Diamonds in the Sewer

2007-06-12T03:23:00.000-07:00

Roswell, and the fact that what's bothering you often isn't the important problem.

When my friends found out that I was going to Roswell, most assumed New Mexico. When they found out it was a hospital, they assumed that I was comparing the world of being sick to being abducted by aliens -- a metaphor of getting your whole life hijacked.

No, Roswell Park is more like a resort. http://www.roswellpark.org/Home

I've eaten worse at Disney resorts. Not kidding. If you have cancer you often need to be tempted to eat, and the food was better than "the mouse" and better than my home cooking. And keep in mind that we run a B+B, our chef is from Longfellows http://www.longfellows.com/ and the other guy who cooks is a Ryan's Steakhouse manager store graduate.

When I first came out from under I was in the company of a young man with a tufty beard. I wanted to talk to someone, and he made the most friendly and open eye contact. I let my guard way, way down -- he just had "I'm listening" written all over his body -- and I told him how it was in my baby language. It's one of the really, really rare ones -- I'm Boyash http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boyash

He listened, and then continued sweeping the floor. Yes, the people who create comfort for the patients goes all the way from the most simple of tasks. I talked to him a few more times (English and Boyash) before I left, and I hope they have an internal hiring program so that he can do more patient work.

Just about everyone was that good, consistently. This is such a wonderful
situation in any service industry!

This situation started about eight months ago. I had been figure modeling for a fine arts class when one of the students noticed that I was getting up oddly. I explained my (then minor) discomfort -- belly getting more rigid, sometimes a sharp pain around my bellybutton, but afterwards nothing -- I didn't even have any lingering sore spot, other than feeling very, very silly. Some sort of odd charlie horse of the muscles, I was getting older.

The doc told me to look into this as an umbilical hernia. Which I did; figure modeling pays very well, meaning that the people who draw you treat you as a fellow artist.

The hernia doc said, yep -- and sheduled me for a C-T scan. Which found a thickened uterine lining. I had been meaning to start a fertility journey, because many women in my families have first babies at advanced ages. Ooops.

The cancer doc and I were personality mismatches, and one of the many problems was that his records were distinctly different from what I'd shared with him. Including that I did not have a hernia.

So -- I was dealing with increasingly common rigidity and pain in my *upper* abdomen while dealing with my family, who are increasingly worried. This doc sends me for another C-T scan, finds masses around my heart, tells me that this is "a setback" and sends me for "staging" with a thoracic doc. My family at this point is ready to put me in the ground, sure I'm going to die in the thoracic's care or shortly afterwards. I receive a great deal of interaction from my family, the kind that is well meaning and at the same time a lot of work for the receiver.

During a rare moment of quiet I push a few terms into a search engine and end up talking to a Roswell volunteer. I ask him for something -- anything -- that I can tell my family so that they can be calmer. I don't feel about to die, or even particularly unhealthy.

The masses around my heart turn out to be exactly what the volunteer said that they could be (sarcoidosis) and what I told my family that they could be -- no promises, just another possible answer.

After how this discovery is handled, I wish to go to Roswell and be part of Dr. Lele's clinical trials. I'd desperately wanted to be a mother, if I couldn't do that at least I could make the world a little more safe for the girls who would be born, at least my fertility dying would protect children if I could not create any.

The pannus situation is now getting impossible. I can't reach -- areas that need regular care. At home I have a hand-held shower.

After a major battle, I did indeed earn a bed at Roswell, and I'm convinced that this choice will improve the quality of the rest of my life.

Aftercare for personal areas was as difficult as I feared, but the clinical care people at Roswell did help me with physical assistance. One of my few "could be improved" would be a hand-held shower for care so that assisted washing of patients doesn't have to be a care task for the nursing team. I didn't like having to ask, and I'm certain that was at least as unpleasant for them as it was for me.

The worst part of the recovery wasn't the lower pelvic, it was the upper abdomen, which went from episodic stiffness and rare incredibly intense pain to a constant pain making me want to bend far enough backwards so that I could sit on my own head -- just getting my head in line with my body was excruciating -- and causing me to nearly constantly if awake be asking for pain relief -- for days on end. I feel badly that I was so hard on the care team, which of course wasn't about to put me into a stupor and gave me real medical care. It took until nearly my time of leaving before their constant, hourly working with me on pain control got to the point where I had another thought besides "ouch".

I had no idea that "gas" and "heartburn" could hurt to that magnitude.

Also -- if the staff would work that devotedly to solving my pain situation I can only imagine how complete the pain care must be for people who have cancer-related issues.

I give this research hospital four snaps, a full and hearty recommendation, and hope that people who read this support them, try to work there, and choose them for their own cancer journey.

JulieB

2007-03-05T09:19:00.000-08:00

If Gore is Wrong and Bush is wrong, who is right?

1. I was really worried ten-fifteen years ago but in retrospect we as the human race have made it out of the post-WW2 way of thinking and into a new world. I'm really excited and eager to see what's coming. I think Stewart Brand http://sb.longnow.org/Home.html has a bead on the world our children will make for us. http://www.longnow.org/

2. Don't forget the "golden oldies" phenomenon. When you read about the saved past you're reading a "best of" collection. Don't be lazy about it and neglect the step of looking at information collected at the time. The radio stations played lots of songs that are best forgotten. A lot of what was going on were false starts, wrong turns, blind tunnels, and bad ideas. Of all the homeschooling tools that I value the historical documents themselves -- the uncorrected past -- is what I treasure most that I got from my teachers, and what I value most having given to the people I've taught.

3. Don't forget the "happy amateur" phenomenon. Much of human advancement is done by people working for the pure delight of it, people who had nothing to gain by being right but who really, really cared about what they were seeing. A major advancement in paleontology was made by a man who looked at a bronze casting of a fossil mounted in the New York City subway station. I've passed that casting hundreds of times. The people who made it looked deeply. The man, woman, or child who has taken a spare moment to look -- has made history. There has been major world change made by hairy, stinky teens in their parent's garages.

4. You aren't changing your mind. You are making a brand new decision based on new information.

5. Don't forget the converse of #2. The past is fluid. What's important about what used to be is in constant flux. Moving through time is like walking through hilly ground -- what you can see from where you are, what's relevant and what's not -- will change. The raw events of the past do not change. What part of the past informs the future -- changes. By changing your future you can take a different -- better -- sample of your past with you. That much is in your power. That part is up to you.
There are a lot of hobbits on the march to destroy the ring of power, because a lot of people *get* that this kind of authority belongs in the hands of no one.

2007-01-13T16:09:00.000-08:00

Imagine there's no Asphalt

The first act I'd like anyone who is interested to do is to go to Google Earth, or many other good photo atlasses. If you have been up in a plane, remember looking down.

What do you see?

Imagine if you were a hypothetical space-age Gypsy traveling without asphalt. Imagine a blimp, perhaps. Imagine a technology that literally lived lightly on the earth -- like the turn of the century had in primitive form, like in the fantasies of The Probability Broach http://www.bigheadpress.com/tpb.php or Girl Genius:http://www.girlgeniusonline.com/

Take the bird's eye view and see what there is to be seen.

What you'll see is long, skinny black streaks with human habitation along them -- and little anywhere else. The powers in control say "my way *is* the highway".

Away from the streaks people don't live. It's like the rivers used to be -- only the people couldn't own those, only the ports -- which they did.

One of the advantages of living up here in the Adirondacks is a lot of the usual transportation rules don't apply -- either for long periods of time (say, winter) or at all because people still own private roads and there still are communities accessible through rails, over water, or private airfield.

It's true that America has an oil addiction -- but you're all looking at the wrong one. It's not the oil that goes into your cars that's the problem -- it's literally at and under your feet.

You could get from place to place without oil fuel -- but try to go on your daily travels without contacting a road. Sure, they want us to be thinking about electric cars -- as long as they own the roads.

If you think I'm crazy, take the time to rent a hot air balloon. Check out the collapsing farmhouses and ghost towns -- if the city leaders did not allow government roads the common roads were often broken, sometimes dynamited.

We lucked out up here because we have lots of native stone and we were settled by people who knew a lot about stoneworking, and since we had both the resources and people who already knew how to use them -- we still have plenty of private roads -- no road monopoly here.

So -- if you can travel by any other way than the monopoly -- say, by sending email instead of retarding snail mail -- you're doing something that will change the system of things.

I see a bright future ahead of us because:

"Where we're going we don't need ---------- roads."

2006-12-11T10:51:00.000-08:00

The Autistic Explosion: What it is like from the inside
Guest Post by Robert Biales

I have been asked that I, as an adult Autistic, give an explanationof my motivation when I explode. I feel it might help others who endup on the receiving end of an explosion.

One of my jobs is working at a convenience store. One of the tasks is to take money out of the registers, count it out and then place it in a deposit bag. After this is done a cash check is performed. The cash check is counting the unsold instant lottery tickets and the cash in the safe and registers, then comparing the totals with the computer tallied expected totals. The work schedule lists who is supposed to perform the cash check at a certain time during the day. Usually, but not always the same person does the deposit as well.

Yesterday I had gone into work without having anything to eat. I was hungry. We do not take scheduled breaks but fit them in when we can, usually doing paperwork, like the cash check, while we eat. I was scheduled to do the cash check halfway through my shift. It seemed like the perfect union. I would eat while I did the deposit. I could wait until then. I had it all worked out in my mind. I had a plan. I did not inform anyone of my plan. I didn't think it was necessary.

When the time came to do the deposit I noticed that someone else was already doing it. OK! I can handle that. It just means I will need to eat when I do the cash check. It is only a few more minutes wait. So I wait. I still didn't mention anything to my co-workers. Why would I need to? I was scheduled to do the cash check. Everything was set and in place.

Then the other shoe dropped. Our manager decided he wanted to do the cash check and started doing so. How dare he? He is denying me my much needed food. Now I am going to have to wait even longer, maybe another 2 hours before I can eat. He thwarted my well crafted plans. I was upset. I was angry. I had enough sense and presence of mind not to meltdown right then and there but I am sure my face showed my feelings.

The manager commented on my look. I responded by informing him I was very hungry and had planned on eating while doing the cash check that he was doing and now I couldn't eat. Mind you that we were at a rare moment when there were 4 people working and the store can operate with only 2. The manager looked at me almost dumb-founded and replied, "Then why didn't you say, 'Hey I am really hungry and need to take a break'?" I felt foolish now. It sounded so simple. What happened wasn't a plot against me. What happened were people doing their thing without my providing input since I did not think it was necessary.

Feeling foolish when you are angry is not a good combination. I continued to work and stew until a couple minutes later when the manager returned and suggested I go take a break.

Autistics don't deal well with having their plans thwarted. For myself, at least, I do not feel it is always necessary to let others know what my plan is. I assume they will know, or figure it out or not get in the way. This action often leads to thwarted plans. Unfortunately when that happens our response is highly emotional. It is like revving an engine and quickly throwing it into gear. We are off and running without taking the time to assess the situation.

We are hyper-focused on our plan, the events we expect to happen and items that we expect to be there. This means when the plan changes we do not think, 'What changes do I need to make to get back on track?' Instead our emotional clutch kicks in and we are off riding the wave of outrage rather trying to adjust course. We feel things were changed deliberately to upset us.

Looking back on the situation I feel silly. Why did it not occur to me to say to someone, "Hey, we have coverage and I need to have something to eat before I pass out (or bite somebody's head off, or waste away to enormous (my manager's joke))"? I just did not see that as a possibility. The event was not an intentional thwarting of my will; I know that intellectually. Emotionally I have trouble withthat fact.

Robert

P.S.: Since I published this on the Internet there have been a few people who have made suggestions on how to solve this problem.

There are many parents of autistic children who would like to understand what is happening when their child has a meltdown. There are others who would like a reference from an expert that they can share with others to promote understanding. Finally, there are those who suffer along with me who need to see that this is what they are going through and that although the rest of the world does not act this way, they are not alone.

Please share this freely. I only request that you share the link and the author (I like recognition). If this post helps bring understanding to others it has done well. And to the helpful others I suggest reading the short story "Light Verse" by Isaac Asimov.

2006-11-20T18:21:00.000-08:00

Peak Oil, Communes, and finding Kindred Souls

When I think about places that have survived times of immense social change, I think of small groups of people who care for the weak, who are at play, living a life that they find interesting.

I grew up on this -- people who left the former Soviet Union and came to Rosecliff. There were people who had a jolly old time with fictional mentors like The Professor on Gilligan's island, and real-life mentors in their faces all around them.

The closest thing out there to an autobiography is Meanwhile, Next to the Good Life. Many good points made, many close to home.

Expect that what you produce will be a learning experience and that you *will not* be making replacements for what you bought off the farm. Most everything that you make will be denser and stronger flavored.

Eggs will have tastes you completely don't expect. Beans, honey, fibers -- you name it, you'll be experiencing flavors and textures you didn't intend. Go in expecting that your potatoes will taste like *your* dirt. As your soil improves you'll know better what you like and the quality of what you do will go up -- but be prepared to experience a hen's egg that is made out of grasshoppers to taste very alive and almost like a different food than an egg that got its color from the dyes added to the hens' diet. If you're vegan, that doesn't matter. Your food will also be tasty. Not all of those tastes will register as good.

Some you will grow to prefer, some you will like quickly, and some you may always find less appealing than store food. Just never attempt to make your food taste like store food, because, first -- it won't -- and second -- making the attempt usually produces something inferior to both home authentic and store authentic.

Same principle goes for your relationships with people, your housing, and just about everything else. Strive to experience your surroundings as they are. They will register as different, and you'll either grow to like them, or not. They won't become like what you left no matter how you attempt to control them.

"If at first you don't succeed, try try again -- then give up -- no sense making a fool of yourself." W.C. Fields.

Finding people around you who don't like to be meddled with isn't hard. Just -- these people didn't trade the comforts of a larger society to be meddled with by you. Many people who have a hard time gathering community around them attract and are hoping for Utopians -- who will meddle right back until you all get fed up and part company. What you want are Libertarians -- people who are willing to "taste funny" to other people and stay in connection to people who "taste funny" to them, too.

I think that the world is spinning out of control, off in a completely new direction. The invention of the printing press new direction -- big change.

It's a different world where knowledge and connection is available to more people and at a much higher quality than ever before. Yes, I know that the Internet has porn on it. About 1% porn, which is well lower than normal for human communication and I expect that this fact is due to the higher prevalance of people with autistic traits on it. As more typical people do more and more on the net this ratio will probably rise. And it will still be very possible to conduct your business online without seeing images that burn on to your retinas and keep popping back into your mind over the rest of the day.

Back ten years ago when I wanted a long polish sausage tomato I wasn't in the market for what the search engines gave me. I found the tomato, all right, but it wasn't making sauce, the tomato wasn't for sale, and whoever that was, I imagine that person should get snaps for their repurposing of heirloom tomatoes. Repurposing is a prime value of these times.

Both sides of the equation are happier now that we don't have anything to do with each other. and guess what I bought online this year, from another old woman like myself! My tomato sauce is thick and full of pectin this year.

As I plan for the next year I'm not full of dire feeling. I'm hopeful, and participating in the good things with my millions of new friends.

JulieB

2006-08-23T17:21:00.000-07:00

Everything I needed to know about autism began with chocolate.

Differences in perception are important.

When my younger brother was little he was upset by the color brown -- milk chocolate brown, and shades that were close to milk chocolate brown.

This would seem to be very irrational without an additional bit of information -- my brother is red/green color blind. Although this is very common people often don't realize that people who are color blind see colors -- just not the ones we do. The world to them looks complete, valid, and fine -- nothing seems missing. Lots of people -- including people who find color to make a living -- are color blind too. http://www.virtualsciencefair.org/2005/jauc5s0/facts.htm

People who are male and color blind (the most common variety) "see" milk chocolate much the same way he "sees" blood. I am very fortunate(and much, much rarer) in that I'm a color blindness carrier with enough of the X's shut down in my retina that I can see patches of my brother's perception of the normal world as well as the version that most everyone sees.

In most of my vision I can see a bright red truck in the site below. But if I close one eye and look off to one side, I see what my brother sees, and if you push the "protan" button you can see his way, too.
http://www.tsi.enst.fr/~brettel/DaltonDemo/DD02.html

Since he had nosebleeds and he knew from the big reactions that the sight of gore makes everyone upset, certain shades of the browns he sees ~~could be~~ blood.

He believes that he is color blind. He understands that this means that pretty much everyone else sees a dramatic color with blood (and pretty much blood and nothing else) so he looks to other people to see if it's blood, or chocolate.

It took a lot of convincing and some maturing to persuade him that *other people* had red/green sensitivities -- but without that understanding finding brown to be disturbing is valid and it's rational to affirm that.

My husband, my son, I and Dan "see" disturbing reactions from other people that most of the time are simply "chocolate". We have enough self awareness to know that it's probably "chocolate" and that other people can sense"blood" -- really troublesome reactions that are outside of what we can percieve. We have people we trust who can affirm if the word "chocolate" is slipped into conversations that what we are picking up is harmless, even friendly and advantageous. Who shake their heads subtly if there's real trouble and help us out.

It's a frightening power to give to other people -- like Commander Data the Star Trek android not wanting other people in general to know he has an off switch. But like my brother trusting other people to see if hamburger meat is fresh or not, giving this trust to other people is a real anxiety lowerer. Being autistic is like a form of emotional color blindness.

One case of food poisoning (one bite of a bad hamburger can put you in the hospital for a round of intestinal agony, catheters and needles even if you spit it out and rinse your mouth) and you're a very wary eater from then on -- unless you choose to have people around you that you give your trust. It's not paranoia if you've ever experienced full-round e-coli food poisoning, nor if you've ever been at the backside of the nightmare of human taunting. Without understanding that other people can help you it's 24/7/365 caution for the rest of your life.

Or, you can share the responsibility with others and lower your guard back to what it was before you had your crisis event.

Because most of the time, it's simply chocolate.

2006-08-07T10:31:00.000-07:00

Words Can’t Paint a Portrait of Ron
By Sharie Derrickson
http://www.shariederrickson.com/
(Please go to her site and buy her book!)

“Old Norm sits in there looking like he is on the potty. He has a wall phone, magazine rack with little magazines and framed photos of the grandchildren,” Ron Spooner said. Norm is a garden gnome who lives in an outhouse by the St. Lawrence River. “When I realized that the sewer pump would get run over by me with either the lawn tractor or snow blower, I built a wee no pun — outhouse where Norm lives.” Welcome to the creative, never boring, if not ostensibly quirky, mind of Ron Spooner.

There is no way to adequately describe Ron. He is, one could say, somewhat of a Renaissance man — an artist — a writer — a photographer — a philosopher — a prankster — a soldier — a gourmet cook — a devoted husband and family man. His talent and energy are only matched by his passion for life, and his quick wit is only matched by his quick step. At the age of 72, spry would not adequately describe him either — hip is more like it, and I could barely keep up with both his pace of foot or his train of thought. His mind just moves that fast, and often, the punch lines seem to have been written long before the joke was ever invented.

There is so much to him, I hardly know where to begin. If I were to ask him, most likely, he would say, “Begin at the beginning, dummy.” Did I mention that he is as wise as he is funny — a cross between Confucius, Mark Twain, and Groucho Mary, if you can imagine — a man who is a mix of perfect comic timing, whimsy, idealism, and pragmatism — an odd mixture indeed. There is no one word to sum him up. I can say, however, he not only seems comfortable in his own skin, he has a way of making you comfortable as well.

In 1934, God broke the mold when he created Ronald H. Spooner, I am sure, because I haven’t met anyone else like him — ever. The son of a milkman from Staten Island, Ron’s mother made the decision what he would do with his life. “My mother was a dairy farmer lady — smart — and she said she didn’t want my brother and I to become milk men. She wanted us to be better,” he said. “She knew I could draw and she said to me, ‘You are going to be an artist.”

Ron said he didn’t argue. “What did I know? I was just a kid and she was pointing her finger at me and telling me what I had to do. So, I listened to her,” he said. “It’s her fault I became an artist,” he said.

“I remember in kindergarten, drawing a turkey with colored chalks. My father taught me because he could draw. I drew this turkey on the blackboard, and one of the other students swiped an eraser through it, and then I fixed it,” he said. “And in one day, I had my first public show, my first vandalism, and my first retouch,” he said. His critic, Ron said with a slight smirk, was told to stand in the corner..

Thus began Ron’s career as an artist. “It’s all! have ever really done,” he said. “I had two other jobs. I delivered milk for my father and carried a rifle for my Uncle Sam,” he said. Ron was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1954 as an infantryman. “I had no choice,” he said, “but I am sort of glad that happened because when 1 meet the infantry guys now, I have somewhat of a connection with them.” The army is as much a part of Ron as is his art, a frequent subject of his paintings, and he spends much of his time being involved with the Association of the U.S. Army (AUSA) organizing and covering events for active duty soldiers and their families.

After his two-year stint on active duty, Ron found his calling. “When I got out of the army, I had no idea what I was going to do and within weeks, I was in art school,” he said. He attended the prestigious School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, and then worked as a graphic artist for Bell Laboratories, went into the Army Reserve and stayed for 31 years where he eventually ended up working for public affairs. “That’s the best job,” he said. “It gives you the opportunity to meet so many people,” the social butterfly said.

And Ron loves to meet people. “He has more friends than anyone I know,” his wife of almost 50 years, Gracemarie, said. “Everyday, he makes a new friend.”

I know this to be true from shadowing him during a recent public affairs event on Fort Drum. If you didn’t know Ron at the beginning of the day, you did by the time the day was over. The most frequent comment: “He’s quite a character.” More importantly, though, is that you feel that, somehow, Ron knows you because he puts you at such ease, talking with him is effortless. He loves people and is truly interested in their story, and this keen ability to open people up is reflected in much of his art as it captures more than image — he captures the spirit of all he paints, whether it be a bird in solitude along the banks of the river, or the nostalgia of shiny classic cars along a parade route.

Art is in his blood. “My favorite paintings are by my great aunt,” he said, showing several beautiful watercolors. “When I was in Germany, I went to England to visit my second cousin and great aunt — she was 92 then, nearly blind, and upset that she was going to get kicked out of the Watercolor Society,” he said.

“See, in England, the boys played cricket and the little girls painted — it was a set up — it was an anti-male set up because when the men get older, they can barely hit that thing anymore because everything hurts, but the women are still painting,” he said chuckling.

“While I was there, she handed me off some watercolors and said, ‘Here are some paintings for you,’ and they must be over 100 years old and they are still looking beautiful. Maybe that’s where the talent comes from,” he said. “1 eat a lot of bran, too — that helps,” he laughed. He doesn’t take himself too seriously, a quality in people that I adore.

He said he was lucky that his talent provided him both stability and contentment. “After art school, I went directly to my first job and stayed there at Bell Laboratories,” he said. “But, I really don’t know what it is like to work,” he joked saying that doing what you love as a job is one key to happiness.

Ron’s passion for his craft and his talent led him to success as an artist and he has received much recognition and he has won many awards from the army for cartoon illustration and for his photography — something Ron said he thought was ‘pretty cool,’ an idiom I hardly expected to hear from the septuagenarian, but Ron is an eclectic dude who also loves the rock bands Pink Floyd and the Grateful Dead, and that made him even ‘cooler’ in my book.

Cooler still is his art, much of which covers the walls of his and Gracemarie’s home. The themes vary from nature, honest portrayals of everyday life, and some, not surprisingly, are deeply ingrained with patriotic themes.

He has an emotional attachment to all of his work. They are like children that he labored to create — many of which he refuses to part with. “These are my babies and I don’t want to lose them,” he said of the ones on the walls. Many of his subjects deal with the simple and the quiet — common things we often overlook. “I paint what I want to paint, but I try and put something in the painting as a hook,” he said. “I really do get inspired by things — like cattails. I really like cattails, The other day, I was taking pictures of an osprey and I turned and looked, and the way the sun was on the cattails and the reflections, and I took the picture. That will be a painting someday,” he said. “I will then use the photograph as a reference. If Rembrandt and the old masters had a Nikon, they would have worked from pictures,” he joked. “There is nothing wrong with that if you use them as background material and after a while, you can look at a photograph and see colors and shadows — see things that maybe someone else is not looking for.”

There is a touch of whimsy in many of his titles. “This one is called, ‘Omar, Where Impalas Go to Die,” he said of a portrait of a junk car. “And this one is called ‘Terrorist in Fur,” he said of a portrait of a wolverine.

Of course, many of his works are specific to the area such as Rock Island, a rendition of the Ice Storm of ‘98, and antique boats, but all his paintings show Ron’s fascination with color and how light plays on a subject.

Ron has also designed a line of labels for the Thousand Islands Winery in Alexandria Bay. “I did the label for the blueberry and a rose,” he said. “There is one that is the Seaway Blue, and this is one of my paintings turned blue, and there is a guy with a saxophone,” he said. “The rose is called, ‘Alex Bay Rose.” In addition, in keeping with his support of the U.S. Army, he designed labels for the winery for a specialty line of wine honoring the military for the 10th Mountain Division Association. Ten percent of the sales of those wines is donated to that association.
The mad-capped adventure of Ron’s creative process takes place in an artist’s loft above his living room. It is organized chaos — somewhat like I imagine his mind — paints, easels, photographs, matt cutters — all the tools of the trade. But, there is nothing frantic or frenzy about him, despite his working environment. Maybe he does so well at his craft because he puts his paints and his canvas at as much ease as he does those around him.

He said he doesn’t paint all day long but only for a couple of hours and he does not work on commission. “I hate that. I want to paint my painting, not yours,” he said. For him now in his so-called retirement years, art is for art’s sake alone and he no longer feels a need to work under a deadline. He does have some of his work exhibited and for sale in several galleries around the North Country, but he paints mostly for pleasure and because it is such a part of him.

When Ron isn’t painting, making friends, or spending time with the soldiers, he is creating new culinary delights with Gracemane, pulling pranks on his family, and finding new ways to protect Old Norm.

“One summer, our niece, Kim, came from Rhode Island and kidnapped Norm,” he said. “When she left, I discovered a ransom note on her bed. It led me to another in the garage. Now these notes were also in a riddle format so I had to solve the riddle to find the next note. Darn Kim,” he said. “I was up by the road finding a note on a tree and ultimately found Norm in the live well on our pontoon boat where the smell of perch still lingered. Now I hide Normy when she comes,” he said. “Last summer he was ‘safe housed’ in the fertilizer spreader in the garage. This year I may put him on the roof just outside her room, and the day she leaves, he will be hanging there for her to see when she opens the blinds.”

That is very clever, Ron, but I feel I just gave your little secret away, snicker, snicker. Sorry, pal, but it’s no secret that I hate garden gnomes.

Note: Ron’s art can be seen at the Riveredge Resort and the Riverbank Gallery in Alexandria Bay and the WaySeeker Gallery in Lowville and Fort Drum.

Copyright to -- Sharie Derrickson. I just wanted my friends and family worldwide to be able to read this. I tried to get to you but the emails kept bouncing back.

Brilliant, accurate portrait of my cousin Ron -- one of my fondest memories is of drawing with him both of us working on my horse, Princess. I admired his work, then asked him to put a bridle on her. He responded by drawing on a veil, a bouquet between her teeth, then added a "groom" horse cheerfully chewing on some of her flowers.

My son, also, paints and draws, passing on the family tradition. : D

JulieB

2006-07-03T22:37:00.000-07:00

Robert's induction into the "Brotherhood of Venom".

Today was one of those days that have me leaping out of bed so glad to be alive -- and experiencing some other day than one like today.

The day began with Daniel shouting that we all needed to get up go outside and look at the beehive, which had tipped over and broke. He followed it up with all the reasons why this was not his fault, and how the beehive needed to be fixed that very moment. I followed up with the concept that the bee stand had been a nice bit of home craftmanship, but I'd worried about it last year -- and had been very insistent that it had to be replaced for three months now -- the problem being that the maker's feelings were hurt that I didn't like it.

The conversation for a while was less than productive, and about as unhappy in the house as the bees were in the yard. Right then -- yes -- Robert had a job interview, so I pushed him out the door and dealt with the other two people in the house. As far as the bees,there wasn't much to do. They were upset and people were going to deal with it. The only question was who and how much, and if we would have to chase a swarm of vacating bees. The air full of bees from an accident sounds very different from a swarm or from smoked bees -- you could hear the high whine all the way to the frontdoor.

Robert seemed to be the person to do the heavy work, since he had been the one to insist that his construction worked properly, so we talked it out -- move deliberately, don't stop even if stung, let your partner (me) know before you do anything, don't yell and don't stamp your feet. In the excitement I made my first mistake -- since he was in a hurry he did not put on his boots and rubber bands around the cuffs. He chose to wear black socks with black rubber birkies. We went out there, smoked (for all the good it would do) and set to work. I made my second mistake. I had told him just get the sections on top of each other .

People who have autism like to line things up, and he stopped piling sections quickly and firmly to sliiiiiiiiiide them into proper order."No, no, no!" I yelled (a lot of calls to stop and etc.) He said, "The books say to slide on the sections!" Then he began to make deep bellowing argh noises as the bees found his ankles, and Robert then began the "I'm getting stung" dance. I was prepared for him to make a run for the house but not that he would get focused on lining up the hive sections properly in the middle of a cloud of angry bees.

Except for the lining things up neatly part, the taking garb shortcuts part,and the bellowing and flapping part -- no stings. The hive is together, he got fifteen stings around his ankles, the bees are on a slab with a commercially made cedar stand on order.

Needless to say that pretty much put Robert out of commission for the day and the work he was supposed to do others had to (picture a good deal of grumbling from the two who had to do his work and their own), and my work for the day didn't get started much less finished. That was the morning. The evening was when I dropped Nicholas off to his part-time job.

At the point where I was to pick him up I reached for my belt to call him -- no phone. I first knocked on the door, then did my best to "shake out a coke can" with some serious pounding -- no response. Thinking to myself -- "My son isn't at his work, my phone is gone, little did I know that this morning was going to be the good part of this day". I go back and retrace my steps looking for my phone. After a good long search -- nothing -- and by chance I meet up with a uniformed officer at one of the stores who is unconcerned that Nicholas didn't open a door and let me in -- Nicholas isn't missing at least until I go back and look again.

I try to breathe, remember he didn't come when I called when he was little. He might have some reason to not come to a door being pounded on, to be in a darkened building not making any sounds. After an hour more waiting in the parking lot Nicholas pokes his head out the door and asks why I haven't called. He had heard me beat on the doors (twice), he's hard of hearing and thought that sound was the city was setting off fireworks. He had been playing his Nintendo DS for all that time waiting for my phone call.

We backtrack and he finds my phone in the watermelon bin. It must have looked like a small, silver watermelon when I looked earlier. I am driving home. I have Nicholas, he is fine and well. My bees are in the hive, my husband is punctured but well, my phone is back on my belt, and 95% of why I am so very happy is that of all the endangers of this day, I still have in my car -- Nicholas.

JulieB

2006-05-06T10:50:00.000-07:00

Homeschool High School -- Hormones!

We're talking about old-fashioned, traditional male female relationships a lot this month.

Many different kinds of old-fashioned out there. Right now the three thousand year old love stories and Nicholas' female friends' experiences as of this moment have a lot in common.

Nina Paley's work on the Ramayana -- talk about a rich lode of material for boys and girls on the edge of adulthood!

Here's Nina, and why she chose this material:

http://www.flashgoddess.com/html/gallery_NinaPaley.html

Here's some of the animation, as it progresses:

http://clusterfunction.com/video/ninapaleydotcom/Sitayana/

These take a long time to load, but IOHO it's very worth it. These look like Fractured Fairy Tales, the music is amazing, and the storyline is powerful.

Homeschool High School unschooling looks like this, following interests. In case anyone wonders what kids do all day once they are adult size, this is it -- my brother Tassh and all the kids in between ended up with their own focused interests, all different, all layered.

JulieB
"Tell the truth about your life, and the world will split open" quote from my childhood, anyone know where this comes from?

2006-04-19T12:45:00.000-07:00

Second generation Unschooling

The basic idea is that children are your allies, and are there to do what you do, not something else specifically called "childhood".

The hitch is that many kids aren't aware of what is going on around them. Ask them to "clean up their room" and they will be puzzled; they had never made a note of what the room was like when it was clean and so have no motivation to make an attempt to clean it.

You go; they follow.

It's hard to push a rope.

Most of what we've been doing is based on the Moore Formula http://www.moorefoundation.com/formula.html

Children often are not ready for formal instruction before age 8 (and sometimes not even until later 8). This does not mean that they don't need an education, they do, but only in an informal manner.

This means helping around the home and learning through every day life. Have children help you do whatever you are doing and see them start to learn and understand counting and fractions.

My mother had me help her mix her paints, my father let us help him build amazing things.

A tidy room may be as beneath perception as a room full of air. Rooms always have air, big deal, so? Education is largely about making a big deal about and taking the time to notice the obvious, to go through life on other than automatic, to do something other than sleepwalk your way back into the earth, having become old without noticing or really being alive.

Sometimes curriculum can be that lens, it's like the squares that artists look through to frame a painting or the veiwfinder on a camera. These are useful in their place and sometimes indispensable, but the real goal is to see what is squarely in front of you.Whatever *you* are doing, whatever *your community* is doing is what they should be doing -- in the way that respects their physical safety and childish limits -- but puts them into the center of activity that means the most to you.

My parents were activists, as am I -- Nicholas in his time and I in mine stuffed a lot of envelopes, called phone trees, wrote thank you notes. The best gift a parent can give their children is a good example, says my mom.

Read to your children good books with some real meaning and learning. That means -- information that *you* find toothsome and interesting. More than the content of the material kids with resistance issues need to *see* what eager learning looks like. It doesn't matter if they follow the content, it's your heart, your attitude, letting them notice what "being a good student" looks like when *you* do it.

Once your child is ready for more formal academics (because you showed themwhat formal academics is all about), let them mainly follow their interests.After all, if they have the interest, this may be what they will do in the future. They can get a head start on becoming an expert!

Yes, they do need to learn many things, like math, writing, reading, etc., but let them focus these areas as much as they can in their field of interest.

Along with academics, both formal and informal, should be service and work.Service is work without pay. Help clean an elderly person's home, visit those who are ill, bring meals for a new mother, do yard work for a friendwho needs your help. Even young children can do some of this work with you.

When the interest hits, and your child is ready, let them start their own business or go to work for someone else (even apprentice work). The lessons learned from having their own business are hard to be numbered. Dealing with people, counting money, computing a budget, costs analysis, problem solving, etc.

Study, Service, and Work are all necessary factors in anyone's overall education. Nicholas as of this moment is doing just that -- he's at a comic book drawing class at the local library. He's passing on his skills, doing what he loves.This approach worked for me, it's worked for the kids I've raised with specific use of curriculum as needed and modified to fit the personality and goals of each child at that specific time.

2006-01-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

Cheaper, better Coffee -- Here's the Starbuck's Secret Handshake!

http://www.slate.com/id/2133754/?nav=ais
"Here's a little secret that Starbucks doesn't want you to know: They will serve you a better, stronger cappuccino if you want one, and they willcharge you less for it. Ask for it in any Starbucks and the barista willcomply without batting an eye. The puzzle is to work out why."

What if care of the poor by the government is a really good way to scare the middle class?

It's obviously not set up to directly meet the needs of the poor on the poor's terms -- so why is it the way it is?

I have friends who thought sincerely that the aid given was to help the poor join up with the middle class -- as Social Security was meant to do.

Starbuck's handling of price-sensitive consumers may offer an explanation for why our school systems and welfare systems make the choices they do -- who "the message" is for.

JulieB

2006-01-11T15:12:00.000-08:00

Countries and People in Debt

World wide pressure for debt relief for third world countries is growing. According to Confessions of an Economic Hitman http://www.pbs.org/now/politics/perkins.html plying leaders with huge debts that they could not repay was done deliberately.

I can't help but compare that model to the student debt system -- if people spend years of their lives paying back money that they never saw -- that got paid right back into the state -- and did not benefit from, their debt can be sold to a third party.

It's big business now, buying and selling debt. Given that U.S. savings rate is now in the negative there are going to be a lot more people who find themselves as part of the trading chips in this system.

Eventually they too aren't going to pay, just like third world countries are doing. Right now there's a bit private industry around it, check it out: http://www.collectionindustry.com

I'm having a really good time finding out about debt in micro and macroeconomics. It's all the company store, when taken down to the mesh holding it up. Don't buy your grocieries where you work, don't pay right back to where you get your money.

JulieB

2005-12-15T11:01:00.000-08:00

Velocity, Reciprocity, and Broccoli
The seed catalogs are coming in, I'm ordering with delight and with care.

Fedco Seeds
http://www.fedcoseeds.com/about_fedco.htm

is a cooperative, customer and worker-owned.

Baker Creek is owned by Jere Gettle http://gettle.org/bio.html another real person enterprise.

On the other side Seeds of Change is owned by Mars, inc. -- yep, the candy company. Semanis seeds is owned by Monsanto.
http://www.organicconsumers.org/Monsanto/seminis30405.cfm
This puts most of the seed varieties on the planet as the property of the chemical giant.

Organic growers like me often decide not to use the seeds known for high productivity because they are also high need -- they won't do well often without irrigation *and* fertilizer *and* weed killer *and* insect killers. The older varieties don't make as many marketable fruits but they can do so without as much of and sometimes any of the above -- doing well in older gardening situations.

What are we doing to prepare our children for the world of adult work? Are we supporting the sorts of business practices that we want our children to be part of or to emulate?

JulieB

2005-11-28T14:46:00.000-08:00

"I can explain it for you, but I can't understand it for you." Loesje

My tribute to her is about raising children. I love my son, and I love my mother. She always did a whole lot of interesting things while I was a child and she has continued to do so. We weren't the focal part of her life as much as we were companions welcomed for the journey. We were there. We'll be back. There are the marks of generations of past people there as well as a welcoming spot for the people who are yet to come.

If parents have nothing to do when their children leave, what were they doing while the children were there?

On that note,

"Looking around myself and seeing an "empty nest" is as hard to imagine as looking in a mirror and seeing nobody's reflection." JulieB

2005-11-24T08:43:00.000-08:00

"The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese" Jon Hammond

Updated for our times -- the Rules for Radicals by Saul Alinsky for my friends who deal with bureaucracy and other cultural standoffs.

1. Power is what you have *and* what onlookers *and* your opposition thinks you have.

2. Never go outside of your experience. The result is confusion, doubt, and retreat.

3. Wherever possible go outside of the experience of the opposition. Here you want to cause confusion, doubt, and retreat.

4. Make the opposition live up to their own book of rules.

5. Humor is our most potent resource. It is almost impossible to counterattack someone's sense of mirth. Also it unsteadies the opposition who then react to your advantage.

6. A good tactic is one that you enjoy. If you are not having a ball doing it, there is something wrong with the tactic.

7. A tactic that drags on too long becomes a drag. People can sustain enthusiastic interest in any issue for only a limited time, after which it becomes a ritualistic commitment.

8. Keep the pressure on, with different tactics and actions, keep on learning and reaching out and recruit everything that happens over to your side of the understanding.

9. The threat is usually more terrifying than the thing itself.

10. Keep the pressure on. Maintain a constant pressure on the opposition. Sometimes the most effective action is simply failing to leave. The USSR simply wasn't there one morning. Learn from this.

11. If you push a negative hard and deep enough it will break through into its counterside; this is based on the principle that every positive has its negative. Read Copy This! for practical details.

12. The price of a successful attack is a constructive alternative. You have to know what to say when your opponent asks you, "If you're so smart, what would you do?"

13. Pick your target, freeze it, personalize it, and polarize it. Don't attack an abstract such as a corporation. Identify a responsible individual and ignore attempts to shift or spread the blame.
The personal is political.

And do visit Jon, he's got a marvelous spirit, bound to cheer you:

http://www.jonhammondband.com/

Happy Thanksgiving!

JulieB

2005-11-22T14:52:00.000-08:00

The Great Money Trick

Nicholas and I found this on the Internet.
http://www.avine.co.uk/index.php?page=pages/comic_rtp1.htm

It's a cartoon version of Tressel's "Great Money Trick" and a wonderful point to debate with the sort of learner who needs to talk about everything, every step, over and over again.

JulieB

2005-11-21T09:56:00.000-08:00

I want to take today's spot to point out
http://www.modernedrefugees.blogspot.com/

This was pretty much my own story -- at Potsdam College, no less. I ended up after having tried my best feeling responsible for having failed rather than understanding that college had failed me.

If people who are refugees from the k-12 system and people who are refugees from the college system want to compare notes and support each other we may be able to solve the problem, heal ourselves and prevent the problem from reaching our children.

Here's to a better world -- without fear, poverty, and blaming of the victim.

JulieB

2005-11-20T07:57:00.000-08:00

The Discovery, Part 2

Of course I had to run more of my experiments and so I followed up with drawing a simple smiley face. I laid the paper next to Jacob with pen and walked away. This time I would really be given a surprise. I came back and he had outdone me. He did not simply imitate. The face he had drawn had detail. It had hair and some sort of glasses. I lovingly scolded, "You stinker! You know how to draw!" Prior to the discovery he had shown no interest in drawing whatsoever. Or he simply did not wish to show us. His sole creative accomplishment had been but a single sheet of construction paper, covered with blue scribbles. I proudly labeled it "BLUE" and had mounted it above his crib. But now, crayons and paper were being used with wild abandon. We would need to buy reams of paper just to keep up with his newfound passion.

What Jacob would then draw after those glorious moments of the discovery was more than astounding. Jacob instinctually understood perspective from the beginning. Houses, igloos, and churches are all equally drawn with depth and precision. Images flow onto the paper effortlessly and with no planning or speculation. At first his artistic fascinations primarily consist of inanimate objects such as buildingsand trains. Later he would begin to draw people and animals, depicting them from his unique perspective. His caricatures are full of personality and express a wide range of human emotions. I see my son in these drawings, his passion pouring out of a black stub of a crayon. With the same flourish of his small hands he is able to draw a powerful locomotive or show awareness of the social intricacies of a birthday party.

Jacob still hides himself. It is quite often difficult for anyone to get physically near him as he draws. There are times he will rip up a creation as soon as it is finished, as though to disallow any attention to his talents. If he does not shred them, he crumples them into paperballs, which he tosses haphazardly over his shoulder onto the floor. I lovingly rush in to save them, smoothing out wrinkles and mending any tears with tape. Sometimes he catches me and glares with disapproval.

Then there are the glorious times when Jacob willingly shares himself with me. Through his art we are able to have wordless conversations. What he is unable to express through words, he is able to draw. When he wanted to go strawberry picking, for example, he did not use words to convey his wishes. He drew them instead. He carefully laid out a series of pictures upon my kitchen floor. A drawing of a strawberry, a church we would see within view of the strawberry field, and a basket, clearly told a story of his desire. In comparison, words would not have given me such a rich portrait of Jacob's world. And a beautifulworld it is, complete with giant pocked strawberries and the majestic pillars of a beloved church.

Discovery can sometimes come on the heels of despair. On the day that my son was diagnosed I could only focus upon the limitations the autism label would bestow. I was half convinced that Jacob was a walking checklist of aberrant behaviors, or that he could be defined by a lack of skills he was thought to never master. I felt the weight of hopelessness, wondering if I could ever hope to reach my son. Yet something told me I could find him beyond the confines of any label. I sought to find the boy I knew, the boy I wanted and needed to love. A simple circle became a symbol of hope. He drew a circle and let me in.

Thank you Nancy, mother of nearly ten year old Jacob for the conclusion of this story!

JulieB

2005-11-19T07:54:00.000-08:00

The Discovery

I remember staring at the light pouring in through the blinds of the small room. My son, Jacob, sits across from the therapist who is asking him a series of questions he does not understand. A child's wooden table separates them. The therapist takes a crayon and draws a simple shape upon a piece of paper, a circle. She then hands the crayon to Jacob and asks him to draw another circle. When the crayon touches his hand he allows it to fall. He then ignites with energy as he bounds from his chair. He giggles to himself as he heads towards the light and to the blinds.

Jacob has no interest in responding to the therapist's gentle suggestions. He has found rapture in pulling up and down on the blind. He continues this play despite her attempts to call his name. I too call his name and there is no response. I knew there would be none. There are several moments of silence except for the sound of the rise and fall of the blind. The therapist's eyes meet mine briefly and then she looks away. I can see her visibly shrinking.

I ask my question with a cool deliberation. "Is what we are seeing today, could this be caused by a problem with his hearing?" Already knowing the answer, my heart is sinking into my gut. "No," she responds quietly but clearly. It is the moment of no return. It is the time where I am forced to face the reality that this is no hearing loss or simple speech deficit.
This is something far more serious than even my imagination will allow.

Shortly after his third birthday Jacob is diagnosed with autism.

There was a period of time following the diagnosis where I had tore-frame everything I thought I had known. I felt like we had been living some great lie. Where was the child who existed in my mind's eye? Where was the boy who would call out "Mommy" when he needed a hug? Where was the boy who would squabble with his brother or pick me a dandelion bouquet? These had been but fleeting images in my mind, expectations of how Jacob might grow and develop as any other boy.

But Jacob is not like any other boy. Jacob is different. And even before the diagnosis I had sensed this. When he was a baby I would look at him and think, "He sees the world in a different way from everyone else." I would look into his eyes searching for clues as to what I was instinctually sensing. I knew there was something. I just didn't have a name for it. I wondered what unseen thing would capture his unbreakable gaze. Lights and colors seemed to dazzle him to the point of such intense focus that his eyes would cross. He seemed perpetually in awe of his surroundings, so much so, that at times he looked straight through me. I believed he was seeing a beauty that nobody else could see. I wanted to see it too. I wanted to gain entrance into his world. But how? The answer would come from a most unexpected source.

I kept re-playing the scene from the testing room in my mind. Jacob had failed to respond but did that necessarily mean that he was incapable of doing what he had been asked? There was a part of me that was desperate to see him draw that circle. I wanted some tangible proof that he could grow beyond the confines of this aberrant label. It was selfish but I wanted to feel hope, not just for him but for me. Iwanted validation for what my instincts told me about my son, that he was capable, that he could learn, and could respond. In my great needto find the truth about my son, I began to read voraciously. When thehouse was still and everyone was asleep, I read everything I couldabout autism. It was during my late night reading binges that I found a gateway to understanding my son. I read that some people with autism hide their talents and abilities. I had seen this very trait in Jacob.

When Jacob turned two, he began to recite the entire alphabet, seemingly out of the blue. I caught him saying it to himself while facing the door to his closet. I had no idea he had been learning and practicing, as I had never heard him say a single letter. Even more astounding is the fact that he only had about ten words in his entire vocabulary at that time.
This skill seemed to emerge out of nothingness. He was learning, even if I was not there to witness it. Yet why would he not wish to share his desire to learn with the people who could help him? When he finally did share his ability, he did so by burrowing his face into my lap so Icould not see his face. Only then, when I could not look at him, did he recite the alphabet in my presence.

As I thought about it, it made sense. My efforts to connect with Jacob were often thwarted by what I felt to be his fear of exposure. Looking into my eyes seemed more than painful for him. If I reached out to touch him, he would recoil or run away. Sharing himself in any way caused anxiety and the creation of physical and psychological barriers. There was no intent on his part to cause others pain from this seeming rejection of human contact. Jacob was only protecting himself. I surmised that for him, typical human connection was like shining a strong light into his eyes, rather like some sort of interrogation. Anyone would instinctively shield their eyes and turn away to avoid the blinding glare.

I kept reading, absorbing the information, but more importantly, searching for ways that I might reach my son. The literature is full of examples of children with autism who hide their talents and capabilities. But how could I reach Jacob? Then I found a passage describing one mother's solution. She would present her daughter with a task and then leave, allowing her child to work alone. It was when her daughter knew she was not being watched or observed that she would demonstrate her knowledge and skills. My mind began exploring the possibilities of seeing if this would hold true for Jacob as well. I was determined to try. I would wait until morning and we would try the circle test again.

Armed with paper and pencil in hand, I drew four circles on a sheet of paper and showed my efforts to Jacob. I shook my head negatively, thinking that there was no chance that Jacob would understand or care to oblige me by drawing another circle. I prepared myself for disappointment. I gave the paper to him while he was sitting in a big easy chair, his small legs dangling. I placed the pencil beside him and gave him the directions to draw another circle. I left him, closed my eyes, and waited for about three minutes. It was all I could stand.

I came back and he was still sitting there staring and making babbling sounds as though he had not looked at all at the paper. My heart was sinking until I looked. And there it was! My hope! That fifth circle was there! I just about cried. I swooped him up like some Tiny Tim and I hugged up his resisting body. I am sure he was unaware of themeaning of his small but magnificent gesture.

He could draw the d*mn circle.

------------------------------------------------------------part two...coming up!

Guest writer today is Diane, mother to almost ten year old Jacob.
Thank you so much for sharing!

JulieB

2005-11-18T08:14:00.000-08:00

The Great, Pagan C.S. Lewis.

The short answer is that you can get the same stew with or without putting in salt -- salt fills the mouth but not the belly.

My mother grew up on the C.S. Lewis versions with the full, greek god interactions within the books -- not all that different a word count but having them out is like removing the salt from stew. Maybe even the salt from a yeast bread recipe. C.S. Lewis as written was not anything all that acceptable to Evangelicals, and quite acceptable to my family -- with our contented atheist core.

If the upcoming film is based on the spirit of the original books it should be one magnificent mindride.

If you all can get a copy of an older version, either American or British,you are in for a real treat IMHO. The version before the nuns cleaned up the 'scary' parts.

The Scholastic version is like a great beef stew without salt, which is what I've learned to expect from textbookised reading anyhow. Bowdlerised, sanitised classics might be better for you (though I doubt it) but in reading them you cannot shake the feeling that you are somehow missing the whole point.

C.S. Lewis -- I love you. I love you like salt.

JulieB

2005-11-17T06:16:00.000-08:00

Credit Scene Investigator

No one wants their house to burn, but sensible people plan for it. No one wants trouble with the law, but sensible people plan for that, too.

We even find the situation entertaining -- one of my son's favorite shows is CSI -- as he watches he learns what the culture teaches about crime, the legal system, how the innocent and the guilty are expected to behave.

You can find a thousand sites discussing where CSI "went fiction" and true crime material is a big, big seller.

Credit and loans as they exist today are new-ish, like electric wiring in houses -- people have always built shelter, but there are some a new twists.

What would I put on my Credit Scene Investigator show, so every teenage kid could know in a fun way what to do?

1. It is not wise to take financial instruction from Credit Collector personnel. They often do not know the laws and procedures, and do have other motives besides being helpful to you. If you get the call you will be looking for someone who cares more about your interests than they do about their commission. I'm in the process of seeing if the the collector personel can legally lie to their cases outside of what the laws restricting them to obtain personal information.

I don't know any blunter way to say that these people are *not* held to the rule "If you are asked for money and you have some, you have to share it" that many young people and others have had patiently taught them. This is not that sort of situation.

2. Collect the evidence. Remember white phosphorus. The US officials denied until presented with proof. It doesn't matter who loses their temper, who feels vindicated and who is stronger. The evidence doesn't lie. Collect within the law if possible. Remember that though they are bound by the federal Fair Debt Collection Practices Act (FDCPA) and other laws it's in their best interest to see that law as a tightrope, and like with the exploding gas tanks on Ford Pintos of a time before you, they've calculated the costs of going over that line, done a risk assessment. You should consider doing the same. Here's a site on the laws that bind them: http://www.privacyrights.org/fs/fs27-debtcoll.htm

You should go there, know them just like you should own a fire alarm and keep the batteries fresh, have a plan. Having a plan for fire isn't welcoming disaster, it's planning ahead to save your life. Feel very patriotic and civic minded during a Credit Disaster Drill, just as you would during a fire drill. Maybe a little self concious and over-protective, but that's the whole point -- you are planning to thrive. Better to take a few minutes to know what you may never need than be caught in your own personal "Katrina".

3. The court of public opinion is your very best friend, just like on CSI. Being well known and credible beforehand is a really big plus. That way you can talk to more people faster than they can. If you weren't well known and credible beforehand this is a great time to start making friends and influencing people. I didn't learn this as a scummy debt dodger, I learned this as a homeschooling mother dealing with the educational establishment. People are your best allies at a time like this. People will empathise with you. You need others to help you maintain your confidence.

4. Something else I learned as a homeschooling activist -- the squeaky wheel gets the grease. People don't become homeschoolers because they had always planned to be, most people do it to adress something that they have experienced or can plainly see that is wrong with the society where they are raising children. They take in on themselves to find a better way. This is intimate, as it's your money they are talking about. Well, it was intimate because Nicholas was my baby. This is both intensely personal and part of something greater.

Get out there and squeak, you all. You may feel like the only one in the world, but trust me, you have company.

JulieB

2005-11-16T05:10:00.000-08:00

Money, and its Attractants

Anyone who has had more than one generation in her family familiar with Tressel ("The Ragged Trousered Philanthropist") has heard generations of talk about how to handle money, who handles it, and why.

On one side of the conversation there was my father -- he looked at life the way most of my community growing up did. http://www.ahaprocess.com/ talks about generational poverty, and how resources are handled.

My mother eloped with him. She came from the world that talked about resources as "compensation". I went through the school system, which mostly didn't talk about money at all.

College. Bad experience. Tried to put it behind me. So, I got the surprise of my life when out of the blue an extremely insulting, very personal man called on my phone, talked to my sixteen year old son for a while, then had my son hand the phone to me.

This is in the grey area as far as legality is concerned, and the appropriate people have been notified about the whole thing. Collection agencies aren't supposed to pretend to be someone's friend to reach their targets.

I didn't have a lot of time to figure out just what sort of problems was somewhere down the road. I asked over and over again for the man (his name is still not clear) to send written information, and he kept on telling me that I didn't deserve information, not until I promised to send him money. I was quite sure this guy was some sort of spoofer. I thought to myself, what a terrible job -- to have conversations like this with people you have to trick to reach. I didn't hang up on him. I'll have to see from the phone bill what the exact number of minutes this unhappy man used up, though I have a really good estimation. At long last he thanked me for being so cooperative, and hung up.

He had hit every one of Ruby Payne's cultural notes on money handling in the generationally poor like he had been trained to dig for them -- especially the cardinal rule -- "If you ask me for money and I have some, I must share it with you." He had gone over and commanded me to ask all my social contacts for money, probably knowing this rule.

I made ready to track this problem down. I went to school in the eighties, this was a big surprise but not something that was going to turn around on a dime.

Ironically, SUNY Potsdam also called, begging for money, some sort of fund raiser. I wondered just how much of those fancy buildings came from the poor people who had gone to their school, not benefited, and were sent out by people like my phone goon to collect money not only from them but also anyone who knew them. Would SUNY care? If I were them I'd be really embarrassed to have someone like that on their payroll.

The man called up later. He called up ruder, and angrier. I kept on wondering what his family and any kids he might have would think if they could hear him talk this way. I wondered if they knew what he did for a living. After another extremely long stretch of time he still refused to send me any written material, but he did give me some websites, enough so that I could determine that this was not a spoof, SUNY Potsdam really did hire him.

I kept my mind from fossilising by popping over to his company's website -- http://www.generalrevenue.com/ and made a few estimates about how much commission this man was making. He gets a 401 K, even. Nice for him and his. I'm wondering what sort of person gets attracted to this job, and I figure its probably the sort who is chased by his own financial demons.

After another long and frustrating conversation he hangs up on me. Or maybe the line goes dead; I'm already trying to be decent about this for him, after all there's nothing I can think of that would leverage me into doing his job. He's like a prison employee -- the prisoners have release dates. You can't get paroled from your job.

The next day I get a call from http://www.generalrevenue.com/ from someone claiming to be rude guy's supervisor. She's not giving out his name either though I have hers. She's very clear that I should deal with only her and makes certain I have her exchange written down. I ask her to listen to rude guy's phone tapes, as I have and he's clearly outside of the law. She called late at night time, so her 'good cop' stance is a bit less than perfect She said a whole bunch of different things that I hope she didn't get trained to do, but for me the kicker is the closing line -- from a supervisior, or someone claiming to be one: "Do anything you have to. Steal if need be. Just get the money."

SUNY Potsdam sent me more letters asking for money, proclaiming how willing people are to pay in. I wonder how much misery Potsdam is buying through agencies like this. Well, classmates and administration, here's your starting point. You should really find out.

What a public education this is!

Here's a very interesting social disconnect -- everyone knows about and reviles collection agencies. But look at what their PR people like to do for publicity:

General Revenue Corporation Raises Nearly $100,000 Through Local, Regional Fundraising Efforts http://www.collectionindustry.com/item/17739 General Revenue Corporation (GRC), the nation's largest university-focused collection agency along with The Sallie Mae Fund, the charitable organization sponsored by Sallie Mae today announced that they have generated nearly $100,000 through various fundraising initiatives in theCincinnati area. The money raised will benefit local non- profits along withthe American Red Cross. GRC employees pledged $5,000 and The Sallie Mae Fund donated an additional$12,000 in support of Families FORWARD, a non-profit agency providing services to help more than 1,200 Cincinnati children attend college. GRC adopted Families FORWARD as a corporate charity in 2004 and has also donated more than $38,000 to help the organization implement the GRC Arts &Humanities after- school program. "Through the generosity of General Revenue Corporation and The Sallie MaeFund, Families FORWARD's after-school music and art classes will enrich the lives of more than 550 students and their families," said Betti Hinton, President, Families FORWARD. GRC's 16th annual Golf Outing generated more than $40,000, including a$2,500 donation from The Sallie Mae Fund, for the LoveQuest Children's Foundation, a non-profit, public foundation dedicated to educating disabled children and adults about the medically acknowledged benefits of therapeutic horseback riding. Employees took part in raffles and volunteered to work theevent held at Beckett Ridge Country Club in West Chester, Ohio. In response to the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina, GRC employees donated money and personal vacation days totaling more than $15,000. The Sallie Mae Fund matched this amount resulting in a total of more than $35,000 donated to the American Red Cross for Hurricane Katrina relief."We are an education and community-oriented company, first and foremost,"said Joe Fazzini, President, GRC. "I am delighted that our employees go the extra mile to give back."_______________________

I wonder how many people get ticked-off enough to sign up for news clipping services and begin watching the industry?

JulieB

2005-11-15T08:05:00.000-08:00

Living Books and the Books We Live.

This month our family is reading "The Ragged Trousered Philanthropist" -- aka Marx guest stars on Monty Python. It's probably the only history changing social expose that will leave you laughing out loud, as well as having explodng pastors in it.
http://www.geocities.com/manchesterbranch/TRESSEL.html
http://www.duncanwil.co.uk/tre1.html

For all kinds of reasons I have a lot of mental energy floating around, so I started doing Nanowrimo today. Good way to write about what's going on while taking advantage of the only time of the year where there isn't a whole lot to do besides planning, plotting, and politicing.
http://www.nanowrimo.org

The working title is Noonie, the Succubus --- Magic with a Ye -Ye beat. I'm going to try to make it completely off the wall with a nod to Robert Asprin and Jo Clayton.

One generation plants the trees; another gets the shade. - Chinese Proverb

Passing on what my parents taught me and showing a good example is the best I can give Nicholas.

JulieB

2005-11-14T11:05:00.000-08:00

Google -- Getting Better, My Wish List

Kids around the world and getting ready to fire up their lists to Santa. I wasn't that kind of kid, but if I was I would write and tell my list of desires to the people at Google.

They've treated me right over the years, even though we got off to a rocky start. I'm an organic gardener and was trying to find some rare heirloom tomatoes. Way, way back my very first request to Google was to find me "Polish Sausage Tomato".

I felt like I wanted to wash my eyes with Brillo. My first job at 18 had been in an adult movie theater and I still hadn't ever seen some of those images before. I actually squealed. Bringing the three guys running from the other room. Sending me in a blind panic towards the monitor button and blacking the screen before anyone could see.

To this day I have never gone back to look again, taking the route of growing the close taste alike "Striped Roman Candle".

Several years ago Google has seemingly licked the "sudden turn into red light district" problem with almost any search I've chosen to make. Even some of the trickier, actual PG-R searches I've done like "lipstick lesbian" have turned up actual pages of people talking about their own experiences as rather than a dive straight to the modern day version of the seedy, commercial part of town.

Searches like those containing "Jew" still have some problems, and Google is frank in stating that they know the issue, don't like it either, and are trying to figure out a way to make Google better.

Searches based around the word "Gypsy" in its various forms are also straight to the meat -- the first few results pages reach actual Romany people, clothes they would actually wear, some fantasy pages where gypsies seem to be as makebelieve as elves or dragons, and a few about a bug.

The first outreach site attempting to discuss the problems of Gypsies from outside of the community is reached on page 6, result 53 and is a comparatively harmless attempt to convert the gypsy people to the evangelical faith. Many, many pages of links later and we're still not presented as scary (i.e., kidnapping children or putting curses on people), nor is anyone passing around a hat to raise money to counter the gypsy threat to anyone's way of life. Very good work, Google team, however you do it.

Next I Googled "blind". First link -- the NFB. by the blind for the blind, proclaiming a "positive philosophy about blindness". I notice as I Google through that blindness is treated very much like an ethnic identity, with negative pages and pure profit pages few and far between links to the actual blind community.

I tried "deaf". Same thing, same blend of sites with perhaps an edgier flavor to them. No one who deals with disability on a regular basis will be likely to deny that, all else being equal, the deaf community is a trifle more assertive than the blind community is.

Next I tried "autistic"

~~~~~tilt~~~~~~~tilt~~~~~~tilt~~~~~~~

What gives, and what can be done to change these results? Page after page of big organisations out to save/help/change/rescue the families of people with autism. Page after page of supposed cures, and the dramatic badness of it all. Crisis written in hot pink marker.

This is just not my reality. To borrow a turn of phrase from the NFB, “The real problem of autism is not the distortion of social connections , but the misunderstanding and lack of information which exist.”

What would it take for sites like http://www.autistart.com

http://home.earthlink.net/~tammyglaser798/authome.html
or even http://www.autistics.org/ to make it to the top of Google's hit parade? It's not like we're not out there, we are.

I started this blog to get out the word for people who need to know in a hurry what the options are. I was really upset when I took a look at what the computer-minded mother of an autistic on Supernanny would find if she went on a web search, and I was also really dismayed that when I needed the sort of support I was used to finding at a click when blindsided by a collection agency call (more on that later) there was little to be found for the suddenly financially disabled.

For years I've been dealing with newcomers to the world of autism and been giving out the advice "Don't Google. You'll just get more upset. I'll send you links and other people to help you get a grip on this. Hang in there. It's not so bad as it sounds."

Now it seems that the help I need from the world out there is similarly out there, but only acessable through mentors, what my mother calls "speakeasy style research" and what others call "calling on the A team".

I wonder if the time has come to do this better.

Oh, Google-claus, could you help us? I know exactly what I want for Christmas and I promise to be very, very good!

JulieB

2005-11-13T05:49:00.000-08:00

The NEW Refrigerator Mom, model no. aut2bhome

She's plugged in, turned on, and remains cool when the heat's on.

Although she may be 20 years older than the most popular model, she's still goingstrong-24/7.

Energy efficient, she's stocked with gf/cf goodies and acidophilus chasers.

An entire shelf is devoted to home school science projects-each one carefully labeled.

She's frost-free and still manages to make her own ice.

She carefully insulates her children from the harsh environment, while preserving their childhood.

She extends their very life, keeping it rich and peak-fresh.

Constantly introducing her family to new ingredients and simultaneously discarding foods past-its-prime, she balances her family's learning diet.

She offers illumination on demand only, never forcing her light into the eyes of an un-hungry (unprepared) child.

She recognizes that the times children require (educational) nourishment may not be on a fixed 3-a-day schedule, but instead comes in spurts (as does their physical growth) and even midnight snacks can become a temporary mainstay.

Likewise, she understands the value of holiday foods and appreciates the motivation treats supply.

She acknowledges that her children need to occasionally venture forth from her safe hold for mixing, combining, separating, and baking.

She knows they will return to her better for their adventures yet still in need of her care.

Her children know where to find her after the party ends --- in the kitchen, humming softly.

The NEW Refrigerator Mom, model no. aut2bhome:

She's not sub-zero, she's off the grid!

With hearty thanks to guest writer, the amazing Helen Fults!

JulieB

2005-11-12T14:43:00.000-08:00

In Praise of Innocent Dependency
Or, why my favorite Narnia story is A Horse and His Boy

His eyes are grey and newborn blue, and when the light hits them just right flash iron green. His hair is red and that's by choice; if he didn't dye his color would be dark butterscotch. Either way his hair stands up in a Woody Woodpecker brush, and his beard, when he doesn't take time to shave, is curly.

He's like a wall; if I were to lean up against him my head would rest in the middle of his back. He's a black belt in Tae Kwon do, working hard for his second degree.

Nicholas always brings me to mind of a lion.

I remember the first lions I saw at the Staten Island Zoo. They spent the whole day pacing back and forth, periodically roaring, and the male lion on occasion would attempt to pee on you if you stood too close, or at least that's how I interpreted the behavior. I talked to the keepers often enough, who were experts on lions. They told me all about how they interacted, what sorts of needs lions had, and how tricky they were to control, how hard to outwit. The lions, you see, never went off duty. They had their ball, and their iron bars, and their cement cage, and the keeper to outwit, and that was about it.

The keepers had not only to match wits with the lions, the keepers also had to leave work, go home, do so many other things. Too often in the battle of wits the lion could get the better of the humans who kept them.

Nicholas isn't a caged lion, and doesn't have captive habits and problems. He's never even seen the Staten Island Zoo lions -- now there's a glass panel over an enclosure of mock wilderness. He can't even walk to the other side of the building and see the alligators. This mostly involved a whole lot of dark green ridges in a smelly swimming pool. Every now and then you would see one of them get up and go lie down on somebody else.

When I visited my grandparents whose house backed the lion cage, every morning they would wake me up with their roaring.

We raise free range chickens. Nicholas has read Summerhill. He's been a free range child all his life.
http://www.spinninglobe.net/freerangeintro.htm

When explaining zoos to children I use a Carol Gray Social Story model -- in the free range animals work for their social group -- animals work for their friends, their family, their pride, their flock. Inside the zoo they do not depend on the other lions, they work for the zoo. Once inside the zoo they might love, or fear, or disrespect their keepers, but that's where their life resources come from.

It's hard to reintroduce animals to the wild who have grown up in captivity. The outside world is one of personal responsibility and group dependency.

My favorite book on the subject ishttp://www.lfb.com/index.php?stocknumber=PP8660

Personal character and National Destiny. It's awfully hard to do right but doing so is its own reward. Finding people to whom you can be accountable and hold accountable is important.

And it's scary; true. Nicholas on his own decided to work for himself, to rent space from which he can sell the drawings he makes. He's already finding people he already knows to vouch for his character, even though he is so young. On beyond burger flipping. He may fail this time; a business failure in your mid-teens is recoverable. It hurts, but it's bearable. And -- if he succeeds he will have the benefits of taking the risks himself.

We also talk about what happens when you give over the risk to someone else, either by capture or birth in captivity like the lion, or by volunteer -- with or without understanding.

http://www.lyttonpublishing.com/historyofforce.html
In short -- Nicholas knows that debt is an invitation to coercion. Do not borrow from people to whom you cannot hold accountable. Do not borrow for today's expenses while pledging away tomorrow, especially to those you cannot hold accountable.

"Do not borrow short and commit long. Friends do not let friends borrow short and commit long." Nicholas knows. He tells his friends. I pray he will always remember and the wisdom of the post easy credit generation will spread. Not only do I hope that he never spends more than morbid-curiosity time learning the rules of being a good caged lion, I hope his freedom with encourage others to look beyond their keepers and to the open sky.

Protecting his innocent dependency, his confidence in others, is precious to him. Social interconnectedness is the new virginity.

Debt bondage -- it's so over, don't you know?

Somewhere, back in my earliest childhood memories the Staten Island lion, frustrated, does to his food bowl what rude dogs do to anyone they can. The keeper, wary, watches over him.

JulieB

2005-11-11T07:46:00.000-08:00

When Rehabilitation Fails -- part one

One of the first articles I want to put on my blog for people like the "Supernanny" mom of an autistic to see is something on hope -- and hopes dashed.

I felt anger when I heard people commenting about the mother "she should do research on autism" because ironically that's something I practically never do by search engine -- I only collect information through people I know.

And of course if you already know a whole bunch of people you've already got a support system and rational hope.

When I looked inside to see why I felt such rage -- I realised I wasn't angry at the people who said that the mother should look. All my anger was at me, even after all of these years.

The nightmare began when I was 23. I was at my mother's house, doing laundry. I picked up the phone and on the other end was a college recruiter. My sister went to SUNY Potsdam, and she gave the disability dept my name as someone who could benefit from rehabilitation.

Rehabilitation from what? The usual, I suppose. "I don't understand why such a smart girl ---------" fill in the blank for the particular trouble at the particular time. My sister thought I got away with murder. I had an ADHD diagnosis, knew that I misread people's intentions all the time, holding a pencil was nearly impossible for any length of time (unless I was drawing, which made people really suspicious) and reading was horribly hard.In addition to that I knew that people told me that I was the nicest person anyone could know -- but "very, very weird". I was repeatedly called "the real Jessica Tate" (from Soap) and "the character Georgette (Mary TylerMoore) was based on".

I'm still odd. One of my son's friends has compared me to Willow (Buffy the Vampire Slayer).

The counselor on the phone was very enthusiastic that I could be rehabilitated and from there be able to do more of what I wanted to do.That was (still is) doing good in the world. At the time I was working with developmentally disabled people -- I liked them and they liked me. However, any advancement needed a degree -- something that by 23 I had realistically given up as out of reach. I thought that the counselor said that there was an opening that particular semester -- which was about to start. I got in my car, got the paperwork she asked for in order, and drove up to the campus ready to begin. She was surprised to see me. She didn't think she had invited me for that semester.

I reached into my sleeve, pulled out my trusty tape recorder, and played back the relevant parts of the conversation. I explained that many hearing amplification systems have recording devices in them, and New York is a one party state, so since I wan't able to take notes I just followed her oral directions.

This was 1983. The technology has only gotten better from there: http://www.thespystore.com/cellphonerecorders.htm

At that point I was in. The department thought I was motivated (my friends call this perseverative or hyperfocused) and that rehabilitation would be right for me. I drove back home, shut down my life, and drove back up to begin my new life as a SUNY Potsdam double major in biology and psychology, with a minor in dance because more than anything I wanted to be a dance therapist.

In the back of my mind I had hopes that maybe, just maybe, I could enter the medical field -- my stretch goal. Can any of you see your young high functioning person doing something that impulsive?

My mother was delighted because she thought my life lacked direction and I was much smarter than my sister, why was I working several jobs, and most in love with the lowest paid of them all?

I'm not sure what the disability department people knew about spectrum issues in 1983 but the college sure wasn't prepared for me -- and the situation was mutual.

JulieB

2005-11-10T09:14:00.000-08:00

I went to a teaching college -- actually next to a teaching college.

SUNY Potsdam, which has in it one of the largest schools for music teachers.That was long enough ago so that most of the people taught in that era would still be teaching and guiding young teachers.

I saw a whole lot of teacher educational culture that was badly out of synch with success in the outside world. One of the biggest misery creators I saw was that failure was seen as something to avoid, something to actually administer as a punishment.This is a huge problem for someone on the spectrum, really for anyone with ambition who buys into this idea. I knew as a career salesperson that it should take multiple attempts before I closed a prospect, and as a person from a family of inventors that you can go years between brilliant, easy to manifest ideas, and as a person from a commune that artists create a great deal of material that isn't art. We had (and have) professional, working artists in the family. That meant that there was always lots of packing material, placemats, and firestarters.

Nicholas starts his school day lately with ten caricatures -- he's an artist, he sells his comic books. None of them are expected to be marketable. When we were talking about business and taxes last night we told him that he *would* have problems sooner or later, that this was as sure as him getting hurt in Tae Kwon Do -- it wasn't a question of whether, it was a question of how to take sensible precautions and a realistic evaluation of the real risk of true injury. He just happened to get clonked on the head that night in class, hard enough to see stars.

He was able to experience a half-hour of thinking that Tae Kwon Do was a bad idea, the shock, the pain, then realising that life with an egg on the back of your skull was very nasty, but as part of the general package -- worthwhile. That's life. At the time and from what I hear still there is a culture of "no fail" and"failsafe" with failure in general seen as the enemy rather than somethingyou should expect to spend your life swimming in. There were actual courses in bulletin board brightening, and other training for teachers that implied that it was their business to create a completely supportive environment, with lots of labels for the children who found this supportive environment -- well, unsupportive.

Teachers don't see what they are doing as systematically teaching out resilience. The idea of a world that can be built without pain is very, very seductive -- I started going to that college on one superior sales pitch, but I stayed there because *that idea* was appealing.

But it's wrong. It's appealing almost like a cult mindset is -- I had taken myself out of my responsibility the duty of feeding myself, deciding what to learn, even the possibility of getting a "real job" after college where I could get retirement eventually, other people could do my thinking for me and prevent me from feeling the risk and pain of an independent life.

My son is reading the latest Time magazine on ambition, and how to encourage achievement in the young people.http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1126743,00.html If all of you can get this information by reading a newsmagazine instead of living through it that would be amazingly delightful.

The information in this article is why I homeschool, why I am encouraging Nicholas to employ himself for the summer -- the theory of the general is that if everyone would do this (or even more people would do this) the world would be a better, safer place.

The world is not a safe place -- but it's good.

The public schools teach ideas that would make the world appear to be safe -- but be neither safe nor good.

"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." Benjamin Franklin

JulieB