One Donut Can Go a Long Way

Please join me over at Hopeful Parents today. Thanks!

Pat Longo

My dear friend, Terry, gave me a wonderful birthday gift. Yes, my birthday was six months ago. I just received it, because it was a phone session with Pat Longo. Pat is a gifted teacher and healer, who is booked six months out. She is perhaps most famous for being a mentor and healer for Theresa Caputo, the Long Island Medium.

Pat and I had an hour together on the phone. She diagnosed me as an empath. "Google 'Traits of an Empath'" she said. And so, I did. Yepperdo. I'm an empath.

"Did you suffer from anxiety as a child?"

"Do you walk into a room and immediately know what mood everyone is in?"

"Are you exhausted after being in a crowd?"

"Do you frequently have a sense of deja vu or synchronicities?"

"Do you dream lucidly and vividly?"

"Do you just know things?"

"Do you suffer from digestive troubles?"

"Have you ever had migraines?"

"Are you extremely affected by sounds, sights and smells?"

"Is it unbearable for you to watch violence or cruelty on TV? Do you feel as though it's happening to you?"

She suggested many strategies to help me both develop my own psychic abilities, as well as to ward off unwanted energies. "Do you know those big belts that professional wrestlers wear? I want you to visualize yourself putting one on each morning, right around your solar plexus, under the rib cage and above the navel."

She taught me an exercise called Ground and Surround, in which you visualize yourself in a bubble of pure white light. That's surround. Then you visualize white cords of light coming from your heels and tailbone, growing deep into the earth and wrapping around a tree at the very center. That's ground.

"Six seconds for the whole thing. Try it every single morning and all your physical ailments will go away."

She concluded the session by doing a long-distance healing with me. We were both silent, eyes closed, for just a few minutes. I got an intense sense of being whirled around on a merry-go-round at a park. I could see the colors spinning by and could feel the clockwise motion. I told her that when she was done. "That's exactly what I did. I very quickly did a healing that cleared everything from every part of your body. Clockwise."

So. All of you with all of your moods and energies, your sounds, your smells, your visual stimuli. You can't get to me. I've got my belt, my bubble and my cords.

Normal

We are moving right along with attaining guardianship. I say "we" but mean "I." Only one person can be named guardian, and if/when I am no longer able to perform the duties, the whole long, arduous, expensive process begins all over again.

Before a child turns 18 a parent can name a guardian in their will, and subsequent guardians, should the need ever arise. For whatever reason, one cannot do that after the "child" is 18. I will be awarded guardianship of the person I've been taking care of 24/7 for 18 years, but cannot legally name my successor.

Anyway.

I dreaded the arrival of the processor, the person that would come at an appointed time and hand Wil a stack of papers and let him know he was being officially "served." That whole thing took less than 2 minutes and the woman could not have been any kinder. Nonetheless, the emotional toll was high and began months (years) ago in anticipation of all that it represented.

The next "ordeal" I fretted about was the court visitor. We were to expect someone to come to the house and "vet" us, for lack of a better word. Wil had to be there, I had to be there, and so I decided STM had to be there, too. Again, the nicest woman came at the appointed time. She was respectful, natural, kind, and only asked Wil a handful of questions. "I don't have any more questions for you, do you have any more for me?" she asked. He indicated no, and then she asked, "Is it OK if I ask your parents some more questions?" He then went upstairs and she quietly, graciously, asked us a few more questions. She wasn't in our house more than 25 minutes.

"Technically, I'm supposed to ask a whole bunch more questions, but I thought they'd confuse and upset him, and it's clear to me that guardianship is appropriate," she said. She is a psychologist who has done this for years. "They send us out on each and every case because every once and awhile there is a need to protect someone for whom guardianship is not appropriate."

We received word that her vetting was complete, she had obtained information from our primary care doctor, our behavioral/developmental pediatrician and a few others; all in full support of me being Wil's legal guardian.

It's a weird thing to feel like you "won," something that is so obvious, so necessary, so matter-of-fact. It's a weird thing to celebrate that your child is so disabled that everyone can see he is so disabled. It's a weird thing to be glad you "get" to keep doing what you've always been doing.

And yet, I have won.

And yet, I am celebrating.

And yet, I am glad.

There is a peace prevailing that has not been around for at least a full year. Now I am "this" close to obtaining guardianship. I have a stack of documents 8" high that I will take to my Social Security appointment on Tuesday. Included in the stack is a letter from Wil's behavioral/developmental pediatrician explaining her recommendation that I not take him to his own appointment. I have been filled with angst over that damn appointment for months, but now that it's five days away, I'm very calm.

It's so true that the fear of it, is way, way, way worse than the reality of it. Maybe it's just the way grief works, another layer is peeled back and you are exposed and vulnerable, and then you motor through until it's all swept into the cog of your normal. Not everyone's normal, but yours. Your different, but very much OK normal. Your normal that is normal if you stop comparing yourself, your child, your life to anyone and everyone else's. Your normal that is not going anywhere, so you might as well embrace it and get on with it. Your normal that is what it is: blessed.

Soooooo Good Looking

Just me, or do you remember the "Seinfeld" episode where Jerry suggests that instead of saying, "God bless you," when someone sneezes, you should say, "You're sooooo good looking!"?

Just in case you need a reminder:



I thought of that the other day when I had a little follow-up chat with Wil in the car. We were following up after I had a meeting with someone, and he wanted to know how the meeting had gone. "It went great. You know, Bill thinks you're it on a stick."

"Does he think I'm good looking?" he asked, dead pan.

"Well, he said a lot of nice things about you, but no, he didn't specifically mention that he thought you were good looking," I answered.

"I do have good looks," he said, "don't laugh."

I didn't laugh.

Not until he got out of the car.

What to Give the Kid Who Wants for Nothing

The invitation clearly stated: "No gifts, YOU are the gift, and we want to thank you." We meant that. Yet, many kindly, generous souls felt like bringing a gift to Wil's 18th birthday party, anyway.

When Grandma asked him what he'd like for his birthday he replied, "Dial hand soap. The foaming kind."

When his friend Cameron asked he said, "How about a couple bucks. Let's say $2.25."

When Kathleen asked he said, "I like when you give me dollars for the ice cream truck." She gives him one-per-year, so was thinking 18 this time. "I'm thinking... maybe 40?"

When my mom asked he said, "Fancy socks."

The guests got creative. The guests got inside his head. The guests know him well. Here's a sampling of some of the great gifts he received, and is already enjoying:

* Bi-Mart gift card
* 7-Eleven gift cards
* Frozen yogurt gift cards
*  Baskin Robbins gift cards
*  Scratch-It lottery ticket
* Fancy socks
* Soap
* Clothes he can wear to church
* Tie-dye shirts
* Dollar bills

One older couple from our church wrote in their card, "We'd like for you to select a movie and come over to our house to watch it with us." I thought that was super sweet and wonderful. He'll never sit for a full-length movie, but if they're up for endless repeats of "Sam and Cat," "Drake and Josh," or "iCarly," then he's all in.

But truly, the real gifts are the villagers themselves, those invested, those with eyes, ears and hearts open to watch out for him, care for him, help guide and direct him.

And to all of them and all of you, we bow our heads with deepest gratitude.

A Natural

I'm over at Hopeful Parents today. Thanks for clicking over!

It's All a Sham

So, remember me telling you that Don Wilson took off with the pillow shams while I was away? Remember STM saying there were only two people that could have taken them, Wil or Don Wilson? Well, that's not actually what happened. I decided the bed needed changing again, so I stripped it down to nothing. After taking off a set of pillow cases, I noticed something weird: there was still a set on. There were the shams. STM had not ever taken them off in the first place, he'd "stripped" the bed, washed, dried and put back on, placing the second set right on top of the dirty shams. "How is it possible one does not notice shams on a pillow?" you might be asking yourself? Well, I asked myself the very same question. The answer is one of the following:

A) He's a guy
B) He's virtually blind, even with glasses
C) He's performed this activity so few times in his life, he's still a beginner
D) All of the above

I'm not sure what the life lesson is in all this, but I think it's one of the following:

A) Just be grateful STM tried, and don't ask for perfection
B) If you want something done right, do it yourself
C) What you're looking for was never lost in the first place
D) Who even thought of the word "sham" and why did we think they were such a good idea?
E) All of the above

Lately, I've been driving myself 1000% (private joke) crazy analyzing myself to death. The effort to awaken is so so damn exhausting, well, I just want to go back to sleep.

I've been working with the what-you-seek-is-right-in-front-of-you idea. Could it be true that often we already have what we need and want, but what we don't have, is the ability to see it? Appreciate it? Get down on our knees and be grateful for having it? I believe I'm guilty of that. They say you'd give anything to have what you have.

Deep thoughts for the day:

A) What is a "sham" that I'm spending way too much time looking for?
B) What is not a sham, that I'm not even bringing into my deeper awareness?
C) What appears to be a sham, but is actually real?
D) What is real, but appears to be a sham?
E) Where can I get my hands on a good IPA?

Top 10 Ways to Throw a Stress-Free Party

10. Have it catered
9. Don't have it inside your house
8. Let the guest-of-honor be in charge of the guest list
7. Allow that there will be some "random" people, as a result
6. Believe there are no accidents
5. Don't freak when the day that was promised to be hot and dry, turns out wet, with thunderstorms
4. Believe that there are no accidents
3. When choosing your inner circle of friends, make sure that their love language is service - when they offer to help, let them
2. Have a beer and enjoy yourself
1. Believe there are no accidents, and the universe, and your village, always provides

A "Little" Gathering

In my garage there are seven borrowed coolers, 10 borrowed tables, 21 borrowed white plastic chairs, and nine borrowed green ones. More of each are on their way.

In my hall are folding chairs, 180 large yellow paper plates and 180 small. 180 large orange napkins, and 180 small. 120 red Solo cups and 50 wine "glasses." I have forks, forks, and more forks. We've been to Costco and have enough chips to feed a small country. My fridge is stocked with 2-liter bottles of pop.

Sunday morning my brother and I will go buy cold beer and ice. Lots and lots of ice. Weather is forecasted to be 97 degrees.

I've got a friend bringing speakers, Woohoo is making a 2-hour-plus play list ("no country"). Balloons, flowers, banners are in the works. Otto's Sausage Kitchen will arrive at 11:30 and fire up the BBQ, potato and fruit salads will be put on ice. Wine will be opened.

It will be a party.

Several months ago, feeling dread every time I thought of Wil turning 18, I threw out the idea of a party. It grew. It continues to grow. I actually have no idea how many people will be here on Sunday, but 112 have RSVP'd yes, and I'm sure there are plenty that will just show up.

How can I feel anything but hopeful and encouraged, with a guest list like that? An entire village  has made the whole party come together easily and pleasurably.

Wil is turning 18, and there's simply nothing to do but party.

P.S. The shams are still missing. 

Catching Up

My family reunion, sans family, was great. Lots of this happened:

I did get some sudden and violent illness, that had me out for 36-hours. I have theories and they range from a virus, to a spiritual cleansing. There's no telling, but it wasn't fun, and yet there are worse things than being alone in a nice hotel when you're sick.

If you've always wanted to know what I look like after being sick, without a shower or makeup, now you know. Still, I love this picture because it's of me and my sister-in-law, Sonam.

We found the lily pad pond we'd remembered as children, but hadn't been able to find in years.

When I got home, STM had thoughtfully changed the sheets. I noticed that two of the pillowcases were missing. I thought they probably were still in the dryer and just hadn't made their way back to the bed. After looking around and not finding them in any likely place, I finally asked him where they were.

"I thought you knew," he answered.

"They were there when I left," I said.

"They weren't there when I stripped the bed. There are only two people that could have taken them, then, Wil or Don Wilson. Since Wil lacks the coordination to remove them (they are actually shams), then it's Don Wilson."

For those of you that have followed this blog, you know all about my 18-year-departed father, Don Wilson, that loves to take things from our home, bringing them back days, weeks, months or years later, putting them right back in the same place from where they disappeared.

I'll let you know when those shams return, but I may have to break down and buy new ones before he does. The bed looks weird, and we can't have that.

I hope you all had equally wonderful and mysterious 4th of July weekends.

Am I the Only One?

Am I the only one that hates to waste cups and fill up the landfill needlessly?

Am I the only one that keeps re-useable Starbucks cups in her car, so I can purchase, guilt-free, both hot and cold drinks at my convenience?

Am the the only one that especially hates to drink beer from a can, and makes a point to buy only bottles (better for the environment, too), but occasionally breaks the rule for this, because it is just so damn good?

Am I the only one that drove to her favorite place on Earth, Sisters, Oregon, to attend a family reunion, but did not actually bring, oh, her family?

Am I the only one that was so happy she brought the yummy beer and the re-usable Starbucks cup, so she could enjoy this:

While viewing this?

Am I the only one excited to go to WUG where I will see almost all of these people, along the same lazy river, only 40+ years later?

Angels Among Us

Part of my blog inertia is due to the fact that in a little over two weeks, Wil will turn 18. I have been in a huge funk over this for quite some time, fear and dread dating back to 2012, at least. I don't want to apply for SSI, Medicaid, or brokerage services. I don't want to hire an attorney and basically sue Wil for guardianship, so that the day after he's 18, I will do the exact same thing as I've done the last 18 years, which is to say, pretty much everything.

"The reason guardianship is such a big deal," our attorney told us, to the tune of $400/hour, "is because people have abused it. The laws are set up to protect people. Second only to being incarcerated, guardianship strips an individual of his/her civil liberties."

I'm all for protecting the most vulnerable population. I'm all for civil liberties. I'm all for everything I'm supposed to be all for, but key-rist, arranging to have your "adult" child served papers, being vetted to prove you are not out for their "money," paying through the nose and filling out reams of paper, is just not my idea of a good time.

I could go on and on about the bureaucracy of the government, the endless red tape and tail-chasing, but you probably already know all you need to know about that. What I will tell you about, instead, is about the angels among us.

I called to schedule an 18-year well-check with Wil's doctor. I was greeted on the phone by such a competent and kind woman, whom arranged to speak to Wil to get his verbal OK, that I could speak in his behalf until the guardianship paperwork came through. She was sensitive. She was efficient. It was, dare I say, easy.

Fueled by the success of that phone call, I called Aging and Disabilities Services to have a couple questions answered. Got voicemail, left a message, did not expect to hear back. Lo and behold, Michelle called back, was gracious, full of helpful information, then later called me back again because she thought of something she forgot to tell me, that might be helpful. It was.

Feeling like I was on a roll, I pushed it further. I called Social Security to get an appointment. Yes, I was on hold for a full hour, and I heard the automated message no fewer than 60 times, but I had a cold beer and several days' worth of Facebook to catch up on, so all was not lost. Once a live person came on, she, too, was amazingly knowledgeable and helpful. Extremely.

The next day, feeling like we couldn't lose, I took Wil into the bank to do some necessary things prior to him turning 18. He was cooperative, and the teller was amazing. Turns out we needed to fill out quite a bit of paperwork. "Why don't you go across the street and get frozen yogurt. I'll fill it out for you." We did just that. We sat in the sun and enjoyed a lovely treat, and when we went back, the paperwork was complete.

There is no getting around the brutal maze of a disabled child becoming a disabled adult, but there is a way through, and that is with the help of many, many angels, both seen and unseen. And to all of you out there praying for us, thank you, those prayers are felt and much appreciated.

Love.

Hope for a Sea Change

I was never, ever, not under any circumstances, going to buy a Kindle, or any other e-reader. Never. Well, let me tell you, when my friend, Elizabeth Aquino published her memoir, Hope for a Sea Change, I started singing a different tune. Sure, "we" have an iPad, but "we" aren't very good about sharing it, as in, I can not so much as glance its way without Wil freaking out. Sure, I have an iPhone, but you name me one over-50-year-old pair of eyes that can, and will, read a whole book on a phone! So, I put it out to the Universe that I was ready to buy a Kindle, and wouldn't you know it, in less than a day I had my hands on a super great, gently used one, for a song. It was meant to be.

I devoured Elizabeth's gorgeous book in two "sits." That's quick for me, and you need to take into account that my already slow reading was slowed even further, because Elizabeth's writing is so beautiful, you don't want to rush over a single syllable.

Elizabeth's blog, a moon, worn as if it had been a shell, is one I've followed for years. This woman does NOT experience blog inertia the way I do from time-to-time, she is a prolific writer, and I've loved being a fly on her wall as she raises her three children in Los Angeles. I love reading about Henry and Oliver, The Brothers. I love reading about the tremendous cakes she bakes (she's a former pastry chef). I love reading about what she's reading about. But most of all, I love reading about her now 19-year-old daughter, Sophie, whom suffers from a complex seizure disorder. Hope for a Sea Change is a memoir of Elizabeth's journey through diagnosis, understanding, and a new understanding of healing.

Elizabeth has educated, uneducated and re-educated me about the benefits of medical marijuana. I went from thinking I knew what it was and wasn't, learning I knew nothing at all, to learning a modicum of the profound benefits of high CBD, low THC marijuana for patients with epilepsy. I learned all about the Realm of Caring, and Charlotte's Web.

(Early November 2013/January 2014)

The memoir will make you shake your head at What People Say. It will make you ache for the torture Sophie and her family have endured. And it will make you smile deep within yourself as you read, "... it would fundamentally change the way I looked at Sophie's disability, at the integrity of human beings, and at what healing and curing really mean."

Elizabeth has done much through the years to reshape what I think about things politically, poetically and philosophically. Her memoir will most definitely affirm the integrity of all human beings.

Available on SheBooks and Amazon for e-readers (only $2.99).

Unsubtle

Dreamt last night that Wil was upstairs sleeping, I think he was a baby. Candace came by and was talking so loudly, I was worried she would wake up Wil (when he was a baby, there was no worse sin).   Now, in reality, there isn't a more thoughtful and considerate person than Candace, but in the dream, she would NOT be quieted. Her voice got louder and louder until I finally swore at her, before stomping upstairs, abandoning her in my kitchen.

I woke up from the dream so discombobulated. The dream felt so real. I couldn't shake the fact that Candace would not be quieted.

Let's part-of-me this thing, shall we?

Part of me was sleeping.

Part of me was a baby.

Part of me went "upstairs" (retreated).

Part of me abandoned part of me.

Part of me would not be quieted.

Part of me just got louder and louder.

Part of me did not wake up.

Part of me got angry.

Part of me killed the messenger, rather than listening for the message.

Makes for a Very Long Day

Haven't been blogging for a number of reasons. I feel redundant, tired, discouraged, anything but inspirational. I could drag you all through that with me, but what would be the point? That's the other thing I feel - a sense of futility.

"You're in the dessert," my friend Candace said to me the other day. I had not thought about it in terms of that, but knew the minute she said it, that she was right. There is a sense of being dried up emotionally, creatively, energetically, intuitively, relationally, imaginatively, in all ways. Dried up.

I'm not feeling like the person I know myself to be. I know myself to be happy for others' successes. Excited about the future. Optimistic. I know myself to be resilient, steadfast, buoyant, even. I am none of those things at this time.

Went back to Wil's favorite "grocery store" yesterday morning, the Food Mart attached to the gas station on the way to school. His favorite gal was there, the one that said he makes her day whenever he comes in. I could tell he made her day this time, too, his ADHD enthusiasm over-flowing all over the store. However, this time she looked at me, smiled and said, "I would imagine this makes for a very long day."

It's been a long day.

It's been a long nearly-18 years.

It's been a long 51 years. My "story" of accommodating for special-needs goes back way further than Wil.

Candace says something new and beautiful will come from this time of being in the desert, this time of "rest," renewal, re-examination.

I know that to be true.

Hope for Humanity

Won't you join me over at Hopeful Parents?

Thanks!

Happy Any Other Day

It's not even 8:30 in the morning, and so far this "Mother's Day" I got up with the dog at 5:30 to feed and pee her. Tried to use the bathroom. Couldn't. Found the plunger. Plunged. Cleaned up subsequent sewage mess. Fed the boy. Wiped down the kitchen. Swept the floor. Started the dishwasher. Went to the grocery store. Walked the dog and picked up after her twice. Took out the garbage. Sorted the recycling. Emptied the yard debris/compost. Replaced the inkjet so I could print off a picture my MIL wants to see, but doesn't want to look at on my phone. Got the balloons, cards and gifts all ready to take over to celebrate everyone else today: two birthdays and "Mother's Day."

Happy Any Other Day to all of you living similar realities.

PDD-NOS

I went to an event recently where a speaker mentioned that more men than women make up the two "ends" of intelligence. "There are more males that are geniuses, and more that are..." and then she made a face - a stereotypical look I am still too shaken up to even describe here on this blog. This room full of over 50 intelligent, liberal-minded, "progressives," most of whom are moms, LAUGHED.

I have not been able to shake my subsequent depression. If we cannot get through to this population of people, in 2014, that it is not OK to disparage or slur ANY population of humans, then it feels hopeless that we'll ever spread the word.

I came home, fit to be tied, and tried to relax with a beer and a back episode of "Grey's Anatomy." Not once, but twice, the term "village idiot" was used. Naturally, there was no greater insult.

Really?

There is a pervasive derogatory disregard not otherwise specified going on in this country when it comes to those with an intellectual disability. Even in the special-needs world. "My kid has special needs, BUT he's really smart."

Must I fight to win the respect for my son,  even in his own world?

I'm glad your kid is smart. We need smart kids. What we don't need is a class system within a class system that separates, segregates and denigrates.

We don't need the media to go on unchallenged in their word choices and perpetuation of insulting terms.

What we don't need is people to laugh at things that aren't funny.

What we don't need is the status quo - unexamined attitudes and beliefs that serve no one, and are very harmful.

What we need is true acceptance and valuation of all.

What we need is mindfulness of our own attitudes.

What we need is love.

Orange

For the first 50 years of my like, I disliked the color orange. Might go so far as to say I hated it. Truth be told, I almost did not go to Oregon State because orange and black were the colors. I loved yellow and everything "down" from there on the rainbow, but was no fan of red, and like I said, didn't care for orange, not one little bit.

A funny thing happened when we started redecorating our living room.

Orange.

Orange crept in and I let it. Then I went in search of it. Now, orange is the major accent color in my living room, and I absolutely love it.

I've been doing some chakra work - learning about the chakras, the different parts of the body they correlate to, how to induce healing, clearing, energy, etc.  I learned that orange is associated with the second chakra, the sacral chakra, associated with creativity, amongst other things. I've also been reading about physical ailments associated with the different chakras, and let's just say, my second chakra could use some attention.

Do you all know about Richard Rohr? You should. I get his daily e-mails, and they are fantastic, very thought-provoking and helpful in every way. He talks a lot about the second half of life and how different our thought processes are (ideally). I will say this about being over 50, what you thought served you well during the first half of life, is called into question.

Orange is just one visual reminder to me that change is taking place - different perspectives, appreciations, needs and priorities are coming into being.

Blessed

Wil woke up extra "janked" this morning, off-the-charts. Went to bed at 7:30 last night and had seven granola bars for breakfast, on top of his usual breakfast (two pieces of garlic toast and six pieces of bacon). Growth spurt? Spring fever? Your guess is as good as mine.

"Care, we need to go to Food Mart on the way to school, there are things I need." For those of you unfamiliar with Food Mart, it is your basic convenience store attached to a gas station. There is nothing anyone needs at Food Mart, especially at 7:15 AM.

So, of course we went to Food Mart.

We walked in and our favorite gal (he's pulled this before) was at the register. She lit up when she say us. As he galavanted around the store loudly proclaiming, "I LOVE SHOPPING!" she looked at me and said, "He's a pistol!'

"Oh, for sure," I said.

The man that pumps the gas (one cannot pump one's own gas in Oregon), was hanging out in the store waiting for a customer. He looked at me and said, "You should buy him a Red Bull, I see that he needs help waking up!"

"Yea," I said with a forced laugh, "well, there's a name for this!"

As Wil made his way to the counter with all his necessities, Chex Mix and a University of Oregon water bottle for school and Laffy Taffy for when he gets home, the gal said to me, "He makes my day whenever he comes in."

Wil shoved his stuff into the collapsible bag I had in my purse, and he smiled at the gal and said, "Now, you have a blessed day!"

"You, too!" she said back.

"Oh, ALL my days are blessed!" he answered.

Amen.