Mike's death; Betty's life...

Tuesday, February 3, 2026

Thursday, March 31, 2022

I had a bad night’s sleep. It was the third anniversary of Mike’s funeral and the third birthday of my grandnephew. My niece watched Mike’s funeral on Facebook while in labor. I have been enjoying pictures of him as he grew. I was in some group thingie, along with other family members. Today his paternal grandfather shot a video as Sam received his birthday presents. There was his modified bed. He no longer sleeps in a crib. There was a two-wheel bike and a bouquet of balloons. He was three. What do you think he liked the best? He loved the balloons. I also learned today that my niece would give birth to their second child in May. Very exciting.

Because I had a bad night, I stayed in bed. Then I heard Yvette at the side door, “Betty, can I move your car?” OMG! It was Thursday, driveway yoga day. I completely forgot about it. I ran to the door in an undressed state to unlock it so Yvette could get in and get the car key. I raced to get dressed and join the class. I also had to get Elsa’s food together. She would have to make do with the yard to relieve herself.

Yoga was wonderful, as usual. We had a new student today, Nancy, from Yvette’s Island Heart Care class. She’s close to my age. She lives ten minutes away and may become a regular student.

I heard about the results of Mama K’s kids after she met with the school special ed team. Both girls were still reading at a Kindergarten level but had seen substantial improvement. It had been a while since I worked with the girls on reading. They didn’t have a computer they could use. Reading text on the phone didn’t sound like a good idea. Our recent work has been story writing to help them improve their verbal expression and comprehension skills. There was nothing said about improvement in those areas.

I had a session with adolescent D this afternoon. I started by asking how he was because I had been hard on him in our last session. He said, ‘Okay,” but I could hear from his voice that it had had an impact. He needs to be more engaged with his learning when I’m not around. His passivity was frustrating for me and self-defeating for him. We talked about his self-hatred because of his disability. When I asked him to say something positive, he said, “I’m amazing.” He is in many ways, but none of that solves his reading problems. He still had that problem. Knowing about his bullying, I asked him. “Do your parents know about your reading problems?” Of course. “Do they love you anyway?” Yes. “While your friends may not know the full extent of your reading problems, they know you have trouble. Do they like you anyway?” Yes. “That’s the way you should feel about yourself. If there was anyone ever in your life who put you down as a person because of your reading problems, it was their problem. Don’t use their behavior as a model for how you should treat yourself.” I also told him, “It is almost impossible for a human being not to respond when someone tells us we’re terrible.”

I told him the following story: A few years ago, when volunteering at the local public school in the third grade, I said the right words to convert a school bully to ‘one of the nicest people.’ Bullying was a family pattern. She had a large extended family. One of her cousins was in her class. This cousin bullied people too. She was furious at me for converting her best buddy from a bully to a nice person. When she was in fifth grade, I passed her on campus. She sneered and stuck her nose as she passed me. Her contempt was clear. No, I didn’t take the contempt of a ten-year-old to heart, but I did feel that small response inside me. We are designed to be sensitive to contempt regardless of whom it comes from. While as a seventy-year-old adult, I had no trouble dismissing that twinge. No child has those resources. Children have to learn to forgive themselves for taking that contempt to heart. It’s not their fault.

I asked him if what I said had meaning. He gave a whole-hearted yes, the likes of which I had not heard from him before. He sounded less defended.

We then started to work on the Driver’s manual. He remembered most of the words but got stuck on the -ting in operating and the -tion in condition. He confused the two. I drilled him on just -tion and -ting. He could not remember the pronunciation of -tion when I wrote the second one under the first. He had to start from scratch. Wow! This poor kid. We have to find a way to fix this problem.

I proposed using a drilling strategy and then stopping. D thought I meant stopping altogether and sounded alarmed. I assured him I wouldn’t give up on him, but I sometimes feel like it. I feel like giving up on many things these days. I find I have less patience, or maybe I’m not designed for these long-term commitments with students with serious problems that are not quickly resolved. I feel like one of those rescue dogs that needed to find a live victim occasionally to keep going. I need someone who needs just a little fix to get them over a hump to give me a boost. In the case of dogs, someone will ‘plant’ such a victim to prevent them from getting depressed.

Is there such a thing as an easy fix? You better believe it. When I was tutoring at the school, I would sometimes have time and say, “Is there anyone in the class who would like to work with me” Hands shot up. One girl said, “I need help reading longer words.” I showed her my six-step decoding process for multi-syllable words. She came back two days later and said thank you. I can think of several others. Some to do with comprehension, some with copying skills, and some with writing skills. Yeah, these kids needed the smallest boost. There was an improvement with one or two short sessions. Their success felt great.

Wednesday, March 30, 2022

I slept very well last night. I went to bed by 10. I did have a few moments in the middle of the night when I was half-awake dealing with negative thoughts. I slept so well in the morning that I didn't remember turning off the alarm.

On my morning walk, I ran into the adolescent girl's mother. She explained her emotional state. She is vulnerable now because she has relatives in Ukraine. I learned this morning that her aunt and uncle were safely in Russia with their family. However, she still explained her reasons for not wanting her daughter to devote two hours a day to earning $20 an hour. She may be right and is doing what is best for her daughter. But she doesn't present as a reasonable person. Either way, it was still in her power to insist that the girl not work. While the girl was 18, I've heard children are only emancipated in Hawaii at 19. In addition, the girl was living rent-free in her mother's house. She still had to live by her mother's rules.

The girl's mother or father might be good candidates for Mei and Peter's second driver. They want to hire someone full-time for $30,000 per year. I decided they were not worth the aggravation. The mother speaks with an accent and mumbles so badly that no one can clearly understand what she says. I talk to her a lot. I was getting used to it, and it was still hard. Mei and Peter are recent immigrants from China and still speak with distinct accents. They would have even greater problems understanding the mother—moreover, the mother whines. I can see her saying, "Oh, I can't make it now," when Mei calls to say there's a car to be picked up or delivered and then bend her ear for the next five minutes with excuses. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. In all fairness, the job is stressful. It breaks up your day, so you can't get anything done, and there are often last-minute changes.

I had my acupuncturist's appointment today. I had already told her I had opted for THR when we made the appointment but forgot I had. Oh, dear. There are things I've forgotten that don't bother me. They have to do with time or numbers. But this was different. It had nothing to do with time or numbers, and I shared important information with someone who worked on my body. I expected her to contribute to my preparation for surgery and my recovery. That I didn't remember that conversation was upsetting.

I told the acupuncturist about much of the information the doctor shared with me, praising her communication skills. I saw how the surgeon would measure my leg length by measuring some distance between a point in my hip and a point high on my leg. The acupuncturist told me they should also measure the lengths of the bones. The bones can be of different lengths in the two legs. I will have to contact the doctor and ask her about this. However, one of my PTs, Katie, measured both legs with a measuring tape and found them equal. This wasn't precise, but it suggests my bone lengths aren't widely divergent.

Mama K texted to cancel for the day. She was meeting with the child study teams to review the progress of her twin girls; both are special ed. and have IEPs. I looked forward to hearing the report. It may inspire me to move in a different direction with the girls.

I also spoke to adolescent D's mother today. She gave me some alarming news, particularly in light of my pushing him the other day. She got a call from a mother of a student D knew when he was in third or fourth grade in another school. She asked if D had an Instagram account. There is someone harassing kids that went to that school many years ago in D's name. This mother said her daughter recognized that it wasn't D talking because he would never speak that way to anyone. There is no way he would bully someone. A huge strength of D's character is his commitment to being a good person. It is also clear that this is a peer of D's, not some adult messing with kids' heads. It came out that the bullying at that old school was intense and continuous. D's mom got the details of what he suffered and was horrified.

She contacted all the parents of kids on the Instagram account to tell them that her son didn't even have an Instagram account and was in no way responsible. One of the people she contacted had a child who had been a friend of D's in that old school, who was also bullied and continued to go to school with the offenders. He was in high school with some of his tormentors now and experiencing such intense bullying that it made him physically ill, enough to have been hospitalized because he couldn't eat.

One of the parents the mom contacted acknowledged that her son could be one of the offenders. He had been involved in another incident. The mother said she took away her son's phone and checked his activity. D's mother thought it was time to call in the Police. Cyberbullying is a crime, as is an identity thief.

I got a return call from Karen, the surgical appointment nurse, and arranged for the THR surgery on June 2, right after my guests had left. I also got hold of Veronica today from the stone engraving company. I dropped off the slabs for shipping to Honolulu two weeks ago and had heard nothing. She told me they picked them up last Friday, and she was working on the designs. She would email them to me the next day.

I continued watching Brokenwood Mysteries on Netflix. Love it. The main characters are never under attack. Ahh! It's not edgy or scary in any way. I was in series 4. I still had more to go. I looked forward to them every night.

Tuesday, March 29, 2022

After completing the morning wordle puzzle, I tied to sign onto the NY Times puzzle archive. I have a year's subscription. I love doing the Mini puzzles on the computer. They provide the auto-check feature that tells me when I got it wrong. It prevents me from going down a frustrating rabbit hole. Since I got my new Surface Pro Tablet, replacing Mike's old one, I haven't been able to access the puzzle. I subscribed under my own email address. Mike's old email address came up with the new tablet every time I signed in. When I tried to change it, I couldn't. The first Times customer service person told me to delete all my cookies. I did that, but the problem persisted. I called back. The second customer service representative had me repeatedly try to get rid of Mike's email address, so I could enter mine. No luck. I changed the password. That worked. I had access to the puzzles under Mike's name. Huh? Did he renew his subscription from the beyond? Whatever, I have access to the NY Times crossword puzzles now.

Karen, Dr. Salassa's appointment nurse, called. Her first available date was May 17. That would be great, but I had relatives visiting at the beginning of the month and, as it stood, the last week of May. It would be great if they came to care for me, but they're not. I told Karen I would call her back.

I saw my PT, Terry, today. I told her the news. I would have THR, an ultrasound, to see if structural problems were causing my urinary tract problems. My doctor had requested an appointment with a urologist. Terry said, "We will be doing prehab," preparing me for the THR surgery and a quick recovery. She said my left glutes were weak, and my internal rotators were hypertonic, in constant contraction. She gave me more exercises for strengthening my external rotator muscles to relax the internal ones. She helped me isolate the muscles I needed to strengthen. The goal is to use my glutes without engaging other muscles to compensate for their weakness.

I told her I would be going over to Honolulu on my own. (I live on the Big Island and have Kaiser insurance. Kaiser's primary service is in Honolulu. I have to fly there for many services. Kaiser pays for the trip for the patient and a companion.) I thought I told her I preferred not to have someone with me. The other person's presence would remind me that Mike wasn't there. I shouldn't need someone with me unless my leg was very bad at the time. Otherwise, I would only need someone to pick me up and take me home. The hospital wouldn't release me unless I had someone to help me. Terry said, "If you need someone to go with you, I'll take a day off from work to help." Wow! Blew my mind. How generous.

While I was with Terry, my phone rang. I answered since I had all these medical people calling me. It was Matthew, the cement guy making the wedges for the gravestones to rest on. He was inserting handles into the wedges to make them easy to lift. Fr. Lio had complained about the difficulty of moving the gravestones to get the next person into the grave. He proposed that I wait to put down the gravestones until I die. I didn't know if he was banking on my early death. The general prediction is that I will live for another twenty years. I thought waiting was a stretch. Matthew gave me two choices of handles. One was brown and on the top of the wedge. The other was black and on the sides. I chose the second. I hoped I had made the right decision.

I stopped at the nearby UPS store before going to rehab to drop off an Amazon return. I left myself fifteen minutes. The line was too long. I would have been late for the PT appointment. I went to UPS after rehab. The line was still long, but I had time. It went quickly. On the way home, I stopped by Matsuyama's, our local bodega, to pick up a jar of mild salsa. It's the only strength I can tolerate. It cost close to $7. Now, everything in Hawaii is more expensive. I would buy my next jar from Long's or even Safeway. It will be interesting to compare the price. When I got home, I went down for a nap. These last two days have been packed with intense activity.

On my evening walk, I ran into an adolescent who lived down the street. I asked her if she would be interested in working with Mei and Peter two hours a day for $20 an hour. They want someone who will clean their Turo cars. I told the girl they wanted someone to wash their cars, thinking she knew they had a Turo business. She didn't and commented on how clean they must keep their cars if they needed someone to clean them two hours a day. I told her they had over fifteen cars. Oh. She said she wanted to talk to them first. I called Mei and told her I had an adolescent in tow and I could bring her over. The girl had to drop off her dog, and I had to drop off Elsa. Mei and Peter's son is terribly allergic to dogs.

I waited for the girl at the edge of my driveway. No, show. Lutz passed. He asked if I was going for my walk. No, just waiting for the girl. It hurt my leg to stand here. He said he was passing her house and would tell her to knock on my door.

When I came outside, I saw not only her but her mother. Her mother looked upset. She didn't want her daughter to work. She said she had too much work and didn't sleep well. She couldn't afford the two hours a day. And no, she didn't want her working during the summer. The mother wanted her daughter to help her in the house and care for the dogs. Okay. The girl was 18 but still lived in her mother's home. Not to mention some of her mother's concerns sounded valid to me. The only problem I had was the mom repeating over and over and over why she didn't want the girl to do it. I also had some questions about her prohibition against working over the summer. Was the girl her servant? Was she going to let the girl be with her friends, or did she have to stay home all the time? Either way, the mom was a little hysterical. I can get that way. I hate it in me too. That makes me less tolerant of it in others.

I met with adolescent D. I pushed too hard and felt lousy about it. I was frustrated by his lack of effort. I knew he was forgetful and could not remember turning on the audio file before going to bed. I helped him set up an alarm system to remind him. I texted him to turn on his alarm. He was supposed to press the snooze button if he was not ready for bed. I didn't know what he did, but he didn't listen to it. If he had a problem using the alarm system, it didn't occur to him to tell me the problem so we could brainstorm a solution. I couldn't guarantee the audio file would work to solve his auditory processing and memory problems. Some of my students had success with it. It was worth a try, and still, he did nothing. He makes no effort on his own. That's a bit extreme. He would only put out the most limited effort. Denial and avoidance were his primary coping mechanisms. I see the value of these strategies, but not when they're the only ones. No single coping strategy works for every situation. He denied he denied. He often froze.

We would be working, and there would be no response. I would call his name several times, "Have I lost you?" He would come back slightly confused. "Oh, yeah. I got distracted." I saw a pattern. It happened whenever something was difficult for him. He denied that. He said it happened when he was tired. I couldn't get through to him. I couldn't get him to see that he 'forgot' to do tasks or use strategies because they were painful reminders of his problem. He hated his disability, and he hated himself for having it. I had to ask, "Did I do what was best for him?" I didn't know. I needed a nap after I was through with that session. I hoped I hadn't done more harm than good.

Monday, March 28, 2022

This was a drama-filled morning. I nearly killed myself twice, and I decided to get hip replacement surgery.

I had an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon this morning at Kaiser. I made the appointment when I had that problem with my ankle, which started in January. I had excruciating pain in my ankle when I stepped on my left heel. I had completed 337 days straight of 10,000 steps, just 23 days short of my 360-day goal. It was too painful for me to continue. Remembering doctors told me that as the hip got worse, I would experience problems in my lower leg, so I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. If it cleared up, there would be no need to consider THR. I planned to keep the appointment regardless to see if there was additional information. That appointment was today.

Here's my first attempt at suicide this morning. I missed the turn into the Kaiser parking lot. I was just a nose beyond the entrance. By making a sharp left, I could easily turn in. I started that turn and noticed a dump truck coming down the hill. I aborted my turn and wisely waited till the truck had passed. My decision-making faculties and reflexes were still good enough to make the right choice.

My appointment was with a woman orthopedic surgeon; the rest have been men. I didn't count on her being much better than the men, but there was a universe of difference. In all fairness, I had information about my body through the PTs I didn't have before. But the doctors did. The doctor was a young woman who spent time talking to me. She addressed my questions and gave me the information I needed. The male doctors said, "Do it! You'll love it!" and "Someday, you will be in terrible pain and have to wait three months for the surgery." Over the years, I made two appointments for surgery and canceled both because I wasn't in pain. I had this strong feeling that it was not right. In both cases, the doctors' nurses said, "If you're not in pain, don't do it!"

Dr. Salassa said we usually don't do it if someone is not in pain. I was generally not in pain. I was stiff; I had some movement limitations. Dr. S explained the joint had started to disintegrate and would continue to do so. One day, the femoral head would collapse, and I would be in agony until the surgery. If I lived fifteen more years, it was highly likely to happen. Most predictions for me are another twenty years. That meant I could anticipate trouble.

One of my concerns was my apparent uneven 'leg length." Dr. S asked, "Do you think it is caused by a difference in your legs or your back problem?" I thought it came from my back. I asked her if she would take X-rays to precisely determine leg length. No. And then she showed me how she would determine it. She projected a line across the X-ray image of my hips. Then she eye-balled the space between that point and another higher on the hp. She said my legs were even. The difference was created by my back problems.

I used a walking stick today during my visit with the doctor. My leg has been problematic. Was this because I was waking with atrophied muscles or because I had pushed the hip as far as it could go? Dr. S asked me a question I wouldn't have thought a doctor would. She asked me if I used the stick to avoid using the left leg or supporting it so I could put more weight on it. The answer was so I could put more weight on it.

This is the first doctor to offer an anterior surgical approach. Every other doctor I have spoken to only offered the posterior. This doctor could do both and wasn't invested in one verse the other. I told her a friend popped his new joint several times. He did it in a yoga class, and I want to continue taking yoga classes. With the posterior approach, eagle poses, opening the hip from the rear, are out. With the anterior approach, the warrior poses, opening the hip from the inside is out. However, if I was cautious for six months and allowed the muscles to reattach with vigor and determination, the chances of ever popping the hip out would be negligible.

Given my anteverted hip alignment (unusual in adults), she said she would prefer the anterior approach for me. She said she could adjust the placement within the joint to make some corrections for my turned-in hip position. My chances of achieving a perfect turnout were off the table. The doctor said her first available appointments were in May. I have family visiting then. Damon, Cylin, and August are planning for early May. They want Shivani to overlap with them so they can see her and her five-year-old son, Sidney. Shivani had already made flight arrangements for the end of May. I told the doctor June would be great. Now I only have to worry if the world will still be functioning then.

The bad news was the problems with my left calf, ankle, and foot were not due to hip problems. Hip problems only affect the muscles of the upper leg. Dr. S thought those problems came from my back and were caused by sciatica. I will have to deal with these even after the surgery. My hanai sister just had back surgery to deal with this problem. OMG! She was in a rehab unit for three weeks. I hope it doesn't come to that for me.

I headed to the transfer station after Kaiser. It's just one stoplight further down the highway. I had loaded the car with cardboard on Sunday, meaning to drop it off, and forgot because I rushed home from church to nap.

I called Judy to give her the news as I headed home from the doctor's appointment. I needed someone to help me return home from Oahu, or the hospital won't release me. I won't 'need' someone to help me on the front end. Once I get to the hospital, the medical staff will do everything until check-out. This all makes me very sad. Several people are willing to come over with me, stay in Honolulu for the night, and then take me home, but it would not be the same as it would have been with Mike. We were glued to each other. If I was in the hospital, he was there; if he was in the hospital, I was there. You have to ask a friend to come. You have to make arrangements. With a spouse, there is no question. It's assumed. If a spouse doesn't come through, it's an ethical breach. This is the greatest loss for me. I am no longer someone's 'must take care of" person, and no one is mine. I can have a bevy of friends come with me, and it won't be the same.

Here's the story of my second escape from death by my own hand. While I was on the phone with Judy while driving home, someone else called. I arranged to have someone from Kaiser call to interpret my urinalysis results this morning. This could be the call. I hung up with Judy but couldn't switch to the other call. I frantically pushed buttons on the video screen while driving down Queen K at 45 miles an hour. It did occur to me to pull over, but I couldn't coordinate that and argue with the screen. I think I was checking traffic out of the peripheral vision of my left eye. I didn't even wander out of my lane. The call was dropped. I thought, Holy cow! Am I out of my f__king mind?" On the positive side, dying in a car crash would have solved my UTI problem.

The phone rang again around 11:30. It was my much-loved primary doctor- not just by me. She is the sweetest person, and she is mighty competent. She was the one who found B's cancer when everyone else missed it. This was the call I was waiting for, only I didn't expect it to be my primary. She said the results of the urinalysis were inconclusive. It looked like the sample was contaminated. I told her of the continuing problems I was facing with urine flow. I had tried everything, and I hadn't seen much progress. She ordered a consultation with a urologist and an ultrasound of my bladder and kidneys to see if there were structural problems. This woman makes it easier to breathe.

I also told her I agreed to have a THR and about my encounter with Dr. Salassa. Dr. Reed told me she had heard only the best about this doctor. She has a great 'bedside manner,' and she is an outstanding surgeon. Wow! I will never know if I would have been okay If I had had the surgery sooner. One of my reasons for delaying it was to get my spinal curvature corrected before the surgery. While it was not perfect, the difference between what it had been and what was now was impressive. Both PTs and my chiropractor have commented on it. My PTs said they never expected me to make the progress I had made. I take their advice seriously.

As I walked out on the driveway to check the mail, I heard a loud male voice coming from a fixed spot. It wasn't someone walking by. I went out on the road to check. Lutz leaned on Mei and Peter's gate, talking their ears off. Peter was clearly uncomfortable. I said, "Lutz. Why don't you walk with me?" He gladly came along. We enjoy each other's company. While Lutz is loud and often bombastic (he describes himself as opinionated), he is open to feedback. Once I learned that I found his company quite enjoyable, I looked forward to walking with him. However, Mei and Peter didn't know him from Adam, and they're Chinese. They had no idea how to deal with this situation. I called them when I got home. They thanked me for freeing them from Lutz's grip. I shared strategies to get them out of that situation. "So sorry. I have to go in now." Etc. Also, I told them he walked between five and six pm every night. They could avoid being in their garden.

I called Isaac and proposed he comes over tonight to watch Coda together. I asked him what he was making for dinner. I was so sick and tired of my own cooking. The only things that continue to taste good are roasted chicken and steamed broccoli with butter. (As I remember, Mike once cooked that every night for dinner or a while. I finally objected.)

He was supposed to come over by 7. He texted he was running late. He arrived at 7:30 with a huge bowl of cooked spaghetti and a small jar of pasta sauce that was more than half empty. I know he loves broccoli. That was my contribution to the dinner. I prepared one of the four bags of frozen broccoli package.

Isaac moved around, looking for the TV. While I hadn't gotten rid of the TV in the library, I didn't use it anymore. It was unplugged, and I couldn't find the remotes. We settled into the library. Isaac pulled a small table over to the TV set to rest his computer. He had a subscription to Apple TV; I didn't. He found the control buttons on the TV, which I never could. While he was setting up, Elsa rested next to his food, ignoring it. When he moved the bowl of butter-soaked broccoli over to the chair, Elsa's nose woke up, and she licked it. Something like that doesn't bother me, but it did bother Isaac. I told him to throw away the top broccoli. The rest would be untouched.

I enjoyed the movie and cried at the main character's success. I might have allowed myself to sob outright had I been alone. I enjoyed the film, but it didn't deserve the Oscar, not when compared to Power of the Dog. No. I hadn't watched that movie. It sounds like an endless nightmare. It was my understanding that's why it didn't win. The Oscar members needed relief from tragedy like the rest of us. However, if the Oscar is awarded for acting skill rather than feeling good, there is no question that the cast of Power of the Dog deserved it. Their roles were challenging.

Poor Will Smith. He was dysregulated from the high of receiving the award. Then he laughed at Chris Rock's comment until he saw his wife's face. I think he was terrified of her reaction to his behavior. Does she slap him when she takes offense? He was out of control. He sadly confuses fear and love.

Sunday, March 27, 2022

On my morning walk, I ran into two women I hadn't seen in a while, MaryAnn and Paulette. We talked for a few minutes. It's always a delight to connect with them.

I planned to leave for church at 8:30. I didn't go with Judy because she was the first lector. Unfortunately, I hadn't set my alarm. I depend on my alarm to remind me to do anything. I didn't even bother checking the church parking lot. I went straight to the library lot. I got the last spot there. There is an open gate between the church and that lot. The church parking lot was full, as I expected. I sat in the back of the church.

I had requested an afternoon time with the M & W sisters so that I could go to the 9 am mass. I prefer it because I know more people. Their mom asked if I could meet with them before noon. I offered 11 and then thought that would be too early. I would leave church after ten and get home between 10:30 and 11. I knew I would want a short rest before working with the girls. I asked for 11:30. She okayed that.

It was first-grade M's birthday. I sang Happy Birthday to her in the Ross style, developed because Mike couldn't carry a tune. We made a virtue out of a vice; it became our thing. She asked me to sing it the usual way. I did, and she shared a version she knew with a joke ending. Sorry, I can't remember it off-hand, even though I was familiar with it. We worked on co-writing a story about what happened on her birthday. Her parents bought ten pizzas and a birthday cake for her to share with her basketball teammates.

With fifth grade W, I continued working on her spelling. I used her last story. I read sentences to her. She had to remember them and dictate the letters to me while I typed what she said. It was her preference. I think her spelling is pretty good. She did spell saw as sal. That was an interesting error but not a big deal. It meant she had problems when she started reading, and the wrong spelling got stuck in her mind. She had to override that programming. She also made a mistake with dipped spelling is diped. She sounded it out correctly; there's a consonant doubling rule after a short vowel. There are exceptions to the rule. "There are more rabbits than robins" is the saying I learned through Orton Gillingham. (The a in rabbits and the o in robins are short vowels. Robins is an exception to the rule. English!!!) Her mother said her spelling was so bad she couldn't figure out the words. She gave W's spelling of the word scientist as an example. When I asked W to spell it, she sounded it out and produced sientist. That is a perfect phonetic spelling of the word; only the c is missing. I suspected it was the mom who had the problem.

M & W's mother is convinced both her children have dyslexia. She assumed it was her daughter's problem when she didn't recognize the spelling. Given what I'd seen, I thought the problem was more the mom's than the girls. The more serious problem was she had convinced both her children they were disabled. I see more psychological issues than academic ones because of parental pressure.

Today when I started with M, I asked her if either her teacher or her mom had told her how well she was doing. No! I even spoke to mom about it earlier in the week. I wanted confirmation that the teacher had said she was beyond where she had to be. Still, the mom made no effort to give her daughter the good news. I told M today that she was doing very well. Since I didn't have the teacher's exact words, doing very well was as far as I was willing to go.

I speculated that mom might be German. That's how my mom was. (She was born in Germany in 1903 and came to America when she was thirty-four.) She believed giving me positive feedback was harmful to me. She never gave it as an act of personal sacrifice and love. When she moved in with Mike and me at eighty, she said the following to me. "I know I shouldn't say this. It is not good for you, but I can't help myself. I have been telling everyone what a good daughter you are." Oh, well. While living in Princeton, when my mom was alive, I worked with a boy from a German family. I asked his mom about my mom's behavior. She said my mom was an extreme version of a German parent. Just my luck!

Saturday, March 26, 2022

Today is the 66th anniversary of my father’s death. He died when I was fifteen. How’s that for a kick in the pants.

I committed to volunteer to help register the contestants for the charity golf tournament for our church. The other posts were out at the various holes. I didn’t want to be that far from a bathroom or have to stand endlessly. One of the other volunteers told a story confirming my concerns. A few years ago, she and another volunteer were driven out to a hole at a golf charity event. It was rainy and cold. The best part was they were forgotten. They stood out there long after the tournament was over. Someone finally thought to go out and pick them up.

I set my alarm for 4:45 am. I showered before I went to bed and selected an outfit. I got dressed before I took Elsa out for a walk. I also put the heated water into her food bowl before leaving it with some ice to ensure it was cool enough for her to eat. I made soup for myself, put it in a flask, and grabbed some fruit. I picked up a blanket at the last minute in case it was cold at the country club at 6 am.

I took a long, out-of-the-way route along Ali’I Drive to the country club for safety reasons. I have heard several stories of bad accidents early in the morning when teenagers come home drunk from all-night parties. Ali’i Drive, filled with restaurants and shops, goes through the tourist hub of town. The country club is at the far end of the street. The speed limit is between 15 and 25 miles per hour. I thought I’d be unlikely to come across a drunk teenager there. If I did, how much damage could they do at under 25 miles per hour? It took me 45 minutes to get there instead of 30, but I was good with that.

My leg was in complaint mode. I hobbled down a steep decline to the entrance from the parking lot with the aid of my walking stick. I was given instructions. The job had three parts: check off names, pass out paperwork and tokens, and collect cash. I was shown all three, only to discover that I would only be responsible for one. I sat at a table with two other women.

The chairs were those plastic garden variety, hard on the back. I asked one of the organizers if I could get a cushion. She grabbed one from a sofa. I used it as a backrest, pushing me to the front of the chair, eliminating the need to work to sit at the front of that slanted seat. Because I was in the first chair, I got the job of checking off names. I was handed the check-off sheets.

Cathy got the job of passing out the paperwork and tokens. I knew her and her husband Tony from church. She is a cheery person. She and Tony have been together since she was 15 and he was 16. I can’t imagine what it will feel like to one if the other goes. How do you survive that loss when it is all you’ve ever known? They still love each other and enjoy each other. Pretty amazing to pick out someone at that age and make it work.

While I had brought food, they were also serving some. Donuts, Danishes, coffee, and some fruit. I couldn’t resist the apple Danish.

One of the organizers came over to me and told me I was sitting in the wrong place. I should move to the middle position since I was checking off names. I should be next to the person who collected the money. I saw a problem and said, “That doesn’t make sense.” He said if I didn’t understand, maybe I shouldn’t be there. I said, “Do you want me to go home?” The woman collecting the cash intervened. She said this is the way it was always organized. I said something about the gentleman being grouchy. He said I asked too many questions. Huh? The work wasn’t overwhelming. I enjoyed the stimulus. I left at 8 am.

Jean, my hanai sister, called. She wanted to update me on the reception of Damon’s movie. He is the creative producer on this project. The Bad Guys movie would be released in the states in April. However, it had already been released abroad and was playing to good reviews. I’ve seen the previews. It’s snarky. I’d love to see something gentle. I’m snarky enough to fill my needs for that.

My friend Carol Zim called to check up on my well-being. Eh! I’m slipping into sadness or depression. I had no idea what it had to do with. There was so much to choose from. Mike’s death, underlying life-long depression, and poor response (quantity-wise) to my videos,

I got a text from M & W sisters’ mom saying they were still at the basketball tournament. After another postponement, she just canceled.

At five, I got a text from Jana, one of the Step-Up tutors, who asked me to mentor her. I forgot. I want people interested in my work, and then I forget to respond. Something was going on within me that wasn’t clear. I signed on immediately.

Jana had done some work with her student on syllable division. Her student has impressive skills. Jana says she made significant progress with my method of teaching. I didn’t see where she started, but her current performance was impressive as far as I was concerned. Jana was still impressed by how far behind her student was from other children in her grade. Jana compared this child’s performance to the performance of her five children. Jana home-schooled every one of them.

The topic of ‘proper’ language came up. I strongly advocate not correcting’ students’ ‘poor’ English skills unless they are just learning English. Jana asked, “But how will they learn to speak properly?” While I think it is important to learn to speak standard English, I don’t think standard English is a better way to speak. The best way to speak is always the most effective means of communication between people. We need to learn standard English because it is necessary for economic success. However, if you’re in a group of Latinos who speak Spanglish, that’s the best way to speak.

The easiest way to communicate this difference is to describe the difference between prescriptive and descriptive linguistics. With prescriptive linguistics, you pass on the rules of how it should be. In descriptive linguistics, you describe what is without judgment. Jana asked, but how do you teach the standard language. With my method, you do that without judgment. When you compare the two ways of speaking as a matter of interest, you show the student the standard version. When comparing the difference between the two languages without judgment, it’s interesting. The teacher learns the student’s pronunciation or grammar as much as the student learns the teacher’s. This creates an opportunity to learn for the student in a non-threatening environment. The goal is for the student to be bi-dialectal. They should keep their regional speech to effectively communicate within their own community.

Here’s a funny story that should bring the point home. After studying French at the Sorbonne, my sister, and mother toured Europe. They ran into a British woman in Switzerland, who asked her if she had lost her accent upon learning that my sister had spent time studying French in France. Dorothy said, “People say my French accent is excellent.” The woman said, “Oh, I’m not talking about your French. I’m talking about your American English. Have you lost that accent?” Dorothy said, “I wasn’t trying to.” This is how our students feel when we put down their way of speaking. Judgment is not a good teaching strategy.

As I closed the Zoom app, I heard someone in my driveway call my name. It was my neighbor Lutz. He had just returned from a three-month jaunt in Colombia. He was exploring it as a place to live when he retired. Before he traveled to Colombia, he thought it was now one of the most peaceful places on earth. The author of High Conflict described how the high-conflict state of Colombia had been eliminated, but it was waiting in the wings. Lutz said that while he was there, the far left and the far right were lobbing hand grenades at each other. He decided it was not a good place to move.

Lutz speaks with much enthusiasm. I found him bombastic and arrogant when I first met him as he commented on other people’s stupidity. Yes, he does that, but he is also open-minded. When I called him on his judgment, he backed down. He said he liked it when people challenged him; it was an opportunity to learn something new. Since then, I have enjoyed his company on my evening walks.

Friday, March 25, 2022

I woke up around 3 am. This was a good night's sleep. I went to bed a little later than 10 pm to watch the end of a Brokenwood episode to see if the person I guessed 'did it' had. She had.

I should have gotten up and meditated but I couldn't motivate myself. Too bad. It would do me a world of good. The house had been falling into chaos. Open boxes, dirty dishes, incompleted tasks galore. Today was devoted to creating order and catching up on the updates.

On my morning walk, I saw a turkey sitting in the weeds. Strange. I checked her out and saw a chick. Then another. There was a total of seven freshly hatched. They were still wobbly on their feet. How many of these will make it to adulthood- one or two?

I had no idea where my time went. Sometimes, I go down rabbit holes: Quora or FreeCell. But that's an hour at maximum. What happens to the rest of my day? Okay, yesterday was busy with activities, but that's not usually the case.

I worked in twenty-minute sets today. I spent time in the yard off my bedroom cutting back the overgrown bougainvillea. It was good physical work. I enjoyed it. My mother loved working hard. I love physical effort too. I saw pushing and pulling on the tools and working with the weeds with all my might as a form of fighting. I put my shoulder into it. It felt great. Is fighting with people an extension of that? There is pleasure in opposition. I sawed through thick bougainvillea branches; I pulled out clumps of trailing corral; I cut down the large variety of heliconia in the backyard. It all felt wonderful.

At 10 am, I had my weekly appointment with Shelly. I dealt with feelings of hatred and a need for revenge. I'd been reading High Conflict, which discussed polarized positions and their destructiveness. I love being a loving person. I had that with Mike most of the time. I never experienced him as dangerous to my well-being for any length of time. He may have had more problems with me because of his background and because he married an excitable woman. He sometimes asked, "Are you a safe part of my environment?" It signaled that I was triggering him and had to tone down. Anger and hatred reside in all of us.

All emotions can serve both positive and negative functions. Hatred at the boiling rage stage can't be good, but I see a positive function in its milder forms. Love is joining, bonding, and embracing. Hate is separating. In love states, we see ourselves as one. In hate states, we see ourselves as separate. Feeling that we are one with everything is a great feeling. But as long as we are in this human form, we also have to see ourselves as separate, with separate needs and separate points of view. Those who cannot accept that state wind up miserable or make others miserable.

I encountered a deep hatred state in myself once before. It scared the shit out of me. It was at the end of a Vipassana sit. In the few hours before we break the ten days of silence, we practice Metta, a meditation of loving-kindness. As the meditation session ended, I was hit with this rage. It was scary. Everyone else got up and walked out. I could hear people talking. I stayed seated. I was so angry I didn't even feel sane. I had visions of myself slinking along the walls and looking at everyone through paranoid eyes. I said, "Okay, God. You got me into the mess. Now, get me out of it." I heard the words. "You're just scared." That calmed me. I could live with fear. I sat with the fear for a while and then walked out to join my fellow meditators. I was normal.

The author of the book I was reading says that fear always underlies rage in the book. Rage is our response to fear. It's the fight mode in response to danger. All differences are dangerous

at some level. It's all on a continuum. I once read that human beings have a mild fear response even to the human voice. They compared that person's response to a dog's presence and to a human's voice. The person was calm in response to the dog and became anxious at the sound of the human voice. Our fear can be interpreted as excitement, of course.

I gave more thought to adolescent D's struggle with reading failure. He fears negative judgment. We judge and are judged by standards. If we don't set a standard, there is no judgment. I don't particularly care if I win or lose FreeCell games. I have no investment. I enjoy the activity. I never judge my performance. I do judge my indulgence, but not if I win or lose. I find FreeCell very relaxing.

Poor D is way behind his peers in his academics. I had no idea if there was something wrong with him or if he just had some bad habits. Mental habits can be debilitating. His hatred for himself because of his disability is a bad mental habit. It serves no positive function. If it drove him to work hard to overcome his problem, that would be one thing, but it doesn't. It had the opposite effect. It caused him to avoid doing activities that might fix the problem.

While the gardeners were here, I tried out my new trimming tools. I asked if they would be willing to haul me up if I got down on my knees to clip back the smaller heliconia along the driveway. My new clippers worked like a charm. I could only stay down so long. My legs started to shake; they were not used to the exercise.

I heard Darby and Patrick talking as I walked passed their house. Darby came out to join me on my walk. We are both working on recovering our bodies. She had a stroke in 2019, and I have my leg problem and my spinal curvature. We compared notes. She also asked me if I had seen the nine baby turkeys. I only saw seven. She saw them hatch.

Thursday, March 24, 2022

I was up and wide awake at about 1:30, dealing with uncomfortable feelings, not thoughts, just feelings. That weird feeling that all the cells in my chest were shaking. Ah! That’s anxiety. I wasn’t familiar with it because I used to launch myself into motion to drown it out. When I was younger, I would describe myself as working to catch Niagara Falls in a saucepan. Life felt overwhelming. I got up and continued reading Merton’s Seeds of Contemplation. He wrote about what faith is and how one achieves it. He notes that the foundation of the Catholic Church’s ideology is submission to Christ. Submission to Christ’s will is the only way to peace. Only one problem. He doesn’t say how you know you’re submitting to Christ versus something else. We have a different concept of just about everything, no less Christ. Asking ourselves to be servants not just of Christ but of each other should be everyone’s goal. Now I see why Isaac thought giving his girlfriend everything was the way to form a good relationship. If he gave her everything, she would give him what he wanted. Problem: what if she doesn’t? What if her concept of being Christ’s servant is different than his? She thinks she is to serve the poor, the outcast, not her perfectly functional husband. In Christ’s day, it was probably simpler. A woman served her husband—period end of sentence.

Adolescent D still hadn’t listened to audio file on his own, and he will not apply the steps I taught him when he encounters a word he doesn’t recognize immediately. I asked him if he still hated himself because of his disability. Yes. That hatred could interfere with him doing what he needs to do to read a word and follow the decoding steps I laid out.

When I asked him how he could overcome this negative feeling, he said by reminding himself that he’s amazing. That strategy may drown out the hate for a few minutes. What would he do when confronted with what he didn’t like about himself? We have to find a way to cope with our imperfections.

I think the “I am amazing” approach is counterproductive. What happens when you have to deal with the moments of you that are not amazing or when you encounter someone who’s not impressed by ‘your amazing’ characteristics. I, for one, have met people who see what I consider to be my best traits as some of my worst. The ‘amazing gambit’ isn’t a good one.

I don’t believe it is ever good to consider ourselves amazing. Our life goal should only be to be good enough. Let others judge us as amazing. Only specific characteristics should be classified as such, not the whole person.

Because of this encounter with D, I’ve given thought to the issue of being good enough. There is an accounting process. No one is perfect in all regards for all people at all times. Our various traits get scored differently by different people. We all have fatal faults in certain relationships. There are very few universally fatal flaws, but there are some.

Ted Bundy comes to mind. He was intelligent, charming, and a good life partner and older brother. He just had one minor fault- he was addicted to murder, a serial killer. It was a fatal flaw for the women he killed and for him. He was literally put to death for his crimes. That sounds fatal to me.

I ask the students I work with if they think they will be killed if they never learn to read. They all understand that’s a crazy question. (I warn them I’m going to ask a silly question.) If I were going to ask them if they think someone would kill them if they went around killing people, I think most would understand the answer to be yes. There are fatal flaws, even in this day and age.

It was a busy day. I had driveway yoga in the morning, 7-8. Then PT from 9-10. Katie had my new arch supports. These were spongier. She watched me walk. She agreed I was more symmetrical, but my left ankle was weak. I told her about my possible UTI. It was scary to think that I could have a symptom-free case. She told me that in nursing homes, this is a problem. Since women over sixty have symptom-free cases, they must be alert for unusual behavior. Apparently, the infection can cause hallucinations. That’s pretty scary, given sepsis is always hanging in the wings, ready to strike.

Wednesday, March 23, 2022

I called to speak to a Kaiser advice nurse before 5 pm last night. I got a call back from Maria. I told her I suspected a UTI and wanted to get a test. It was too late to get hold of a doctor. She told me not to act until I heard from her, saying the order had gone through. I got that call at 8:30 this morning. I assured her I would go down to Kaiser when I hung up. I did that.

The Kaiser setup was streamlined. Instead of waiting until a tech called me, the lab receptionist handed me a cup, told me to use the public bathroom and place the filled cup in a towel-lined basin on her desk. Great, I was in and out in minutes.

I went home to complete my blog entry for March 23, 2021. When I finished that, I explored finding the blog. I typed in something about Mike's death. A blog came up called Mike's Death; Betty's life. It had a picture of Mike and me and the format I preferred. On the right side of the screen, the entries were listed by year. If you clicked on 2019, the months were listed. If you clicked on the month, all those entries came up. The blog site I currently have automatic access to is different. It's called, With Mike; Without Mike, it doesn't have a picture of us, and you don't have unlimited access to the entries. I have no idea what happened.

At 9:30, I was off to Kona Vet for Elsa's appointment. She was six months late for a vaccination. I discovered this because Petco required a vaccination certificate before grooming her. The vet receptionist told me they had told me I had to come back in three weeks after my last visit. They told me to bring her back in three weeks after a visit but not why. I assumed it was to assess her skin lesions. They hadn't given her the vaccine because they had given her an antibiotic.

Today, the doctor came out to talk to me. I didn't particularly like her. She hadn't read the notes before she came out to examine her. I wanted her to check her ears as well as give the vaccination. I also requested another tube of the salve to treat her lesions. It works. When the tech came out to return Elsa, she commented on what a dream dog she was. She didn't need someone to hold her while treating her ears. Elsa stood still. Then she handed me a bottle of antibiotics. She said the doctor prescribed them because she wanted to get on top of the infection before it got out of hand. The woman hadn't heard a word I said. I refused the medicine and made it clear that I wanted the salve. I got what I wanted. The tech asked me if I wanted Elsa to get an injection for her ear infection or did I want a seven-day treatment I had to administer. I chose the latter. The less medicine I pump into her, the more I like it.

I had Mama K's crew this afternoon. I only had the girls. Third-grade K had fallen asleep and was out. While the girls had no idea what they wanted to write about, it was easy to pull something out of them and develop them.

I had two more chores on my list for the day. I had to get more Kangen water from Paulette and go to Peter's to help him set up my new Surface Pro tablet. I asked him yesterday, and he said he was happy to do it even though Mei had volunteered him. I dropped it off yesterday, but he needed me to complete the setup. It all took about an hour. Mei said, "She was making 'something." She was trying to say dumplings. She was going to give me some.

I asked her if she wanted me to show her how to improve her pronunciation. Sure. I knew the /d/ sound existed in Chinese. It probably never occurred with a short /u/ after it. I showed her how to do the crossbody blending exercise. You must say both phonemes separately repeatedly, alternating between the two. In doing that, you are both making the sounds and experiencing the transition in slo-mo. Your tongue has a chance to practice. After a few passes, she could say 'dumplings' without looking like she was wrestling her tongue to the mat.

Peter said he and Mei were too old to learn to pronounce English. I told him no. Most people correct pronunciation by repeating the whole word. "No. Not something, dumpling." That doesn't work for two reasons. It reinforces the incorrect pronunciations. Saying the whole word forces the student to associate the sound of the word with its meaning. The meaning is strongly associated with the person's native pronunciation. Second, repeating the whole word doesn't isolate the troubling sound combinations; it doesn't give the student a chance to focus on that change. Changing pronunciation is a physical activity. It's like learning a new acrobatic move, only with the tongue. It requires the same degree of focus. The motor strip needs time before it makes the necessary changes.

When I got back from Peter's, I called Paulette. Did you get my messages? Nope. I wanted to come over to get water. She was coming home from PT. I should come up. I packed the bottles into the car, Elsa and the trimmers Paulette had lent me. Today, we made sure Elsa didn't get locked in Paulette's house. The last time we were here, Elsa pooped.

Paulette, Judy, and Judy's seven-year-old grandson worked on a jigsaw puzzle. Paulette always has one going. Leon has learned skills doing these puzzles with Auntie P. His visual perception skills are off the chart; he can articulate why a piece might or might not belong in a particular section. I didn't participate today. I just watched the three of them interact. It was lovely.

The days feel thin. I often want to do nothing more than sit and nap or meditate. When I napped earlier, I had that lovely floating feeling. I thought I was somewhat depressed. While I enjoyed being with people, the thought of getting together felt like an effort.

I continued watching Brokenwood Mysteries- just right for me.

Tuesday, March 22, 2022

Another good night's sleep. I dodged an emotional dip this morning as I woke up. In the short term, that is clearly the best outcome. However, long-term, it could result in avoiding healing moments.

I didn't make Wordle today after six tries. I had to go for a seventh. That's doable. You can't delete the sixth entry. However, you can close the Wordle site and then reopen it. Voila! The sixth slot is empty.

I went to the bottom of the property to pick limes. In the past, I waited until they turned yellow. Often, I picked them up off the ground. Those were the easiest to squeeze. I discovered that the green ones from my tree were also squeezable. I had thought not after trying to squeeze the limes I bought at Costco. Those are limes picked well before they are fully ripened. Limes are also easy to squeeze when they grow and become riper.

I did the ankle stretches Katie recommended, but I did them while standing. That allowed me to stretch more, which I felt up to my outer thigh. Doing it left my leg feeling weak. Again, is this the end of the line for my leg, or the beginning of something better?

I had an appointment with my PT, Terry, today. I left early to get some chores done. I needed to pick up my own set of functioning clippers for cutting back the heliconia so I could return Paulette's. My original plan was to stop off at Home Depot to buy them. While on the road, I decided to go to Ace Hardware. Their parking lot and store are smaller while still having a great selection. They also have more employees wandering around the store ready to help, and they are close to Club Rehab. The hooks promised a large assortment of small trimming tools, but many were empty. Ace, like everyone else, was suffering from supply chain problems. I picked out two pairs, one good for cutting up to ¼" and only for cutting foliage.

I wasn't going to have time to stop off at the Post Office as I originally planned, but I did manage to get to UPS to drop off some Styrofoam. I made it to Chub Rehab for my appointment just in time.

Earlier that morning, I had stopped at Kaiser to deposit a urine sample; I suspected a UTI. It was very hard to tell if I had a problem. There was some mild irritation when I peed, and I had urgency. I knew from a friend that having a UTI without symptoms was possible. Terry told me that this was typical for all women over sixty. That's pretty scary. If a UTI gets out of hand, it could be fatal- sepsis.

Terry also gave me more information about why I might not be a good candidate for a THR. It wasn't because I was so kinetically sensitive. No. It was because of the problems I had with my hips. My hips turn in when I lie down on my back and relax my feet. If I had an anterior THR, it would make my inner thighs even tighter than they are now. If I had a posterior surgery, I would be at high risk of the femur popping out of the joint. Both PTs say I have to fix the soft tissue problems before surgery to have success. I have been right about solving my body issues before submitting to THR.

I made it to the Post office to mail the card I made for Sidney. I meant to send one for his birthday on the 11th, but it slipped by. Instead of a birthday card, I made a 'looking forward to your visit' card. Shivani and Sidney planned to come to Hawaii in May. My card showed him lying on the sand by the ocean, and I wrote, "Can wait!!"

I planned to stop at Costco afterward, but I was too tired. I headed home for a nice nap.

Judy called. She had a whopper of a story. Mei and Peter ran into this Chinese man who needed legal help. His 'brother' owned a company that contracted to buy lumber from someone here in Hawaii. The seller sold land covered with trees and told the buyer he could cut them all down for a mere $3 million. The buyer then bought equipment for that purpose for another several million. When he was ready to start the work, he discovered the 'seller' didn't own the land. It was a scam. The man on the ground in Hawaii contracted a lawyer in Honolulu for a mere $200,000 upfront. Before she had done any work, she demanded more money. Now, this guy is consulting with a local retired lawyer who asked for $3,000 upfront. He'd already checked out the 'seller.' That guy had five lawsuits against him for similar scams, but he still wasn't under arrest. There is nothing the local lawyer could do about that situation. He hoped to help the company reclaim the equipment they purchased, standing somewhere and serving as a shelter for the homeless. It sounds like a bizarre story. How could anyone invest that much money on nothing more than a handshake? Apparently, that's how it's done in Dubai, where he has been doing business. I have trouble believing there are no crooks there.

At 4:30, I had adolescent D. He hadn't listened to the audiofile on his own. So far, he had only listened once, when his mom reminded him to. We continued working on the driver's manual. He remembered some words but remembered by location and meaning. When the word showed up in places in the text, he didn't. I had to pull up the familiar text to remind him.

Monday, March 21, 2022

I was wide awake when I went to bed and had trouble falling asleep. I tossed and turned for a

while and then used EFT to help me fall asleep. "Even though I can't fall asleep, I choose to fall asleep." I fell asleep before I finished all the rounds of tapping. I must remember to share this with all my friends who have trouble sleeping. Most won't be willing to try it, I'm sure.

I woke up early but was able to doze on and off. I experienced that sinking sensation in my solar plexus that signals a bout of emotional agony. My only thought was of a blue T-shirt that faded to pink from being left out in the sun too long. I also noted it was 4 am. Why does this happen? The agony clears around the dinner hour.

I know damn well I'm not the only one who experiences agony, whatever that means. In that state, I can appreciate why people take to drink, drugs and even suicide. It's a misery. There's a difference between pain and agony. I know the difference when it involves muscles: a pulled muscle can hurt like hell, but only the pain caused by a pinch or damaged nerve causes agony. My grief over the loss of Mike causes me pain; something else causes me agony. Mike helped shield me from this mental state. He could pull me out of it. For openers, he wouldn't listen to me go on and on. I remember clearly the first time he told me to shut up." He said, "I love you deeply. You have till Friday to fix this problem. After that, I don't want to hear about it anymore." (It was a Wednesday.) I remember feeling, "Ah! I don't have to do this anymore." If only it were that simple.

There's a family member through marriage who I think is an agonizer. My mother wasn't an agonizer; she sought release through anger. Given the amount she suffered, I would say she was pretty restrained. Being her whipping boy didn't feel good, and I still struggled with the effect.

Judy passed me heading home while I was out on one of my short walks. She stopped, and we talked. I used the occasion to remind her not to let me rail about whatever I was suffering. It's one thing to complain and say I'm in distress; agonizing is different. Judy and Damon are the only people who hear about my current life complaints in that tone. I've asked both of them to tell me to shut up. Judy said she didn't mind. I told her I did. It's not good for me. I ask both of them to say, "I love you. Shut up!" I need to hear both. That was Mike's magic formula. It worked like a charm.

I planned to work on the heliconia, cutting the dead ones down to the ground. I hadn't been doing that. I used long shears to get as low as I could while standing. Eh! It left a two-inch stub. It didn't look that great. I felt up to getting on my knees and working closer to the ground. The other day I managed to haul myself to my feet after kneeling. However, it was problematic. Today, I arranged for a backup. First, I texted Yvette and Josh to ask if they would help me in the next half hour. They were both planning to leave. Then I call Mei, my next-door neighbor. She would be home and happy to help me.

I laid down a kneeling pad and lowered myself to my knees. I must be much stronger because I could hold myself up while on my knees. Previously, my left leg wasn't strong enough to do that. I had to sit back on my haunches. Since I knew I would have help getting up, I worked without regard to the complaints from my glutes. Also, I was working within reach of the chain-link fence. I thought I could haul myself to my feet using it. When it came time to get up, hauling myself up using the fence did nothing. I couldn't get my legs under me for love nor money. Yvette was still home, so I tried her first. She knew what to do. She grabbed me by my hips and hauled me up. I had to ask her to step back to get my weight on my heels. Once there, I was fine. I walked back into the house without needing a stick.

While working on the updates, a window opened on my screen. It claimed to be from Microsoft and had something to do with my chain link, whatever that might be. It instructed me to put in my password. I had no password for my chain link. I tried everything. No password I put in worked, and I couldn't close the window. I texted Tommy, my computer techie, immediately telling him my computer had been kidnapped. He called me back in alarm. He told me to turn off the computer because someone may have taken control of it. He would be by after work.

The Mother Goose book I bought to give Mei arrived. I walked it over to her house, but no one was home. When I returned to my house, I looked through the book. I was shocked. Most of the rhymes were unfamiliar. There were a few I recognized and knew well. Later in the afternoon, I tried again. Mei and Anna were home. I showed her the book. She said she had ordered it in Chinese, but it made no sense. They don't make much sense; the purpose is the rhymes. As children, we used it when we jumped rope or played games with our pink Spalding balls, bouncing them off the sides of buildings.

I told Judy how shocked I was to discover that few rhymes were familiar. She knew that already. She had used the book to teach Leon, her grandson, phonemic awareness through rhyming words. She said she didn't think her children were as familiar with these rhymes as we were. These rhymes are being lost more with each generation. What a shame! They are nonsense, or their meaning is so dark we don't want to share it with young children.

First-grade M chose to write a story. There had been a 4.5 earthquake nearby. I missed it. I must have been out on one of my walks at the time. Darby, my neighbor, told me that Patrick heard the dishes rattle. M was closer to the epicenter and was thrown to the floor. Getting the details out of her was a challenge. We are all inclined to think our experiences, evident to us, are obvious to everyone.

I had the same experience with fifth-grade W. We went around in circles on one issue. She told the story of meeting her best friend early this year. They had never seen each other before. Why was that? Had W moved? Was the district's elementary school only up to the 4th grade, and did they all come to a middle school together? As it wound up, she hadn't moved. Her mother just switched her from one district elementary school to another. She didn't know why. This is the first time; she will write a story from her life.

I spoke to the girls' mom after the session. I told her I thought both girls had made significant progress. She told me first grade M's teacher reported she was reading above grade level. I told mom that the information hadn't registered with M. I suspected that neither the mom nor the teacher bothered to tell her. There is no positive feedback loop.

I talked about W's progress while she was sitting there. Mom had complained that she wasn't willing or able to edit her writing. I described everything we had been doing. I saw a significant difference in her willingness to participate in this process. Mom said she had written a report recently. She had difficulty reading it because of her spelling. I asked her if she used complex sentence structures. Yes. I asked her if the organization of the paper was good. Yes. Again, pulling positive comments out of this woman is like pulling teeth. She said, "Thank you." I wasn't sure if she thanked me for my work with her children or for saying positive things about them. She also asked if I would be available over the summer. She was unable to find a summer school program for her girls. She wanted me to fill that void. My question is, Why does she want her girls to go to summer school in the first place?

Again, Isaac had proposed coming over to watch a film together. I texted him, "Not too late." It didn't work out again.

Sunday, March 20, 2022

I woke up to sadness. I wasn't sad about anything in particular, just sad. I don't believe this is a new feeling. If anything, it was how I felt all the time when I was young. My emotional disposition improved between life, Mike, therapy, and meditation. I didn't suffer more than anyone else. I was trained to be aware of my emotions without being taught how to cope with them.

Yesterday I agreed to a 9 am appointment with the M &W sisters. I regretted not proposing a later time, so I could go to the 9 am Mass. I knew more people who attended that one than the 1 pm. I also dreaded my sessions with the girls. Something is discomforting about it. Their mom is overly concerned about the girl's performances. She always comments on the negative. That's bad enough. Then she makes no positive comments. Not only hadn't she printed out the stories the girls co-wrote with me, she hadn't even read them. I was concerned the girls experienced these sessions as proof of their inadequacies. Shortly after 8, their mom texted me, asking if I could meet at 3:30. I had time to shower and get ready for the 9 am.

I went to the Mass with Judy. Someone I didn't recognize asked me how I was and said it was good to see me. These folks knew me as Mike's wife. It's a possible entry into a relationship. We shared something, our love of Mike. Just because they see me as Mike's wife does not preclude their interest in who I am. Because I always greet each person as unique, I expect to be treated that way.

Church is both hard on my body and good for it. It's hard because the most challenging thing for my left hip and leg is being in a fixed position. In church, I'm either sitting, standing or kneeling. I'm shifting positions from sitting to standing or kneeling, from standing to sitting or kneeling, and from kneeling to standing or sitting. That's all.

Going to church is good for my body because I use the fixed position to stretch the tight fascia and muscles. I push to the point of pain and then back up. I must have done it right today because I had no problems getting into motion when it was time to walk to the front of the church to get the Eucharist. Nay, that's not quite true. I had no trouble getting into motion, but there were some limitations I didn't have.

After Mass, I signed up to volunteer for the charity golf tournament for the church. I needed to get out more and see other environments. Two of the activities required me to stand for long periods. That didn't sound good. I volunteered for registration from 6:15 am to 8 am. I can do that.

Being in church was also good for my spirit and my soul. It always provides an opportunity to contemplate something deeper. I noticed sadness sitting on the left side of my body. I did have reason to be sad, but this was a familiar feeling predating Mike, no less Mike's death.

I have experienced complete freedom from that sadness. I wonder if I'm better or worse off for the experience. Knowing what freedom from sadness feels like, I'm not as tolerant of its presence; back to Buddha's teachings on how to deal with not getting what we want and getting things we don't want.

Judy, on the other hand, feels true peace through Christ. She's a cradle-Catholic. She was devoted to the church and Christ as a child. Then she left and sought out other paths to peace. Something brought her back to the church, where she finds the deepest peace. Judy is one lucky lady. I am delighted she has that for herself. She always feels loved and cared for. Wonderful!

My right foot hurt. That's the foot with the hammertoe, where the second toe is determined to climb over the first. I was feeling pain in my metatarsals. That's scary. I had a problem with that years ago in both feet. I developed neuromas. A nerve gets pinched, and the body wraps the inflamed nerve. It feels like a permanent pebble underfoot. It's the worst. It hurts like hell. My chiropractor told me to ice the foot and massage it. I did. The neuromas went away, and I was pain-free. I went to the freezer, got out an ice pack, and chilled the area in response to this new pain. Then took a golf ball and massaged the whole foot for about half an hour. Voila! No more problem. I was sure this was a temporary fix. I will have to do it again and again.

I was still inching my way through the Brainscape's book. Most of the book had no meaning for me, but I was in a section now that had, so I could only read a little at a time. I needed time to process what I read. Today I learned that the neurons for something, say an apple, fire if we see an apple, if we eat an apple, if we see the word apple, if we hear the word apple, if we think of an apple. All that stimulates the same neurons, but to different degrees. A while ago, they identified mirror neurons, which were supposed to fire in sympathy with someone else. As it winds up, these neurons are indiscriminate. They don't care who is doing what; they fire. However, they fire to different levels of intensity.

Years ago, in a neuroscience course, the professor asked how we know the difference between perceiving something in the world, remembering the same thing, and imagining it. I have mulled over that question periodically, never coming up with a possible answer. Perhaps here it is: we know because we can feel this difference in the intensity of the neurological firing. It's like knowing the difference between a caress and a slap.

When I got home from church, I napped and meditated on the bad feelings about working with the sisters. Then when I met with them at 3:30, I had the best time with them. First grade M asked if we could just read the material instead of identifying every phoneme in every word. Sure. She was in first-grade reading second-grade material. We were well into the book I was using. This was not even high first-grade material anymore.

I finished editing the story for enhanced meaning and detail with fifth-grade W. I introduced her to Grammarly, a free editing site. Some of the problems were mine, missing commas, and words, in some cases. Some offered alternative word choices or sentence structures. She had to choose what she preferred.