See Me

I picked up the phone and gave my name to the nurse/guard on duty at the front desk. I was buzzed into the locked psychiatric facility. It was a better place than "Center", down the hall and around the corner. I could keep my purse with me. I could wear a belt. I was still deeply frightened and uneasy about this place. My beautiful daughter was here, locked in with many people from all walks of life but a large number from straight off of the streets. I was terrified when we started this journey and never stopped worrying about Linea's safety. Although the nurses were always caring and respectful there were many more of "them" than of staff. I had spent my life working in the field of disabilities. I was comfortable around children and adults with the most significant disabilities. I had worked in the trenches with adolescents with severe behavior and mental health problems. I had heard all the language howled out in fury and madness. I had witnessed the aggression of human beings unable to hold back their fear and anger at the world. Yet in this place I was deeply frightened for the safety of my daughter. I had preconceived and deeply held notions of the type of people who were incarcerated (sorry, hospitalized!) with my daughter. I wanted her daddy to stay with her at night, sleeping beside her bed, keeping her safe from someone...words I couldn't say even to myself. The crazies. The ranting and raving lunatics who were years older, bigger and with much worst pasts than hers. Don't get near my baby! I couldn't say it aloud because I am educated, open-minded and very loving of the world at large. But here I was and I was completely terrified.

We were allowed to see my daughter for 30 minutes at a time and I didn't miss those times. I finally asked the nurses if we came to see her too often. I was told that the more time families spent with their loved ones the better and quicker the recovery. "Why aren't there any other families here?" I asked. They just don't come, I was told. Or there is no one. I was even more anxious about leaving her alone in this place.

After my visit I left the unit and got into the elevator. The door closed. I was standing in this small space with one other person. A very tall, large man from the unit who had "earned" a fifteen minute smoke break, alone, without the posse tagging along. Here we stood waiting for the elevator to drop us down to the first floor. I do not want to admit this but I will. My heart was pounding and I was considering stabbing a button and getting out on the next floor. And then he spoke to me. "How is your daughter doing?" he asked, in a thick Eastern European accent. (Why do you want to know? How do you know her?) "She is doing better," I said, the pounding of my heart increasing.

"It seems not so fair for the young ones here," he said. "Her, I pray for. Me, I have some trouble with the drink and come in here to try to get well." (I am so, so sorry I was judgmental. I am so sorry I was frightened of you. I am so sorry I did not look at you, at your face, into your eyes. Forgive me.) "Thank you," I said. "I hope that you are feeling better very soon." (Thank you for teaching me. Thank you for looking at me. Thank you for treating me like a fellow human being. Thank you for being a better person than me and helping me to take a step forward.) The door opened and I headed back to my university and he to the small terrace for his fifteen minutes of time alone.

A Great Good Place

Wouldn't you want to be in a community space that is full of people from every background, and from nations around the world? With people that are healthy and not so healthy, abled and disabled, with varied interests and talents and with a conglomeration of people outside of your normal safe place in the world? I suppose there are people in the world that don't want this but I do. There are a few places that meet this expectation and we happen to have one close at hand.

There is "friendly community shopping center" located in what is considered the "Eastside" of the Seattle area. This part of the region is known primarily for the wealth of its residents including one former CEO of a quite well-known software company. Nestled a few miles from Microsoft's campus is this amazing place called Crossroads. It was founded by Ron Sher, referred to as the Suburban Soul Man by Seattle Metropolitan Magazine. I wish for more such places. Crossroads sits 3 miles from the very high end shopping center that houses Neiman Marcus, Jimmy Choo, Louise Vuitton (if you don't know who these people are, good for you!), etc. etc. but in a very different neighborhood. The neighborhood has many languages, people with low or no income and multi-family housing living next door to middle class and upper middle class single family homes, all close to Crossroads. Sher, a committed environmentalist with a Ph.D. in agricultural economics of all things, was inspired by the notion of a "Great Good Place". The commitment behind Sher's work was the notion of a gathering place that welcomed "all comers from the prosperous to those with little or nothing to spend". I love this place. On any night of the week I want to stand up and cheer at the mix of people gathered in this great good place.

This is indeed a place of diversity. Yes, there are many people from a variety of cultures from around the world. There are also groups of young and older adults with developmental disabilities sitting with each other or BETTER YET with all kinds of people, playing games, laughing, talking, eating. There are great-grandmama's and papa's gathered together with friends or with family members. There are college students on their laptops tapping away or conversing with their equally focused friends. There are awkward middle-schoolers, too young to drive but finding a place on the bus route (and acceptable to their parents as a hang-out) and able to eat a meal together for less than six dollars. There are wheelchairs and walkers scattered amongst the crowd for various types of people. There is frequently a man buzzing around in his electric wheelchair, well known to the merchants and the "regulars". He is very physically and cognitively disabled and has great difficulty talking but he is completely comfortable in this community without an assistant or "aide" to follow him around. He watches the giant chess game for awhile, orders Mexican food which is prepared and brought to him in a way that he can eat it. He browses the bookstore, has an ice cream and ends up at the coffee shop.

The satellite library is always completely full, with computers available for all sizes and shapes of people. Recently I watched as a story hour unfolded with tiny toddlers gathered around. The story was in Chinese. Children of every background huddled together on the floor as the exuberant leader read in such a way that it didn't matter if you were one of the 3-year-olds that didn't speak Chinese. There is much to do. There is a second hand bookstore (oh yes!), retail shops and a mini-city hall with translators and answers to questions about public health, energy assistance and health insurance. There is funding and volunteers from Microsoft and United Way assisting with tax preparation for families in need and mostly lots and lots of fun. There is a stage with open mike nights, nights with tiny children playing violins bigger than themselves, bands and mini orchestras and nightly music from cultures around the world. The elderly put aside their walkers and lean on each other in a slow two-step. The children jump and chase and keep time with the flashing lights in their shoes. The two young adults with intellectual disabilities exchange a shy kiss as they push each other around the dance floor. Languages from around the world mingle with the smells from the food court. Indian, Thai, Greek, Mexican, Russian, Japanese, Chinese, Korean, and more. I can have tika masala, bubble tea, pho and a baklava for dessert. All prepared by people for whom this food is their own and who are making a new life in another country far from their home. Everything is recycled. If it is busy the customers clean up after themselves. We share tables. We recognize the specialness of this great good place. Where is yours?

Karma and Impossible Things

One definition of karma is an action or deed which causes an entire cycle of cause and effect. Serendipity is good luck in making fortunate and unexpected discoveries. We have had a combination of both in the last few years and in our journey to meet our agent. My daughter and I have written a book together and are working to get it published. Before I tell you the fascinating tale of our agent, let me wax on (literary term) about writing for a bit. I know that there must be hundreds and hundreds of books that have been written but never published, laying around in drawers, on old floppy disks (remember those?) and on hard drives. But never published. Never read by an agent. Never sent to a publisher. It is hard, hard work to move a good idea or a burning need to write onto paper, day in and day out, writing, writing, writing. It is equally hard to find an agent by presenting a well-written proposal only to turn around and re-write the proposal again and again until it is ready to go out to a publisher. The majority of new authors or academic authors write in their time between (paid) work and family. I think it is alot easier to let a good idea or a somewhat completed book languish in the recesses of a dark hole somewhere than do all the hard work to get something published. The good news is that we signed with an agent October 1st in New York City. It was amazing and more than exciting. We spent a full year of work preparing all that was requested for this next step in the process of publishing a book. Now for the karma/serendipity part of the story.

We flew out to New York to meet with our agent with anticipation and a strange feeling of coming full circle. New York was a place of great hope for Linea. She first went there as a high school senior, singing with a college ensemble at an international jazz festival. While in Chicago majoring in music performance her goals were centered in New York. There were many actions in the next few years causing an entire cycle of cause and effect. She became ill and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She took a medical leave from school and was hospitalized. She returned to school and was hospitalized again. She fought and struggled and somehow was able to stay upright while trying to manage this new and insidious illness. Linea transferred universities and will graduate this year with a degree in English and creative writing as well a three years of credits towards a degree in music performance. After all of this, we were in New York City in the fall of 2009. As we followed the directions to our agent's office in Union Square Linea pointed to a bench in the park directly outside of the office. "I called you from there, crying", she said. "Remember?

I remember. It was her last year in Chicago. She and three friends flew to New York City. It was the week after Christmas and husband Curt and I had gone to the remote and beautiful Ucluelet on the Pacific Rim Trail on western Vancouver Island, British Columbia. It is a place as far west as you can get in North America. While in NYC Linea had her wallet stolen with all her identification, money and her credit and debit cards. She was barely well and didn't need any additional stress in her life. I was frightened for her as I stood in the pouring rain and the exact spot in order to get cell phone coverage while she cried from over 3,000 miles away. Yet she stayed steady and her friends stayed by her side as she filed a report with the NYC police and did all the trivial and complicated details involved in losing one's identify and money. Two years later we were in New York, signing a contract with an agent for a book about this journey, not twenty feet from where she had called me. Sometimes you just have to believe that there is a bigger plan for each of us. I have said to Linea so many times, "Trust the Universe." Even times when I didn't have much faith left myself but somehow I still had a tiny speck of curiousity and hope about what might come next. Sometimes I just had to believe in impossible things.

While we were in NYC we made a quick trip through Central Park. We came across the beautiful bronze sculpture of Alice in Wonderland, commissioned by George Delacorte and unveiled in 1959. Linea has always loved Alice in Wonderland. For about two months around age five she would only answer to "Alice". She knew most of the lines from the 1985 movie.

Alice laughed. "There's no use trying, "she said. "One can't believe impossible things."

"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast" (Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll, 1865).

Karma? Serendipity? I never want to quit believing in impossible things.

Horologe for 2010

I have a beautiful horologe or hourglass filled with black sand. I imagine that the sand comes from Kaimu Beach. Hourglasses were used both to keep track of time and for navigation. Although assumed to have been used in the 3rd century and carried around as timepieces the first evidence of the existence of the hourglasse was in 1338, depicted in a fresco by Ambrogio Lorenzetti. Ferdinand Magellan kept 18 hourglasses per ship as he navigated the globe. How did I learn this? Lost in Wikipedia of course! Fascinating!! My hourglass does not help me with navigation unfortunately but it is a constant reminder for me to slow down. When it was new to me I used it daily to block an hour of uninterrupted writing time. Over the years that ritual has slowly unraveled as have many resolutions made at the end of years past. I do love this time of year because, at least for me, it is a time for renewal and new goals, some which will be met and some not. Gradually over the years it seems that I slowly meet a few more. Time to turn the hour glass over again.


Temperance bearing an hourglass; detail
of Lorenzetti's Allegory of Good Government,
1338.

December 29, 2009

The morning began with fog...it "comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on" (Fog, Carl Sandburg, 1878-1967).


Soon the sun was out and coming through the cedars and firs.

Stop, stop and listen for the bough top
Is whistling and the sun is brighter
Than God's own shadow in the cup now!
(The Blackbird of Derrycairn, Austin Clarke, 1896-1974)

December 26, 2009

I have decided to share photos for the next few days as a way to stay centered in the break between the end of one year and the beginning of another. This was taken on a walk on the beach in West Seattle. Note the paddle surfer is wearing shorts. Quite a contrast from a year ago....

Decorations of the Season

Happy holidays, merry Christmas, and a peaceful, blessed and joyous New Year to all! It is a time of mixed feelings for many. There is a busy-ness as people rush from frantic activities to their overwhelming "to-do" list and push onward and forward. There is excitement particularly for children as they participate in their own events at schools and churches, synagogues and with their families. There is also a sense of bah-humbug, anxiety, depression and a general irritation that can strike at any moment or rests within throughout the season. The singers can irritate, the traffic can madden and the lights and trees and tinsel can annoy.

Personally, I love the decorations of the season. We walked through the local botanical gardens last night and not only were the lights beautiful but it was inspiring to think of all the hours and hours of volunteer time spent stringing millions of lights. Children oooohed and aaaahhhed as the skipped and tunneled through the crowds. Grandparents and great-grandparents slowly made their way along the pathways, supported by their families. Through a partnership of the city, parks, a local radio station, local merchants and thousands of volunteers preparing for months the light display is magical. Some find the Christmas crowds overwhelming. I find it comforting, at least in short durations. It confirms my belief in my fellow humans as we gather together to appreciate the work and beauty of this light display. This morning the newspapers scream out the chilling news of another attack on two police officers. Our community has been under fire. Five officers killed and three seriously and critically injured since October. Two of the three attackers killed by return gunfire. More shootings on a daily basis darken the season. A mother and her baby were shot and killed just last night, in their home, by a man with a restraining order. We could be walking in terror each minute of each day based on the onslaught of news n our world. Yet our time together last night simply enjoying a light display gave me a sense of all the good, ordinary, and kind people on this earth.

Nature provides her own decorations as well. We have a 30 foot holly tree in our front yard that is full of red berries nestled within the impossibly glossy green leaves that cannot be replicated by man or woman. When I am tired of the crowds of the holidays I stand under this tree and I am filled with an equal sense of peace on earth. I love this tree when the berries are lit by sunlight, in the mist and rain, and occasionally like last year, covered in snow. A fleeting feeling perhaps, and fragile in this current world but treasured and kept in a special place in my heart. Merry Christmas to all...and a wish for peace on earth.