I spoke to Dorothy as I walked, as I do most mornings. This morning, Dorothy told a story about Mike. Mike, Dorothy, and I visited our mom in Great Neck. Dorothy wanted to borrow Mom's car to drive over to the high school track to get some exercise. Mom refused to lend it to her because Dorothy had been afraid of driving. She assured Mom that she had gotten over her phobia. Mom still refused to lend the car to her. Dorothy turned to Mike and asked to borrow his car. He handed Dorothy his keys. He was such a sweet man.
This interaction reveals so much about Mike's character. First, he was available to others. Dorothy felt comfortable asking him for his car, and he defied my mom. He stood up when he saw an injustice. It's this that I miss most about Mike. He was a safe part of my world.
It reminded me that Mike was a verb in my life, not a noun. He was not 'my husband;' I was not 'the deacon's wife.' He was the person who supported me; he was the one I laughed with; he was the one I loved to hug and kiss. He was the one I shared my life with.
I was expecting Sears today to finally repair my stovetop. They had already declared it irreparable. The master service plan will only tolerate three service visits before they offer the client a replacement. The last man had created a slight problem when he reassembled the stovetop. One of the dials was sticking. I insisted that someone come out and repair that problem. I was planning to sell it and replace it. No, I didn't want what Sears had to offer. They don't have a six-burner stovetop. This is the one Mike really wanted. He was thrilled with it. This is part of Mike's dream kitchen, and it was the one he cooked on. I want to save it if I can.
On Tuesday, over a month after it was initially ordered, the requested part arrived. The serviceman was supposed to arrive between 1-5. He called during the morning saying he had had a cancellation; would it be all right if he came now. Yes! That would be great. That way, I wouldn't have to worry about having my session with J interrupted. I told him over the phone that the missing part had finally arrived. It had been ordered back in September.
He said his boss told him to just pick up the part and leave when he arrived. They had written off my stovetop as irreparable; they were prepared to replace it. There are certain restrictions when Sears replaces an appliance. First, it has to be carried by Sears. Second, if you want something more expensive, you have to pay for the difference; you can't have just anything you want. Sears only carried ones with five burners instead of six when it came to the stovetop. No-go. I had already made plans to sell the broken one and pay for a six-burner replacement out of pocket.
I told the serviceman I wanted every effort made to fix this one because it was the one my husband used. While he called his manager, I hid the part under my shirt. His manager agreed to allow him to install the new part.
When he took the stove apart, the cause of the drag on the dial was clear. A thick paperish washer had been bent as the guy had reassembled the appliance. Once the stove was reassembled, the dial no longer stuck. However, the original problem had not been remedied. The ignition function snapped away on all three of the back burners when one was turned on. This has been the problem all along. This serviceman told me this was the third (3rd) attempt to replace the same part that controlled the ignition function. He told me just about everything had been replaced on the stovetop.
I planned to call Kitchen Aid tomorrow to see if they have some information about what might be going on. As I write, I'm inclined to think the problem is trivial; there's some dirt trapped where it shouldn't create an electrical transmission point.
After he left, I contacted D's mom to see if I could get a few make-up moments in. I started s-l-o-w-l-y forming the letters and numbers on Zoom's whiteboard.
I did something like this with a 3rd grader a few years ago. This was an out-to-lunch kid. I have no idea where the inspiration came from; I randomly moved a pen across a piece of paper very s-l-o-w-l-y. I instructed the student just to watch the movement of the pen. As I moved it slowly, he anticipated where it would go next. For some reason, this made a fantastic difference in this child's ability to function. It only took one session. I have no idea but thank God for the inspiration.
I tried something comparable with D. Moving the pen randomly across the screen did nothing. When I slowly formed the letters and numbers, it did. I instructed him to make guesses as I moved along. I was surprised by how delayed his responses were. I always told him if I was writing a letter or a number. There are unique starting lines that appear in only one possible letter, like the first stroke of the letter z or the hook at the top of the letter f. Others are much more ambiguous. There is no way you can tell what they are until they are fully formed, like the g, d, and q. They all start with the letter a. Not only does D. not guess the possible letter(s) accurately, but he also often doesn't name the letter correctly even after it is fully formed. We may be at his base point. He does feel this is helping him. I planned to try this regularly.
I finally got hold of Paul Weisser, the professional editor who advertises on Craig's list. I knew he would be a character; the question is how much of a character and will it work for me. I had sent him an email asking how to proceed. I had no answer for a week. I called today. He is, indeed, a character. Whatever he's about, the article isn't very long, and we won't have to spend much time together. Things must be done his way; no, he will not consider any alternatives; no, he isn't interested in actual knowledge. Hmm! I'm interested in pursuing this vein because I like how he works; He reads the text with me and makes suggestions- orders?- as he goes along. Learning about his approach inspired Dorothy and me to edit the article that way. It was a wonderful way of working for both of us. He did send up one red flag that warned me working with him would be untenable. He told me I was "technologically incompetent" because I couldn't do something he could. Hmmm!
He will only work on Skype because he doesn't want to pay for Zoom. I told him it would cost him nothing because I had a subscription. He wouldn't hear it. I will have to get hold of my grandson, August, or Jean's, my hanai sister's husband. August is the tech support for the family; John does Skype. Hopefully, one of them can help me.
I called the tech support guy at the local elementary school to get instructions on how to get on Google Meet with D. This is the program the school uses. As it wound up, I could only gain access to Google Meet with D. if I had a Department of Education email account. This way, it is set up to make sure no one has inappropriate access to the children. Reasonable. I called the principal to ask her to authorize me to get a school account. She was too busy to speak to me but didn't seem adverse.
I got a text. "Do I have tutoring today?" Damn. It was J. I had set my alarm to 1:20 to remind me of the tutoring session at 1:30. It never went off. J. is incredible. How many 11-year-old boys do you know who push for more tutoring? I had to cut a session short; he – yes- he asked for a make-up session. We worked hard. There's not a moment's rest while we're working, no chit-chat.
Today we worked on a grade-level reading passage. This passage was tough, both the vocabulary and the concepts. Before this, we worked on a passage that was at least a grade below. That passage was challenging, but he did much better on the next level.
What has become clear is J. has some problems with auditory processing. His language development is much weaker than his younger sister's. At first, I thought his poor language skills resulted from his family background. Neither of his parents speaks English. But it comes out that his Spanish is also poor. His sister's Spanish is better than his. He knows he has problems. He said he wants to understand what his mother says better.
I have given him the audio file to listen to that has helped others with audio processing problems. He hasn't done that. He has some resistance. IN the meantime, I model the breakdown of the words into phonemes on Zoom. He says this is helping him hear what people say better.
After I finished with him, I called E. for our weekly 15-minute session. He said he was doing very well and had nothing to work on. I asked him if I could recommend a topic. E. is very overweight. He said his weight didn't bother him that much, but he was willing to look at it. We did some release work directly on his weight. Then it came to me that he had many more negative feelings about people being on his case, particularly his mother. We got more bang for the buck that way. He is packing on the pounds because he eats more to suppress his rage triggered by his mother's endless criticism.
Darby called in the midafternoon to say that she was heading over to Hilo and wouldn't be able to walk with me this evening. While I walked, I called Judy to ask her about this new young German shepherd that came charging at Elsa and me as we passed her property. A friend of Adam and Jazzy's came by the other day and just dropped the dog off, telling them he couldn't take care of it, and they had to. Huh? Well, taking care of the dog is their problem. My problem is he's scaring me and Elsa as he charges us. So far, once he gets to us, there is no aggression. We'll get used to his ways.
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Musings:
I talked to E. about why his mother was so hard on him. It was clear that my mother's being hard on me didn't have much to do with what was best for me. There was something else going on. I suspect something similar is going on with E.'s mom.
While she is genuinely concerned about her son's health, she has other issues driving her. I told E. that his mom was angry at herself for her weight problem. She is also upset because he is her responsibility, and she can't do her job. I told him that was one of the wonderful parts about working with a professional: they aren't deeply invested in how their clients turn out. Not that they don't care at all, but not the way a parent does. The caring of someone close to us is a mixed blessing. We want our parents, siblings, and spouses to be invested in us, but not too much.
I was committed to seeing Mike as someone separate from me; he would steer his own destiny. I think we did reasonably well accepting each other's individuality, who we were outside the confines of the marriage.
Nonetheless, shortly after Mike and I were in a committed relationship, I had an interesting dream. I dreamt he cut off his foot while mowing the lawn. Was I concerned for the poor man? No way. I was furious. He had damaged 'my foot.' That foot was my property.
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