Mike's death; Betty's life...: 09/02/26

Wednesday, September 2, 2026

Saturday, October 5, 2024

I borrowed three dollars from Elaine to pay for the Hula classes yesterday. I took precautions to ensure I would have that money on me when I walked in the morning. I put the three dollars on top of my charging earphones. I usually run into Elaine as she walks. As I approached her driveway on Holoholo Street, a truck pulled out of the driveway. It was Elaine. She stopped to talk, and I gave her the money.

She had an opportunity to observe me doing the Hula in yesterday’s class. The teacher had half the class perform Lovely Hula Hands while the other half watched. She wouldn’t usually see me dancing. She stands in the front row, and I stand in the back. I’m not hiding. I must watch the other students execute the moves to perform the dance. I can’t hear Sweetie, the instructor, calling out the instructions, and I don’t know the Hawaiian vocabulary for the moves anyway. I have to carefully watch the other students. Elaine said with a bit of surprise that I was pretty good at the dance. I have a background in dance. I understand isolating movement. Many of the students get the hip thrust by bending at the waist. Many use their knees to get the effect. The action should all come from the hip joint. When I do that, my thighs start hurting, not my knees. I am told that all serious Hula dancers have knee problems. I wonder if they are taught to use their hip joints instead of their knees.

I continued my search for my Shotz earphones without the separate microphone. The one I prefer has a built-in microphone. When I get a call, I don’t have to worry if the separate microphone is in the right position. When I wear the one with the separate microphone, I put it up when not in use for fear of breaking it off. Then, when the phone rings. I must remember to bring it down so the mic is near my mouth instead of behind my ear at the back of my head. The last time I saw the preferred missing earphones, they were in the car. I left them there when I went to tutor at Ulu Wini. I checked the car several times without success.

While I forgot to weigh myself this morning, I did weigh myself later in the day. Yesterday, I was at 131, a decent weight. Today, I was down below 130. That was getting scary. My weight for most of my adult life was 128 lbs. I never had to worry about weight. I maintained that weight even after menopause. I gained twenty pounds at fifty five, five years after menopause. My sister was overweight, and my mother was on her case. Dorothy told me she put on the weight by eating muffins. I started eating two muffins and one serving of French fries weekly. I was afraid my mom would use my slender figure to bully my sister. I would rather be fat than be used that way.

Joseph, my tenant, who turned 28 yesterday and lives on a diet of milk products, suggested I add condensed milk to my diet if I wanted to gain weight. I wasn’t ready to go that route. The condensed milk sounded disgustingly fatty. I went for ice cream. I found Haagen Das chocolate almond vanilla popsicles. I ate three a day and put on two pounds. The weight comes back on as rapidly as I lost it. I didn’t want to gain all the weight back. I had to be careful.

I contacted my friend Jean about bringing the crate with the two small angels to the house where she was staying while visiting. I was concerned that the crate would be left behind in the last-minute rush to leave the island. Jean said bringing it to her son-in-law’s house wasn’t a good idea. It had to be carried down two flight of stairs and up another two, and there was no place to store it. She would pick it up on her way to the airport when she left on Monday. I don’t know about her, but I’m always in a last-minute rush when I travel.

Today was a bad day for grief. It’s not just the loss of Michael. It’s the grief I felt as a child in my relationship with my parents, the grief over friends I am no longer in contact with either because they cut me out or they did something unbearable, and I cut them out. For someone who longs for connection and belonging, this is a disaster. Some of it is my sensitivity. Some of it is theirs. We all do damage out of woundedness.

Videos about Maggie Smith were appearing on YouTube. I watched a few and then realized she died on September 27. How did I miss that? I love that woman’s wit. I don’t envy many people, but Maggie had a full life with many successes. She is also open about the agonies of her life. That’s inescapable. What distinguishes us is the way we deal with those. I give myself a C+ to a B- rating.

Friday, October 4, 2024

struggle. I must have dozed on and off, but most of the time was spent dealing with my 'agony.'

Today was the Hula class. It was the first session of a group of ten. I forgot and didn't have cash to pay the $20 fee. I only had seventeen dollars. I borrowed three from Elaine, a woman I know from the neighborhood who told me about these classes.

A woman who reminds me of Estelle Parsons was there. I observed her in her first class. She looked like someone who had done Hula before. No. She was a gym teacher. I love watching her talk. Athletes know about isolating movements and which joints to activate. She doesn't just use her hands and arms when she speaks; her whole body moves. I thought this was what I must have looked like when I was younger. She didn't respond well when I told her she reminded me of Estelle Parson and that she should look her up. Oh, well. I enjoy watching her.

After the Hula class, I went to Collette's Custom Framing for a price for crating Jean's 35 lbs. cement angel for shipping. Collette measured the statue as it lay on my back seat. I called Jean, who was at Target shopping with her grandkids. $300. That was not doable. I suggested that I transfer the angel from my car to hers so she could figure out what to do. I drove over to Target. I waited at the front door, pacing back and forth to get in my steps for the day. When they came out, they figured out where our cars were parked. It made more sense for her to pull up her car behind mine. Her 4th-grade grandson helped me move it from my car to hers.

After I had lunch at home, I went to Ulu Wini. My first student was 3rd grade PH. I asked her to name the vowels. She remembered IOU but not AE. I drilled the whole sequence with her. Then, I had her name each letter in sequence in a text. She skipped some of the letters. That signals a visual perception problem. I asked her if the letters moved around. Yes. I lead her through a spin release. Afterward, she said the letters were stable. PH is a flake; it is hard to know what is happening with her. I will follow up with her.

I also worked with 6th-grade ML and RM on math. I was concerned that their math might be out of my range. Their homework was on the Distributive principle of multiplication. They were given 524 x 56= , versus 524 x 50 and 524x 6=, versus 524 x 30=, 524 x 20= and 524x 6=. They had no idea what they were looking at. It took me a minute to figure it out. They had to say why one would solve the problem one way versus the other. They didn't know what distributive meant, no less perceive the relationship of the different ways of presenting the problem. They did not see the base word distribute in the word. I got them to the point where they saw how the 56 was 'distributed.'

I also worked with first-grade PY on learning the vowel letters so I could work on decoding. I teach that the vowel letters are the cornerstone of each syllable. Given how low-functioning she was, I started with Carpenter's Sassy the Cat, which uses a lot of -at words. She progressed quickly. She could recall words when she saw them again in the text. Many students can't do that. She used crossbody blending without prompting. This is a good sign she will learn to read quickly. The only glitch was her b/d confusion. I didn't work on that today.

I texted Joseph to ask him if her would help me lift the large container Jean and I packed with the two small angels the other day. I thought I would have to help him or ask Josh or Yvette to come up. He lifted it with ease. Was I once that strong?

I have run into several people who consider every request a criticism. They should have thought to offer it; if they didn't, they did something wrong. These very people see everyone as judgmental. How do you get around something like that?

Any interaction between two people is what each one wants. The likelihood of that always being the same is nil. At the level of interpersonal interaction, right and wrong is not relevant. You either want to do it the other person's way, or you don't. From there, you can either work out a mutually comfortable solution or not.

Sometimes, you can't find a solution that works for both parties because one refuses or can't consider other options. In that case, it depends on who has the power, not right or wrong. That's the issue in a date rape situation. There's a conflict of wills. At the moment, it's irrelevant who's right and who's wrong. The man wants something the woman doesn't want to give him. Period end of sentence. There was a time when it was considered a man's right to force a woman, particularly if she was his wife. The woman couldn't get away. There was nowhere to go. By the standard of the time, the man was right. In the moment, if he wanted X, and she wanted Y. If the man forced himself on her, he was violating the boundary. Sadly, it becomes a matter of right and wrong for the woman who often blames herself for the incident and sees it as a sign of her unworthiness. The human psyche is tricky. I wonder how that twisted thinking was ever a survival trait?

Without Pleasure

We are sacrificed for the other person's benefit. We are not given a choice; we are forced by the other person to do it their way.

Without Pleasure

We sacrifice ourselves for the other person's benefit. The only pleasure comes from accumulating halo points.

For Pleasure, with some Adjustment:

The other person doesn't want to do what we want. We can do it their way and enjoy the adventure of the unexpected or suffer minor discomfort.

For our Pleasure

What we do for and with others for sheer pleasure.

Both parties want to do it for themselves.

These are the only categories of interpersonal transactions that come to mind today. If anyone has other thoughts, I would love to hear them.

Thursday, October 3, 2024

I went to bed at 9 pm and was wide awake by 1:30. Today, I had a real tosser of a night. I thought of a possible obstacle to a goal of a young friend of mine. He was applying for resident status at a university. He learned too late he needed his dad's death certificate to complete his application for the fall semester. He would have to spend another semester, at least, paying out-of-state fees. This morning, it occurred to me that the powers would be asked for his birth certificate next. The boy's last name is different from his dad's. I envisioned all sorts of complications. Fortunately, most of my concerns were for naught, but I had a hell of a time preparing for all eventualities. I spoke to the boy's mother in the morning. His birthday certificate was in perfect order, and he had a copy on hand. No worries

I spent most of yesterday removing the staples from a picture frame to release the canvas so it could be shipped inexpensively. I took it to an art supply store the other day to ask how much it would cost to do it professionally. The fee was $75. My friend, Jean, didn't want to pay that much and figured she could do it herself. Since the picture was in my house, I thought I could give it a go and at least get some of it done. I had most of it done by last night and finished up all but two staples in an awkward position this morning.

I had an appointment with Shelly, my therapist/ life coach. I worked on shame. When rejected, shame is a normal, if dysfunctional, response. I argue that it is shame that underlies loneliness. When my family shuns me, and they don't even tell me why they're uncomfortable with me, they walk away. What am I supposed to do? They close off any option other than accepting their point of view. I have no idea how to respond other than to walk away.

I sat with my shame as much as possible in the session. It was a very unpleasant feeling. At some point, there was a switch. We were all sharing our shame, which was very interesting. It felt better, but I don't know if it will impact our relationships or even my ability to be calm in the face of their rejection.

Shelly talked about how people's outbursts of anger are ways of avoiding triggering situations. They trigger feelings we don't like. She gave an example of her daughter, who suffers from an obsessive-compulsive disorder. She gets angry if she senses she has been or will be triggered. My guess is shame underlies that, too, I think we all dread losing control of our psychological state.

My friend Jean, who was in Hawaii visiting her grandkids, came over to visit and figure out what to do with the objects she stored in my house after her daughter died, including one large painting and three cement angels, one weighing 35 lbs, the other two in the 15 lbs range. Before Jean arrived, I had already removed most of the staples that held the canvas to the frame. I needed her to keep the frame upright to reach the last two. When we finished that, we sat down for the lunch she had brought from a local Mexican restaurant.

After leisurely lunch, Jean and I packed her two small statues in one of those plastic crates with a black bottom and a yellow lid. We placed a sleeping pillow at the bottom of the crate and put the two fifteen-pound angels on top. Jean used the rolled-up canvas we had removed from its frame for some insulation. I had a supply of swimming noodles. Two of them wrapped around the two 15-pound cement angels did the trick. We put a

The 35-lb angel would have to be crated for transport. An airplane would not transport it merely wrapped in a blanket; they would be liable for breakage. I offered to take it to the art supply store to get it crated for shipping.

Jean also brought me a container of spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs. I told her I craved that but couldn't make it for myself. I suppose I could. Judy recommends the RAO brand. I've had some of their frozen meals. They're pretty good.

I took a short nap before heading to Ulu Wini for the first time in nearly three weeks. Shauntel handed me a list of students who wanted to work with me. There were four names, and a fifth student asked to be on the list. Shauntel told me I was missed.

My first student was second-grade KJ. I asked her what she wanted to work on. She said math and wrote x. I said, "Multiplication?" surprised because that's usually introduced in third grade. From what I could figure out, her teacher hadn't said a word about it, but she had seen other students do it and wanted to get ahead. She is wonderfully ambitious.

I started with an array, two rows with three items in each row. It is not as apparent for students unfamiliar with multiplication as you would think. The problem could be solved with addition just as easily. I think the relationship between addition and multiplication should be emphasized when multiplication is introduced. It's only introduced after the students start multiplication.

Then, I showed her that an array of two rows with three objects in each could be solved by adding 3+3= or multiplying 3 x 2 =. The two operations describe the same pattern of objects and produce the same answer. KJ had it after three examples. I asked her if she wanted to create some problems on her own. Yes. But then she wrote miscellaneous multiplication problems: 16 x 4=, 83 x 3, etc. I showed her I wanted her to write addition and multiplication problems for the same display. Then she got it, and she was off.

Next, I had first-grade PY. When I worked with her three weeks ago, she couldn't identify all the letters in the alphabet or count by tens. I checked those two first. Wow! She zoomed through counting by 10s and had no problem naming all the letters. She went to get a book on a low reading level. She certainly wasn't up to reading all the words, but she showed signs of decoding. I pointed to the two and three-letter words in the text. She decoded those. Then I pointed to STILL. She didn't have a clue.

I teach that the vowels are the cornerstone of every word and every syllable. PY didn't know what the vowels were. I wrote out the whole alphabet and circled the vowel letters. I teach the two categories of letters: vowels and consonants. What's not a vowel is a consonant, an important concept.

Then, I worked on getting her to memorize the vowel letters in their order. I believe the sequence should be memorized to make recall easy. I wrote out all five letters. AEIOU. I covered it and wrote _EIOU. She had to fill in the A. I covered that and wrote A _IOU. I proceeded through all five letters that way. In the end, I wrote patterns like _E_OU, etc., constantly challenging the students' memory.

Once that seemed reasonably secure for the day, I turned to the word STILL. 'What is the sound of vowel letter in this word?" she had to think about it for a minute. She knew nothing of the long and short vowel sounds. I pulled up my vowel chart.

Short Vowels Long Vowles

a apple	a ape
e elephant	e equals
I igloo	i island
o octupus	o ocean
u umbrella	U uniform

I gave her the keyword and had her identify the initial sound. She had a good ear for the phonemes. I didn't have to do much else. I had her recognize that while the letter name for long and short vowels was the same, the sounds were different. Moreover, the sound of the long vowel was the same as the name of the letter. Note: I taught by asking questions that allowed her to discover the pattern with the long vowels.

I strive to create situations where the students can discover something for themselves. In this case, I asked her if the sound of the long vowel was the same or different from the name of the vowel letter. If a student can't hear it, that skill becomes the focus of the lesson.

I had her identify the sound of the i, the short /i/, and the L. She could do both. I had her blend those two sounds. I teach students to do backward build-ups when blending unfamiliar words. The next step was to blend the T with the sound unit ILL. She could do that with relative ease. Adding the S to TILL proved a challenge. I taught her to do crossbody blending. That solved that problem. She did something interesting. She tapped for each phoneme as she moved her hand across her chest. S-T-I-LL. I suspected her teacher taught the Lindamood-Bell method of blending, and she combined my method with hers. It worked for her.

Second-grade JM was next. She wanted to work on math. She said addition. She couldn't tell me what she wanted. I asked her to write a problem. She wrote 10+ 5=. I gleaned that she wanted to learn how to add by tens. She said yes. I wrote the whole sequence out. 10+1, 10+ 2, etc, up to 10+9=. I had her observe the pattern and then "see" the problem in her mind's eye. The number other than zero in the unit's place drops to the answer, as does the one in the tens place. She could 'see' the answer that way. I touched her forehead as she worked, drawing vertical lines to help her 'see' the numbers fall into place. After she was secure with adding by ten, I had her do it with other numbers ending in zero. She could perform the same action with 20, etc., and finally with 90 +2=. When she could do that, I felt she was secure with the procedure.

JM said she wanted to work on reading. My notes showed she read Reading Roots 3l last time. Her reading was accurate but slow. I had her read RR 39 today. She read it with ease and told me she read it last year when she was in first grade. She had. My only material is either below that level or on a third-grade level. Everything else is on the computer. She may be ready for third-grade work.

Last on the list was second-grade NH. She is first-grade PY's older sister. Both girls had the same devastating problems with memory. PY's cleared up in one session. NH still couldn't recognize the word THE. There had been no change since I last worked with her.

I checked the location of her visual working memory. She pointed to the top of her head to the left of the midline. I recommended she use the center of her forehead, the area of the brain I'd seen work the best. She could use that part of the brain, but then it slid to the spot at the top of her head. She identified a spin pattern, with the energy moving from the point at the top of the head to the center of the forehead counterclockwise from the center out.

She was unwilling to do the spin release. At first, she said she feared it would worsen her reading. How much worse could it possibly be? Yes, she recognized the difference in her sister after working with me. However, she was still not willing to consider the spin release.

I don't push people to do a spin release if they are uncomfortable with it. I've never had something bad happen. I still tell students not to do it if they feel afraid. The fear itself could cause a problem. I can't guarantee that it won't do harm. Having students not do it unless it feels interesting is my protection for them.

I didn't know what to do for her because she was uncomfortable doing the necessary work. I called for help out loud. Frequently, my helplessness gives students confidence in my good intentions. I really didn't know what to do. Then, I got the impression of anger. I asked her if the spinning had something to do with anger. Yes. I checked if she had ever done serious damage to anyone. I told the story of my meltdown when I was twelve, when I beat Howie on the head for a good five minutes, laughing hysterically when he dumped me out of my seat on the bus. It was a scary experience. I thought I should be locked up for the protection of others. Nothing made an immediate difference with NH. I really don't know what to do to help this child, given the severity of her disability. Emotional states affect the nervous system and can cause learning disabilities. People with trauma causing overarching anxiety can also become outstanding students. That's their escape to a stable, predictable world.

Wednesday, October 2, 2024

I was tired by 8:30 last night. I hung on till 9 before going to bed. I was optimistic I would sleep through the night despite the nap I took after my morning walk. I hadn't had another nap for the rest of the day.

When I woke and checked the time, it was 10:28 p.m. on the nose. I had had a good nap, no more. I dreaded the rest of the night. I vaguely remember calming my mind by thinking of the music on the Tapping App. The next time I looked at the time, it was 4:30 a.m. I managed to avoid stinking thinking before I got up at close to six. Wow! How's that for a good night's sleep.

In the early morning hours, I figured out a personality driver. There are people who believe they should know what others want. Since they are well-intentioned, they can do no harm. Since doing no harm is linked to their positive intentions and, therefore, their virtuous nature, they are devastated when their behavior isn't greeted with gratitude and praise. Since the outcome is based on delusional thinking, what the hell do they expect? If the recipient of their 'caring actions' isn't pleased or downright displeased, it means they were wrong. Since their being right is based on the premise they acted out of good intentions, which sprang from their virtuous nature, if their behavior was harmful, they couldn't be coming out of positive intentions and therefore could not be a good person. What a house of cards!

While I hadn't been working with Adolescent D anymore, I had been consulting with his mom. He passed his written driver's permit test, and she was teaching him to drive. She was concerned because she found his reaction time off. Was that related to the problems he had reading? I often found his responses delayed. He would never let me deal with it. Denial was his favored strategy whenever a problem arose. There was clearly nothing wrong with him.

I suggested D's mom test his reflexes by saying, "Here, Catch," and throwing him an object, an apple, a banana, etc. She tried it and found the results' inconclusive.' If his reaction times are slow in driving, this is a much more serious problem than in reading. People's lives are at stake. I contacted a young person I knew who is huge into video games and got recommendations on video games that would train for reaction time. He sent me the names of two, one of which used cars in some capacity.

Fourth-grade LG's mom texted to say her car had broken down. She would not be home in time to help LG get online for the Zoom link. She also said she consulted with his teachers. I had asked her to include me in the conference; she hadn't. His mother is somewhat of a flake. She told me she had a closed head injury, and it impacted her mental performance.

The teachers saw improvement but said his reading accuracy should be better. She told me to have him read more with me. I asked her to consult me so I could advise her on how to work with him to improve his accuracy. I got no response. I have no idea why people hire me, see my success, and yet refuse to even hear my advice, much less act on it.

I had been working with him on his accuracy and saw improvement when he read with me. My guess is he is too anxious to sound good when he reads with his mother or the teachers. His anxiety clouds his perception, and he makes mistakes. I think I have to work more on detailed phonemic analysis. The enhanced perceptual acuity developed in that process may override his anxiety.

I watched a South African TV series called Catch Me a Killer. I recognize her analytic thinking about people in myself. When she worked as a profiler for the police department, she used her skill to stop and imprison serial killers. You might say she was their predator. She was out to take their freedom from them. Micki Pistorius burned out as a forensic profiler. She had to get into the heads of murderously disturbed people. I read she became a regular therapeutic psychologist afterward. I would say her skills were used for the benefit of her clients then. She was no longer a predator. Someone said they consider my awareness of others predatory. I suppose it would be if I were taking something from them they didn't want to give. I don't set out to do that and am more than willing to hear if the other person feels violated; it's up to the other person to let me know.

I don't suggest I can make an immediate change or am willing to. Mike took offense when I lovingly described some foible of his to friends. I couldn't blame him, but I had a hell of a time controlling the impulse. It arose out of love and affection. However, I could clearly see his point of view. I was talking about him as if he was a bumbling child making childish errors. It must have felt humiliating. It suggested I saw him as a child to him and others. I understood. I see all of us as bumbling children trying to do our best. For me, it's the human condition. I think we're all funny. The impulse to describe Mike arose out of my affection for him. I found his foibles funny, not anger producing.

Usually, I watch and learn because I'm interested in learning more to build connections. However, the other day, I observed myself doing something different. It wasn't a charming view of myself.

I ran into someone I knew from church. This woman has a history of judging everyone, really everyone. She tells everyone how to behave. She was crazy about Deacon Mike. She wasn't so crazy about me. I thought she assumed I wasn't good enough for such an intelligent, dedicated man. This woman isn't aging well. While she is considerably younger than me, her skin is in worse shape. I looked at her, thinking, '"She's not pretty anymore." I suspect that thought was reflected on my face. While I disapprove of my behavior, I feel badly enough about her treatment of me that some part of me relishes' paying her back." Judge others so you will not be judged. It doesn't always work that way. I've been judged by people I didn't judge. When we feel self-conscious or inadequate, I think we suffer from a deficit in loving. It's easier to love others when we feel good about ourselves. my sister made a remarkable comment about how we perceive those we love, "Their face is always interesting." That's how I feel about most faces. I'm probably not as judgment-free as an artist about to draw that face. I think about what works and what doesn't.

Tuesday, October 1, 2024

I am always at peace when I go to bed. Lord only knows why since I can work myself into quite a state of despair in the early morning hours and during the day. I slept well until 2 a.m. I was probably up earlier, but that's when I checked the time. I managed to avoid the worst state of mind.

I finally got through to Jean, my Hanai sister, in New Jersey. Her health has been deteriorating over the last year, and it is her primary, often, her only focus. Our conversations are limited to details of her distress. Her biggest complaint is about her bowel function. While this is no trivial matter, Jean has made her circumstances worse by not doing her best to resolve the issue. She needs to exercise to strengthen the muscles that support elimination. Jean doesn't do it. She's too uncomfortable with her constipation or diarrhea to do it. It's a catch -22. She's having pain because she won't exercise, and she won't exercise because she is having pain. Jean's never been an athlete. Those of us who developed physical skills know the need to work through pain. Moreover, we know the difference between 'good' pain and 'bad' pain. Good pain leads to healing, strength, and flexibility. Bad pain leads to injury. How do you convince an 80-year-old to view the body in a new light? Good luck! Sadly, she is killing herself with her indulgence, and there is nothing we can do about it.

I still have the wasted feeling that comes from inactivity. I'm not sure if it's the after-effect of the Covid or just my underlying grief. Whatever the cause, my underlying grief is aggravated by this state of mind.

I believe in a mindset change to resolve social and emotional issues. My statistics are not good in my family. I literally do not have one family member who sees me as a fun person to hang with. There are also people in my life who see me as generous, open-minded, and nonjudgmental. Then, there are people who see me as self-centered, demanding, and judgmental. whatever the cause, those who don't like me don't think of me as someone with whom they're willing to resolve differences. The only information they give me is that I'm a terrible person. There is not much I can do about that, and I don't choose to hang out with people who are uncomfortable with me.

I learned a lot about myself when I broke my shoulder and elbow and encountered a veritable slew of caretakers. Some loved me; some hated me. particularly informative was the occupational therapist who came to my home for three weeks after I got out of the hospital. She said when she met me, she thought, "Oh, boy. This is going to be trouble." But I wound up being her favorite patient. I believe in cooperation. But it has to go both ways.

I suspect many people don't work that way. Some navigate around others as if they were huge boulders in the road. There's no flexibility. I see couples who live that way. It works for them. Assuming there is some give and take, it seems to be a perfectly good way to structure a relationship. If it's all give on one side and take on the other, or if the give and take is mismatched, there's a problem. I think the navigation around immutable forces is part of every relationship.

having been raised by someone who made no concessions for me, I need some assurance of a willingness to negotiate. Maybe that's what these people see in me and interpret as an absolute demand. I suppose my need to negotiate is close to that, particularly for someone who considers all forms of verbal negotiation as fighting. Mike saw me as someone as interested in his needs as my own. In that case, those discussions were opportunities to clarify both our needs so the optimal solution could be found. I loved doing that with Mike. I heard him talk to others about co-creation with the same pleasure I did. That's not to say that everything went smoothly. I don't think there is any solution that guarantees a bump-free ride.

After finishing my morning puzzles, I lay on the sofa on the lanai, my favorite resting place when I'm not in bed. I get delicious naps there. But today, I wasn't after a nap. I wanted to get to the bottom of my sadness and see if I couldn't stop struggling. I found a way out. I would have seen it if I had been counseling someone else. But when you're the one struggling with the pain, it's not so easy to be cleareyed. I had a therapist push this idea on me years ago. I told her she might be correct, but I wasn't ready to deal with it from that perspective. Shame! Shame writ large.

My family statistics aren't good. While I'm not sure what it is I do that evokes that much negativity, it doesn't make too much difference. in each case, I can point out the other person's limitation as a cause of the problem. I won't argue that I do something troublesome; it's just that no one will tell me what it is. Calling me a bad person doesn't cut it. To resolve differences between people, you must address specific behaviors. My family members have made clear they're not open to that discussion. In many cases, I think discussion wouldn't help. The issues are buried deep in the flesh. It would require a commitment to psychological work. I do the best I can at my end. I try to own my behavior and reaction, not just to resolve the relationship, but to heal myself. In several cases, I have given up any idea of reconciliation. Too much venom, too much condemnation. How do you come back from contempt and the deliberate sabotage of a relationship in the name of self-defense?

A lot of my agonizing is explaining why the others do what they do. I don't condemn them. I appreciate they come from their own world experiences. These people are all reasonably functional in this world, as I am. But we are all wounded.

There is only one situation where I see actual malice. Even that was born out of a need to condemn the other person for their own survival. Most of the evil done in the world is in the name of self-defense. I sat with my feelings of shame, accepting I was defective. Whenever we're condemned by others, that is a feeling that's evoked. There are rare moments of exception, but it requires a profound alienation and condemnation of the other person, a hard position to maintain. It's against our natural bent.

You might ask why I would say such a bizarre thing? Because it's true. We are programmed to take the criticisms of others to heart and find fault in ourselves, whether warranted or not. Why would we do such a thing? It's a survival trait.

Suppose you are a member of a small band of people traveling through open country looking for food and water and working together to stave off animal attcks. In that case, you better care about what they think of you. If they don't like you, you're out. It doesn't make any difference if they're right or wrong. They have the power. So anyone who feels they have the right to criticize us threatens our lives. Well, maybe not today, but our body brain is set up to believe it.

This morning, feeling alone in a profound way, I resorted to a prayer I know works for others. I asked Christ to be here for me. I can channel energy at will. I can't say it was Christ's energy that I channeled, but it was calming and gave me a sense of well-being. From that platform, I could face the shame. When condemned by others when we don't know why is the same dilemma Christ faced at his crucifixion. The salvific religions, which address man's fear of his fellow man, neighbor, tribesman, parent, or child, manifested around 2,000 to 2,500 years ago. Before then, deities protected us from the ravaging effects of nature or the tribe in the next valley. The age of anxiety is that old. Before that, it was sheer terror of being killed by someone or something, and it was a valid fear. We were in constant danger, as all animals were.

I released anything negative about my feelings of shame and kept anything positive or anything I still needed. I'm not in the Brene Brown camp that all shame is a useless emotion. Aside from its value, it's not a feeling most humans can separate themselves from. We're stuck with it as we are stuck with fear and pain. If we can be born without a capacity for pain, there may be those born without a capacity for shame. But it is not part of the original design. They're mutants. They may pass that gene to others, which may become a dominant trait among humans. I wonder what we would look like as a species then. Would we be better off or worse?

It gave me relief to just not fight against the self-generated shame. At least I can live with myself in relative peace.

I met with the twins at 3:30. Mama K has become enthusiastic about these sessions. I think she was resigned to having two 'stupid' children. The twin's learning was significantly delayed. They had severe memory problems. I heard the dad saying something like they'd have to move in with me if they would make any progress. It's been slow. They are not on grade level, but they've made progress.

Twin E knocked it out of the park today. I'd been listening to speeches by Dahaene about the reading process. He speaks mainly about processing letters. Today, I had her read all the letters in the words in the first sentence. The improvement in her reading was dramatic. Her comprehension was poor today because she has poor number sense. She felt the difference in size between a newborn sunfish, 1/10 of an inch, and its full size, 6 feet, was a slight difference. oh, dear!

Twin A was falling asleep as we worked. Oh, dear, on that too. She read familiar words well, but she was lost the moment she hit an unfamiliar word. I walked her through the six-step decoding procedure for multisyllable words. She had no idea what I was talking about. I teach two adjacent vowels are more likely to make one sound than two. She couldn't follow the concept. She had no idea what 'more likely' meant. Again, no number sense. These girls are tough.

Monday, September 30, 2024

I slept reasonably well. When I woke up, I focused on my troubling life circumstances. I wish I could cry the way some of my friends can. They sit down and sob. It would give me some relief. My circumstances are difficult. I believe it's challenging to make a reasonable decision or take reasonable action to fix your circumstances when overcome by emotion. So, I have to calm myself and develop a joyful acceptance of my circumstances. Then, the solution would be as clear as the image at the bottom of a tranquil pool of water.

I'm still tired after my morning walk. I laid down to nap, almost forgetting I had to leave at 7:30 for town to do the Chi Qigong on the beach. I left a bit later than usual and got caught behind a school bus. That delay didn't make too much difference. By the time we were lined up for the light at Queen K, traffic was backed up a good mile, with the bus among those vehicles stuck in traffic.

I wasn't sure if Clyde would be there this morning. He was out last week to have a large cyst removed from his breast. His doctor insisted he stay home. I couldn't make it anyway. I had my first Covid symptoms early that day.

After Clyde and I finished the sequence, we sat on the nearby bench to take in the view and share a few minutes. He showed me his scar. It was across half his chest. It must have been a massive cyst. While he had to have the surgery done in the hospital under total anesthesia, it was an outpatient procedure. He asked me about my circumstances.

I told him about my sadness. He advised me to forgive the people involved. I told him forgiveness was not the issue. I understood why they did what they did. No one was consciously malicious. These were all defensive moves. They weren't capable of more, but that didn't mean their actions didn't hurt. I asked him to stop. He did and sat with me silently.

Then, there was a change in his energy. I thanked him. He had changed his mindset from giving me 'helpful advice' to sitting with me with compassion. This was a deliberate shift on his part. It took effort, and he did it in response to my needs, being more concerned about my distress than his failure to effectively address it. What a gift!

He thanked me for telling him he had been successful. He said he hadn't changed his mindset. I told him he committed to changing his energy. It took intention and effort. Again, what a gift.

I went to Target next to pick up the items Shirlaine had recommended for Elsa: an antibiotic cream and brown Listerine. I didn't know that existed, and I still don't know what makes it different from the green or blue variety. Shirlaine said it was the original formula. I guess it doesn't have alcohol, which would sting Elsa's irritated skin.

I came home to an empty house to write. I call d Jean partly for comfort and partly to do the meditation. I would be busy in the afternoon. I shared my distress with her. She's a good listener. She goes a little overboard, telling me she will be here for me when I'm too old to care for myself. It's a promise she can't keep. Traveling to visit her grandkids is becoming a challenge. However, she did say she needed me. That meant the world to me. I've made friends on the street who need me as I need them, but my family members are not on that list. They all see me, at best, as an annoyance, a burden, or an obligation. Yuck!

Jean and I did our daily water meditation. She's struggling with two difficult real estate deals. Since she was leaving for Hawaii the next day, a friend would take over the assignment. I'm not sure how this affects her income.

Yesterday, I picked up Haagen Das mini chocolate almond ice cream sticks. I ate three. My weight was up to 131 lbs. I was glad to see the scale going up instead of down. However, I was disappointed in the ice cream. I have always thought Haagen Da vanilla ice cream was the best. It didn't taste the same. I don't know if my taste buds have changed over the several years since I've had any Haagen Das ice cream or if the formula has changed. Either way, I was a bummer.

I caught a dance performance to Someone I Used to Know choreographed and danced by a modern dance troop. It was terrible. The choreography was awful; the dancing was terrible. It made me appreciate the genius of the CDK performance all the more. I suspect the quality of my dance, if I post a video of me performing We Both Went for the Gun, will be about the same as this modern dance troop.

Sunday, September 29, 2024

I texted Nina to find out how Dean was doing. He was worse. He had a bad night.

As I went for my morning walk, it was so cold that I not only needed to wear a sweatshirt but also pull up the hood.

I completed my morning activities, walked, ate breakfast, did daily puzzles, and got dressed a bit early. I headed out. I would be at church earlier than usual. I remembered I had a load of cardboard in my trunk. I had the time. I stopped off at the transfer station on my way and got to church at my usual time.

Monica came up to me after Mass to ask how I was doing. She is a loving, caring person who can cheer up anyone with her enthusiasm. Two other people, Sue Biro and Don, said hello to me. Everyone else ignored me. I didn't even see Judy or Paulette. I spent time organizing the church bulletins and programs for the next Mass; I was content doing that.

Judy's car was right in front of mine as I pulled out of the parking lot. I called her number, but it went right to voicemail. She called me back later. She had been driving a young man from church and couldn't answer. I didn't see her after Mass because she was consulting the priest about the training classes for people wanting to come into the church. The priest is often close to a saint in his dedication to the church. We all love him. However, when he feels stressed, he snaps at people. Stand clear. It was one of those days. He told Judy to consult the deacon he had appointed as the head of the program. Sandor is in Miami fixing up houses for rent and tending to his ailing parents. Judy says he doesn't even answer his phone anymore. He must be on overwhelm.

Paulette had not attended the nine-a.m. Mass. The usual musical director was out, so Paulette would lead the one-p.m. Mass in song.

I had an appointment with fourth-grade MH. She chose to continue reading Stuart Little rather than write another story. I checked that she wasn't avoiding writing because she was afraid she had nothing to write about. I reminded her that I was very good at helping people get good ideas. Her older sister wrote several stories with me, and she became very good at it.

MH was in a great mood today. We covered new vocabulary in Stuart Little's passages. I used the opportunity to teach her how to use context clues to figure out a possible meaning for the words. She was completely off the mark on one count but easy to redirect when I reread the passage, pointing out the relevant words. Then, she aced it.

I stopped by Petco after church to make a grooming appointment for Elsa. I got the same woman I got last time. She's the one who gave Elsa only a light grooming when I asked for a puppy cut. Come to find out, a puppy cut is long and fluffy. I was upset when I saw it. Then, I learned from both the groomer and Judy that that was what a puppy cut was.

Shirlane asked me how I treated Elsa's skin. I told her I washed her every other day. She was appalled. Frequent baths strip her skin of its natural protection. She said she would give me suggestions when I came to pick up Elsa after the grooming. Before I left, Shirlane spent time figuring out a good hair length for her. She tried several razor sizes and advised one long enough so the razor wouldn't scrape along her infected skin.

I magically checked my phone for messages a few minutes after receiving a text from Petco telling me Elsa was ready. I collected all the soaps and conditioner I had to show her.

I had switched to a different shampoo than the vet had recommended because that one wasn't working. I tried the one Judy had used on her dog for seborrhea. Shirlane told me to go back to using the one the vet recommended. It was an antifungal and antibiotic; the one I had switched to was only for a bad smell. She said I should only wash Elsa once a week. After applying the conditioner, I should only do a light rinse, leaving some of it on to soothe the skin. I had been rinsing it off meticulously. The vet never told me to do that. Mid-week, I should fill the sink with water, put half a cup of brown Listerine, and soak Elsa in it. The Listerine would work as an antifungal and antibiotic. She also suggested I buy an antibiotic cream in the pharmacy section and apply it to infected sites. She always recommended I consult the vet about her suggestions. I knew the vet was going to prescribe steroids and antibiotics. I wanted to avoid that. I was willing to try anything. Her skin was a mess. I was so upset about her condition.

Saturday, September 28, 2024

Dean and Nina came down the street just as I returned home from my morning walk. Dean walked to the far side of the street, avoiding me. He was sick and protecting me. He wasn’t planning to test for Covid; what difference would it make? He may have it or one of the influenzas. I asked if I could drop off a loaded trash barrel. He was concerned about contaminating it. We agreed I would leave it at his house for a few days to be sure it wouldn’t transmit his disease.

When I got home, I loaded cardboard in the trunk for recycling. I had to get out of the house. This sitting around business is not for me. I needed to put in effort. Approaching everything in a relaxed, leisurely way is not for me, and it wasn’t for my mom, either. She thrived on challenge.

I planned a trip to Farm and Garden. It’s an open space that’s not artificially air-conditioned. I would wear a mask and stand a distance from people. One of my jade shrubs was doing poorly. One branch had leaves on it. All the others had outbursts of little red leaves promising more growth. In each case, those little red leaves turned brown and fell off. I hoped someone from there could tell me what the problem was. I love these plants with their large pink flowers. There are two such plants in large pots on the south lanai at the church. They’re thriving.

I took pictures of the plant and sterilized my phone with rubbing alcohol. I didn’t want to risk sharing what I had with anyone who looked at the pictures.

. Two male clerks were on duty today. The younger of the two was available. He didn’t feel qualified to evaluate the problem. He told me to wait for Bill. Bill has the look of a Vietnam vet. I don’t know what that look is, and I never asked him if my evaluation is accurate. I think he looks like a friend of mine who was a Vietnam vet. Hmm. Maybe I will ask him next time I’m in. Either way, Bill is the man. He’s been there forever and knows his business. When I showed him the picture, he told me this wasn’t a jade plant, despite the succulent leaves, and he didn’t know the problem. He recommended trying the Biograde Rose and Flower treatment, which is good for fungus and various insects for $32. The container looked familiar. I said I wanted to check what I had at home first. Sure enough, I didn’t have one container, I had two. One was covered with layers of dirt that had come in through the open window of the shed, and the plastic looked worn. It must have been ancient and was priced at $27. I tossed that one. It was expired. The product was only good for three years. The other container looked relatively new. It wasn’t covered in dust from sitting there for years. I prepared a gallon of the solution and applied it.

I planned to recycle the cardboard after going to Farm and Gsrden. Since I had to go back home to check if I had the product Bill recommended and found it, I didn’t need to go out again. I passed on the cardboard run and remained home for the rest of the day.

Friday, September 27, 2024

As I approached the intersection of Holoholo and I'lau this morning, I saw a large black animal in the middle of the westbound lane a few feet from the stop sign, lying on its side with its feet up in the air. It took me a while to figure out what the animal was. A pig? A dog? It wound up being a goat. The belly was swollen. I assume it was a pregnant female. I called 911 to let them know. They would contact animal control to get it off the road.

On the first call, I thought I heard the dispatcher give me a telephone number and hang up. I called again and was assured the dispatcher would follow up. I received a call from an unidentified number as I approached my driveway. I refused the call. They called back. The police were looking for more information about the animal's location. The intersection is two side roads in a development lined with homes in a 25 mph zone. If you stand in the middle of the intersection and look around, there is no way you could miss the large black animal lying on its side in the middle of the road.

I continued practicing the We Both Reached for the Gun dance meme. I doubt I'll get to the point where I can look energetic or fun to watch. My damaged body can't pull off the precise and percussive moves necessary for Fossesque choreography.

On YouTube, I saw a woman who did the choreography from the closing group sequence of CDK's choreography of Someone I Used to Know. She made all the moves but missed the 'dance' aspect, the impulse for the moves. I don't know that I can get enough control over my 83-year-old body to execute the correct impulses so it looks like a dance.

I remembered Linda Ronstadt's comment about her singing after she developed Parkinson's. The interviewer said she could still sing. Ronstadt said she had lost all the shadings, the subtleties of execution. I didn't understand what she meant when she spoke about singing, but it does when it comes to dance.

Today, I finally called the gardening company I used several years ago before I hired the one I fired sometime last year. I don't know that either one will be what I really need. Both the company owners have communication problems because of language and cultural differences. The friend I asked to do some garden work cancels almost every appointment he makes. He's inexpensive, $35 per hour, but he works so slowly and sloppily that I doubt he's worth even that.

I had an appointment with fourth grade LG. I continued the work on identifying two out of the seven syllable patterns. He's like Mike; he can't understand what he doesn't already know. He's a top-down learner. Bottom-up learning requires accepting an incomplete understanding of what is going on. It means tolerating uncertainty and confusion, a challenge for the best of us. A person's ability to tolerate not-knowing and confusion is a sign of their ability to learn. Learning something new is impossible if we have to be on the mark at all times and in the know.

I approached LG's problem with learning the VC (one vowel followed by a consonant) versus the VCe (one vowel letter followed by a consonant and a silent e) syllable patterns by anchoring the two categories in the concrete. I drew two boxes; I labeled one VC and one VCe. I reviewed what the V, C, and e stood for. Then, I asked him to give me examples of VC and VCe patterns. He generated the following:

az, ed, ib, om, uk and ake, ebe,ide, oce, ude. He stumbled at first. I didn't ask him as a challenge to his memory. I assured him I was right there to help him if he needed it. I could provide guidance by saying, "Give me a vowel letter; now, any consonant (except l, r, h, w, and y)." Those letters are part of different syllable patterns. He grew stronger as he progressed.

LG also had problems learning new concepts and blending the vowels with the following consonant sounds. For example, in AZ, he would correctly identify the A as short in the VC syllable pattern and then convert it to a long A when blending it with the Z. I reminded him to use cross-body blending, which fixed the problem.

Like many of my students, he made mistakes as he read. He persisted in using automatic processing when he needed to use conscious decoding. It wasn't that he didn't know the procedure; it was that he didn't stop to use it.

I made a little more progress learning the We Both Went for the Gun dance sequence, which is all the rage. I found another instructional video. The woman models the dance in front of a mirror, affording both back and front views. She pays more attention to the hand movements. An older person commented, thanking her for breaking down the choreography so it's accessible to older people like me.

I met with the Mama K's Twins this afternoon. I covered the same passage with Twin E. She remembered some of the words better than she had. I reviewed the rule for the pronunciation of C. She couldn't remember what I said from one minute to the next. She does not process aural information. Mama K said she would play the 5 Stories tape for the girls at night. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've asked her to do this. I can appreciate her reluctance. I can't imagine it makes any sense to someone who hasn't experienced it directly. Mama K is one of those people. Her older son played it every night for her younger son, clearing up his speech problem. That playing the tape alone would have an impact doesn't make sense to most people.

I spent half an hour trying to get the C= /k/or /s/ rule into Twin E's head. I believe intelligence is taught, and if there is a problem, most can be overcome with brain plasticity. Twin E is challenging my cherished belief. There is no clear sign of intelligence on any plane. It's very frustrating, but I'm determined to figure it out.

I used the box method I used with fourth grade LG. I located the two categories in space. One box was labeled C, e, i, and y, and the other as c, a, o, u, or a consonant. Then I wrote CA and asked her which box this combination belonged to, the first or second? Then I asked her if the C would be pronounced as an /s/ or a /k/. She got better with the drill. The problem feels more like one of attention than intelligence. But how do I get her to attend? Her attention is not 'sharp'; it's diffused, 'dull,' like a dull blade. How much of intelligence is nothing more than attention? She's not paying attention to something else. She just has a weak 'grip' on the mental process.

Once, people who were deaf or blind were considered stupid. No one thinks that anymore. In my youth, anyone who had trouble reading was considered a mentally impaired retard. That is no longer true. I look forward to the day when some of the learning problems my students experience will also be considered a problem to be overcome or compensated for, not a severe handicap.

Then, I worked with Twin A. She reads fine until she hits a word she doesn't know. Then she resorts to wild guessing. Like LG, she doesn't switch to conscious decoding. No matter how often I go over the procedure with her for decoding unfamiliar words, I must start from scratch each time. Identify the vowel letters, identify which of the vowel letters makes a sound; choose a logical possible sound for that vowel letter, using specific phonics rules when possible; blend the vowel sound with a following consonant, if there is one; finally, blend the letters in front of the target vowel letter. When she goes through the procedure, she gets it every time. It's very frustrating. So far, I've kept my cool reasonably well. But the frustration is seeping into my voice.