One of my favorite thoughts from education week came from a musical performance by Heartbound. The thought was this: be the blessing. I love that.
One of our YSA young men is getting married. He is sharp, funny, good looking, capable. The girl he is marrying is beautiful, but has a lot of baggage. A. Lot. Of. Baggage. I look at him and think, "Wow! What an amazing load to take on. What a blessing you will be in her life."
She talked about her son who went on a mission to Africa. For P-day one week, they were cleaning the cages at the zoo. At the end of the day, they hauled the garbage to the dump. As they turned the corner, in the middle of the dump they saw a whole colony of people living in the dump. Kids had not a stitch of clothing. Parents were digging through the garbage looking for anything to salvage. As the truck from the zoo pulled into view, the kids started yelling, "Zoo truck. Zoo Truck." They were hoping to find some food that the animals had not eaten.
Sherry said that experience was life changing for her son.
She also shared this story: Brigadier General Robinson Risner ("Robbie") spent seven years as a POW at the "Hanoi Hilton," as prisoners of war called their North Viet Nam compound. There he discovered the power of hope. He spent four and a half years of that time in isolation. He endured ten months of total darkness. Those months were the longest of his life. When they boarded up his little seven-by-seven foot cell, shutting out the light, he wondered if he was going to make it. He had already been under intense physical and mental duress after years of confinement. And now, not a glimmer of light shone into his cell -- or into his soul.
Robbie spent hours a day exercising and praying. But at times he felt he could nothing but scream. Not wanting to give his captors the satisfaction of knowing they'd broken him, he stuffed clothing into his mouth to muffle the noise as he screamed at the top of his lungs.
One day Robbie got down on the floor and crawled under his bunk. He located a vent that let in outside air. As he pressed against the vent, he saw a faint glimmer of light reflected on the inside wall of the opening. Robbie put his eye next to the cement wall and discovered a minute crack in the construction. It allowed him to glimpse outside, but was so small that all he could see was one blade of grass. A single blade of grass and a faint ray of light. But when he stared at the sight, he felt a surge of joy, excitement and gratitude like he hadn't known in years. "It represented life, growth, and freedom," he later said, "and I knew God had not forgotten me." It was that tiny glimmer of hope that sustained Robbie through an unbearable ordeal.
Some of the quotes Vern Budge used were:
Anywhere is paradise. It is up to you.
A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery while on a detour.
It seems the only eggs they remembered eating were EASTER eggs. Breakfast did not live up to their expectations. So funny!
However, they were not disappointed in the pool. They absolutely loved it. The weather had been cold. We kept thinking it would warm up, so we promised the kids we'd go to the pool after naps. They would NOT let us forget that promise even though it didn't warm up much. Luckily the pool was warm.
One of their favorite things was ring around the rosies. They were content to let go of your hands as you sunk to the bottom and they giggled. Such cute kids. Lucy slept peacefully in her stroller while we played in the pool.
I have to agree. Here are some pictures of baby Lucy. What a sweet family.
The cookies were passable, at least for nursery kids. We added a foam flower with their picture in the center and put gum drops in the bottom to hold them in place.
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I noticed the kids shared my feelings. Emi's brother was hold her vase that consisted of only the picture flower. She was happily eating the cookies on a stick (even though they had each already had several in nursery). She told her mom the picture was for her mother, but the cookies were for her.
Here is Keola. The candy at the bottom of the vase was better than the cookies or the picture.
I had made extra plates of the "love" cookies. With thirteen in the nursery and mother's day visitors, I didn't know how many we'd need. As I left the building with the extra cookies, I saw some of the teenagers, I asked if they needed a little love, and held out the plate of "love" cookies. I was greeted with huge smiles and had no trouble getting rid of the extras.
Here are her words: Heavenly Father, bless that that our nursery teachers won't be mean to us.
So funny. I had to stifle a laugh.
I guess she likes us okay, however, as during the free time, she would come up to us, throw her arms around us and say, "I love you!"
As we were doing head, shoulders, knees, and toes, the same little girl said to me, "I can see your armpit." "How is it?" I asked. "Good," she replied.
Lars spoke in the performance hall. He talked about his professional journey. One slide showed him with some of his 58 PhD students. Very impressive. He ended with a slide of his parents. He said, I owe so much to these people, but I really can't talk about them. He choked up and that ended his presentation. It was very touching.
Lars had wanted to visit "Aunt Alda". He had sent me email regarding that several weeks ago. I invited other family members, so we had quite a group gathered. Lars' brother, Roger, was up for the event and met with us as well.
In some of the things Lars has written, he tells the following:
When I graduated from Logan (UT) High School, I was told by a counselor that, based on my recent academic performance, I could expect to be a C+ student and, if I studied very, very hard, a B+ student. I would bring home report cards with double check marks by ‘Does not respect authority.’ I was not a very inspired high school student.
I asked about "not respecting authority". He said he had moved to Utah from Michigan when his father became provost. He was not happy to be here. An English teacher had given them a paragraph to punctuate as an assignment. He recognized the paragraph from a Pulitzer Prize winning book he had read. He copied the punctuation from the book, as did several of his friends. His teacher graded the assignment, giving him a C+. Lars said, "I can't believe you just gave a Pulitzer prize winner at C+". Pretty funny.
I asked how he met his wife, Grace. He said she was a PhD student in one of his classes at Chicago. When he would exhibit his dry humor, she was one of the few in a sea of international students who 'got it'. Though Chinese, she grew up in New York, so American humor was not a mystery. He knew he liked her, but didn't feel he could date her while she was one of his students. Students in the department each had a file folder where professors could place material they wanted them to have. Lars asked her out by placing a note in her student file. She is a senior lecturer at Chicago and coordinator of the undergraduate curriculum.
Lars' brother talks more about the Nobel Prize event at here
I listened trying to figure out why he had called me and what his goal was. In the course of the conversation, I learned he had a degree in Spanish from USU and had taken a single computer science class. He was currently cleaning houses as he couldn't find full time work. He had Aspergers.
He said he couldn't go to classes, but wanted to get some computer training. I asked if he couldn't go because of the stress or because of the time/money. He indicated it was the latter.
He said he felt that although Aspergers was a disability, it also had associated special talents. I told him I understood that and talked a bit about David Germany (the neighbor I tutored).
We talked for quite a while. I suggested he take advantaged of some online resources to help him learn more about programming.
Before we ended the conversation, he asked me if I knew a Bishop Gill. I didn't. He continued, "He used to be a student of yours. He is now a bishop. He suggested I call. I'm glad I did."
So that is why he had called. It all made sense then. I just had to wait for it.
Steve has been on Social Security for about six months now. A few weeks ago we got a notice saying he wouldn't get his January payment (which comes in February) because his early retirement payment puts him at more income than that allowed (some $15K). Every dollar you earn past $15K, the government reduces your social security by fifty cents. The same thing had happened when he first started with social security, but it seemed odd to me that a whole paycheck was exactly what they needed to make things right. I decided I should check to make sure what was happening. I also wanted to see his earning history. They used to always mail it to you, but now they don't.
I started off by calling the number for Social Security that was given on the letter informing us that no money was coming in February. When I reach them, they force me into listening to a several minute spiel about Obama Care. Once I get past that, the message is "Please press 1". So I did - just before I heard the rest of the message, "if you want to ask about income tax." There was no backing out of pressing 1. Honestly, who says, "Please press 1 and then pauses." I call again. I listen to the several minute spiel about Obama Care and DO NOT press 1. They tell me the expected wait is 45 minutes. I leave my number and they will call me back. I had an hour before my next meeting, but I didn't hear from them before my meeting. I miss their call back. The next time I call, the expected wait is an hour and a half. I call a couple of hours later, but by then they aren't even telling you an expected wait time (nor do they offer to call me back).
The next day I try again. Finally, I get through. I ask my first question, but they say they can't talk to me as I'm not Steve. I tell them I have durable power of attorney. They don't care. They don't accept that. They say I can go to the regional office (in Ogden) with Steve. Otherwise, I have to have Steve tell them to talk to me. I tell them I live an hour away, and it is snowing. They are not impressed. I ask them my first question without talking about Steve.
It turns out they only take full paychecks. We were lucky they only took one, and not two. However, when we file income tax at the end of the year, we'll get back any extra money they have taken. SOOOOO, why didn't they say that in the letter? That would have been so much easier than just saying, "You won't be getting any money this month."
I wait until the next day, so Steve can tell them they can talk to me. Finally, I am able to ask my question. I questioned whether they had Steve's earning correct, as what he is getting seems a bit low. Did them have him retiring at 64? They said they did. I asked to see the earnings record. I mention that they used to always send us the information each year, but now they don't. She said they could send it to me, but it would cost. First they would mail me the form. Then, I would send the money. Then they would me the information. I said, "But we used to get it for free every year. Now that he's retired, it seems like it should be sent at least once." Only then did she tell me that he could create a My SSA account and get the information off the web.
So, I create an account for him and sure enough, all the information is there. I could answer my question. The seven years we were in Colorado, we did not pay into social security. Thus, instead of having 35 years of income (as is used by Social Security), he only had 25. That explains a lower benefit.
So then, I decided I should check my earnings record. I tried to create an account for me, but nothing I did worked. I wasn't sure whether I was "Vicki L Hurst". "Vicki H Allan", or "Vicki L Allan". When I was first married, I wasn't sure what to use as a middle initial. I tried all of them, but none of them worked, and the system locked me out.
I called Social Security again. Same deal. After several tries, I got through. When I told them I was locked out. They unlocked it and said, I should just type it in as is on my social security card. I said I didn't have it with me. I told her my dilemma, of which name to use, but instead of helping, she just said, "Put in your middle initial." She wouldn't tell me which one. It was like a guessing game. Finally she said I had two last names. I tried that, but it still didn't work. She said I would have to call the Ogden office, as they couldn't help me create an account.
I called the Ogden office, but there was an hour and a half wait. I called again after work, but then the wait was so long, the automated system just told me to try again the next day.
The next day, I called the Ogden office. I had to give all the identifying information - date/place of birth, mothers maiden name, etc. I got a very nice lady who talked me through it, but the system wouldn't allow me to log on, even after following her instructions. She said I would need to come in. I told her about the snow and living an hour away. She told me I could go into the Department of Workforce services in Logan and connect via a video link. It was only available on Thursday. It was Thursday! Maybe my luck was changing. She told me where it was and what to bring. Yeah! Someone who actually wanted to help.
I took off and got to the Department of Workforce services about five minutes after the video link was available, 10 a.m.. There were three names ahead of mine. Piece of cake, right. I sat down with lots of other people who were waiting for something (taxes, unemployment, etc). Not everyone needed to talk to Ogden. They were the lucky ones. None of us had brought anything to do. Then, others started coming in to talk to Ogden. They were told the wait would be 45 minutes. More people came in. They were told the wait would be an hour and a half wait AND they Ogden people went for lunch at 11:30, so if they didn't get in before then, there would be another half hour added to their wait time.
A got up and started wandering around. I had four or five workers ask if they could help me, but since I needed to talk to Ogden they couldn't. They assured me it usually wasn't like this. It must be the snow. At 11:25 they called me back.
The lady fiddled around for a bit, left for several minutes, and returned with my "password". I said, "What is my user name?" (Remember, I had tried this a half dozen times already, so I knew what I needed.) She said, just use your name. I repeated back my name and said, "With spaces?" She said, "Yes, or you can use your social security number." I said, "What do I do if it doesn't work?" She said, "Just call us back. Here is our number." I said, "I won't have to come back in to use the video link?" She assured me I wouldn't. I had zero confidence this was going to work.
I returned home. It didn't work. Your name isn't a username. Your social security number isn't a username.
I called Ogden again. I got the same very nice lady I talked to earlier. She said, "Didn't they give you a sheet of instructions for what to do?" I told her they had only given me a password. Turns out there was a completely separate link I was supposed to be at and the number they gave me was NOT a password, but an access code. The nice lady stayed on the line while I entered everything and FINALLY created my log in. I never did figure out what was wrong with the information I had entered before.
Can a system be any more inefficient? What a waste of their time and mine!!! AARGGG!
Anyway, I downloaded my work history and even played around with how Social Security is computed. Every year, your salary is multiplied by a factor to give the "adjusted earnings". While I don't know exactly what that means, it turns out that in 1995 I had a better year (according to social security) than any year since. We are told we are losing buying power. That was pretty dramatic proof.
As I have mentioned before, the International Student Office is NOT my favorite entity on campus. They made a series of mistakes for my student, Udara, regarding his ability to take an internship (CPT). In July, they said it was okay. In August, they approved it (and he moved his wife and family to SLC). In October, they told him there had been a mistake, but that they would just "go forward". The contention was the the CPT was not integral to his degree as he had finished his coursework and was, therefore, illegal. They didn't tell him they wouldn't approve the internship for another semester. They didn't tell him that to change his status to an pre-OPT (rather than a CPT) would take four months. In January, he asked to have it extended, and they approved it. Then, the end of January, they tell him he is out of compliance, he needs to quit working, he needs to move back to campus.
They took no responsibility for their mistakes. In their view, it was his fault that he didn't understand what he should have done. (Even though our secretary, who is brilliant, didn't understand their messages either.) They didn't care that he would lose $25K in salary. They told me there was nothing I could do to alter his status. Udara told me it was the worse thing that has every happened to him. He had planned to move back to Sri Lanka so his kids wouldn't be in danger of being outside the law.
I actually lost a lot of sleep over this. Literally. One night, I read "The Chosen One", about a girl who needs to escape from a very bad situation. I finished the book and kept being flooded with the thought, "That is Udara. He is in a very bad situation. He can't resolve it without someone else to help me. That is my responsibility." I kept replaying the events over and over in my mind. Each time, it was even harder to believe that there was nothing that would make a difference.
So I met with ISO to see what could be done. They told me there was nothing I could do. In the course of the discussion, however, they told me if he took a masters as an intermediate degree, he could apply for OPT (which is done after completion of a degree). We made plans for that to happen. Normally our PhD students don't get a masters degree, even though it is common elsewhere. Anyway, as I looked into getting him the intermediate degree, I discovered something. If we gave him a degree, we could put the CPT credits as a requirement for the masters degree, and voila, the CPT was integral and he was back in compliance.
They weren't happy with me for finding the loop hole, but Udara was magically back in compliance and could go back to work. He was one happy fellow.
I came out looking like a rock star. ISO came out looking like jerks.
Marilyn and Dean are part of a great ward family. They would do anything for you. At age 80, Dean started teaching primary. Marilyn would volunteer for anything you needed done. It was fun to learn about what she was like as a young mother. I've only known her as old and (in recent years) fragile.
The most touching part of the whole funeral happened before anyone said a word. We sat down, and I looked back over the crowd. Just behind me was a whole row of Dean's primary boys. I was so touched. I tried to tell Steve what I had seen, but I couldn't make any words come out. So special!
My student is in SLC with a wife and two kids. He has a contract for an apartment for a year. He has no car. They are telling him to stop work immediately and return to USU, where he has no job and no apartment. He has to apply for a different kind of internship permission, which can't be granted for FOUR MONTHS.
Very bad news, right? Listen to the tone of the email that was sent:
Dr. Watson,I need X to stop working on his curricular practical training internship immediately to comply with immigration law.
Unfortunately one of my less seasoned advisors allowed him to extend his curricular practical training application this semester without taking note of the counsel I had given X last semester and it has further complicated the issue.
X is well aware of the immigration laws regarding curricular practical training because we discussed the laws at length last semester and that discussion is documented in his immigration file.
Please let me know if you need further information or if I can be of further assistance.
They could have said, "Gee, I'm sorry this happened to you. We messed up. We'll do anything in our power to help you through this." Instead, they inferred that he knew he was in the wrong and chose not to follow the rule. ARGGGGG.
The university always uses money as an excuse for not doing things, but there is no forced limitation on compassion.
Hadley is almost three. She and Steve have this thing going. When the older kids were still in nursery, all the boys flocked to Steve. It is a magic he has. There was someone always tackling him, sitting on his lap, or showing him a special toy. Hadley didn’t mind the competition. She always made sure Steve had time for her. One day, we were getting ready for the lesson. Steve was trying to get one of the boys to sit on his lap and stop running around. He asked, “Won’t you sit on my lap?” Hadley quickly took stock of the situation and realized the boy was not going to sit down, so she ran over and sat on Steve’s lap. So cute. Last week, Lochland (for of our new recruits) was NOT happy to be in nursery. I figured Teddy Grahams were a good bribe. Lochland could not be bought off that easily, but the girls thought it was great. I kept getting them out of the box and offering one to whomever looked hungriest. Hadley reached her hand into the box to get a handful – but they weren’t for her. She took them over to Steve, who hadn’t had any. Such love.
I was cleaning in the bathroom(More later), when I discovered an old bottle of mouthwash. I decided it was time to replace my solution. The mouthwash was blue, and though several posts had warned against using blue mouthwash, I used it anyway. Sure enough. Smurf feet. Right down to the toenails. Luckily, it is winter so no one saw my feet. So funny!
About cleaning... I've been inspired by a cleaning post on facebook. A woman has a schedule for cleaning her whole house (including base moldings) every month. She does some deep cleaning every day, rather than save it for the weekend or a week in April. Since the kids have moved out, our house rarely gets deep cleaned. I figured I could afford to work on acquiring some new habits. Here are the favorite hints I have tried:
Tie a baggie containing white vinegar over your shower head. Let it sit overnight. Voila, hard water deposits are gone.
Use antibacterial wipes to do a 3-minute wipedown of bathroom and kitchen counters everyday.
Use a small amount of white vinegar on a microfiber cloth to clean blinds.
Buy microfiber cloths from the automotive department (Walmart has them $5 for 8). Spray the microfiber cloths with a small amount of water, attach them to your Swifter, and use them to clean wood floors.
Wipe down doors (inside and out), cabinets, switch plates, and walls once a month.
Vacuum out heating vents and air return grills.
Of course, her month's schedule will likely take me six months to complete, but it's better than my original schedule, which in some cases was never.
Here is the link to the cleaning schedule. Here
Yesterday, Steve was complaining that his sink was slow. I googled "slow bathroom sink" and found a video clip. I followed the instructions and was so thrilled to pull my pipes apart using wrenches in our toolkit. I found hairballs and black sludge. Steve was grossed out, but I thought it was great. All that junk that wouldn't be slowing down the drain. I felt like a little "Dad". Dad was so self-reliant and could fix anything. I don't have his fix-it skills, but I do have the satisfaction.
Before Christmas, I was in a meeting with the provost. She was so good - asking our opinions and really listening. I've known her for a while so I wasn't surprised, but after the meeting was over, the woman next to me expressed her amazement. Thinking of my mom,I passed the comment along to the provost in an email. Mom used to always say, "If you hear a compliment, pass it on. It is like a double compliment. One person said it, and you agreEd or you wouldn't have passed it on."
The provost thanked me for my note. Several weeks later, I saw the provost as I was leaving the public library. The first thing she said to me was, "Thanks for that note. It made my day."
Thanks,mom and dad.
And there's more. From both my folks I learned to use what you have and appreciate a sale. Mom used to read the ads, make her shopping list, and go to several stores to get the best price on everything. She would have loved "Price matching" and "grocery Smarts". Actually, she didn't need them. She knew a good price when she saw one without needing someone to tell her it was an "extreme" deal. She knew how to make a dollar go far, even when she didn't need to. It was kind of a like a stewardship over the resources that she had been given.
Dad kept all kinds of things "in case he ever needed them". Screws, nails, plumbing supplies, sections of hose, wood, wire... you name it, he saved and filed it for future use.
It is almost like a game with me. Discovering eggs that are near their expiration date, you think of something you can make to use them up. It just seems unappreciative to let them go to waste.
In the past six months, in addition to the pipe cleaning, I've replaced the regulator on our barbecue grill, cleaned out the regulator on the Cache cooker so it works, and replaced the wheels on the sliding glass door screen. These tasks are new to me. I always just assumed the man of the house would do such repairs, even though Steve has never shown much interest. I've finally decided that I can do such things. It is liberating.
I think being frugal is part of my heritage. "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." Having parents who grew up in the depression, being frugal is a virtue.
This book's conundrum is that most of the families described here have ended up grateful for experiences they would have done anything to avoid.
Deaf people were considered moronic - hence our use of the word dumb to describe idiocy - but such limitations were the result of denying them language.
She loves and is loved well, as I had hoped.
(Thinking of aborting a fetus known to be a dwarf) The psychologist was saying that either way, there's always going to be a moment when you regret your decision.
For six months, Emily (the mom) would cry herself to sleep. "I almost drowned him in the tears I shed over him."
Perhaps the most insidious stress is the social isolation that can ensure when friends retreat, or when parents withdraw from friends' pity or incomprehension. the birth of a healthy child usually expands the parents' social network; the birth of a child who is disabled often constricts that network.
Susan Allport, an authority on maternal attachment, writes that in nondisabled populations "it is not parent providing care to helpless young but parent and young, together, performing carefully synchronized, ruthlessly selected dances of reproduction and survival. The newborn is born knowing its steps, but, like all ballroom dancers, it must have a partner.
I'm reminded of a friend who said that when she found out her husband couldn't fill her needs, she changed her needs; they've had a long, good life together.
People always regale us with these little sayings, like, 'God doesn't give you any more than you can handle.' But children like ours are not preordained as a gift. They're a gift because that's what we have chosen.
From the Essay, "Welcome to Holland"
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.
But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.
