It Started With Salad

I had a conversation the other day at work that left me feeling sad, angry and frustrated. I work in a high school kitchen/cafeteria and we were discussing a problem with the self serve salad bar. It seems as if there are a handful of people who take much more than their share, leaving little for those who come after. The solution was a compromise that nobody is that thrilled with, and it sent the conversation in a new direction; who is to blame. The first group mentioned by some co-workers were the special needs students. I pointed out that it is not only those students, and that many of them don’t know any better. The looks I got were hostile, as was the tone of voice used to ask me where the aides were that are supposed to be with the students. Obviously I don’t know, but my guess would be that since the students in question are able enough to do some things independently, they are sent as a group to lunch a few minutes before the general population of the school. As the discussion progressed, it became clear to me that there is still much prejudice against the developmentally delayed population in general. With all the strides forward that have been made in the past 50 years or so in regards to how well those with mental difficulties are assimilated into society, there are too many people who believe they have no business in the general population and should be separated, kept together with those who are similar. As the mother of a child who has many severe disabilities this was most upsetting. Not surprising, but upsetting nonetheless. It is an uphill battle we fight to encourage people to understand that when you segregate those who are different, you create more problems than you solve in the long run. As sure as the sun rises daily, the children who have special needs grow up, graduate, and need to have a safe place to go daily. Many can work with the proper supports, but some cannot. As the children age, so do their parents. Most will outlive their parents, for the cruel irony is that life expectancies are frequently not affected by whatever is different with the brains of those in need of constant supervision and care. There are group homes, and daycares, and even some jobs available but not enough of any of these, and not enough funding for meeting even the needs of many. What could be sadder than an elderly mother still caring for her middle aged offspring whose developmental age is perhaps 5 years old on a good day? What is to become of that adult child when the parent passes on? Clearly this is going to create an emergency situation for placement, when it would have been much better to have made sure that there was a safe place for them to live when they were a young adult and the parent was able to really help with the transition. Of course it would be hard on both the parent and the child to separate. If done when both are in good health and able to cope, with the right supports, this is a problem that can be fixed. When adults do not understand that the attitudes they display are going to affect society for years to come, in ways they cannot imagine, societal problems do not get better.

Happy Anniversary

He went into the same doughnut shop every morning around 4 a.m. on his way to his truck driving job. The same girl was there every day and after a time she knew his order and had it waiting on the counter when he arrived. They began dating and she was moved to the afternoon shift. He stopped in every day and once a week brought her a single rosebud in a white vase. He gave her a diamond ring in the parking lot. They were married on a day when it snowed, sleeted and rained. They honeymooned in Atlantic City, and set up housekeeping in the apartment he had lived in alone.

Fast forward 28 years, they exchange cards and kisses, she cooks him breakfast in the kitchen of the only house they ever owned and he buys her doughnuts from the shop where they met. They spend the day quietly together, doing household tasks, spending time with their daughters, watching tv, napping, and capping it off with a dinner out. It is a good day, satisfying in its quietude and companionship. It is the best wedding anniversary ever for it suits them and their love which is quiet and steady, the kind that lasts forever.

Ok, so maybe I had too much cake today! Happy Birthday to me!


Birthday Cake

You loved me at first sight,
Anticipating my sweetness,
How satisfying I would be,
Welcomed me to the celebration,
The others sang to me,
Illuminated me,
You smiled and breathed on me,
Then things turned,
The knife slicing me,
Dissecting me,
Ice cream cold on me,
Forks digging into my tenderness,
I hope it was worth it,
I was your birthday cake.

HAPPY GROUNDHOG'S DAY, DAD!

The recent passing of a childhood friend’s father had me remembering my own dad, who moved to Heaven in 1997. The earliest memory I have of my dad is of him reading to me. I can picture the book, a collection of fairy tales and fables which had a beige hardcover with red lettering. One of my favorites was “The Brementown Musicians”. I can see in my mind’s eye an illustration of the animals in the story all standing on each other’s backs looking into a window. It is, however, when I think of the story of the three little pigs that I can hear Dad’s voice when the wolf is huffing and puffing and blowing the houses down. There was nothing better as a young child than sitting on Dad’s lap listening to a story. This is perhaps where my love of reading comes from, as well as my love of telling a tale.

Dad was a hard working, soft spoken, gentle man with a quick mind and dry wit. For as long as I can remember he worked 12 hours a day, 6 or 7 days a week. When he wasn’t working he was fixing something around the house or on the car, or tinkering around in the basement. He could fix a radio or tv, a toaster, a mixer, even on occasion a vacuum cleaner, and he seemed happy doing it. Although he didn’t graduate from school, he was intelligent and inquisitive, reading books, magazines and newspapers daily. He was as quick with a supportive word as he was with an amusing comment. The best person to sit near at a family reunion was Dad, as he was constantly murmuring comments about the relatives and the conversation. Things that might not be something he’d want anyone involved to hear, but amusing just the same. That same quirky, dry sense of humor lives on in me, although I tend to keep the comments to myself rather than risk saying something that causes hard feelings or an argument. One demonstration of Dad’s sense of humor is evident when I think of some of the television shows he enjoyed. Although I didn’t care for Benny Hill, the program made him roar with laughter as did Monty Python’s Flying Circus. I recall my father and brothers all watching those shows, especially the latter, all together. I guess it’s a guy thing. My husband enjoys that type of humor as well.

It was through my husband that I gained a deeper understanding of my father. Dad was able to help my husband get a job at the same factory where he worked, and so I got to hear stories of how my father interacted with his fellow workers. One of my favorite stories is how Dad and one of his friends used to wish each other happy groundhog’s day every February 2nd. I’m not sure what they found so amusing about it, perhaps there was some joke the two of them shared. I could ask his friend or my husband, but some things I don’t need to know. It made him happy, so I’d just like to say “hey Dad, happy groundhog’s day!”

I Miss My Patio

As I was shoveling the snow off my back deck this afternoon when I got home from work my mind was wandering. Warm sunshine, green leaves, butterflies, a comfy glider were the things I was thinking about. When the weather turns warmer these are the things I enjoy after work along with either a cup of coffee or glass of iced tea. There on my patio is where I transition from work me to home me. Shoveling snow doesn’t do it quite as well. I miss my patio. In the winter it is covered with snow, there are no flowers or leaves, no butterflies, no glider to relax on. I can’t even sit on the small retaining wall at the edge because it’s buried beneath the frozen white.

My warm weather life revolves around the patio. In the corner where the forsythia hangs a bit low is where I hang a spinner for Hillary to enjoy. She so loves to look at the leaves fluttering in the breeze while the shiny spinner reacts to the moving air. In the spring before the leaves appear it is a nice sunny spot to enjoy some air after a day spent inside. Once the buds open up and the air is warmer the same spot is shady until nearly dinner time. It is such a pleasant spot to be. When Anna was in high school it is where we met once she was home to talk about her day, her worries, or simply to sit side by side on the glider sipping something cold, eating pretzels and reading. When Bruce gets home from work he joins us, relaxing in the Adirondack chair for a bit before going inside to watch the news.

The patio symbolizes a more relaxing rhythm of days, there is just as much to be done yet time seems to be moving at a slower, much easier pace. It means salads and lighting the grill to cook an easy dinner, open windows, curtains fluttering in the afternoon breeze, and waiting to see if the hummingbirds will visit the flowers in the hanging baskets. It is currently snowing again, however, so I’ll have to content myself with watching the winter birds and squirrels at the bird feeder through the window, my favorite blanket, and endless cups of tea. I really miss my patio.