Life Plan

Everyone, at some point, says the words, “I thought my life would turn out differently.” Whether the tone is regretful or contemplative or content depends on their current life satisfaction. For instance, I just realized yesterday that I have never made a decision without considering someone’s opinion other than my own. Because of this, I can’t begin to figure out what I want to do. I can’t even function as a real person. I certainly never thought my life would look like that: a series of decision made on the basis of the expectations of others. Others said I would go far no matter what I did. I took comfort in that. Now I realize that if I never do anything, then I can’t go far in it. If I never finish anything, choose anything, try to be anything...well, I can’t live up to those words. Ask me a hundred times six months ago, and I would tell you the same thing - I will be in the second quarter of the number one special education program in the country. Ask me a hundred times a year ago - I’ll be living it up with my best friends, not dating anyone special. Ask me a hundred times three years ago - architectural intern working on my Master’s. Nowhere did I say, “Nashville, there’s the place I’m going to be,” or, “Working three jobs with no direction and not in school.” Everyone always told me I would succeed, so how could I think that I would fail. Now I am an angry, lonely, dropout nanny/cashier/petsitter who is moving home to feel comfortable surrounded by family and friends. Nothing excites me. I don’t see a bright shining future when I think about writing professionally, teaching at a university, substitute teaching, or franchising a cupcake store. My hopes have been squashed by my own good intentions. I’m left here. There is no crossroads, no open window. There is just my life, different than I planned.

Independence Part

Finally on my own. Got my own todo list. Waiting to kick into high gear.

- Bills - check budget, call Mom
- Groceries - bread, milk, yogurt, granola, chicken - don't forget Rx - ask for receipts
- Email for application confirmation, send Mom personal statement, edit
- Get doctor's phone number, call on Monday - check insurance?
- Birthday gift for Dad - Hat from school store? book from thrift?
- Organize receipts
- Taxes? April 23rd...software, W2s from school and the store
- Pay rent on the first - include number and phone on check - transfer money
- Paint door...spackle?
- Boxes from store
- Look up dates
- Camping?
- Mom vacation, Dad stay
- Make appointment Monday
- CALL MOM ABOUT INSURANCE
- Get paint
- Organize books and closet
- Clean kitchen
- Work order for door
- Deposit back
- Pick up paychecks, direct deposit?
- Call Mom about birthday
- Shave
- ManiPedi appointment
- Confirm plane tickets for home...call Mom to pick me up

The Tall Wood Escape

            The chain link fence cut through the grass separating Alan from someone's wooded yard. Over the years the shade from the posts had killed some of the blades to brown dirt. These were the easiest places to climb.

            He threw over the backpack first, the one he used to take to school a million years ago, blue, with thick straps he could adjust. It would serve him well in the wood today. He hooked his fingers around the links and placed a foot in the open space between the chains and the post. He shimmied up.

            At the top he grabbed the post with both hands and balanced to look up at the low hung branches. Big oak leaves brushed his face. This was the climbing tree he'd always wanted. It seemed smaller now on top of the fence, the pine trees towering above it. He knew further into the yard of trees there would be plenty of space to walk without branches low to the ground, but here they brushed the floor and made for climbing. They were probably planted a less than a hundred years ago; their trunks weren't high enough yet. He knew some of them, but not all, were felled by the owner of this land to build a tool shed. He may not come across a one. The thought settled him a bit. Straight stumps overgrown with moss always made him think about "king of the mountain" games, and he never won those.

            Coming back down from his treetop reverie, he hopped over the fence and down onto the ground below. One fluid movement. It reminded him of the deer that roam from yard to yard around here, hopping fences in packs of twelve or thirteen, eating rose bushes and casually blocking the road. Their carcasses always made him shudder. Here there would be no cars, he thought as he started between two trees and to the west.

            The tallest trees would be right in the middle, and no one would come there and disturb him. Beads of sweat pooled under his eyes and at the base of his neck, the straps on his backpacks leaving dark sweat marks on his t-shirt. He stopped to rearrange some things in the pack, pulled out a granola bar and a bottle of water. There weren't any streams in this wood; any water source dried up long ago. He sat with his back to a maple, shaded by its branches, and slumped. The bark scratched at his back comfortingly. He felt heavy, so he dozed.

            When he woke up, the shadows were shorter and the sun was higher, warming the forest floor. But as he walked a breeze picked up. It winded around trees and rustled branches. He heard squirrels skittering over piles of leaves. The vastness of the wood quieted his footsteps, so he just listened. It was so much silence and so much life. There were no teasing, nagging, angry voices. There was only him, and he wasn't saying a word.

            He squinted up as he walked, letting the sun warm his face interspersed with shade from branches and leaves running over it as he walked. The clearings became fewer and further between. His hiking boots, not well worn, took the rocks and branches with ease. He was leaving gouges in the forest floor where none had been before. The oils on his hands would kill saplings. He felt petty. Relief from getting further and further from the noise overwhelmed the feeling. He resolved to be more careful. He rubbed his hands in the dirt and washed them with water. He walked around large roots. He wasn't in any hurry.

            People were always in a hurry. That's why he always got in trouble. He was slower, quieter, less vulgar. He wanted the peace, but he was willing to wait for it. The anticipation was enjoyable. It built in him with every step. When he felt the tiredness in his legs he smiled. He rested when he couldn't hold up the pack any longer. He ate more granola and an apple, carefully composting the core and stuffing the plastic back into his pack.

            As the sun was sinking and the sky was starting to darken, he found a long shadow pointing to a flat spot between ten trees. The trunks were tall. The branches were high and crisscrossed clumsily into a ceiling. There were no exposed roots and no grass. Just flat-packed earth. The adrenaline seeped out into the space, leaving him with only silence and warmth. He would return in the morning, he knew. For now, though, him and the wood were all there was.

            He tacked his pack high on a trunk to thwart night visitors, laid out his tarp and blankets, and collected some kindling. He sat to watch a few caterpillars, glory in some wildflowers, and stare up at the majestic trees. His match caught some pine needles and ignited the kindling. He huddled in and warmed his hands, admiring the rough, dry cracks that had formed on them. There were no lights, but there were stars. He fell asleep counting them and listening to the nightly song of owls and crickets. And silence.

Special Ed: A Systems Essay

           Mrs. B is not considered a great teacher. Her colleagues consider her days to be mere babysitting. Her student's parents think her erratic and idealistic. Her students themselves? Well, at least she's won there. Mrs. B gets up at 4:30 am Monday through Saturday. She artfully combines English, Math, Science, and History with daily living skills, social skills, communication skills, and a myriad of physical and orthopedic therapies. She then attaches each lesson to a curriculum goal and adds in test taking strategies for her students who take the state assessments. At 5:30 am she goes shopping. She buys supplies online and in stores all over her big city, trying to find age appropriate yet simplistic materials for her lessons and their many parts. The ones she can't find, she makes on Sundays. Mrs. B gets to school at 6 am, where she sets out all of the materials for the day, briefs her helpers, and checks her schedule for meetings and in-service training. Mrs. B greets each of her students individually, gauges their mood and willingness to work, checks their homework, and calls their parents. She adjusts her plans accordingly.  Then her day begins.

            Tommy spends most of the day staring into space. He listens to Mrs. B because he likes her, but all he really wants to do is go to lunch. At lunch Tommy goes from table to table making friends. He ignores their "ooohs" and "ahhhs" and simple questions, their teasing he doesn't understand, and he smiles to let them know he is willing to be their friend. Lunch is the only opportunity Tommy has to talk to the students in other classes, "regular" classes. He wants to be in science with them and do experiments like the ones Mrs. B does, but he knows he couldn't complete the worksheets or understand the vocabulary. So Tommy prowls the lunch tables. He hopes that one day a girl will gossip about him to her friends, that one of the cool skateboarders will invite him to the parties they're always having in the skate park, that he could go with a group to the movies without his parents or Mrs. B and his class. How would he pay for his ticket though? He'd have to ask for help and that would be embarrassing. Tommy goes home at the end of the day and plays on the computer until his Mom gets home. She helps him with his homework and they go to PT. Sometimes his cousin comes over and they play a board game.

            Mrs. B sees Tommy wandering around at lunch. She asked his mother if she'd like him to be placed in regular science, but when it came time for Tommy's IEP the administration denied both her and his mother. Mr. Jenkins wouldn't let Tommy join his after school science club because of "safety". Mrs. B visits Tommy and her other students on Saturdays. Sometimes she hosts birthday parties for them because their parents have to work. She asks around the school for volunteers to tutor and buddy with her students, but the few that come out ask her to sign their community service hour sheets. They don't want to introduce her students to their friends. Tommy just stares into space. Mrs. B wakes up at 4 am.

Another Life

The post for this week requires me to wait one month to finish it, so look forward to that in April. I moved on to the next prompt, which involves three of my usual characters.

My love,

            I ran into you-know-who the other day. We've been texting. I hope that's all right. We used to be such good friends, him and me. You know, he is the first person to ever tell me the truth about my relationships with boys - that I was desperately searching for love in all the wrong places. He never said one bad word about my choices when it came to boys (probably because most of them knew him), but he tried to steer me in the right directions. The only time that I listened was after he wasn't my friend anymore. His relationships were all amuck, trying to figure out boys or girls, older or younger, in the closet or out. I don't think I ever gave him sound advice, but I'm sure I tried.

            He was always my back up. I like to think I was always his, but I don't think he's the type to have a back up. We once almost - but we didn't. I had these dreams after that, scary ones, about how wrong it would've been. Can you imagine? I certainly can't imagine anymore. There were days when I saw us in a little yellow farmhouse with a boatload of children (they would've been so pretty!). Now I really only see you and me. He's off in the background like a wedding guest no one knows. The guy who nods knowingly during the speeches and has a dance with the bride, but doesn't even know the grooms last name. Like at that wedding we went to last spring, you know, the piano player? I felt so bad for him. At least neither of him or I is in love with one another. My Best Friend's Wedding is NOT my favorite movie.

            Back in the beginning he was my backbone. Once I got one of my own I guess I resented him. He figured out what he wanted to do, as I just could not. He found love, as I could not. He got a life. I resented that. Every time I make a decision on my own, I think about how I used to need him to tell me which was the right one. I probably would have kept doing that my whole life if he hadn't forgotten me that one time. You don't know that story. I'll have to tell you another time, but at the time it seemed he was the most selfish person. Now I see that I relied a bit too heavily on him. I hope I'm a more independent person, even though I have you.

            Running into him was odd. It was like seeing your long lost brother who you no longer share a life with. It's so stilted talking with him over the phone. There is this massive history there, something we'll probably never lose. But we don't have any recent memories to share with each other. It'll probably always be there, this comfort of a familiar face and voice. But it'll never be the same as it was. Nothing wrong with that. After all, I have you J.

Love always.

Puzzling: The Benefits of Jigsaw Puzzles

            Puzzles tease the brain, test memory, and keep occupied those who have time to lose track of time. There are many types of puzzles: brain teasers, crosswords, word finds, logic puzzles, jigsaws, etc. Jigsaw puzzles, in particular, practice and test brain function. They are also a hobby for those who easily become bored on a rainy day. The benefits of jigsaw puzzles are numerous, and can lead to better overall quality of life.

            To begin with, puzzles prevent boredom. Now there are certain people this doesn't work for (imagine the young child who loves to play outdoors loudly). They do require a certain level of patience that younger kids don't have. For example, puzzles were big with my family at the beach, but we'd usually do them once we were back from a long tiring day of swimming and sitting in the sun and sand. We used them to relax in the air conditioning. My cousins might come over and try to place a few pieces, but usually they'd go right back to swimming in the pool once they got frustrated with pieces that just wouldn't fit. Anyway, puzzles prevent boredom by keeping the brain occupied enough while letting the body relax. Similar to reading a good book. On the other hand, reading occupies a lot of brain space, while the visual and tactile pursuit of putting together a puzzle leaves plenty of space open for conversation or thinking about other things. I used to do big puzzles in the summer time (1000-2000 pieces) and I'd sit on the porch all day organizing and putting together sections while drinking bottled coke and eating pretzels. It required just enough brainpower to keep it active and alert during the long months I wasn't in school.

            Jigsaw puzzles require strategy and memory to put together. The eyes and brain work together to determine it is easiest to start with the edges of a puzzle because that flat side is the easiest to recognize. On another beach trip with my family, we started a huge 10,000 piecer by searching out the edges. We had been working for days and finally completed the edge when a rainstorm blew onto the porch and the puzzle was scattered. I was young then, and too disappointed to start over with all those edges, but some of the adults kept working. I don't think we finished that puzzle though. Once those edge pieces are identified, the eyes move on to definable patterns in line or color (a large pink flower means all of the pink pieces go in the same place). We use clues, like the picture on the box and the patterns on the pieces to test out possibilities. When we get to difficult place, the shape of the pieces starts to matter. For example, in a puzzle with a ton of blue sky might require greater focus on the fading in and out of the blue or we may have to try every piece of a certain shape if they're all the same color. Especially at the end of a puzzle, it is easy to just test every piece in every space because there are only so many combinations. This requires some organization of the pieces so that each is tried and set aside.

            Memory comes into puzzles, too. When you've been looking at the same pieces for a while, you start to remember the weird looking ones or the ones you've already tried. The brain picks up patterns in the pieces and knows not to try certain ones again. You also go looking for new pieces of the same type when you register that all the combinations have been tried. When something happens to test accuracy, like two sections don't fit together because of one piece, the brain is at disequilibrium, and so it tries to fix the problem by identifying which piece was put in incorrectly. This requires a great attention to detail that has come from testing memory to be more and more specific. When you first start a puzzle, it is much easier to make a mistake in putting together two pieces that seem alike because you haven't been looking with such specificity. Eventually, many people don't have to look at the box anymore.

            All of this memory and brain function testing, multitasking and socializing time, and occupying of free time and relaxing lead to better quality of life. Doing all types of puzzles is scientifically proven to reduce likelihood of acquiring memory diseases like Alzheimer's and dementia, cancers of the brain, and anxiety disorders. Of course doing puzzles doesn't automatically guarantee a healthy life (exercise, nutrition, and companionship are also important), but it is a step in the right direction for adults who are easily bored or have trouble relaxing. I've been doing puzzles my whole life (all the types, not just jigsaw) and I still get automatically "in the zone" every time one is placed in front of me. I enjoy games with some puzzle element more than skill requirements. Some of my most vivid memories are of doing puzzles by myself or with my family (perhaps because my eyes were so active and it was easy to listen). My quality of life has been improved through puzzling, and I encourage anyone who's never tried to be open to the benefits.

Who Can Tell It Best?

            "Well, what did you think she was going to do?! Do you really think she can tell the difference?"

            "Do you honestly think that little of your own daughter?"

            "Where do you get off telling me about my own daughter?"

            "CUT! Ladies, that was pitiful. Are we not trying?" How could he believe these actresses, pampered and pretty, could emulate any argument of significance? Would his masterpiece be an infomercial? A soap opera?

            "Cara, try to act like you're sensitive to your daughter's disability in every way, maybe a little over the top? Can we do that? And Ann Marie, can you pretend this is a child with a disability, one that is disrupting your classroom and that you can't handle? DO NOT switch around the roles, huh? Got it?" Cursory nods of the head with blank eyes mean they got it, right?

            "Alright, TAKE 4!"

            "What did you think she would do? I know my daughter, okay? Do you really think she can't tell the difference between herself and the other students?"

            "Don't you think she can rise above it?"

            "Do you think you could rise above it?"

            "CUT, cut. Stop acting like your acting."

            Did I choose the wrong actors? Perhaps I didn't brief them enough? Maybe if they met Ally? Could I bring Ally in here? Could she tell her story? "How about this: I'm going to go home and spend some time with my daughter and we'll pick this up again tomorrow?"

            The actresses both looked relieved. I get how they wouldn't get it, but do I?

            If I didn't know anyone with Down's, would I get it? Did Ally even understand how it affected her? Did she understand about my writing and directing? Wasn't I doing the right thing, trying to make people understand?

            "Well, isn't this a sight!"

            "Ally and I are allowed to have a little fun while Daddy is at work, right Ally?"

            "Mhm," Ally never jumped up to say hello anymore. Would it be every day she stared deeper and deeper into a workbook or art project or puzzle and avoid my eyes more and more? Or maybe it was puberty coming on?

            "Did you have a day at work, dear?"

            "Don't I always?"

            "Not so good then?"

            "I don't get how they don't get it."

            "Yes, you do." And wasn't she right, my dearest wife? Wasn't I being unfair? Wasn't it unfair of me to assume these young girls could emulate an inexperienced and under-trained elementary school teacher and an overprotective mother of a child who slept less than three hours a night, still wet the bed at twelve, and couldn't imitate without direct instructions? Was that an obvious answer or what?

            "Ally, sweetheart, do you want to tell a story tomorrow? Go with Daddy to work?"

            "What story?" Was that a glance up?

            "Do you remember Mrs. Armstrong last year?"

            "I didn't like her. Why'd she have to place me with the baby class?"

            "Do you remember how you felt? Do you want to tell the story?"

            "Maybe. Are there snacks?"

            "Will there be snacks? Always."

            "Then why'd you even ask?" Do anyone else's crinkled eyes