there.  I think it can help people. I'm not looking for people to contact me, but I do know what impact this audio file can have. That I can't get someone to help me is driving me nuts. 

            I called Adam the other day to ask for Brian's number. Brian works for a computer company. I hoped he could help me find someone I could pay.  My sixteen-year-old grandson is not committed to the task.  Judy called to say that Brian was busy, Adam would call me. Not really. My frustration level was over the top. I was ready to cry. I called Judy to vent. She said Adam thought Brian was too busy to help me.  All I needed was a recommendation; I needed to know what kind of help I was looking for.  

            I finally thought to ask August. He got back to me and let me know that there is an online clearinghouse for people who do all sorts of computer work piecemeal, fiverr. They do small jobs, which is what this is.  Judy said she would get Brian's number from Adam when she went down to his house to pick up Luke after getting home from church. Adam and Jazzy are expecting guests. It's his brother and his family.

Given that Jazzy just had a baby a few days ago, I suspect they will be more helpful than a hindrance once they arrive.  Judy said Adam can help me. I am concerned about relying on him because he has so much on his plate already.  Judy said this coming week was out because of the guests. We'll see.  I have to get this out on as many sites as I can. No, this audio file can't help everyone, but it can help many people, children, and adults. If it changed my brain, it could help improve people who are functioning at grade level or above. 

            I did some more vacuuming and worked on the updates and reading the NY Times.  I read about Pomodoro, a time management technique.  I had tried something like that because it is too easy to get involved in monotonous activities with the shutdown.   I couldn't stick to it.  I will try again.

            Because it was pouring most of the day, I didn't get around to trimming Elsa.  It was clear enough in the late afternoon to do the job out in the yard.  She wound up with a very uneven cut.  This is because Elsa clings to me like saran wrap while I'm working on her. I can't see what I'm doing. It's good enough. The bald spots grow in fast enough.

Saturday, July 4th, 2020

            Got up at 5:30 without my alarm.  Who needs one at this time of the year? The birds make such a racket; we’re lucky we can sleep through it. Not. I sleep just fine if I’m tired. I can sleep through my alarm clock. The bird noises are a delight.

            Elsa and I headed out.  She pulled back.  I pointed out that I was the larger of the two of us and made the decisions.  She came along.  I only completed 2,500 steps before I went in. My leg was bothering me.  I sat down to meditate after laying out my mat for the morning’s driveway yoga.  I knew I would hear people when they arrived and join them.  Yvette called my name. She said no one had come today; did I want to do yoga with her? I told her to take the day off.  I guess no one wanted to come because it was the holiday. 

            Damon set up a Zoom meeting with his mom, me, and himself.  We started this on Father’s Day, three people, all highly invested in Mike, two wives, and one son.  It’s a new format, and it’s a little bumpy.  I enjoy speaking to them independently more.  However, I get to see their faces. Damon sits under a pergola at the side of his pool.  His skin looks great, glowing, luminous. It’s a great background, greens, flowing fabric draping down from the pergola.  

            I went to do a light vacuuming of the kitchen.  I had walked on it barefoot after I allowed ice cubes to melt to fall on the floor and get it dirty again.  My Bissell is great. It allows me to wash the floor with minimal effort.

            I called Progressive to check my premiums over time: January 2018, January 2019, and July 2019.  I have not been able to get information from Progressive as to why my premiums have been so high.  They claimed Mike’s accident in November 2018, Adam’s accident in February in 2019, and mine in November in 2019.  I wanted the three dates because Mike’s penalty should have been dropped in April of 2019. Our premiums should have fallen to the original price until November of 2019, when Shivani and I volunteered information about my accident, not realizing that the insurance company would have been recorded as an accident even if I never made a claim.  Every time I asked someone at Progressive why things are the way they are, I get a different answer. Today I was told that Adam’s accident would have counted against him even if he wasn’t responsible – no fault.  This would mean that if my car is parked in a shopping parking lot, sitting empty while I was in the store, and it was hit, and the other driver took responsibility, it would still count against me on my insurance. Yikes!

            I called Geico to get confirmation.  I spoke to someone in the claims department. He told me that he didn’t know, but he would connect me to service. Did you get this? Unlike progressive, Geico referred me to an expert rather than giving me a bullshit answer. Then it came out there is a state board that oversees the insurance companies.  If I have a complaint, I can have them look into it. The fellow in service gave me the name of the department in Hawaii and the telephone number. The difference between Geico and Progressive is legion. 

            I took another nap. When I got up, I gave poor Elsa a bath. She is poor Elsa because I gave her a bath.  She hates them.  Afterward, I washed the bathroom floor. Dinner was in the library with the tv on. It’s July 4th- firecrackers. This is not Elsa’s favorite day of the year. We closeted ourselves in that room, closed the door and all the windows, and hid out. When the noise is bad, Elsa jumps in my arms and clings to me rather more like a monkey than a dog. She grips me with her arms.  

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Musings:

            What constitutes a learning disability?  I have written that it mostly means “no one knows how to fix it,” except by offering compensatory strategies.   Since I have been giving the matter more thought.  If a person is described as learning disabled or disabled in general, they do have a limitation. However, that limitation is only about a societal standard.

            When we roamed the savanna, no one would be considered learning disabled because they couldn’t read. It wasn’t a skill anyone was expected to have. I suspect that expectation is a relatively recent convention. 

            My husband couldn’t carry a tune. It was not considered a disability. If our culture found singing well a social requirement, it would have been.

            While cultural expectations are one of the parameters for considering something a learning disabled, the other is the availability of services to remedy or minimalize the lack.  I need to wear glasses for all activities.  Before glasses were developed and perfected, I would be considered disabled.  I wouldn’t have been able to see well enough to perform many tasks.  I don’t think anyone considers vision impairment a problem up to a certain point. The certain point is our inability to correct the vision.  If we can’t correct it,  then it becomes a disability.

            I just learned that people with cleft palates were once considered mentally impaired. That was the case until someone discovered a tube filled with fluid. That fluid distorted their speech sounds.  Once a doctor figured out that when the liquid was drained, they no longer had problems learning speech and reading.  People with cleft palates were never cognitively impaired.  

            There are two factors: 1) societal expectations and 2) our ability to help those with ‘learning disabilities’ overcome them, determining whether or not we consider someone to have a learning disability.  There is no absolute measure.     

Tuesday, october 14, 2019

I had a good Bikram class. I was still on my back. About two-thirds of the way through the class, my left thigh gave out.  I did some self-massage with my tennis ball.  At the end of the class, I could get up and walk out.

When I got home, I called Juice Plus to order two cases of their chocolate drink. I also looked for information on material that would silence noise coming from my house down to Yvette and Josh's. We tried to get Yvette and Josh's ceiling fixed so they didn't hear every little contact with the floor up here. Somehow, it's never happened. We just had another attempt to do it that misfired, so we went back to the drawing board.

The original idea was to drill holes into the drywall on the ceiling and spray in insulating foam.  I haven't contacted someone from one of those companies to find out if that would work.  The problem would be that you wouldn't know if the foam was distributed evenly.  I found one company that sells acoustic panels with an R factor of 13. My research showed that closed-cell material would work better than open-celled, like Great Stuff. The more expanded project means that we would have to take down the ceiling's drywall, place the acoustic panels, and put up new drywall. It would be worth it for me to know that they do not hear every pin drop up here.  I hope the project gets done – finally.

I got an email from John, Jean's husband, saying that the surgery had been successful. She only had a double bypass; her heart was beating well on its own now.  Yeah!!!!!!! What a relief!!!    

I got a call from the acupuncture office telling me that Chinese herbs were in. I told the receptionist I had been out of the pills for five days, and my body was reacting to the chemical change.  She said, "Huh?" then I got a call from the acupuncturist. I told her that it had been a miracle that she had persuaded me to take 12 pills a day in the first place.  I was not comfortable having been taken off it and then going back on. The first thing she said was, "I told you they were coming in on the 10th!" Note: today is the fourteenth. Then she said, "You said it was working." Not exactly. I said I couldn't be sure.  I had milder ones, but I was also in places where I was always cold: Portland, Seattle, San Francisco, and then LA.  When I came back to HI, they had gotten somewhat worse again.  She continued arguing, pointing out how I was wrong.  I said  I didn't want to argue, and I thought I had better cancel our future appointment for acupuncture. The next thing she said was, "She hung up on me!" I hear her problem. My work as a teacher and as a healer isn't mainstream either.  It is painful to be dismissed, but I am not up to people who argue with me, starting with "I told you" and "But you said." Frankly, I would prefer bad hot flashes. I'm just not up to it. I have enough on my plate.  I will work on differences with my nearest and dearest, but service providers, Nah. I made several other phone calls to friends and service providers.  I want to report those calls went well. 

I did a lot of work on the blog today. After dinner, I went into the library.  My back was problematic, but I worked on several shelves that were at an easy-reach height.  I found two (2) books on shelves I had checked I don't know how many times before. This system of alphabetically arranging each shelf seems to produce gold. It is still a slow, slow process.  

_______-_______-_______

Musings: 

Jesus is the picture of perfect divine altruism, sacrificing himself for man as a model for our behavior. Question: is giving your life the only criterion for sacrifice for others?  Well, that's an easy one. I just say no. How about the more difficult sacrifice: accepting that our way of doing something is not the only way of doing it, including how the toilet paper goes on the roller.

Friday, July 3, 2020

     I had a hell of a time falling asleep last night. My encounters with Progressive leave me churning. I can live with not getting what I want, i.e., a return of the money I put out because of Adam's accident.  I can't live with the nonsense they're feeding me.  I don't know if it is incompetence, lack of training, or fraud.  Whatever, I couldn't sleep.  I got up in the middle of the night to spend time on my standing vibrating machine. Someone had told me that shaking reduced the stress of trauma; we shake it off, literally.  That didn't do much good.  It was one of those moments when I wished Mike was here. Of course, if he had been, he probably wouldn't have been in particularly good shape, and I would hardly have felt that I could burden him with this problem. It would have only added stress to his situation.

    If Mike had survived pancreatitis, he would have been very limited. The doctors made it sound like there was hope that he would regain his life – over time. However, as I learned the effects of intubation on people's nervous systems, I realized that visions of his complete recovery were a fantasy.  Until these recent reports of the impact of ventilators on patients, I always associated them with surgery.  People were intubated during the procedure. The time they were on them could be counted in hours, not days, weeks, or months. People come out of those surgical procedures just fine and dandy.  If I had known, I would have been prepared for him to die much sooner. I don't know yet if anyone in the family was any more knowledgeable than I was. Maybe they were. Once I announced he was in the ICU, people made their way out to Hawaii to say goodbye.  

    I have no idea how my head worked.  While he was in the hospital, I was preparing for a long recovery, even when he was in the ICU for the second time. Once I made the decision to let him go, I was dancing. The palliative care nurse who came up to 'comfort' me must have thought I was out of my mind. I was joyful. I was joyful because it wasn't all my decision.

    Damon had called Yvette earlier that day and said that he was prepared to let him go. That meant it was all on me. What a decision! Take him off life support, without which he could not have survived.  Could he have survived if I had waited longer?  The answer is clearly no. The doctor in charge of his case said that operating was the only other option. It was unlikely that he would have survived. So it was either die in the ICU or on the operating table. After I decided, a nurse told me that there was puss coming out of every tube in his body.  As I read over my updates, I found that he asked to go on the Monday before; I decided on the following Saturday, and he died on Sunday. I had forgotten his request. At the time, I assured him we were already in discussion with the palliative team, but I didn't want to 'pull the plug' until I was sure that death was his only option. 

    He had declared that he wanted to die shortly after we arrived in the hospital, before his first trip to the ICU. At that time, I asked him if he was serious.  He made it clear he was not. He was just wailing. He had much cause to wail. 

    I finally fell asleep. I can call on Mike to comfort me even though he is not here. I pictured him holding me and singing to me.  Mike was tone-deaf and couldn't sing to save himself. I loved his singing. It made me giggle, not because his singing was terrible, which it was, but because he made himself vulnerable when he sang. It was so sweet.  I wonder now if he understood why I loved it so much.  I would say, "Sing to me." It was always comforting.  

    I am not devastated by my loss of Mike. It feels okay, but I wonder if something is wrong with me.  I adored that man. But I was also independent of him. My identity wasn't anchored in my marriage, and I had prepared for the loss. Since my dad died when I was fifteen, I understood that I could lose a loved one at any time. I mourned Mike's loss over the years. If he came home unexpectedly late, he would find me curled up in a corner, clutching my widow's weeds. When his death finally came, for real, I was more than ready.  I often thought through exactly what I would do if he died.  I was as prepared as I could be.

    I also feel no regrets over who I was in the marriage. Were we perfect? Good God, no. We were always a work in progress. But there was a deep, deep connection. That is still there. I am a woman who was loved, deeply loved. I can't begin to tell you how transforming that was.  My mother worked to convince me that nothing was right with me. Mike fulfilled a wish I had. That wish is captured in a misquote of a  Yeats poem. It's not my misquote; it belongs to a roommate of mine in graduate school, Carol Barter. (Hello, Carol, if you are out there.)  

     Some men loved her for her fair face.

    Some men loved her for her glad grace.

    But one man loved her for her pilgrim soul,

    And the thousand faces of her changing moods. 

 

That's what I felt I had in Mike.  Did he like everything about me? No. Did he learn to enjoy more things about me over the years? Yes. Either way, I felt loved.  It fills me.

    I got up at 5:30 am and headed out.  Elsa came with me for the first part of the walk. Elsa has adopted a new behavior because I have been walking up and down my street, passing my house repeatedly. She pulled back to go home right after she peed, maybe 100 steps into our 5,500 step-walk.  I wasn't sure what her problem was. It could have been her leg was bothering her.  When we got into the house, she was clearly petitioning for an early breakfast.  I told her no and walked out the door. She came running. I opened the door to put on her harness, and she ran to the kitchen.  I walked out of the house. Forget it, girl. You are not getting an early breakfast.  I stopped in every time I passed the house.  She persisted in her behavior until the third time. She finally sat still, I put her harness on, and she accompanied me for part of the walk. I did feed her after I finished my 5,500 steps.

    I had plans to deliver a book on Irish History from Mike's library to Colleen, who did my facial. She serves as a greeter at St. Michael's and remembers Mike fondly. She wanted something of his. She asked me to meet her at the bottom of Kaiminani at 10:10 on the shoulder. The plan was that she would head off to the airport to catch a flight back to Oahu, where she lives, and I would head into town to take care of getting the DMV form notarized.  I waited and waited, but she never showed up. I had to leave at 10:20 to make sure I made it for the 11 am appointment.  I texted her.  She finally texted me back, saying she got held up and ran late. 

    I headed to town to deal with the notarization problem. The question was, did I have to sign that notarized form, or did Josh?  The lady at the DMV was clear, "Have him notarize it." To cover all possibilities, I went to Office Depot to Xerox the form Josh had filled out with his name, whitened out his name on that form, and then Xeroxed the amended form.  Form in hand, I headed over to the bank.  They called his name before 11 and before he came. I said that I had to wait. Then I thought, "I bet the lady who notarizes these forms knows which one of us has to sign it."  She confirmed that I was me just as Josh walked through the door. I thanked him for coming and sent him home. He was most gracious about this massive inconvenience.

    While I was there, I went over to thank the bank clerk who handled my snarkiness the other day. I told her that the sign telling me which number to call to make an appointment didn't provide a connection to make one.  She went over to get the sign and showed me it said, "Dial 0.' She was gentle and nonjudgmental in her effect.  It was amazing.  I thanked her for being such a good role model.  I doubt I'll ever achieve that level of aplomb, but I have what is possible in mind now.  As Yvette pointed out, I speak with a sardonic tone no matter what I'm talking about.  I think it's funny.  I see myself as usually making fun of myself.

    Actually, it's more than that. I had a commitment to not be 'nice' when I was an undergraduate.  I had two role models, my mom and my dad. My dad was always 'nice,' 'gentle,' but he was also always manipulative and controlling.  While my mom was a holy terror, at least I saw her coming.  I figured being 'not nice' was the more ethical path. I remember thinking that I wanted my gravestone to read, "She was a bitch."  I've been looking for the middle path ever since.

    Once I had completed my business at the bank, I went to the DMV to complete the process. The bank clerk told me they would issue a Title in my name, and then I would sign it over to Josh. I wondered how long this was going to take. I wanted to get it out of my name so there would be no question of liability should there be an accident. 

    The parking lot at the county administration complex was empty. My first thought was great—I'll move through the line in no time flat. Then I realized this was weird. Sure enough, it was closed. There was no sign announcing its closure for today. Other people also arrived and said there was no announcement online that they would be closed today. I wonder if they will be open on Monday. 

    I drove home to deal with insurance claims again.  My experience with the employees of Geico is different than it has been with Progressive.  They explain everything to me in sensible terms in courteous language. What a relief! The results were the same, which still doesn't make sense to me. Why am I being charged $200 a year for five years for a tow and a fender bender?  I kept myself calm by playing with an adult coloring book while I talked to them.

    The fender bender was nothing. The insurance company only found out about it because Shivani and I had reported it. Advice: Keep your mouth shut.  I had asked Shivani to call Progressive to get roadside service. I gave up AAA because I had it with Progressive. OMG! That roadside service cost me $1000 in increased premiums over five years.  

    Progressive doesn't post a roadside service number, only a claims number. So, the claims representative asked Shivani what happened. She told them about my silly accident.  (I would have done the same thing) It was so trivial, and I couldn't imagine that it would increase my rates. Guess again.  Then, they have on record that they spoke to me on December 10. I gave the accident details, trying to point out that it wasn't worth a claim. It doesn't work that way.  Say nothing about accidents to your insurance company.  Geico said that with an accident reported, that was my fault. Even if no money was paid out, it increased my premiums. Jez Louise! It's a nightmare. I'm stuck with that increased fee for five years. The five years is a local quirk.

Thursday, July 2, 2020

     I got up when the alarm went off. I searched the house for my earbuds. I couldn't find them for love nor money.  I listened to some TED broadcasts on the speakerphone. That was just fine.   Before leaving, I moved my car to the edge of the driveway so Yvette could set up for Thursday's driveway yoga.

    I finished my walk well before 7. As I returned home, one of the yoga students was already there and said, "There's a present for you at the door." I checked both doors but saw nothing. Then I saw the flowers sitting on the Weber. I saw a King-sized Hershey's Milk chocolate with almonds when I got closer. When I got inside, another slightly smaller bar sat on my kitchen counter.  The chocolate elves had been at work last night. The student who gave me the second bar said, "Matsuyama's called and said I had to come to buy a bar." Matsuyama is our local bodega. 

     Once I was lying down during the class, I wasn't inclined to get up again. I modified Yvette's instructions as best I could. We had ten people in the class. Yvette set out a box to collect donations. 

    Housecleaning and gardening were on my to-do list for the day.  I washed the kitchen floor, poured boiling water on some weeds that looked too hardy for a vinegar bath, and cleaned my toilet. 

    At 10:30, I had a Zoom tutoring client, D. I have a hard copy of the book we are working with, and he is reading it on a tablet. He lost his copy of the hard-covered book his teacher had given him.  This worked out okay when we were working on the first few pages over and over and over. But now, we can move along more quickly.  His mother said she was going to order a hard copy. I only found out recently that she hadn't. I was ready to pull my hair out today. We had problems being in the same place in the text with our different formats. I told his mother that I wouldn't work with him on that book until he got a hard copy of the book. It was just too frustrating.

    I called a student I have been trying to connect with who wants some help with comprehension. I was going to work with her yesterday, but the morning got away from me. Then Colleen texted to say she could fit me in at 2:15 for a facial. Her family was already on the road for a weekend getaway. I'll work with her on Monday.

    I took a nap. I texted August about needing his help with my computer work.  He seems to forget about me.  I think I have to ask him if he would prefer that I hire someone to help me instead of bullying him to get his support.  

    I did more work preparing the PowerPoint slides for the YouTube download, using the audio files to teach phonemic awareness. While working on that project, something the Geico customer service person said yesterday echoed in my ears. When I told her that 'my accident' wasn't an accident.  While the car broke down, the problem had nothing to do with an accident. The hybrid battery needed a new part.  She said, "Did you challenge the accident report?" Huh? Never occurred to me that I could. 

    I called Geico service and asked how I could challenge the report. Wow! The amount of information I got was off the chart. She told me they got their information from Nexus Lexus.  My Progressive Agent(s) told me I couldn't contact them. The Geico representative gave me their number and the steps in the procedure for challenging the claim. Wow!       Progressive told Adam and me the report couldn't be changed once filed. This lady at Geico told me a) it could be challenged and b) how to challenge it.  What a difference!

    I asked her to stop for a minute while I took in the relief I felt getting answers to my questions. Progressive made me feel like I was dealing with the KGB. I could feel my insides relax. I felt more relaxed, not because I got sensible answers to my questions, but because I was dealing with someone who gave me a pathway for solving the problem.  Progressive gave me four different answers and misinformation.  They either deliberately lied or are ridiculously uninformed.    When Adam's accident was listed as his fault immediately after the accident, he was told that they couldn't rerun the search, and there was no one he could speak to get a change. 

    For those of you who don't know the circumstances, Adam's car was hit at 40 mph while parked with his engine turned off. All accidents are listed immediately as everyone's fault.   He was earning money through Uber, and now that car was gone. I let him use Mike's car while he was without one. I had to put him on my insurance because he was driving for Uber.  Eventually, the truth of his accident would impact the records kept by Nexus Lexus, but he came on to my insurance before that occurred.  He had to threaten a lawsuit before they agreed to change their position.  Looking back now, I wonder if they did.  

    I contacted D.'s mother and said that I wouldn't make our Friday 10:30 Zoom appointment. I offered other times, but she said let's pick up the sessions again on Monday when we are usually scheduled.       

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

     Elsa had used the wee-wee pad again last night.  I thought she had gotten into using it because I was walking her so late. But last night, I took her out an hour earlier than usual. The pad was in the shower this time, so there was no floor to clean up.  I follow the same principle with these pads as I do with flushing, "If it's yellow, let it mellow; if it's brown, flush it down." I hung the soiled pad up on the laundry line to let the sun and rain do their work.  I remember a woman telling me how this Hawaiian sun sucked all signs of urine right out of an object. She did that with sofa pillows when her kids had an accident. Sounded good to me.  

    As I woke up, I had a dream that someone told me that Mike was dead, and I passed out.  I suspect another layer of reality has set in. 

    I always run into many of the same people when I walk. Today, I ran into an older couple I hadn't seen for a while. Her husband said they hadn't been walking for the last five months.  He had had an accident. He was riding his lawnmower. As he passed under a tree, he didn't duck deep enough. He drove the top of his head into that branch and broke his neck. Ow! He was lucky he was not permanently paralyzed from the neck on down or dead. 

    I run into many of the same people.  Two men who walk with their wives look like they modeled for eligible middle-aged men in Kona.  I doubt they were the model, but their faces are unusual. Interesting. 

    After the walk, I meditated for half an hour. I was tired afterward and lay down to sleep. I wanted to work with a student on comprehension, but I wasn't up for it. When I woke up, I only had half an hour before my next appointment.  In the middle of that, I got a call from my aesthetician. She had an opening at 2:15; could I make it? You'd better believe it. This woman does wonders with my face. She is only here for one week a month. She lives on Oahu.  Yvette told me about her. But my first session with her was a free one she offered me after Mike died.  She had known him and valued her brief interactions with him.

    I stopped off at Ace Hardware to pick up the $6.00 plastic shield face mask. Judy was wearing one when she came over yesterday. She had painted the headband to cover up the company label.  The lady who sold me the shield told me about a customer who painted the headband lavender.  I said I know; she's my friend. The clerk told me that everyone who buys one knows this lady. She said to thank her for passing on information about Ace's shields. She drummed up a lot of business.

    Elsa and I went for our before-dinner walk. I wasn't very hungry. I had defrosted some chicken but hadn't had a chance to cook it.  Since cooking requires electricity, I want to bake it during the sunlight hours, so I'm reliant entirely on solar.  I had a quick dinner: a small salad and a frozen burrito.

    Collen, the aesthetician, asked me to fill out a survey for the best services in West Hawaii. She texted me the survey.  I had to choose at least twenty businesses to qualify for the survey. I didn't think I could do it. Au contra: I had over thirty to recommend.  

    I continued watching Endeavor before going to bed.  Yvette came up to pick up a form I had printed out for her. She also returned the paperwork I had given Josh to get notarized.  He had started filling it out and concluded it was for me to fill out, not him.  However, that is not what the lady at the DMV told me.

    I had gone the other day to find out what I needed to do to complete the sale of Mike's Ford; the title was in his name. I told the lady at the DMV that I wanted to sell my deceased husband's car to my son-in-law. She gave me a form and told me he, yes he, had to have it notarized. Yes, I could return the completed form to the DMV to complete the process.  I had made an appointment for Josh for Friday at 11 am when I was there the other day. Now, here was Yvette saying that she thought I was the one who was supposed to get the form notarized, not Josh. That made sense to me, but it was not what the lady had said.

Tuesday, June 30, 2020

 I ignored the morning alarm when it went off, figuring I would get a little walk in before the morning driveway yoga class—no such luck. I woke up a few minutes before seven. I raced to get Elsa out the back door and ready her breakfast.

 While thinking about switching car insurance companies, I wondered when mine would expire. While I paid for the next six months, it didn't start until the next day, which meant I still had time to cancel with Progressive without being penalized. One of my considerations was leaving Josh without coverage. If I completed the car sale on Tuesday, all would be well. I texted Josh. 

 I suggested that we complete the transaction today. Josh would have to get his form filled out and notarized over lunch. I could then come pick it up and take it to the DMV. He got back to me to say he could do nothing until Friday, his day off. He said he thought he could get the car on his insurance even if he didn't own it yet.

 Before the driveway yoga class, Yvette confirmed that Josh had gotten his car insurance. There were seven people in class this morning.  If everyone who has come so far were to participate simultaneously, eleven people would be in the class. We all sat closer together but did not face each other.

 Yvette did different things in today's class. She did this self-touching exercise, most lightly touching ourselves, starting with our heads and faces.  Its impact was amazing.  I realized my face hadn't been touched except when I washed it or wiped my eyes or nose since Mike died. It was transforming. After the class, I told her she had to post this exercise on Facebook and on YouTube. It will be so healing for many people who are also experiencing physical isolation.  She said she would do it. She also reminded people that she will be asking for donations starting in July and opening the class to the general public.  I will be getting my classes for free.  I announced how smart I was to pick her out of the litter to take care of me in my old age.

 I ate my breakfast and headed out to the DMV. Since the Traffic Abstract didn't give me the information I needed on accidents, I assumed the DMV would have that. I stood online for quite a while.  When I got to the counter, an outside window usually occupied by the cashier, I commented that the counter hadn't been cleaned. The clerk said, "We have janitors clean it." Is that once a day?  That doesn't sound like it fulfills the cleanliness requirements posed by the virus.  I wasn't too worried. We didn't have a single case on the island at the time. I suppose we could be awash in asymptomatic folks. I find myself getting lazy. If it wasn't required that I wear a mask when entering a store, I might not. So often, I've locked the car, and I'm on my way to the door when I see someone in a mask and realize I forgot mine. Back I have to go.

 The clerk at the window told me that I needed a Driver's Abstract, not a Traffic Abstract. This sounds like what the Progressive agent had said, so I'm off to the courthouse to get that.

 At the court, I gave the clerk, a young woman, both our Driver's licenses, Mike's and mine, asking for the Driver's abstract. This was going to cost me another $40 for the two of them. When she gave them to me, I saw they were the same reports I got yesterday. That was forty more dollars for no purpose.  I had made it clear to the clerk at the DMV that I wanted a list of the accidents credited to me. She had given me the name of the wrong form.  I was frustrated.  I told the clerk these were useless to me, pushed them back through the slot under the plexiglass panel, and told her to just throw them out.  I made some noise about them, saying that the lady at the DMV said this was what I needed. She seemed upset. I assured her that I didn't think she was at fault.

 She told me that what I needed was a driver's history. That would be another $9 per report. Okay, I gave her our Driver's licenses again. It took forever, a good twenty minutes to half an hour. There was no one else online behind me most of the time. When someone came, I said I had been waiting for a long time. She said maybe there was a problem. Then, the clerk announced she was having issues with the printer in response to our conversation.  I had assumed the delay was expected.  I had nothing to compare it to. Sadly, the clerk never thought to say, "So sorry for the wait; I'm having problems with the printer." She came back at one point and told me that she couldn't get my husband's because he was dead. I pulled out his death certificate. She handed me a form that I had to get notarized. After a while, she handed me a sheet of paper, my Driver's license, and the one-dollar change for the ten I gave her.

 I stepped aside from her window while the next customer stepped up. I looked at the form she gave me while I stood there. I said she had given me someone else's form. It wasn't in my name. I pulled out my Driver's license and saw that she had put in the wrong number; it was off by one digit.  I announced, 'You gave me the wrong one." She said, "No, it's your name." I told her that she had gotten the license number incorrect.  She said, "Give it back to me." I said, "Absolutely not! Not until I get mine."

 By this point, the next lady in line was at the counter. I said, "I'll go into town, get this form notarized, and come back and get both forms." She announced, "You can't leave with that document." No, I'm so sorry for the error; please wait a minute. Or please, give me the document back." No, no, no. The word sorry or please never passed her lips.

 I stood aside, already agitated—this whole adventure with the insurance company and now with the DMV and the courts.  The man at the counter next to hers told me I couldn't stand at the counter between his window and the lady I'd been dealing with because someone might come to his window. I said if someone came, I would move. He insisted that I move, threatening to call security. I turned and said, "I've had it. I'm leaving. Why don't you call the security and have them shoot me for good measure." I was furious. I had totally lost it. I was concerned that I was going to be stopped and possibly arrested as I left the building. But my exit was uneventful. I had paid a total of $89 so far and had zero information that I could use. No one knows their ass from their elbow, and they consider me rude for expecting them to know.

 When I got out, I called Dorothy and told her I was going to be arrested. She became quite concerned, but she assured me I wouldn't be arrested when I explained the story to her. The truth is that if I hadn't announced I had the wrong document while standing there, I would have left with the paper in my hand unnoticed.

 I went to the bank to get the form, which would allow me to get Mike's driving history notarized. There was an announcement on the table where the notary usually sits saying that you needed an appointment. "Call this number or speak to a representative," I called the number; the notary was not among the choices. I went to speak to a representative. You can imagine my mood was not 100%. I told this lovely lady that their information wasn't adequate. She said she thought the sign said to dial 0.  She actually brought me the sign to see for myself. All this time, she was lovely, just sharing information. I thanked her for being so calm and told her I had had a rough day.  I should have apologized for my snarling tone. 

 I made an appointment for myself for Thursday. While I was there, I made an appointment for Josh for Friday.  He had to get a form notarized to complete the transfer of title for Mike's car to him. I wasn't up for going back and dealing with the court clerks, so I headed home. Judy called while I was driving. I shared my story with her. Telling her the story was calming.

 When I got home, I called Geico to set up my insurance with them. It's not that I think their employees won't make similar mistakes; it's just that I have bad associations with Progressive. I don't want to have to think about having to deal with them.  For the most part, the unpleasantness was caused by their lack of knowledge. How can people be so undertrained in their own field?

 I called to cancel Progressive. When I reached their local agent, the one who had advised me to get an 'abstract.' I told her that was the wrong information.  If someone wants a record of their accidents, it's called a 'driver's history," "Please, don't do that to anyone else."

 Judy came over, bearing a large piece of chocolate cake she made for Zion's birthday.  She was wearing a plastic shield mask with a flower attached.  She had gotten the shield at Ace Hardware for $5. They came in different price ranges; she got the cheapest. She said she painted the headband, which bore Ace's name. It looked pretty good.  It was wonderful to see her whole face.

 She had told me yesterday that Adam and Jazzy were snapping at each other. She was concerned because her son Adam wasn't as considerate as he should have been of his wife, who had borne a 9lb. 15oz. baby, three days before, and was on bed rest because of an elevated pulse rate.     All was well today between them.  They both confessed their fears that this baby might also have FoxG1 disability as their second son has. Luke is extremely disabled and also extremely loved. Once they confessed their fears to each other, they cried together and consoled each other. They knew then they would deal with it when it happened. What a story!

 While it is statistically unlikely that one couple will bear two children with this genetic disorder, there are two recorded cases in the FoxG1 community. Two cases means it's not out of the question. Whatever the case may be, they can already be sure that Zion will never be as disabled as Luke is.  Luke's head size was much smaller than that of a normal baby; he had no soft spot, an odd cry, and didn't respond to movement. Zion's head is normal size, he has a normal soft spot, his cry is typical, and he was tracking movement by his second day. It's still going to be a wait before they know for sure. Do all parents worry about their children at first? I doubt it.  If it hasn't been part of your family experience or among your friends, once the baby arrives with all ten fingers and all ten toes, the rest feels as if it will proceed as expected. How naïve we all are.  There is so much that can go wrong. I've heard parents speak about the chances they took adopting a child. Bearing a child is just as much of a gamble.

 Yvette came up to visit. She has been stopping by the chat more often, and I'm enjoying it very much. I know we have known each other for her whole life, and yet we don't

 I couldn't find anything on TV worth watching, so I reverted to watching an old show that Mike and I watched, Endeavor. It's an English mystery set after the Second World War in England. The main character is an Oxford graduate who goes into police work as a detective.  Because his methods are unconventional, he's harassed by one of his supervisors and a coworker.  He is considered not normal.  He thinks that's what makes him abnormal.  Boy, it is such a relief from most of what I've been watching, which is badly written, badly directed, and badly acted; this show has none of those failing. Also, Endeavor is not needlessly violent, nor does it feature people motivated by mental illness. Ah.

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Musings:

 I am struck by how rudely the clerks at the courthouse treated me compared to how politely customer service representatives from retail providers like Amazon or Apple treated me. If I have had a problem, even one that is clearly no one's fault, they say, "I'm sorry. How can I help you?" They are always not only polite but downright sympathetic.

 In this bureaucratic situation, the employees were unempathetic and downright rude.  Is it a lack of training, do they attract people with low empathy, or is it the institution?   

 I heard a TED talk by Zimbardo of the Stanford Prison Experiments on what causes deviant behavior in people. He disputed the bad apple theory and said we are all vulnerable to bad behavior if it is encouraged by the leadership or the group we're in. It's disheartening to know how vulnerable we are all to exhibiting pure evil.

 He spoke about the incidents in Abu Ghraib, where military personnel tortured Islamic prisoners.  They had been told by their superiors to 'warm up' the prisoners for interrogation. Their behavior was not only sanctioned but encouraged.

 This suggests that the bad behavior of the court clerks I dealt with is due to their superiors and their training, not the individual people. Telemarketers are embedded in bureaucracy, too. If they can be trained to be polite and downright empathetic, these court clerks can surely be trained to be so. The same goes for the police, no?