Lessons Learned From Parents and Their Children

Several weeks ago I read about Bloggers Unite. It's a website that is attempting to harness the power of the blogosphere to make the world a better place by asking member bloggers to write about a particular subject on the same day. I like the idea of millions of voices in the blogosphere united to make a difference. This is my first effort.


For several years I served as Director of Special Education for a large, rural Eastern Oregon school district. I started a parent support group so I could get to know the parents of the children we served and hear about their concerns for their children's educations. I really thought that the parent group would be a bitch fest for parents who were unhappy with the school district. As an administrator I saw the group as a way to get in front of the problems and address parental concerns before they got out of hand.

Regular readers of my other blog know that I have written before of how the universe has a way of presenting us with lessons that we need to learn. Little did I know that the parent group was an opportunity for me to grow in my understanding of people with disabilities.


Special education is a challenging field. There are so many rules and regulations that guide what has to be done, and what can't be done, and what should be done. And, a lot of the stress in the job boils down to money. Although the federal government doesn't provide sufficient resources, federal law requires that appropriate services are provided free of charge. There is a tension between the parents and the schools...one group wants resources that the other holds, the other wants to make sure that the resources get to everyone who needs them. The law sees no limit on resources, but in the trenches the reality is that the resources are not unlimited. Every dollar that is spent is a dollar that isn't available to other kids.


So, as director I was immersed in managing the budget and making it stretch. Every day I worried about having sufficient funding to meet all of the real and perceived needs. I lost sight of the human side of my job. The parent group dragged me right back into that reality. The parents shared their hopes and dreams for their children in our meetings. They shared their frustrations and challenges. They learned from each other. And I was provided a window into life with a severely disabled child and I learned empathy.


I am grateful for the lesson that I learned working with special education students and their parents.

Gratitude

This past week I’ve gained several followers on this blog.  I'm always surprised and delighted when someone new finds this blog and likes it enough to follow.  I've "promoted" my other blog.  It's the link that I drop when I leave a comment on other blogs.  I've been more low key with this blog, so those of you who have found me are even more treasured.

Thank you to each of you who has taken the time to read my writing and to make comments. I have enjoyed the opportunity to get to know several of you by reading your blogs. I have enjoyed finding others who share my point of view, or worry about the same stuff, or provide some encouragement to keep writing.  I am inspired and frequently awed reading your blogs.


Several of my followers are retired or planning to retire in the very near future. I’ve discovered that I’m not the only one who has had a difficult time adjusting to my changed status.

I’ve particularly enjoyed reading the comments and blogs from across the pond. I was born in England and immigrated to the US when I was four and a half. I still have relatives in England. I feel a connection to my motherland. English English, as opposed to American English, sounds right to my ears. The language is the same, but different. 

When I was a kid my mother expected us to clean our plates.  "Think about those starving children in China," she'd say to us when we wouldn't eat some particularly horrid food item (usually an olde English recipe like steak and kidney pie.)  "They would love to have a nice meal like this."   It was hard to be grateful then, and sometimes it is hard now.

Thanks for joining me in my journey to recognize and celebrate the many blessings I have received. I am grateful for your participation in my journey.

Jann

North to Alaska

Summer goes by much too fast.  There are so many opportunities in the summer that it is hard for me to schedule anything because I am afraid that I'll miss something.  So I wind up not scheduling and then rushing around at the last minute, and paying a premium price for tickets, or not doing anything.  Today I got brave and scheduled more than a month in advance.  We're going on a cruise to Alaska in early September.  When everyone in Hermiston goes back to school, I will be enjoying a chocolate fountain and all you can eat buffets....um, I mean beautiful Alaskan scenery.

We took this same cruise after I retired.  Alaska is beautiful, but it was cold even in July.  I expect it will be even colder in September.  The nice thing about a cruise is that you can stay inside in a warm comfortable lounge area and be served tea and pastries while watching the scenery glide by.  You can do as much or as little as you like.  We napped, and read, and ate, and watched movies, and ate, and went on shore and ate, and attended cooking demonstrations and ate, and watched movies and ate.  Because we were disconnected from our regular lives, no cell phones or computers by choice, we had no responsibilities and no time schedule.  Even though I no longer work, there are still things that have to be done at home...like laundry and cooking dinner and occasionally vacuuming up the big chunks on the floor.  I'm looking forward to a whole week with no responsibilities...but I will be nervous for the next two months about something else coming up that will conflict with our cruise dates.

Prices for cruises in September are very low, although not as low as what is advertised on the internet.  I think there's a little bait and switch going on.  The rates quoted online were not available when I called both Vacations to Go and the cruise line.  They had sold out of the teacher rate and the promotion rate...of course the rooms with balconies were still available.  I learned a lesson when I made our reservation.  I gave in and opted to pay a higher rate for a guaranteed ocean view.  After the sales person had taken all the information I asked if there were any additional discounts available, like for teachers or seniors.  She gave me an additional $50. per person discount.  I will never book again without asking for additional discounts!  Although the total cost was still $200. more than what was listed as the cheapest rate in the promotion online, we'll have at least a porthole view of the ocean.

Life is good.

Bag of Crap

My Woot! bag of crap, also know as a BOC, was delivered today.  You can read my post about my quest to secure a BOC over on my other blog here.  Today's mystery package was pretty much what was advertised...crap!  The little box cost $3.00 plus $5.00 shipping for a total of $8.00.  The value is not in the actual items that I received, but in the fun I had anticipating the box.  I've been watching the Woot! forum closely to see what other people have received.  Many got electronics such as DVRs.  And a lot of people got things just like mine:

• 
  
  3 Justin & Dave's Would You Rather desktop calendars for 2010
• 
  
  1 Disney Pirates of the Caribbean accesory pouch
• 
  
  1 ATI TV tuner card for computer (no directions or software)
• 
  
  2 High School Musical alarm clocks

I think I'll see if I can figure out how to install the TV tuner in the computer in the back bedroom, but other than that, the rest of the stuff isn't very useful.

I'm reminding myself that it is the journey not the destination that is important.  It's the fun of participating with 2, 997 other people in guessing what might be in our packages.  Now that Santa has left the presents, I'm feeling that Christmas letdown...and there's not much to play with.

Oh, sorry, I forgot...I'm grateful, really grateful!

Harvesting Freeway Bounty

My husband was so excited when he came home from work this evening. “Guess what.” He asks me.


I don’t have a clue.

“You’ll never guess what I found.” He says.

He’s wrong, I have an idea. My husband is a freeway scrounger. He’s always on the lookout for interesting items on the side of the road. One of his schemes is to sell hubcaps on e-Bay. He thinks he could make a fortune!

“If you found a cooler,” I tell him “it doesn’t count unless you also have the lid.”

“I have the lid!” he exclaims and describes in detail how he first saw the blue cooler on the side of the freeway but hadn’t made the decision to pull over and pick it up until, and here he practically chortles with excitement, “there was the lid on the other side of the freeway!” So he slammed on the brakes and backed up to get the cooler and then crosses to the other side of the freeway to recover its lid.

He insisted I come outside to admire the big blue cooler in the back of his pickup.

“There’s no lid” I say.

“Oh wait” he says as he opens the pickup door and pulls out a white cooler top. “I have proof that this is a freeway find.” And he points to skid marks on the lid where it bounced on the pavement.

“And look at this” he declares as he pulls yet another hubcap from the back of the pickup.

I can drive for miles and miles and never see anything interesting, except road kill and those bottles of pee that truckers toss along the side of the road. This is Paul’s second cooler this month. He also found a small red cooler, with lid, that he’s now using to keep his snacks cold when he goes fishing.

I count my blessings. I have a husband with eagle eyes and plenty of coolers. If I ever lose a hubcap, there’s a good chance he’ll have one to spare.

Life is good.

Open to the Good

Over on my other blog last week,  I posted about trivial irritations.  (Click here to read the post.)  Once I started focusing on the things that irritated me it was difficult to stop. I was wallowing in irritation.

Then I remembered the quote posted over there on the right:

"What you focus on expands, and when you focus on the goodness in your life, you create more of it. Opportunities, relationships, even money flowed my way when I learned to be grateful no matter what happened in my life." – Oprah

It’s time to make another list of all of the things that make me happy. In no particular order…

• My grandchildren
• The smell of fresh cut grass
• The wop wop wop brrrrrrrr of rainbird sprinklers
• Quail in the back yard
• Summer
• Swimming pools
• Freshly pedicured toenails in pink
• New followers on my blogs
• Comments on my blog posts
• Scoring a Bag of Crap on Woot!
• Sees Candy, especially butterscotch squares
• Heated leather seats
• Rain hitting the window when I’m in bed
• Corn on the cob
• Hearing from old friends
• Dexter…yeah, it’s dark, but it’s soooo good!
• Road trips with a good audio book
• Road trips with rock and roll
• Road trips with Broadway musicals
• Live music
• A pension that is above US median income…I get paid to not work!!!
• New cute shoes
• Lunch out with friends
• Never using an alarm clock
• My hot tub
• A good book
• Huge white puffy clouds on a bright blue sky
• A full moon
• Diet coke
• Tulips
• The smell of babies
• Warm breezes…not wind, gentle warm air washing over me
• A good haircut
• A healthy family
• Finding just the right word when I’m writing
• Good dance music
• A comfortable chair
• Down pillows and a down comforter
• A reliable car
• Good credit
• Compliments
• Tivo
• Watching the ocean
• A fire in the fireplace
• My dishwasher…how did I ever live without one in the olden days?
• Slurpees

Throughout the day I expect that I will think of other things that I should have listed.  I had to fight the demons a few times while writing the list…a few irritations popped into my head.   I drove them out with gratitude.  I know the more I focus on what is good in my life, the more I am open to receive it.

Megan's Crying Rules

Today Megan, my four year old granddaughter, gave me her rules for when it is appropriate to cry.

It is okay to cry when:

• you have a boo boo
• you miss someone
• blood is pouring out of you
• your house is on fire

It should be noted that she doesn't always follow her own rules...crying, for example, when she can't find her shoes or the popsicle is the wrong color.  I wish her life would always be so simple.  At four she knows nothing about broken hearts or broken dreams.

I am so grateful for the time I get to share with my grandchildren.  I want to be there to kiss the boo boos, staunch the flow of blood, and throw water on the fire.  I understand wanting to cry when you miss someone.  I wish I could always be there for her.

They Hatch and Grow Up So Quickly

Last week I wrote about finding a quail’s nest in the bushes outside our bedroom window. We were afraid that we had scared off the mother with our vigorous weed pulling. There were over a dozen tiny eggs in the nest. The mother returned and has been faithfully tending the nest. I checked for information on the internet about the gestation period for quail and found out that it is 24-27 days. Not knowing how long the nest had been there before we found it makes it hard to estimate when we can expect the eggs to hatch.


On Tuesday as I drove down our driveway I spotted a covey of quail under the bushes in the border around the lawn. There were two adults and a lot of tiny cotton ball sized quail running for cover. I was excited to see the little ones, but a little disappointed that I had missed the hatch. I went to check on the nest and was surprised to find the mother quail still sitting on her stash of eggs. 

I just checked the nest again a few minutes ago and our mother quail is patiently tending her eggs. I, on the other hand, am anxious to see the babies hatch.  It is exciting to see our yard teeming with quail
.
Three years ago I was similarly impatient for a birth. My daughter was expecting her second child. My second granddaughter was born on June 19th. I’m going to Texas next week for her third birthday party.

I hope the quail hatch before I leave. Just like grandchildren, they grow up so quickly. I don’t want to miss those early days of their lives.

Life is good.

People Marry the Person They Love

I have been married to a Republican for almost forty years. I’m not quite sure how that happened. My liberal roots are firmly planted. I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s and witnessed the turmoil of the civil rights movement through the pages of Life magazine and the nightly news. My family boycotted grapes in support of Cesar Chavez and the farm workers. They voted for Kennedy and Johnson, and didn’t vote for Nixon either for governor of California nor president. I left California to attend college in rural Eastern Oregon in the late 60’s. I was already against the war in Vietnam.


I met my husband in college. He had long hair and wore huarache sandals. He was against the war too. He had a relatively low draft number. When he got his induction notice he was found to be 4-F. After college we entered the Peace Corps. I’m not sure when he became a Republican. I remember him voting for Jimmy Carter, but he says he’s always been a Republican and that was the only time he voted for a Democrat. Most years we cancel out each other’s votes.

On the issues, however, we are more likely to agree than disagree. We both trust women to make decisions about their own bodies. We support stem cell research. And, we believe equality extends to the right to marry for everyone, regardless of sexual orientation.

My granddaughters, two and four, are the products of a mixed marriage. Their mother, my daughter, is a Democrat and her husband is a Republican. Their children will, I’m sure, be Democrats…if Nana has anything to do with it!

I’ve already taken them on educational field trips to Democratic shrines including the Clinton Presidential Library and the Johnson Presidential Library. When they are older we will go to the Smithsonian and see the Woolworth’s lunch counter or to the Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis and I will tell them the stories of the fight for equality. I will show them pictures of their grandfather with shoulder length hair at the Vortex Festival   It’s not a proud moment in our personal history. We went there rather than protest the war at the American Legion Convention in Portland, Oregon in 1970.

I visited the grandchildren last month. I had taken them to the Goodwill to purchase things for their dress-up box. They both bought wedding dresses. At home they dressed up in their finery and had a tea party. Hunter, the two year old, stated that she was going to marry her sister.

“No, silly” said Megan “Girls marry boys.”

“Some girls marry girls” said their mother.

“No” insisted Megan “Girls marry boys.”

“No,” said their mother “Girls can marry girls and boys can marry boys. People marry the person they love.”

We didn’t get into the discussion about why marrying your sister wasn’t appropriate.

We liberals have a responsibility to teach our children well.  I’m grateful to the people who have led the fight for equality. In my lifetime we have made great strides in many areas. Now is the time for all of us to support the fight for marriage equity. Everyone should have the right to marry the person they love.

I'm entering this post in a contest Blog 4Equality to win a scholarship to attend Netroots Nation sponsored by Freedom To Marry  Click the link for more information.

Little Gifts

We stayed home this memorial weekend. When you’re retired it doesn’t make sense to leave home when the rest of the population is traveling. It’s difficult to be a recluse when on the road with millions of people.

Yesterday we did yard work. Like adventurers slicing our way through the jungle, we pulled the weeds and overgrown branches from the flower bed that is just outside our bedroom window. While we were pulling and chopping the birds made loud comments from the brush where the lawn falls off to the river below. We discovered a small nest under a bush with more than a dozen tiny eggs. The mother was gone, but we were pretty sure that she was the one making such a racket in the bushes at the edge of the lawn. We made a canopy over the nest with the branches that we had cut and moved on to another project. My husband commented that since we had disturbed the nest, the quail would probably abandon it.


This morning I could hear quail babbling in the backyard and I wondered if the mother had returned to the nest. I found her all fluffed up over her eggs. As I moved my finger to take her photo, she flew away. I snapped a quick picture of the eggs and retreated to the house. I won’t be disturbing her nest again. It will be so good to have little ones around the house again!

Life is good.

Sarah Can Hear Again

I am a member of the Hermiston Lions. In fact, I am the chair of the Sight and Hearing Committee. The Lions focus in community service is sight and hearing. The majority of the money our club raises goes to community members who need assistance in paying for eyeglasses or hearing aids. With the down turn in the economy we have had an increase in applications for assistance. Just this past week we exhausted our budget for financial assistance until we raise additional funds.


Last week I listened to my answering machine and found a message from a 70+ year old woman, Sarah, who had applied for assistance from the Lion’s Foundation to get hearing aids. The foundation refurbishes donated hearing aids and provides them free-of-charge to candidates who have been referred by a local Lions Club. The local club provides funding for the applicant to get hearing testing and fitting of the aids.

Sarah said “Thank you, thank you so much. I can hear again. Thank you for once again allowing me to be who I am. I can hear again. Thank you.”

I could hear the tears in her voice.

There are some frustrations in administering a charitable fund. I’ve had applicants argue with me because they wanted more money than our club allows. Some applications contain untruthful information. People get angry if we can’t fund their application or if they don’t meet the guidelines for eligibility. I rarely hear back from the people we have helped.

Sarah was an exception. Her message made my day and reminded me that one small action can change a life. I am grateful for the opportunity to help.

Eastern Oregon Afternoon Storm

There was a weather alert this afternoon about 5:00 that warned of severe thunderstorms and hail.  We moved the cars into the garage and shop and got everything under cover.  Off to the west we could see a wall of black clouds moving toward us.  Within minutes the rain was pouring down, and just as quickly it was over.  The main part of the storm had missed us and we avoided the "hail the size of quarters" that fell in neighboring communities.  As the storm moved on the black clouds became a backdrop in the eastern sky to a rainbow.  Golden light illuminated the backyard.  It was a moment of natural beauty...  it's easy to be grateful when the storm passes and there's a rainbow!

Spring Silences

Our weather is finally turning. Spring is a beautiful time in eastern Oregon, but in Hermiston we get fierce spring winds. Today brought bright sun, vivid blue skies and no wind.  I love a hot day with just enough breeze to keep the bugs off. I ride my bike down the lane to the mailbox and revel in the warm wind floating over my body.


The neighborhood is quiet this time of year. Kids are still in school and their parents are at work. It’s only us retired people puttering around the neighborhood. On my bike I can sneak by the quail and pheasants without disturbing their routine. The neighborhood is serene and I can hear the birds, mostly the annoying magpies, twittering in the trees. The sun is on my back and the balmy breeze washes over me as I pedal around my kingdom. It doesn’t get much better than this.

Life is good.

Two-Year Anniversary

Today we celebrated the two year anniversary since my husband’s heart attack. We had a dinner of heart healthy salmon. A heart attack is a big wake up call. It makes you stop and pay attention. My husband was one of those people who never needed to visit a doctor. Other than an occasional cold, he was never ill. He was physically active and weighed the same that he did in high school. He was probably still wearing some of the same clothes! He was about to turn 60 years old and he smoked.


Late morning the day of the heart attack Paul loaded up his boat and headed off to fish in the Columbia River, a short two miles from our house. Alone in the boat on the river, he started to feel ill. He thought he had indigestion and he drank a soda to settle his stomach. When he didn’t feel any better, he headed back to shore and loaded up the boat to drive home. Two blocks from the boat ramp he blacked out behind the wheel of the pickup and drove into a utility pole. He knocked out power to an apartment complex and the loud bang brought a crowd of people to his assistance. Someone called 9-1-1 and a bystander found his cell phone and called me.

I could hear the sirens in the background of the phone call. The caller told me he had been in an accident but was conscious, was dripping with sweat, and was being taken to the local hospital.

I found out the details later. The police were the first official responders and they thought he had been drinking. The police officer kept asking him “How much have you had to drink?” and not accepting that he had not been drinking. There were two unopened bottles of beer in his cooler, along with another can of soda and bottled water.

When the paramedics arrived at the scene they knew right away that it was a heart attack. They wasted no time in getting him to the hospital. I beat them to the hospital by a few minutes. His EKG was transmitted to a cardiologist at the regional trauma center. He received the miracle clot busting drug and was loaded back on the ambulance for the 30 minute drive to the regional center. The ambulance driver told me to meet them at the hospital but not to try and keep up with them. “We’ll be driving with lights,” he told me. It was only much later that I realized he meant the flashing ambulance lights.

I got to the second hospital as they were running with him on a gurney down the hall to the operating room. The surgeon stopped at the door to the operating room and told us to say our good-bys.

Paul received two stents. He was conscious during the procedure and told me later that it was immediate relief when the blockage was finally cleared. The pain stopped immediately.

It seems strange to say, but the best thing that happened to him that day was that he ran into a utility pole. If he had stayed out on the river, he might not have made it to shore alive. If he had driven home he would have crawled into bed to take a nap and I would have found him dead. Hitting the pole assured that got the professional attention that he needed to live. The paramedics immediately recognized the signs of a heart attack and got him where he needed to be. Although it was late afternoon on a Saturday, the cardiologist happened to be in the hospital when the call from our local hospital came in. He stayed and waited for the ambulance to arrive. They got to the operating room within the golden hour.

We have much to be grateful for. Two years later Paul has made a complete recovery. He quit smoking and has made significant changes to his diet. We rarely eat red meat anymore. He’s not as good as he should be about exercising, but we definitely are living a healthier lifestyle.

We have much to be grateful for, but time tends to dull the memories and we forget some of those lessons that were learned the hard way. It’s good to celebrate these anniversaries and remember how close we came to a different ending.

Life is good and we are grateful.

The Story Where Everyone Hates Nana

I’ve written frequently in my blog about my granddaughters. Being their Nana is one of the joys of my life. I’ve written about the cute things that they say and our adventures when I visit them in Austin, Texas. I just returned from my latest visit where I attended the wedding of my son-in-law’s sister.


The granddaughters were the flower girls in their aunt’s wedding. They had beautiful dresses and wreaths of flowers in their long blond hair. They were picture perfect. They each carried a basket of petals down the long aisle and only remembered to throw them when they reached the alter.

My job at the wedding was flower girl wrangler. I managed to get them bathed and to the church on time and keep them clean and out of the baptismal font before the start of the ceremony. (Although later we wondered if we should have let Hunter take a dip to drive the demons out.) From my seat in the fourth row I watched them walk slowly down the aisle and whispered to them as they passed me “Throw the flowers, throw the flowers!”

At the reception they roamed with a small pack of children and I watched to make sure they didn’t get too wild. We enjoyed the buffet and they managed to finish the meal, complete with beverage, without a spill. They had been remarkably well-behaved throughout the event, but we knew not to push our luck. We had decided to take the children home after dinner, and after a long exciting day, get them to bed at their regular bedtime. Nana would stay with the kids and their parents could enjoy the drinks and dancing at the reception with their friends and family.

Implementation of the plan was going just fine until the girls realized that Mommy wasn’t with us in the car. Daddy, who hadn’t made even one visit to the open bar so he could drive us home, was in the driver’s seat, but Nana was sitting in Mommy’ s place. As we left the parking lot the wails started.

“I want my mommy!”

“I want my mom…mom….mom…eeeee!”

Calm explanations by Daddy and Nana were having no effect. It was obviously all Nana’s fault that Mommy was absent. Soon a new chant filled the car.

“I hate Nana.”

I hate Nana; I want my mom…mom…eeee.”

Two high pitched, wailing voices chanted the whole way home, “I hate Nannn……nnnnnna!”

At the house Hunter threw herself on the floor screaming for her mother. Picture a red-faced cherub in a pool of ivory organza with tears streaming down her face. Her sister kept up the chorus wailing “I hate Nana.”

I told my son in law to go. “They’ll be fine.” I said “They’re just tired.” And I crossed my fingers that it was true.

With one uncertain look back at me he left. Two minutes later I turned on a video of Cinderella, changed them into jammies, and fed them a snack. The wailing ceased and they snuggled with me on the couch to watch the movie. I called their parents to report that all was fine.

At 8:30 we were snug in bed reading bedtime stories. Hunter dozed off before we finished the second book. As I cuddled with Megan she said “I love you Nana.” And I resisted the urge to tell her “That’s not what you said earlier!”

That’s the thing about family. We aren’t always kind, but in the end we really do love each other.

I'm grateful for family...even the ones who hate me!

Good Reading, Good Writing

I attended a reading by my favorite author, David Sedaris, on Tuesday night. This is the second year that my daughter and I have heard him read in Austin, Texas. We’ve already made plans to attend again next year. It was such an enjoyable evening. He read several selections that were familiar from his books, but he also gave us a preview of his new book which will be published next October.


I especially enjoyed when he read selections from his diary. It gave me a glimpse into where he gets his inspiration for his writing. His ability to see the humor in everyday situations is a gift.

At last year’s performance he read an unfinished piece about airline travel. This year he read the completed story. I will never pass gas on the move again without thinking about “crop dusting.”

The following is a snippet from my favorite Sedaris book. Every time I read it I laugh out loud.

On my fifth trip to France I limited myself to the words and phrases that people actually use. From the dog owners I learned "Lie down," "Shut up," and "Who shit on this carpet?" The couple across the road taught me to ask questions correctly, and the grocer taught me to count. Things began to come together, and I went from speaking like an evil baby to speaking like a hillbilly. "Is thems the thoughts of cows?" I'd ask the butcher, pointing to the calves' brains displayed in the front window. "I want me some lamb chop with handles on 'em."

— David Sedaris (Me Talk Pretty One Day)

He signed my copy of Me Talk Pretty One Day on Tuesday.

Good writing, good reading…damn life is good!

Dancing for Miles and Miles

My hero, Oprah, is on a campaign to stop people from texting and using a cell phone while driving.  I have yet to figure out how the bluetooth works in my five-year-old car and I only know how to text one person, my friend Shawn.  Use of technology while driving isn't going to be a hard habit for me to break.  I'm hoping that Oprah won't get any more ideas for safe driving that would be more difficult for me to comply with.

Living in Eastern Oregon we're used to wide open spaces and nearly empty highways.  I grew up in Southern California and learned to drive in grid-lock.  I know how to dart in and out of traffic.  In Eastern Oregon  we do a lot of driving on long straight nearly empty highways.  It can be tricky in the winter when we have ice and snow, but most months we're driving in a straight line at speeds never seen in Southern California.

Today I drove north to Tri-Cities, Washington to do some shopping.  I was listening to NPR and found myself singing along with a snappy gospel song.  I'm not a regular church goer and gospel is not my usual musical genre, but it was a catchy tune and I couldn't resist.  I flipped the channel to a classic rock station and listened to "Beat It."  I couldn't help myself...I was singing and car dancing.  When they played Neil Young's "Rockin in the Free World,"  I turned the radio way up and sang along. I love those long stretches of open highway, good tunes, and no audience,

I hope Oprah doesn't get anymore safe driving ideas.  There's no way I want to give up car dancing and belting out show tunes.  I'm grateful for music.  Life is good.

Lions Roar for Easter - Only the Good Friday

I've been participating in the "Only the Good Friday" meme that was started at http://thiseclecticlife.com/only-the-good-friday
Below is my weekly contribution to the optimism virus sweeping the blogosphere.

The Hermiston Lion's Club held an Easter egg hunt last weekend.  For the past eight years the Lions have invited special needs children to hunt eggs in a local park.  I have been a Lion for three years and the Easter egg hunt is my favorite activity. 

The kids are greeted by students dressed as Peter Rabbit, Thumper, and, of course, a lion.  The children each have their pictures taken with Peter.  High school students volunteer to wear the costumes and they do a great job of encouraging the children to participate.  They patiently help the kids to adjust to the unfamiliar giant plush animals.

The Lions "hide" hundreds of eggs across the lawn and the kids find all of them in just a few minutes.  This hunt is designed for special needs students.  There are a limited number of participants and lots of eggs.  Even the child who needs to flap his arms and turn in circles three times before starting to hunt is assured of securing eggs before they are all claimed by other participants. 

One of our members brings a llama and an alpaca for the children to pet.  The kids all marvel over how soft the animals are.  They take turns feeding them and giggle as the alpaca's lips sweep across their palms seeking the offered feed.

It was a cold and windy spring morning in the park, but my heart was warmed watching the smiles on the children's faces. 

I am grateful for community organizations like the Lion's who make our communities good places to live.

Role Models

When my daughter was 7 or 8 she told me that she wanted to be a journalist "like Oprah or Connie Chung."  At the time I remember thinking how remarkable it was that this blond, blue eyed child had Chinese-American and African-American role models.  Her generation was fortunate to have strong female role models from many different ethnic and racial groups.  Although my daughter didn't grow up to be a journalist, she's a chemist,  those role models helped her become the accomplished woman that she is today.  She grew up knowing it was okay to be smart and that girls could be good at math and science.  Now she has two daughters of her own. 

My granddaughters  at 2 and 4 have yet to express any preferences for their future careers.  However, Hunter, the 2 year old, is convinced that she is a princess.  She insists on wearing "princess dresses" everyday.  Knowing how important it is that girls have self-esteem and are supported for their talents as well as their appearance, we are always quick to provide positive reinforcement to Hunter when she says "I bootiful." 

We respond "Yes, you are beautiful and smart too!" 

To which she replies "No, I bootiful.  I not 'telligent, I bootiful."

"Yes, Hunter.  You are both intelligent and beautiful." 

Where's an intellectual princess role model when you need one?

I am grateful for strong women who have led the struggle for equity.  My granddaughters have bright futures because of the work of many courageous women.

A Moment of Clarity on I-82 - Only the Good Friday

For several weeks I've been participating in the "Only the Good Friday" meme that was started at http://thiseclecticlife.com/only-the-good-friday/ Below is my weekly contribution to the optimism virus sweeping the blogosphere.

Is there a sixth sense that warns us of impending danger? I do know that there is an instant of clarity on the way to meeting destiny. The clarity of vision appeared in slow motion, the future was seen and the outcome was immediately known. It happened to me several years ago on I-82.

The sky was blue, the pavement dry and straight and I was headed west to Portland at speed. As I passed under the overpass at Three Mile Canyon I saw the twisted metal bar in the road and I knew, in that instant, that I was in trouble. The loud bang and the shudder of the steering wheel confirmed my premonition. I hit the brakes and muscled the car to the side of the road. My left front tire sported a six-inch gaping hole and I was in the middle of nowhere.  It may be an interstate highway, but in eastern Oregon the traffic is sparse and I was 10 miles from Boardman and the nearest service station.

Like McIver I quickly assessed my resources.  I had neglected to pack a Swiss army knife or, what would have been even more useful, a cell phone.  Fortunately I had the owner's manual. I put my skills to the test and, following the pictures, I managed to locate the spare tire and the jack. I had to read the page several times to figure out how to get them out of the trunk. I then turned to page 118, Changing a Tire. The first step was to block the car’s tires and this was easily accomplished. The second step was to loosen the lug nuts…that’s when I shifted to Plan B…get help.

I left the tire and jack by the side of the car and started walking to a warehouse that I could see in the distance. As I reached the freeway on ramp at the opposite side of the freeway, a woman stopped and asked me if I needed assistance. She drove me to a nearby farm and introduced me to Juan, the farm mechanic.

Juan loaded a big jack from the shop in the back of a farm pickup. I jumped in the cab and we headed back to the freeway,  As we approached the Three Mile Canyon east-bound exit, my car was visible across the freeway. I couldn’t see the spare tire. “Oh no,” I said to Juan “I can’t see my spare tire. I left it propped up by the flat.” The tire was gone.

Juan drove over the overpass and on to the westbound ramp so we could get to my car. As I got closer I could see that the trunk was closed. I had left it open. Sure enough, there was no tire by the side of the car and the jack wasn’t there either.

A stranger had come across my car abandoned by the roadside and seen my dilemma. This stranger changed my tire. Put the flat and the jack away and closed the trunk. No note, no business card, no clues as to who my rescuer was.

I’ve read about random acts of kindness. This was the first time I experienced it. It’s one of the reasons I love Eastern Oregon.

Life is good in rural America!