Sunday: 62 degrees at the end of February. We must be outside, but I do not feel free to dictate in public. Sigh. Ego or just not wanting mothers with small children to move away from me. So I type with one hand. Slowly and with fewer capitals. We’re at Burney’s Beach, a tiny made-beach on our bay, after a special ed advocate’s meeting in a coffee shop. Julia is sculpting in the sand and I . . . I sit like a turtle in the sun craving the warm, gentle warmth. This is the time of year when I can imagine giving up the four seasons in favor of eternal spring.
The meeting: Politically, I am totally out of the educational policy loop. It will be an effort if I want to catch up. I need to if I want to figure out what I can contribute. Believing that the way to change is at the local level where passion lies, the spirit is willing . . . Continue reading
This morning my eyes opened before the alarm rang to the reality of the next month or so. OK probably it’s going to be six weeks. The pain is subsiding and I’m feeling somewhat claustrophobic and trapped inside my house. After a few days of trying to do things with one nondominant hand, I’m ready to admit to the utter uselessness of that hand for anything other than picking stuff up off the floor. I need some help.
I broke my wrist on Sunday. Of course it was my left wrist, my dominant hand. Aside from the pain and the splint and the doc appointments and the craziness of trying to figure out how to hook a bra, button up jeans and open pill bottles with one hand, there’s a steep learning curve of another kind going on and I have to grudgingly admit, I’m grateful for it.
Yesterday, I noticed Julia asking whether it was true that C was coming over to sit for her in the evening. C sat during the week and told Julia that she was coming on Sunday. Julia never remembered stuff like that—time and people—before. We’ve had months of her asking what we were doing tomorrow and what comes next in the day, usually at inappropriate moments. Vacations, breaks and visits with her sister are being commented on in terms of how soon they are coming up. Mostly questions. And during our latest travels to Chicago and Indianapolis, Julia asked more than once when we were going home and wanted to know how many more days could we stay. These are very small steps forward but she may be developing some sort of time sense.
Last year I began my resolutions by reflecting on the old year and reviewing the resolutions and goals that I had proposed. The process bore fruit. An overarching idea surfaced and I realized a guiding principle. Not that I always acted from that principle or could check off all of the tasks that I set for myself, but I appreciated the guidance. The principle was a simple one: To allow. Right now, I can remember so many times when I forgot it, when I pushed and strained, when I insisted. And many of those times turned out badly, or merely not in anyone’s highest good. Although I feel the need to move on from this principle, I want to remember to allow without thought of success or failure, without expectation or grasping.
Chasing Joy 