Got up this morning feeling pretty good. I took the dog for a good walk but not what we do when I'm confident my body will last. I made my smoothie for the next two days, took the garbage out for pick up, and thought of all the cleaning I could get done.
I decided not to Bikram because my priority is seeing D. in Mrs. B's class. He is the one having problems with sequencing letters and blending. He needs support. Last week, I worked with him, making sure he used his right arm and moving it from his left shoulder to his right across the midline. Other disciplines work with this disorientation problem like Brain Gym. I am hoping that this exercise combining physical orientation and blending will resolve the issue. I may have to do more. I think I am going to incorporate oppositional movement, like walking in place and swinging his arms.
My second priority was my luncheon date with a friend. I had already warned her I was down. I was hoping I could make it today after some conservative exercises at home—no such luck. Again, I was unable to walk upright. Damn!
I went down for a nap. When I woke up, I did one of the exercises my PT gave me while rolling a tennis ball under my back. Voila!! That did it. I got up and felt just fine.
I quickly took a shower and rushed off to school to work with D. I gave him an exercise to work on last week. I had been concerned that he would do it wrong, internalizing a counterproductive habit. I didn't know how long this break would last. I had to hurry.
D. had been working on his own. He is a good guy who does his best in all situations. He is going to be a wonderful adult, a great husband, and father. You can see that already. However, when I asked him to show me what he had done, he lifted his left arm and put it to his right shoulder instead of his right arm and put it to his left shoulder. We write from left to right. When we blend sounds together, the first letter is on the left, and the next is on the right.
I asked him which hand he wrote with. He uses his right. I asked him if he ever used his other hand. He said no. I told him to start by asking which hand he writes with. That will remind him which hand to use. He was able to identify the individual sounds in words better, he was able to hold sound units separately better, and he was able to blend better. There were a few moments when I held my breath, waiting to see what he would do. He had to identify the sound of [th] in the word that. He said [t] and then said no as he was about the pronounce [h]. I reminded him that the usually made one sound. He placed his tongue in the right position but couldn't figure out what the sound was. I told him to force air through his mouth. He did that. He produced the unvoiced [th] as in thin instead of the voiced [th] as in that. This was a big step forward for him. He seemed to get better as we worked. He will be able to continue on his own more.
However, I saw his handwriting. OMG! Does this boy ever need help! Handwriting like that indicates a problem way beyond not being able to write neatly. We have a new area to work on together.
Then I went to Mrs. D's room. I just wanted to work with B. because he is still having problems confusing b and d and shows other signs of reversals. I thought the cross body blending, crossing the midline, might help him with this too. He was very tired and didn't want to work.
I asked him if he had been playing video games all night. He said no, he had been playing with his brother. Well, that's good. What time did he go to bed? 11 or 12 midnight. What??!! We're talking about a 3rd-grade boy. Then he said his 7-year-old brother went to bed later, as did his 12-year-old sister. Where is his mother? She goes to be at 6 or 7 pm and gets up at 8 am, after the children leave for school. I told him he has to be a big brother and make sure everyone gets to bed. I wasn't sure of the appropriate bedtimes for children. I asked Mrs. D. to make sure he had that information. Mrs. D. also said that B. said something about his mom being sick. I can only hope it's not too serious. The children are clearly being neglected to their detriment. I hope we don't have to call Child Protective Services to get them better care. That's always a tragedy.
When I got home, I went back on the sofa, scared that my leg might go bad on me again. Judy stopped by a returned my Kindle. I knew I had taken it to her house, but we could not find it when I left. She found it in the bed I had slept in under the quilt I had thrown on for extra warmth.
I got up and did some work. I did some more sorting of food items. I checked the sell-by-dates and threw several things out. Some others I put in the pile for the Friendly Place for the homeless, and I asked Paulette if she wanted some of my containers of hair spray, which I will never use again.
The young woman staying with me was filling out paperwork for the renewal of her visitor's visa. She needed me to sign a letter saying she had been staying with me since June 22. That's five months. Wow! Time really flies. Can you imagine? It's been almost 8 months since I last kissed Mike. How can this be possible?
It was the first time the young woman stayed home for the day when I wasn't incapacitated. We had a chance to talk and reconnect.
Elsa walked to the back door and requested a walk. I had never seen that before. I didn't do too long of a walk, concerned that my leg would start acting up again, and I'd be stuck somewhere on the road. We walked to Darby's house.
Elsa knew where we were going. Darby came out to greet me without her walking stick. Her progress is remarkable. The PTs working with her are impressed. They said that the treatment she got right after her stroke was vital for setting a pattern of growth. However, she is clear that the crawling exercise also has made a big difference. Every time she does it, she sees a difference when she gets up to walk. The PTs have been focusing on her walking; she hasn't made as much progress with her left arm. I'm going to teach her MELT. It might help her make more progress.
This evening, my leg was so good that I did a short Charleston right in the middle of the kitchen floor without holding on to anything.
I did some reading in the Four Agreements today. Yes, I find the thinking simplistic. Yes, I also know that the ideas in this book have been lifesavers for some people, just not me.
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Musings:
The author of the four agreements talks about how we are all dreaming all the time. Our dreams are what we are taught to think by others. These dreams don't represent our true selves.
Can you imagine what I think of all that?
Language is one of the things that is pushed on us as we are 'domesticated' as animals are domesticated. For me, our cultures offer us ways of organizing the world around us. They are containers. Without those containers, we would be lost.
In the 13th Century, Frederick the Great performed an experiment to find out our 'natural language' when we were not taught one by our parents. He had children with normal hearing cared for by adults who never spoke to them. The assumption was that when their vocal cords matured, they would naturally speak some language. Freddy boy was expecting it to be the language of God, which he assumed would be Hebrew. You want to guess what language they spoke? None. And they remained mute for the rest of their lives, those that survived this monstrous experiment.
Yes, our culture confines us, but it also provides us with avenues of expression. Whatever we do with our cultural model, it is always stamped with our individuality. That is inescapable. We may even try to get away from it, but it is impossible. We are not robots with all the same wiring and programming.
Can culture be confining and even damaging? Of course, mainly if someone is raised in an abusive environment. But that doesn't make all cultural input bad. Besides, we have to become artists inventing ourselves. We have to learn to use what of the cultural model allows us the most expression and to modify the cultural model where necessary. Do we have unlimited options? No. But, you know what? That's life. There are no unlimited options.
On the other hand, what we know and believe is a dream because it does not absolutely define reality. For my part, my concern is not how that 'dream' limits me, but how I allow that 'dream' to limit my understanding of others, how I assume my' dream' is the only truth.
I know that I am frightened by people who present their ideas as the only worthy ones. But my history has earned the right to find that frightening. My parents are refugees from Nazi Germany. That people will kill other people because of who they are or what they believe is not an intellectual concept in my family. That experience has been passed on epigenetically. It is a body knowledge, not just a knowledge of the mind.
On the other hand, I might still have resonated with Ruiz's antagonistic view of enculturation when I was in my thirties, but no more. I no longer feel confined by cultural expectations or the expectations of my parents. Am I still living a dream? I'm sure. But it suits me.
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