Saturday, February 22, 2020

  

    I woke up to find my phone on low battery despite having been plugged in all night. I tried the charger cord in the bathroom.  I couldn't get it into the plug into the phone.  At this point, I started to panic.  I remembered that I had dropped it the other day. Was this how the damage was manifesting? I made a mental note to go to T-Mobile after yoga.

    The muscles around my left hip have been more in complain mode.  I believe it is because I am getting more action out of them, and they don't like it. There's always the question of when pain is a sign of healing or additional damage. I wait patiently and see how it plays out. So far, so good; it has always gone away, and my range of movement has increased.

    The difficulties with my left thigh and groin muscles limit what I can do in yoga.  However, the limitations open other doors.  I discover ways my body works that I hadn't known. 

    After the class, I had a short private with Heather.  We have agreed to work on one asana at a time, which works out to once a week on Saturdays after the regular class.  This is perfect. I did a quick review of things I had learned in previous sessions: keeping my wrists straight in the opening breathing exercise, not protruding my ribs, but focusing on the contraction on the other side to create the curve in my body in the half-moon posture.  Today she gave me one suggestion for the fix-firm pose, and we worked on the awkward posture.  She gave me one correction. Getting one or two corrections a week works for me. That allows me to concentrate on them.  I would never remember all her suggestions if we went through all the postures at a single session.

    I had texted six people to let them know that I only had a 25% battery on my phone and could not charge it to warn them of my inaccessibility.  Damon wrote back to go to my carrier, and they would fix everything right there and then.

    Not so fast.  When I arrived at T-Mobile, the layout was different. Also, rather than two men, there were two sullen young women.  I was told that they didn't handle the insurance issue. They could tell me what to do to get a new phone, but I would have to go over to Hilo to get it because there was no longer an Apple Store on the Kona side or mail it in and wait for them to send me a new one. This isn't great. At least I know what I have to do if and when this phone does die on me.  

    As it wound up, I just panicked. I asked the woman to try plugging my phone into her charger. The plug went in just fine, and it started charging immediately. There was nothing wrong with my phone. I waited in the store until I had at least 50% charge before I headed home.

 I plugged the phone into the charger it was plugged into overnight; now it worked just fine.  

    I spent the day doing washing and ironing. That's it. At night, I watched Victoria. Victoria is represented as having a temper, but her anger seems appropriate to me.  In the series, it looks as if Albert was gaslighting her.  If I had people talking to me the way some of these men spoke to her, I would have behaved the same way. There was nothing wrong with her response.

    But then I looked up Victoria on Wiki.  Hmmm!  It seems she was a difficult woman.  While she had a passel of kids, she hated being pregnant and was not the best of mothers.  In the TV series, it depicts Albert being disappointed in his oldest son's intellectual ability, the king apparent.  But Wiki says it was Victoria that saw her son as a disappointment. She was not the affectionate, caring mother the actress portrayed. She was a cold-hearted bitch. It does seem that Albert may have had a point in his criticisms of her.            

 

 

 

  

Friday, February 21, 2020

    My first stop of the day was to the Dog Groomer. He only takes cash and checks, but he's half the price of Petco, and I like him better.  He is involved with the dogs he cares for. Mike would never have been happy with my choice. He has a small space just above Costco. It looks Gerry rigged. There is nothing professional about it. Mike was invested in appearance.  

    After Bikram, I had a 9:30 am appointment with the eye doctor at Kaiser Permanente.  I was planning to pick up Elsa, take her home, and make it back to Kaiser for my 11:30 appointment for a mammogram.  I didn't get finished with the eye doctor until eleven.

    I had to wait for the first phase of the exam; I sat outdoors at a table provided for that purpose; every building at Kaiser is over chilled.  When they called me,  I saw the nurse first.  I had requested that two problems be looked at at the same time. The nurse said I had to choose between having my macular checked or my drooping eyelids.  I decided on my issue with the macular because I had been warned that lowering my head or lifting something heavy could make it worse. 

    First, the nurse had me look at one of those old fashion eye charts. I was shocked at the difference between my right and left eye. She also took pictures of my retina and macular, duplicating what the optometrist did, and checked my eye pressure for glaucoma. She used one of those old fashioned devices that actually poke the eye.  She managed to get a reading on the right eye, but not the left.  I could not for the life of me keep my eye open while that damn thing poked and poked and poked me. The job was passed off to the doctor.

    I went back outside to wait for the doctor to be free. When she called me, she asked about how my condition affected my vision, and when did I first notice the change. I told her that my eyes got tired more quickly, but I couldn't tell her when it started.  It was a gradual process. Then she checked the pressure in my left eye with some fancy gadget which didn't disturb me at all, at all, and put in dilating drops. Next, it was back outside to wait for my eyes to be ready for the next phase of the exam. The doctor said it would only take fifteen minutes for my eyes to fully dilate because I had light eyes.  Now, what does the color of eyes have to do with how rapidly the eyes dilate?

    When the doctor called me back in, she looked into my eyes with high powered lenses and lights. Her conclusion was somewhat different from the optometrist’s. I will have to check with him.  She said it was not just a separation of the macular from the retina; it was an accumulation of cells that would have to be removed surgically.  While she said the ophthalmic surgeon was excellent, the operation is very delicate and not always successful. Sometimes, the results make the eye worse.  I decided to wait until the problem got worse before I opt for surgery.

    When I was finished with the eye doctor, it was already eleven o'clock. So much for my plans to pick up Elsa, go home and shower and then come back. I gave my name at the desk pf the imaging department for my mammogram; the clerk said I didn't have an appointment.  I had made one and canceled it within minutes. 

    I called to see if Elsa was ready. The groomer said he had called me to let me know she was.  I have no idea why I don't hear my own phone ring at times.  Elsa was glad to see me and anxious to leave.  The groomer said none of the dogs like to be groomed.  He also told me she had a whopping ear infection. I had noticed a smell, treated it with the ear wash, and thought that took care of it.  He said none of the ear wash would have gotten in because she had so much hair in her ears.  He said if he pulled the hair out, she would shake her head a lot, possibly causing some hemorrhaging at the tips of her ears.  It had to come out so I could treat it.  I have a pair of hemoccult which I got from the kidney dialysis center, which are suitable for pulling out ear hair, but do I do it? Not so much.  

    Elsa doesn't have the most diligent human at her service.  Despite her problems with me, she seems to tolerate my presence. When I got home, did I immediately clean her ears with the ear wash? No. I forgot- or just chose to forget because I know she doesn't like it when I do it.  I did some ironing and tried to nap. 

    I was invited to a 3 pm potluck at Sue and Al Brio's house. These are folks from the church. It was a good chance to get to know these folks better.  While I rarely went to church on Sunday when Mike was alive, I now go regularly.  It started because I thought this is what he would want, what he always wanted. Whatever the church service provides, I get a community along with it. 

    Posting the blog on blogger.com has brought forth a rash of news from people all over the world about medical problems that have plagued them.  A woman who I have known since I was two told me that her husband just died on January 21, of prostate cancer. Another told me she was diagnosed with breast cancer; another has some neurological degenerative disease which affects her ability to speak clearly; and another, whose husband already suffers from a number of chronic diseases, has now learned his kidneys are not in good shape.  Whoever has to go out and collect mustard seeds, I have a list of addressed to check.

    Judy and Paulette had picked up two small plates of shrimp from Costco for me to bring to the potluck. I took my car because Judy had to home by six o'clock.  I was going to follow Paulette to the house, but we got separated at the turn onto Mamalahoa Hwy.  I didn't get a break in the traffic.  We assumed Paulette would wait for us, but when we drove along, we never saw her. Judy said the turn was one block before the church. I saw the turn too late but tried to make it anyway.  I had to back up on this busy highway to complete the turn.  This is the third crazy dangerous thing I have done while driving this week.  No, I'm not driving like the little old lady; I'm driving like a crazed New Yorker.

    Fortunately, I thought to put Sue's address into my phone before I left, just in case. That got us there. It was about 3:30 pm, and we were the first ones to arrive. Others started arriving shortly afterward. The Brios have one of those tremendous Hawaiian homes with an open-air lanai and a fantastic view of the ocean. 

    As it approached six o'clock, I asked Sue when the desserts were coming out. She said, "We have to have dinner first." Paulette had made lemon chicken.  I had loaded up on that assuming this would be my dinner. I just had salad and some rice. My protein requirement had been adequately filled for the day.  Judy and I left shortly after.  Paulette didn't get home around 9 pm.  Paulette said she wanted to stay later.  We both assumed since it started so early it would end early.  Guess not!  I think six hours actively participating in social engagement is a little beyond my tolerance these days.  I think next year, I'll bring a book so I can hide away and take breaks.  Also, I have to arrange for someone to walk Elsa.  On the other hand, they live close enough so I could just drive home, walk and feed her and return.  

Thursday, February 20, 2020

            I woke up a few minutes before the alarm went off. It was almost warm when Elsa and I did our walk. When I got to yoga, I told Heather that I had finally verbalized why I was sleeping for the second half of the class. My left hip muscles were exhausted by the work they did for the first half.  I am getting serious movement in that left hip.  She said she had seen that because my muscles shook from exhaustion.  Today, that movement came in on the third asana, eagle.  That left hip joint was popping away.  After that point, I had to modify all the postures to give those muscles a chance to recover. I learned something new about my body limits by doing that.

    After class, Crista, the studio owner, handed me an envelope with a note.  I assumed it would be something related to Mike's burial, but she knew nothing about that.  The note was a thank you for being a consistent member, a pillar of the studio. I have been going regularly for years now, attending whenever I'm on the island and in good health. She said it is people like me who are role models for the other students and who sustain the studio financially so other students can come and go and be assured the studio will still be there when they come back. 

    I showered and changed.  Today, I needed help putting on my underpants.  I called for help, and Heather ducked into the dressing area and gave me a hand.  She didn't even have to ask what kind of help I needed. Then I went off to my physical therapy appointment.

    I told Katie how the pain I experienced in my left hip bone when I slept on my left side was gone.  I thought it was due to the exercise she gave me pushing off on my toes.  Instead of doing it as she showed me, I incorporated it into my walk.  I push way up on my toes while bending my knees.  I do this in three-foot positions: parallel turned in and turned out. I told her that I thought my lower body had done enough for the day, and she should concentrate on my upper body. She worked on my neck and my shoulders.   She was surprised by how tense these areas of my body were. She said the tightness wasn't apparent when I walked. 

    The next stop was Memory Lane to drop off two woolen lap blankets, six plastic placemats, and miscellaneous Christmas cards. I found a member of my church volunteering in the drop-off area. 

    Then off to the post office and the bank. I sent off Damon's wedding ring, which he had left in the bathroom drawer, and the embroidered tablecloth and ripped linen one to Dorothy, who volunteered to take them from me.  What are we all going to do with these antiques? Some day they will wind up in dumpsters. Hopefully, I can postpone the inevitable. Research shows, I may find takers on Etsy.  

    My final stop was at Home Depot.  Their site showed that they sold storage bags for under $10, which is cheaper than Target.  Only one problem, when I got there, I discovered it was seven dollars for one medium-sized bag.  For $20 at Target, I get two big and two medium. 

    I got home in time to shower and change and get to school.  I was exhausted but didn't want to miss it. I was anxious to see how K. in Mrs. D's class and how D. in Mrs. L's class would do with the math we had covered on Tuesday.  Also, I had the work with I. in Mrs. B's class on the impact of fear on his learning. 

    I started with D. from Mrs. B's class because I hadn't worked with him on Tuesday. Wow! There is some difference.  He has been reading and rereading and rereading the transcribed texts. He said he is seeing a difference in all his reading and writing.  I had him read the first five of the transcribed stories. He made some mistakes, but they were the type of errors I might make with an overly familiar story. He also made several self-corrections.  When he told me he had only been working with the first five stories at home, I had him read the sixth one.  He soared through that too. Great. He has a way to work on this on his own and with his mom.  It looked like he didn't need me anymore, at least not at the moment.  My goal is to teach students to teach themselves. It looks like D. is off and running.

    Next, I worked with I. in Mrs. B.'s class. I wanted to work on the fear issue that had come up on Tuesday.  Fear interferes with learning. Being in survival mode disrupts the mental processes necessary for academic learning.  If 'you,' some part of 'you,' feels scared, that dominates everything. 

    I started by asking him if he knew why he was scared.  I asked him the standard questions: Do you think anyone is going to kill you if you never learn to read? No. Not even his mother who yelled at him all the time, particularly about his inability to read.  Has anyone had success with the scream method of teaching reading? Please, let me know.  I told him that no one was reading or writing until about 10,000 years ago.  He was watching some activities across the open area. I asked him if he could both listen to me and look at something else.  He said yes. Then I asked him what I was talking about.  Not a clue.  I repeated the story starting again with the information that no one read or wrote until about 10,000 years ago.  Then I asked how long ago people started reading and writing. He said 10 years ago.  I repeated 10,000 years.  He repeated 10,000  years.  I started telling the story repeatedly and again asked him how long ago people started reading and writing. Not a clue.  Oh, boy. This child has some problems with remembering what he has heard.

    He had brought out a Little Bear book.  I read a sentence from it and had him repeat it.  He did much better repeating a whole sentence than he did numbers.  That makes sense.  Then I started asking comprehension questions. "Little Bear painted a picture for Grandmother. "Who painted a picture? What did he paint? Who did he paint it for?  He did reasonably well on the IN The Book part of the exercise.   He had much more trouble when it came to using one sentence to understand the next one. He has serious comprehension problems. 

    In the past, I would have kicked myself around the block for not picking this up sooner. But by this time in my career, I have learned that there is usually a reason for this delay.  The student isn't ready for me to see it or ready to work on it.  Interestingly, this showed up right after we worked on releasing the fear of not performing as he should be for his age. 

    While Mrs. D's class was at the library, I worked with D. from Mrs. L's class. The class was about to leave for the library. Mrs. L. told me to send him up when I was finished with him. I reviewed double-digit addition with and without regrouping.  He had perfect recall for both procedures.  I believe this little boy will be a very good student once he gets over his psychological interference. I asked what else he would like to work on.  He said nothing and looked furtively after his departing class.  I wrote  3+2=  and 3x2=. He answered five for both.  I did a little exercise to show him what multiplication meant. I ripped up pieces of paper, telling him they were pieces of candy.  I gave him two pieces three times and asked him how many he had.  He counted and came up with six. Next, I presented him with two addition problems: 3+3+3+=  and 3+4+2=.  He proudly gave me the correct answer for both.  The question was which one could be written as a multiplication problem.  I think he got some of it. We'll see. Whatever else has happened, he is much more cooperative. I sent him up to the library and headed over to Mrs. D.'s class.

    I worked with K. on the math.  I had her write a problem. She wrote 8 +7 =.  Then she held up 8 fingers.  I asked her which was the larger number. She said 8.  I reminded her that she had to hold up the smaller number and count on.  I held my breath while she started counting.  She started with 9.  Phew! She did another problem correctly, and I asked her if she wanted to show her work to Mrs. D. She said yes.  I was nervous because the fear she would feel would disrupt her mental processing.  She did indeed need some help.  But she was able to demonstrate her improved skill level.

    Mrs. D. said K. was doing her math homework.  Mrs. D. asked her if her mother did the work or helped her. She said she did it on her own. I don't know if she did it correctly but doing it at all is a huge step in the right direction.  

    I was supposed to have dinner with the young woman who lived here for six months. I was exhausted already after Bikram.  I texted her and asked if we could reschedule. She said, of course, so I went home to sleep. 

    First, I got a call from Judy.  She and Paulette were heading out to Costco to pick up food for tomorrow's potluck at Sue Brio's house. She had offered to pick up something for me.  I agreed to two small plates of shrimps for the pupus.  Then,  I called my friend Jean first because she asked for a telephone date; we hadn't spoken for a while.  I only got her voice mail.  I told her I was napping and went to sleep.

    When I got up, I squeezed lemons for my drink. The bags of lemons I had to buy at Costco had been sitting around for several days. They were out the whole weekend while Damon and Cylin were here waiting to be attended to.  Damon said nothing about them.  Such a good boy.  However, much Mike needed order, I think Damon's is actually worse.  He and Cylin had cleaned and cleared all the living areas.  I hadn't had any chance to clean my bedroom.  Damon said he carefully avoided going in there.  Too much ooze. That's what Mike used to say. While I haven't perfected my orderliness, I am getting better. Rather than storing my yoga stuff on the floor, I put it away and take it out of the drawer when I need it. Too bad I couldn't do that while Mike was alive. He would have loved it.

    Elsa and I went on our before-dinner time walk. I had some leftover food from the barbeque Damon made on Sunday, cold corn on the cob, and a little bit of steak and, of course, my salad and lemonade. 

    After dinner, I worked on the blog.  I need to catch up. I also loaded things I will need for tomorrow in my car: the pictures of the inside of my eye that Sandor took to show to the eye doctor tomorrow and the soap the Dog Groomer will need for Elsa.

Wednesday, February 19, 2020

    It was much warmer today when Elsa and I did our morning walk than yesterday.  The radio warned of another cold snap, but there was no sign of it yet.

    I fell asleep in Bikram again.  I think I give up halfway through because my left hip muscles are too stressed after the triangle, and separate leg head-to-knee poses.  As I lie there, I fell sound asleep and snored. Today, my bent legs did list to the right as I slept.  It was disappointing.

    After Bikram, I raced home because I had a telephone appointment with my therapist, now life-counselor.  I called the dog groomer on the way to see if I could change the appointment for next Friday.  I had so many activities planned for this one: an appointment with the eye doctor, an appointment for a mammogram, and a potluck dinner at the house of one of the ladies from church. He couldn't make the appointment because he was going on vacation to Las Vegas. I assume it's to gamble. 

    I also called Kaiser's accounting department to find out how my account stood.  I asked for the woman I had been talking to. When she came on, she told me that she had to refer Mike's account to her superior. Someone was going to have to make a change in the statement, which she wasn't authorized to do.  All well and good, but why didn't she call to tell me.  Thanks to Mike, I have learned not to respond with contempt and put the offensive customer service person in their place.   

    Shelly never called.  I called her twice, once, to say that I either had the appointment wrong or she forgot her phone.  Later, I called to express concern for her well-being.  At the end of her day, she called to say that she hadn't written down the appointment in her book. It was the best of all reasons; it wasn't my fault.

    I spent the day working on the blog and doing things around the house: one blog, one cleaning activity.  One of the activities was walking some of my garbage down the street to deposit it in Adam's trash can for pick up today.  Ours was brimming over. 

    I did several loads of laundry and did some ironing. It started pouring just when I was going to walk Elsa.  I sat in my living room chair and played FreeCell. When the rain stopped, we went out. However,  the ground was still damp, and Elsa hates to get her feet wet unless, of course, she's running under a garden hose. 

    Dinner consisted of the salad Damon had made the other day and some leftover rice and some curry dish.

      .  I continued watching Victoria.  It is charming.  The actress who plays Victoria is a delight to watch. I've seen pictures of the real Victoria. She was not quite as good-looking.  The actress remains the same slender, lithe girl after something like six pregnancies.  I don't think so.   The real Victoria blew up like a balloon, as one would expect. 

 

____-____-____

Musings:

 

    I'm reading a book I got from a friend's husband, The New God-Image, A study of Jung's Key Letters Concerning the Evolution of the Western-God Image.  I saw it on an end table when I went up for Christmas dinner, and he lent it to me.  My friend is a cradle Catholic, devoted to the religion.  Her husband is Jewish by heritage and skeptical at best. When he gave me that book, he made some comment about my being able to tolerate/accept what the book had to say. Whatever he got from the book, I know I have heard that argument from others that the shifting image of God over time proves that God is a creation of man.  I have come to a different conclusion; the same one I started out with: we have no idea if God exists or not. It's a mystery. 

    How can I read a book describing the changing image of God and come to that conclusion? Easy.  I have an image of Howard that is different from Judy's, as Judy's is different from everyone else who knows Howard.  Not only that, the image his sons had of him when they were children is different from the image they have of him now, as he was then as well as now.  Do these varying, fluctuating images prove that Howard does not exist?  I don't think even Howard would argue that. 

    In the case of God, we also have no proof that he does exist or does not exist. That's why it's called a belief and requires faith.  

Tuesday, February 18, 2020

    It was so cold this morning, I had on fleece pants, a  thick sweatshirt, and a warm jacket on top, and I still wasn't too much.

    At Bikram, I was inclined to stay in savasana for the last half of the class. The teacher asked me if I had a good nap. I asked her if she noticed that my bent knees never listed over to the right. There has been some significant transformation. It is that I had to let settle into my body, a new default alignment.

    After yoga, my first stop was at the UPS store to drop off a small bag of Styrofoam peanuts. It drove Damon nuts that I was going to go out of my way to do this. What can I tell you? Now, Damon is a busy, busy man. He is a producer at the DreamWorks Animation Studio with a new movie coming out. He has his hands full. He loves it.

    My next stop was Habitat for Humanity to unload the car of 2 area rugs, one large roller suitcase, three smaller carry-ons, a large Xmas wreathe, and several bags of ornaments and lights. I texted Damon to let him know I had taken care of business. He thought I would get none of it done. Ha! Ha! What does he know? I appreciated him pushing me to make decisions on items I had just sitting in my living room. Once those decisions were made, I was perfectly capable of finishing off the job. 

    I came home to make some phone calls. I also forgot some phone calls I still had to make. I have to write things down, or they completely slip my mind.

    I showered and headed off to school. B. in Mrs. D.'s class ducked to avoid my gaze. I asked him if he would prefer not to work with me. I  saw that as a good sign. If he feels he can study on his own or with his mom instead of me, that's fantastic. He doesn't have to get perfect grades. He has made great strides, and his being independent means he will continue to learn forever. He may not get a 100% on a spelling test this year, but he may next year. He got another 50% on the last test. The previous two weeks were challenging. There was no pattern to be memorized, where he could use his categorization skills to support his spelling. He had to learn every word independently. The week before, the lesson was on homophones, and last week it was on compound words.  

    N. was also ducking his head. He was working on a writing assignment. I could see he had already written one or two sentences. He said he preferred to continue working on his own. This is fantastic news! It was impossible to get him to write. The method I use of having the students tell me what they want to say and modeling how that may sound, a process I call co-writing, works every time to improve verbal expression skills, both oral and written. The last time we wrote a piece together, he started giving me complete sentences, and I no longer had to compose all of them. I still did the writing while he dictated. I do that because it is important to focus on verbal expression and not overload the neurological system with other challenges—one thing at a time. Maybe on Thursday, when I go back to school, I'll get to see what he wrote. 

    Mrs. D. had mentioned a girl in her class who is a good reader but was at a kindergarten level in math. I agreed to work with her. When K. sat down, the first thing I asked her as if she had trouble counting. No. Good. Then I asked her a couple of questions to determine her basic number sense. Which is larger, 7 or 5? Which is larger, 37 or 35? She was able to answer with relative ease. 

    I asked her to use the Base 10 blocks to illustrate 3+2=. She laid out three blocks and another little pile with two blocks. Great. Then I asked her to demonstrate a subtraction problem: 5-3=. Her response is not uncommon. Given the equation and her experience with addiction, it makes sense at some level to make a pile of five blocks and another of 3. I think I had trouble with it as an adult when I first use the blocks to illustrate subtraction. I showed her when doing addition, you start with two piles and push them together, and with subtraction, you start with one, and you literally take some away to create another pile. The concrete does not parallel the form of the abstract equation. Difficult.

    Then I worked on one-digit addition  4+3= using counting on. I set aside 4 blocks and covered them. I asked her if she knew how many I had under my hand. Then I had her count on using the remaining blocks. 5, 6, 7. She looked confused. I asked her if she did all her math on the right side of her brain. I was getting that she had trouble with abstract thinking when it came to math. I asked her if her name looked like her. She found this confusing. She said yes. I would imagine she feels when someone says her name, her image has to come to mind. I gave her a name she was unfamiliar with. She had some understanding that the symbol is not the same as the person. You have to have information about the person before the symbol makes sense. 

     I asked her if she used the right side of her head to do her math. She said yes. I told her she would be better off using her left side as well. She was able to focus there and allow changes to ensue. She told me it felt weird. A very good sign. It means something unfamiliar was happening. I let her sit with it for quite a while.

    We then did more work with counting-on. This time, I had her use her fingers. I had her sit near me, creating her own problems and working on them while I worked with another student. She was finding the activity fun. Yay for our team! I will be surprised if I don't have to start from the beginning when I see her on Thursday. I will repeat the same activity until she is secure and then move on to subtraction, which I can contrast with the addition she is familiar with.

    I worked with R. I had her underline all the short a-s follow by a consonant in the first story. Then the short i, short o, and the short e all followed by a consonant without a finale. She read two stories but was less than fully present. She said she was tired. She is beginning to show problems reading the word his. What is it with this word? All the kids I'm working with this year who have difficulty reading have trouble reading this word accurately consistently. 

    When R. went back to the classroom, I got D. from Mrs. L's class. He wanted to work on math. The teacher said he had an average day for him, not spectacularly good or bad. D. suffers from an attention problem. My diagnosis is his problem is caused by anxiety, fear of making mistakes, or not knowing as much as he thinks he should, not a neurological problem. I thought he seemed calmer. I asked him if he was saying, "It's okay, I forgive you, I love you," to himself whenever he made a mistake. I asked if it helped. He nodded vigorously. I have to call his caretaker to see if she is seeing a difference at home.

    D. had no problems adding two single-digit numbers together. However, he did have issues with double-digit problems. When adding 20 and 18, he counts up from 20: 21, 22, 23, etc. He got the right answers, but oh, boy. I showed him how to do each column separately. I finally had him adding two numbers of 7-digits each. He knocked it out of the park. Then I covered addition with regrouping. He didn't know what to do when he got a two-digit answer in the one's column. It took two minutes to show him a trick. He didn't run away because he didn't know the answer. I think once his fear level comes under control, he will be a quick learner.

    I continued working with K. while I worked with D., checking her work, congratulating her when she got it, and reviewing the procedure when she got it wrong. I am anxious to see what she will remember. 

    I went to Mrs. B.'s room. I only had time to work with I. He was still struggling with his memory. Oh, boy. We had worked on the wall he felt in his mind blocking his memory in his mind which prevented the information from coming up. He hadn't worked on his own. While working with me, he did take out one of the stones from the wall and throw them away.  

    I told him we had to solve this memory problem. I focused, and so did he. I felt that when he requested the information from his long-term memory, it went down to the back of his head on the left rather than up. He said yes. I had never seen that before. I wondered what it could be about. I asked him if he was afraid of making mistakes. He said yes. I asked him if anyone yelled at home. He said yes, his mom. Let me tell you, I am never so grateful that I had a mom that yelled at me nonstop as I am in these situations. I can tell a child that I had this experience too, and guess what, I survived quite nicely, thank you. I asked I. if she growled or made sharp noises. He said sharp noises. That's what my mom was like. She issued karate cries. Dorothy and I would always sky high when she did that, and it happened many, many times in a single day. I then asked him if Mrs. B. yelled at him. He said no. If I yelled at him. He said no. We didn't have time to do more. I will work on calming exercises so he can respond differently in situations that are truly dangerous versus those that are not.

    When I got home, it was time for a nap. I hadn't taken a nap in all the time that Damon and family were here. I didn't want to get up when I did awake. I finally got up, took laundry off the line, and hung up another load. I spent most of the early evening playing FreeCell, something else I didn't do a lot while Damon was here. Too busy. 

    I didn't even walk Elsa around my late dinner hour. I just let her out on the back lanai. I prepared the rest of the salad greens Damon had bought, made two fried eggs and a piece of toast. I spent the rest of the evening writing. As you can see from this entry, I was busy, busy, busy.

Monday, February 17, 2020

    I had a bad night’s sleep worrying about a problem I am having with some people.  I don’t like conflict; Mike hated it. The difference between us was that I was more optimistic about the possible outcome after working it through.  Mike was not, or it just wasn’t worth it for him.  He remembers his parents in constant conflict; he had little tolerance for that.  He could work issues through with me because he trusted me to have his interests at heart as well as mine.  At least that’s what he said, and I certainly hope that was the case.

    I had plans to go to Bikram in the morning, but between having a lousy night’s sleep and having the SUV parked behind my Prius, and not knowing where the key to the SUV might be, I gave up and stayed in bed longer.

    Elsa and I went for a good long walk.  Damon, Cylin, and August were heading back to California today. They found out that the wind that got them to Hawaii an hour early was alive and kicking, and their flight home would take six hours instead of five.  Would August be able to make it to school on Tuesday morning?  He certainly didn’t want to.  He calculated his grade average and showed his mom that he had a 4.3-grade point.  It’s higher than 4.0 because he has AP courses that count for more. 

    Damon, Cylin, and I went out to check out the sea turtles at the harbor beach.  It was a gorgeous day to be at a beach.  The harbor beach was constructed as a fish trap by the Hawaiians.  They built a rock wall at the sea edge of the bay.  The little fish swim in and feed. When they get larger, they can’t get out—fish farms. We did see three turtles.  They must have been adolescents. The full-grown ones are huge.  They can be seen in the water at the shoreline or sunning themselves on the beach.  This is a state park. The signs state you have to stay within 20 feet of these creatures.  

    We took Elsa with us.  She wasn’t thrilled with the experience.  I don’t know if she ever experienced sand before.  She certainly wasn’t interested in the turtles. She did poop on the beach. We had a poop bag with us that saved the day.

    We stopped off at the transfer station on the way home. Damon remembered that we had the blow-up queen mattress with a missing power cord in the back.  I could never have gotten it out myself; he and Cylin dumped it down the shoot.  

    Our next stop was at Subway.  Cylin hated the food offered on the flight over. Since they were traveling back on the same airline, she wanted to buy food ahead of time. Since we had taken Elsa with us, we had to sit outside. We had been welcomed with adoring arms at the coffee shop we went to in the morning. I think the company is locally owned, and they felt they could do what they wanted.  Subway is a national chain and feels more obliged to follow ordinances.

    When we got home, August wanted to walk Elsa.  I put the harness on her, but she didn’t want to go anywhere without me, so I went with them.  I got over 10,000 steps in with all the walking I did that day.

    Cylin was at the house stripping beds and dumping dirty linens in my laundry room.  The crew finished packing.  I drove them to the airport at 3:30.  While I was reading in bed before going to sleep, I got Damon’s text that they were home safe and sound and would I look in the bathroom drawer for his wedding band. 

 

Musings:

 

    I had a conversation with someone about the merits of classifying disabilities for educational purposes.  I argue that classifications are meaningless for a teacher.  The only value of the labels in a school is for securing extra services for a child.  But for the hands-on teacher, the special education teacher does not know how to work with that child; the label serves no purpose. 

    This does not mean that the labels serve no purpose in a medical context. Whether a child is mentally challenged because of a birth defect, lack of oxygen, insufficient nutrition, prenatal care, a head injury, a brain disease, an inherited disorder, or a chromosomal mutation makes a difference there.  The medical profession devotes its energy to prevent these disorders, as well it should. For me, as I work with a student, it makes no difference.

    I am currently working with a child who couldn’t even add without using blocks and didn’t fully understand subtraction. There is no medical diagnosis for this child. While this child reads on grade level, I believe if she were evaluated, she would be classified as learning disabled because of her profound problems with math.

      I worked with a student who suffered from Willian’s syndrome many years ago, which is a genetic disorder, either inherited or caused by a mutation. It is associated with several cognitive disorders.  I was told by her mother that problems with math are characteristic of this syndrome.  

    As an educator, the causes of the problems with math are irrelevant.  I had to assess what they were able to do and what they were not able to do.  With the third grader I am currently working with, I could determine with a few questions if she had any number sense.  Can she count to 1000?  Can she read this number, 41,014?   Which is larger, 10 or 7?  Which is larger, 37 or 32?  Then I observed her adding two numbers: 5+2=.  She arranged the blocks in a pile of five and a pile of two. She started counting the group of five blocks and then added on the two others. 

    My diagnosis: she only used her right brain to do the math.  She could only do the work when working with concrete objects; she couldn’t use abstract symbols.  First off, I asked her if she used only her right brain to do the math.  She said yes. I told her to use the left side of her brain.  Given how quickly she understood my instructions and focused on the left side of her brain, I have to assume there was no problem in the medical sense of the word.  Her problem was probably caused by mental habits.  There was nothing wrong with her brain or nervous system.

    I was able to get her to add using counting-on with her fingers. (In the problem 5+3=. You don’t count from 1; you count-on. 6,7,8.) She had some continuing problems with the procedure. I told her to always start with the larger number, add on the smaller amount by putting out fingers to represent the smaller number, and count on touching each one.  She went home and continued working with this procedure. She didn’t remember it perfectly.  This was not a problem with abstract recall; this is a procedural problem that involves a different part of the brain than abstract thinking. 

    The girl with Williams’s syndrome was in second grade.  I sometimes felt like Margaret Sullivan pushing Helen Keller through exercises.  I only worked with her on one exercise.  I had a frame of the numbers 1-10 on the top row with a column under each one with 10 spaces.  Under number 1, she colored in one square.  Under number 2, two squares.  I wanted her to see that the number sequence represented ever larger quantities.  That’s all I did for her for a year.  I was told that the next year, she could participate in math classes with the other children who were also having problems.  The work I did with her caused this breakthrough.  Would I do it differently now? Possibly I have developed different methods for teaching basic number sense for students who have difficulty with it. 

    The point of all this is the categories of learning disabled and Williams’s syndrome didn’t guide my teaching strategy then and wouldn’t today.  

    I have an issue with the educational profession. I feel it overuses medical diagnoses.  Most teachers who work with children who needed extra help or are classified as special education care a great deal about these children; however, some teachers care more about what is convenient for them than how best to teach children. I have seen incidents of both types of teachers.  However, I do think even caring teachers are overwhelmed by their helplessness to teach certain children and attribute their defeat to the medical diagnosis. 

     I think we, as professionals, should do what the medical profession does.  We should say I don’t know how to help this child; our profession doesn’t know how to help your child-yet. The medical profession is always trying new ways to deal with medical problems and admit the limitation of their knowledge.

    My husband died about a year ago of pancreatitis.  All medicine could do for him was to support him, hoping that his body would know how to heal him. Their hands were tied, and the doctors told us as much.  In five, ten more years, they may develop a more aggressive approach that might have saved Mike’s life. We all have to live with our limitations and own them.

    I have successfully worked with children whose teachers ignored them.  One boy’s mother said she doesn’t want her son classified because then teachers will say he’s stupid and feel free to ignore him.  I told her the classification is irrelevant.  They don’t know how to help him. They ignore him because they want to put their energy into children they can help. Sadly, the neglected children feel it is their fault the teachers make no effort with them when the fault lies with the educational system's limits.  We don’t know how to teach certain children.  It is too painful to admit it is our fault despite all the caring and effort.  It is our ignorance, which is the problem, not the child’s limitations.

Sunday, February 16, 2020

    I took a long walk with Elsa.  I am getting better at walking up the hill.  I made it to the second fire hydrant.  I ran into one of the people I met on my walk in the past.  David has a property on the street below mine.  He grows mangos and coffee. When he can, he takes on the hill.  He said he loves going up but finds coming down difficult.  In my experience, you can't just drop your wait.  Your knees will say, "OW!!" as well they should.

    When I got home, Damon was in gear.  Time to sort through all the things I had laid out, deciding what to keep and what to save. Damon's solution is to just throw everything out.  It drives him crazy that I will set aside a small doily that I found to mail to Karin. "Betty, just throw it out!" 

    Within an hour, much was sorted.  However, he wanted to toss things that I declared were worth washing and giving to the homeless.  He groans, "Betty!" Once most of the items were moved into my car to be delivered to various locations, Damon and Cylin proceeded to clean my house.  Damon vacuumed, and Cylin wiped down surfaces.  I had done some on the lanai before they came, but remember they arrived an hour earlier than expected. I didn't have time to finish the job. Damon and Cylin don't do their own housekeeping.  Jean, Damon's mother, has been there when a team of three Hispanic women moves through their house, leaving it spotless,  and here these two were cleaning my house.  I loved it.  I found it so loving, so caring. Also, so controlling. When they were finished, every surface was cleared. No, I wouldn't say I liked that. My house looked like a display in a furniture store.  I need a degree of mess to feel comfortable.  I am now finding a need to be neater than I was when Mike was alive.  It was Mike who maintained and enforced the order in our home.  I could rely on him.  But what these two have done is a little too much for me.  Cylin assured me they were leaving tomorrow, and I could create a mess again.  

    I am sure I've told this story before: After about fifteen years of marriage, Mike said to me, "I am neat.  You are messy. It is better to be neat than it is to be messy." I said, "This is a marriage.  I have as much right to my neurotic need for disorder, and you do for your neurotic need for order." That ended that conversation.  However, both of us made moves toward the other's needs.  Mike developed a higher tolerance for my disorder, and I made an effort to confine it to smaller spaces. 

    After the grand clean-up, we went to Hapuna, a beautiful beach somewhat north of Kua Bay.  This is the beach the lifeguard at Kua Bay told us was the safest one. It is the widest sand beach I've seen on the island.  Cylin found it shallow and calm enough to enjoy it, and Damon and August could go out and take on the waves.  At the far end of the beach, the waves were big enough for surfers as well as boogie boarders.

    Dinner was steak, corn, and salad.  It was all delicious.  Cylin had invited B. to join us.  They also suggested that we invite Judy, her husband, Howard, and Paulette.  That was too much for me.  I knew they would spend all their time getting to know each other. This is a very short visit, mainly to bury Mike.  I didn't want to share them.

    B. entertained us with his hunting stories.  He showed pictures of Elijah with a huge tom turnkey he shot and two pigs, one huge and a rather small one.  He said that all the animals he killed were always used for food.  If he couldn't use it himself, he gave the butchered animals to someone who needed the meat.  August would like to join B. and Elijah on a hunting expedition.  Oh, my.  I think they will find killing an animal much more traumatic than they think.   After a leisurely dinner, it was to bed for all of us after dinner.   

Saturday, February 15, 2020

    This was the day we laid Mike in his grave. I haven’t been sleeping well the last two nights, understandably.  I have been worrying about Prince Harry naturally.  How will he adapt to civilian life when all he has known is living in palaces and being surrounded by servants? 

    I was expecting the commitment ceremony to be painful, but it wasn’t.  We, Damon, Cylin, August, Yvette, Elsa, and I set out early because Damon wanted to stop for coffee.  I was starving, so when we arrived at Kona Coffee and Tea, I asked them to buy me a bagel with salmon.  I sat in the car with Elsa while they went inside.  While I sat in the car waiting for the gang to come back with their food, I had the feeling of Mike’s presence, saying, ”Thank you,” with the same intensity he did when I told him I would be letting him die.  It was his gratitude that overwhelmed all other feelings I might have had and made happiness my strongest. 

    Elijah called.  Brian, Sariah, and he were already at the cemetery and wondered where we were.  We were nearby, getting there on time would not be a problem.  Damon plus came out with their coffees and sandwiches. My bagel was delicious.

    When we arrived,  I saw Brenda walking in the parking lot, but no one else. I called to her. She said Fr. Lio had two more confessions to do, and he would be out. He arrived at the gravesite right around 9:30, which was the scheduled time.  Our group was just Fr. Lio, Brenda and Don, Susan, the church administrator, B., Elijah and Sariah, and the family I came with.     

    At the gravesite was a large pile of rock with some dirt thrown in. This is what Fr. Lio and Don had removed from the ground to make room for Mike’s burial site. B. pointed out that there were a lot of blue rocks in a pile. All rocks, every single on this island, are lava, but they are not all the same color.  There are black, blue, brown, orange, and grey. I learned today that the rocks are of different densities.  The blue rocks are the densest, the hardest to dig up. 

    Brenda talked to me about the gravestone.  I had been dealing with a monument company in Hilo that wanted to charge me $7,000 for what the local granite company, Brenda and Don found, cost me $750; yes, that missing zero is accurate.  The only color the local company had was black. I would like to order a brown one. I said something to Brenda about wanting to order one.  She asked me if I wanted to spend $8,000.  I’m not sure what she was thinking.  No, I’m not planning to work with the Hilo company; I had already asked the Kona one if I could order one in brown.  He said yes, but it would take a while.  I’m in no hurry.  I was planning to deal with the whole problem over the summer anyway.

    Brenda made another suggestion.  Instead of getting the stone etched with his name and dates, have a bronze plaque etched and attached to the stone monument.  The etching is cheaper on the bronze than on stone, and the bronze even lasts longer.  It sounds like a win/win solution—cheaper, easier, longer-lasting.

    After Fr. Lio completed the words to be said over the gravesite, we all threw flowers into the open cement box, which held the box with his ashes. Fr. Lio replaced the hefty cement lid.  I proposed throwing dirt on the container because I knew it to be part of the Jewish burial service.  Since it hadn’t been done as part of this ceremony, I assumed it wasn’t part of the Catholic tradition.  Fr. Lio said it was.  We each walked up to the grave, took a handful of red dirt out of buckets, which Fr. Lio imported from I don’t know where.  As we walked away, Fr. Lio and Don took turns dumping buckets of this red dirt on the grave to fill it in.

            After we left the gravesite, we dropped Yvette off at her studio; she had an appointment with a client.  Josh had her car to go to work because we were using the SUV, and B. was using the Toyota to pick up the kids from Hilo and drive them back right after the burial.

    This is the first time I had seen her studio.  She had told me that she had found this fantastic place. She hadn’t exaggerated. One woman is the primary renter, and then she rents out the other rooms to other bodyworkers. Each room is a delight.  The doors on each room are those modern sliding barn doors. Every detail of the waiting room says thoughtfulness and peacefulness. 

    When I got home, I was exhausted. That’s the only sign of the stress of this event.  We must have been home by 11:30.  I slept till 1 pm. Burying him doesn’t make any real differences, but it makes an enormous difference.  If nothing else, it is another step to letting him go, to completing all the actions related to his death.  But no worries, I have another several years of clearing the house of his possessions. On that note, I am still not ready to clear out his aloha shirts hanging in the open closet area and turning that into a monument/reminder of Mike.  No, I’m not prepared for that.

            On the other hand, as I was napping, it occurred to me that I could start clearing out some of the books from the library, an action that I have been avoiding.  It feels as if I am ripping something out of my body with each book I pull off the shelf to send away.  The current request list consists of over 1,000 books.  The first seminary only asked for 170 books. When I complete this second list, the library will look very different.  I will only have 2800 books left to sort through. 

    I woke up in time to listen to some of my favorite Saturday NPR shows: The Moth Radio Hour, TED talks for Radio, and Selected Shorts.  The first TED talk was from a woman who lost her husband, a pregnancy, and her father in one year.  She was young when her husband died.  People came up to her and reminded her that she would move on.  She resented those words. I think there are two ways of interpreting those words, at least.  She hears, “You will forget your first husband and marrying someone else.”  But that’s not what it means to me.   It means you will continue to exist and very literally continue moving forward, moving on.  We don’t think we leave any experiences behind.  Everything touches us and becomes part of us.  If it had only been four years instead of forty-five years, my time with Mike would have been life-changing.  Every person I have made a real connection with, whether I consciously remember them or not, is part of me.  Moving on means that I continue to exist.  I become something other, not that I forget Mike.  

    As I write, the image of refugees who are forced to flee on foot from dangerous situations came to mind.  There are situations where someone dies along the way.  The others in the group have to very literally move on, continue on the journey.  The opposite is to get stuck in the past.  I haven’t met anyone like this in my life, but I have heard stories about people whose glory days were in high school, and they don’t move on.  They don’t accept and celebrate the people they became and continue to become. That’s a tragedy.

    I walked Elsa while Damon called in our order for Thai food at Krua.  I feel heavy.  I’m not thinking particularly sad thoughts, but I am familiar with the signs of grief. It makes me very tired. 

    The evening ended with dinner at home with the Thai take-out and a few games of Rummikub. 

 

 

 

Musings:

 

    Many years ago, I thought, “For the one of the dream to live, the dreamer must die.”  My ten-year-old self, sense of self, had to be let go of.  I couldn’t always think of myself as that 10-year-old girl, no matter how great that year was and how many things got worse after that.

    I know of a child who lost his mother when he was four.  He would often say to his sister, “Let’s pretend that you’re 11 and I’m four,” their respective ages at the time of her death.  It was hard to let go of.  Unfortunately, to go on with our lives, we have to let go of what was and become part of what is. It’s our sense of self that we have to move on from. We have to find ourselves in the context we are currently existing in. 

  

Friday, February 14, 2020

    Today was a simple day. I went to Bikram. I went to the car wash. I stopped at Costco for gas. I came home and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned in anticipation of Damon, Cylin, and August’s arrival.

    I heard My Funny Valentine on the radio. That is how I felt about Mike.  I don’t think anyone thought of him as a stud, but he was the most attractive, desirable man I knew, and he made me smile with my heart. And every day was Valentine’s Day. Even at the worst moments in our marriage, he told me I was beautiful and loved me every day.  

    Mike and I once gave a speech at a Canaan class, a class for Catholics planning to marry.  I told them that he said wonderful things to me every day. Actually, I started my speech with, “You may not know it, but I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.” No one laughed. I followed with, “ At least that’s what Mike tells me every day.” Still, no one laughed. Then I said, “I’d be willing to pay him to say that to me every day.” Finally laughter. The point was: say something positive to your mate every day.  You may not always feel it, but it carries you through the dry times in your marriage.

    Damon’s plane was supposed to come in at 3 pm. At 2 pm, he called to tell me he was in.  I was in the middle of washing the kitchen floor, and I hadn’t showered yet. They took an Uber from the airport. I was showered and dressed by the time they arrived, but the living room was still in disarray mode for cleaning purposes.  

    Damon took over. The boxes and bags with stuff to be sorted were shoved into a corner I had just washed for that purpose.  Damon vacuum the now exposed floor and rug.  Mike would have had a shitfit to have a guest come into our home when it was in disarray and clean it up himself, even his son.  Me, not so much. I loved it. 

    We all went to Kua Bay, Damon, and August’s favorite beach.  It was Mike’s, too.  It is beautiful but dangerous.  They have lifeguards there now. When one passed us, I asked questions:  How many people had they saved?  Five last week.  Two drownings and several spinal injuries.  The shore break at Kua is very dangerous, and people are often slammed into the ground by the waves.  He said these waters were dangerous unless they were completely calm.  This didn’t thrill Cylin, who had always worried about her boys boogie boarding at Kua.  I asked him what the safest beach was for boogie boarding.  He told us, but I can’t remember the name.  I do know it’s one south of the Mauna Kea hotel.  Damon knows the name.

    August had a solution to the problems I was having with the blog; register with a different blog site.  We were on blogger.com. This site limits the number of entries you can easily find.  August said this other site offers a table of contents that allows the reader to find whatever entry they want to see. We still have to discuss if it would be better to post the entries by the day, the week, or the month.  I didn’t know what would be the most user-friendly.

    As it winds up, the site I was on was just the site he had recommended renamed. Blog Spot had either merged with blogger.com, or it was renamed. Then he had to figure out how to get the entries archived. He did it—something to do with choosing the right theme. 

    He also showed me how to download the audio files, so the tracks play sequentially without clicking on each track.  You go to bandcamp.com. When you are on my site, you click on the pay for the album. Only you put in $0.00.  It still allows you to download the album to your computer. 

    Damon and Cylin went out to have dinner with Yvette and Josh. Damon and Yvette have known each other since he was three and she was six.  They made a profound connection right away. They haven’t remained as close as they were as young children, but they consider each other as cousins. Apparently, they talk about me behind my back.  Sounds good to me.

    Cylin brought food home for me from the restaurant they ate in.  I had had a salad earlier to tide me over.  They didn’t bring me the poke I asked for.  Instead, they got the dish Josh had, which looked particularly good.

    When I spoke to Brenda earlier in the day, she told me that I didn’t have to bring plywood to cover the gravesite until we got a headstone because Fr. Lio would take care of that.  She said, “Just bring Deacon and flowers.” Flowers?  Never thought of that.  I don’t really like formal arrangements or the ones I do like are much too expensive.  I text Brenda that I would pass on the flowers.  Then I decided I would grab some from my garden.  That pleased me.  I hope I remember tomorrow morning. 

    The Ross family was tired after their flight and the time change.  Everyone went to bed.           

Thursday, February 13, 2020

    Another sleepy day at Bikram.  Afterward, I stopped off at the Friendly Place to drop off another sleeping pillow and a bag with a drawstring that came with my new yoga mat.  I had meant to make a stop and Good Will too, but I forgot to load the stuff in the car.

    Cleaning is on the schedule for today, except for some time at school. And, of course, picking up the linens Damon ordered at Macy's. 

    At school, I started with Mrs. B.'s class. I. read the first of the transcribed stories a bit more smoothly, but it was clear he was still struggling to remember some of the words. I had him color all the occurrences of the a followed by a single consonant: at, ap, an. Then he read the second story with equal skill and difficulty. He was able to start the third story.  This is definite progress, but he couldn't read the word this. He read this as there, and then tried they.  He had no idea. Again, we were confronting his memory problem.  

    I asked him which side of his brain he was using to retrieve the information.  He said the left.  Okay, then why was he having this problem. I asked if he experienced spinning.  He said yes. I told him he would have to do many spin releases before the problem cleared up.  He was able to allow the spin release to happen without any further instruction on my part.  My theory is those who have problems have many such disturbances.  It takes many conscious attempts before the storehouse of these spins is emptied, and/or releasing them becomes automatic. 

    He still could not recognize the word after the release.  I intuited a block. He confirmed it and showed me where it was, right behind the ears. I asked him to describe it to me. What color was it? Brown.  Was it large or small? Large.  What is hard or soft? Hard.  Was it like rock or like wood? Rock. He said it was a large, brown lava rock wall.  Then I asked if it was an old rock wall where the stones are piled one on top of one another or were the rocks set in cement as they are these days.  He said they were set in cement. 

    Then I asked him if he had to knock down a lava rock wall, how would he do it? He understood my point and started on the wall without further instruction on my part.  A Hawaiian child knows how to tear down a rock wall.  Shortly after that, I told him to go back into the classroom. How is this going to play out?  I have no idea.  When children have done visualizations like these in the past, I have had some degree of success.  Will this fix his memory problem? Will this visualization help him remove what is blocking his memory?  Stay tuned. Actually, I may never know. I sometimes have had students who I wasn't able to help at the time come up to me years later and tell me how something I taught them did help them.  We teachers sometimes never know our impact on our students, for better or for worse. I feel I am introducing the possibility of changing the brain. Once I've introduced the idea, the students can work on solving the problem on their own.

    I worked with D. in Mrs. B's room next. Last time, he asked to take home the transcribed stories.  I gave him a copy of every transcribed story in the Carpenter A book, seventeen of them.  He said he was reading them with his mom, and she was very impressed with the difference in his reading. He certainly read the stories he did read more fluently today.  I don't quite know what to do with D. He has been improving, but I do not have a magic bullet for his problem.

    Then I went to Mrs. D.'s class. I started with R. She sailed through three of the transcribed stories today. This is much better. I asked her if she wanted to read another one or read the book she brought out.  It was on a level H; J is the end of first grade.  Yes, she is way below grade level, but she couldn't read a book on level A when we started.  This is a vast improvement.  

    Next, I worked with M.  He read five of the transcribed stories with relative ease. He made some errors, but his fluency was good.  I asked him if his reading was better; he said no. However, I remember him having problems with remembering the sounds and blending.  He didn't have those problems today.  

    After school, I talked to Mrs. L about a disruptive child.  I spoke to the child who is diagnosed with ADD. I asked him if he wanted me to help him.  He didn't look receptive. He was standing still talking to me, and his body twitched. I asked Mrs. L. if he had had a functional MRI. She said no. I don't think this child has been referred to a neurologist.  I have no idea why.  It is clear from watching him that something is going on that should be appropriately diagnosed and dealt with on a medical level. 

    Mrs. L. has to deal with this boy calling out inappropriately and disrupting the class. Since it is clear to me, this is not something that can be handled behaviorally. Most ADD cases can't just be dealt with a behavioral plan and instructions to control themselves.  I told her of a situation I had in Ohio.

    This second-grade boy would cry hysterically if something went wrong for him.  I believe he had been sexually molested. Whatever it was, this is how it manifested. I was being observed by my supervisor when he had a meltdown.  He couldn't calm himself. I called the school counselor to come to get him. This made him even more hysterical.  I put him outside the door to wait for her—another increase in hysteria.  I was concerned for his safety.  I brought him back into the room, tucked him under my left arm, and continued teaching.  What else was I going to do? Let the chips fall where they may. The students just attended to my lesson.  

    Now in all fairness, they knew this boy and his troubling behavior.  This was nothing novel.  Besides, his crying was constant, not stop and go.  The stop and go would have been much more difficult to ignore.  I told Mrs. L. this story to see if she could guide the class to just ignore outbursts from this boy.  They were able to ignore outbursts from other students in the common area. While my idea has some merit, I think it would be difficult to get the class to cooperate. 

    Then went to Safeway to pick up apples and Better than Bullion vegetable soup, and of course, since they were on sale, two Hershey's Milk Chocolate Bar with whole almonds. Then I went to Macy's to pick up Damon's order for bedding, a set of sheets, a blanket, and two pillows. Mine are not good enough. He's doing the same thing with his mother.  He has standards to uphold.

    I spent the rest of the day cleaning and taking FreeCell breaks.  Yvette came up for dinner. We are doing so much better.  It is worth a great deal to me.  We are getting comfortable with each other.  We had a salad and a grain and a bean dish. After dinner, she did some bodywork on me.  She is amazing.  She 'knows' what a body needs.  She also loves doing the work. 

    Tomorrow Damon, Cylin, and August are arriving.  I can't wait.