Some pictures from Graduation

My beautiful daughter on her 8th grade graduation.

Queen Teen and her teacher, Laura Fogg, and our good friend, Sharon

                    

  Getting her Certificate

                                                                         Cousins

One last class at SF State

I'm sitting in the student union on the San Francisco Sate University campus, sipping a lukewarm Latte and watching other students wander by on their way to classes. It's summer, so the food court is quiet; you can actually find a table. You can walk through the bookstore without squeezing past hundreds of students fighting for the last few used copies of the text book they need. The mood of the university is laid back and slower then during the Fall and Spring. If you're here taking a class over the summer, you're either very dedicated to your major, or are very close to graduating.

I'm very close to graduating. After I take this one class, I'm finished with all of my course work for my Master's degree. I'll just have my internships in the Fall,  plus a Master's exam. No more sitting in a classroom absorbing information; it's almost time to put all that info to work.

The class I'm taking teaches how to write a research proposal, but since I don't have to do a research project for my degree, it feels like a massive waste of time and money. It's a 15 week class crammed into a 5 week summer session. 5 weeks is better than 15, and I'll do my best not to give in to the school burnout I feel. I might actually learn something useful, and I get to spend three days in San Fran again, sleeping in, exploring my favorite city, seeing friends.... I mean studying every single moment because I'm far too busy to have any fun. And besides, after all those weekend classes learning to cross streets under blindfold, this one research class is going to feel like a leisurely stroll through the Japanese Tea Garden while sipping soothing Jasmine tea.

The hardest part of all this is my family. Being gone for three straight days has created a lot of tension again. Queen Teen is PISSED, and is taking out all her anger on Rick. Rick is tired and has been working too much, so really doesn't have the patience to deal with angry-teen. I feel guilty that I'm here in a quiet room (I'm staying at a friend's house while she's in New York. So nice, all this solitude.) able to to hear myself think again. But I'm trying to enjoy this time and not let guilt ruin it. This is the last of my "escapes." Once I'm done with my classes, it will be very, very, very, very, very, very, hard for me to run away from home any more.

So here I sit, sipping my latte, staring out the window and writing in my blog, when I should be working on the first draft of section one of my research proposal.

Wonderful

         *********************************************************************

Update on Queen Teen's graduation

Queen Teen didn't make it to the actual ceremony with her classmates. It was just too hard on her. Instead we had a party at our house and a small ceremony of our own where we presented her with her Principal's List award. Several of her teachers were there, as well as my dad, mom, brother, sis-in-law, niece and nephew and my good friend Jody. Queen Teen was so excited and looked gorgeous in her new dress. Here's a pic. I'll post more soon.

8th grade graduation: what's the big deal?

Today is Queen Teen's last day of Jr High. Tonight is graduation and a celebration here at the house with family and many of the people who have helped her get this far: teachers, therapists, advocates and friends. She has a new, pink and white polka dot dress (so pretty!) and a new white crochet bolero sweater. Family from far away have been sending cards, cash and good wishes. I'm cleaning the house and baking quiche for the party. Only one problem...

Queen Teen doesn't know what the hell is going on.

I've been trying to explain what "8th grade graduation" is for a month.

"Graduation is a ceremony where are all the kids who are in the 8th grade are honored for all their hard work. You get an award and all your family and friends will be there and we'll cheer."

She looked at me slack jawed and blinked.

"Um... we're going to have a party here at the house to celebrate all the hard work you've done. Then we'll go to the high school with the other 8th graders and you'll get your award."

Again, she stared at me, this time scrunching her eyebrows.

"It will be fun. You'll see. Your cousin is coming..."

She smiled at that.

"... and Nana and Uncle Chris and Aunt Margie and Grandpa Bear..."

She giggled.

"We'll all be there to cheer when you get your award for finishing Jr. High."

"Why?"

"Why will we be there?"

"Why do I get a award?"

"Because you worked very hard and are now ready to go to High School."

She sighed. "I don't understand anything."

I've tried this conversation several times. I've looked for books about graduation and found one with Clifford, but it didn't arrive in time. I've looked for movies, but didn't find any she would understand. The problem is that the concept of a graduation is completely foreign to her. We went to her cousin's 8th grade graduation two years ago but we had to leave early because she had a panic attack.

She really doesn't care about all this fuss. What Queen Teen wants is for her days to be normal again. Early release, assemblies, parties and field days at school are annoying. Why all the excitement? All the fuss and rushing around. Everything just needs to be "normal." Then she'll be happy.

Later this morning I'll meet Queen Teen and her O and M teacher, Laura, to check out the location of the graduation and figure out how to get Queen Teen on the platform to accept her certificate. Wheelchair or Walker? One of her classmates, a strong boy who has become a good friend, will help her. But as we're sorting out the details of where she will sit and how she will get her diploma, I'm beginning to have doubts about the whole thing. The ceremony takes place on the football field, just as her cousin's graduation did. Will Queen Teen have a panic attack like she did at her cousin's graduation? Will she be able to sit through the almost 2 hours of speeches and band performances?

Who is this graduation for? Queen Teen, or me?

If it was up to Queen Teen she'd skip the whole thing.

But I want her to experience what a graduation is and accept her certificate, be acknowledged for all her hard work, and soak up some of the accolades that she misses out on.

Again, is that for her, or me?

If it's for me, is that so bad?

At last, a weekend at home

It's Memorial Day Weekend, the "official" kick off to Summer in the US; a three-day weekend full of bbq's, road trips, beach parties, picnics, and carousing with friends. Except for me and my family. We are happily staying home and trying to do as little as possible. This is the first weekend we've all been together since school started and Queen Teen is ecstatic that I'm home.

So much has happened this May! I don't know where to start. The launch of the newest book from my publishing company; my O and M training over; the end of the Spring Semester; Queen Teen's Stanford appointments; a juggling festival; my father's visit; Queen Teen's birthday and rapidly approaching eighth-grade graduation party... all in one short month. Plus I want to write about crossing 19th avenue and what we learned on our last O and M class. But Summer session begins next week and I doubt I'll get to write everything I want.

Summer session next week... sigh

Don't worry about that right now, Terena. Enjoy this beautiful weekend with your daughter.

On Friday night my husband and I went on a date for the first time in three months. We ate take-out Thai noodles in the sunshine, then walked around town hand-in-hand before getting a glass of wine at the pub. It felt so good to be out in the world on a Friday night with my boy instead of closed up in a classroom. We saw Robin Hood and got sick on greasy, buttery tasting  popcorn, then walked home together under the stars. Beautiful.

Saturday I took Queen Teen to the farmer's market where we tasted fresh made jam and smelled the peppermint, rosemary and basil starts. I was surprised by how full the market was and how many stalls were operating, but then I remembered that the market had been going since late April (some of the farmers go all year) while I was in class. The entire Spring is a blur of stress and curiosity for me, but the world kept on going in its usual way. I feel that I've arrived back in my own country after being on an expedition to Antarctica for 5 months... while blindfolded.

Today, my body crashed. I woke up at 4 a.m. nauseous and shaking. Sometimes I get these episodes where my body behaves like I've run a 40 mile marathon at full speed on too little food and water. Down I fall at the finish line, shaking and praying I don't start throwing up in front of the spectators. Fun. So rather than getting anything productive done, I spent the entire morning in bed, watched Roman Holiday, slept, then slowly got myself back together. By the afternoon I was feeling better, just wobbly. Queen Teen and I watched movies, watered the garden and made a scarecrow out of chicken wire, yarn, pipe cleaners and a child's pink princess dress. Tomorrow I'll rest more, and then we'll look for a cardigan to go with her new dress for eighth grade graduation this Thursday.

Wow. Off to high school after this Thursday.

My house is a mess, my yard overgrown, and my car is starting to smell like a college student's dorm room. A boy's dorm room. I have a huge bag of papers to shred and another pile of clothes to mend. 12 people are coming to my home to celebrate Queen Teen's promotion.

I'll worry about all that on Tuesday. It's memorial day weekend. I'm going to sit in the sun.

Why I have had zero time to write

First of all, I launched a new book this month, an anthology of true, transformative punk rock tales, called Punk Rock Saved My Ass.

Plus, it's the end of the Spring semester. Recently, we went to Guide Dogs for the Blind and learned to travel with a Dog Guide.

This is Toledo, one of the greatest dogs I've ever met. He and I had a blast traveling together, and when we were done, we took some time to play, which included face licking (he licked me. I'm not fond of licking dog hair).

And then there is Queen Teen, who will be graduating Jr High this June and will soon be a High School student. Oh my...

It has been a fast paced, overwhelming, fascinating, thrilling, and enriching Spring. But I'm glad the semester is almost over. I miss writing. Once classes end, I'm looking forward to finishing my play and blogging again. I have a lot to write about, and I'm looking forward to reading your blogs.

Until then, enjoy.

Taking a break from stress and worry

Queen Teen and I had reached our max on unhappiness, so we headed to Disneyland. I bought a Disney vacation package from AAA (great deal!). The two of us packed our bags, said goodbye to homework, therapy, doctors and housework and then flew to LA to lose ourselves in the Magic Kingdom.

What is it about Disneyland that makes people drop everything and spend far more money than they should just to wander around the park in the hope of meeting a Princess or getting on a ride in less than 30 minutes? I have never been what you'd call a Disney person; I could care less about Mickey Mouse and I'd scoff at people who collected pins. But now, I can't wait for our annual trip to D-Land. Annual trip? Yep. Queen Teen demands it. We hunt autographs and trade pins with the most hard-core Disney fans, but we skip the rides. Just wandering the lanes, looking at the shops and statues, flowers and settings, is enough for us, and when we run across a character like Minnie Mouse we're thrilled.

This was the year for Minnie. Queen Teen has developed a passion for all things Minnie, in fact, I think it's almost equal to her love for Cinderella. We spotted Minnie three times and posed with her twice, and in every shop Queen Teen hunted for the Minnie Mouse dolls. The other highlight for Queen Teen was meeting Princess Jasmine, one of the Disney princesses she hadn't met before. And of course, she met Cinderella. I reserved a table at Ariel's Grotto where the Princesses come to your table while you eat, and it was a good thing I did, because that was the only place Cinderella appeared. If we went to D-Land and missed Cinderella, Queen Teen would be crushed. And we met Princess Tianna in New Orlean's Square, who sang songs from the Frog Princess accompanied by a New Orleans Jazz style band.

Overall, it was a good trip, except for the food poisoning. Our first night at the California Grand, I ate a salad and woke up sick as a dog. The sickness lasted the entire trip, making it even harder to care for Queen Teen on my own so far from home. I sipped tea and ate crackers while pushing her wheelchair several miles a day. Even without being sick, it was difficult taking care of her alone. She's so much bigger and heavier, as well as more wobbly. Between her size and worsening ataxia I realized taking her do Disneyland, or anywhere far away, by myself has become almost impossible. Sure, I can do it, but at a cost to my energy and sanity. Next time, Rick is coming.

While we explored the park, Queen Teen sang songs at the top of her lungs, making the people we passed smile. "This little light of mine... I'm gonna let it shine..." Seeing her that happy after so many weeks of snarling misery was worth every dime, every exertion, even worth food poisoning.

On our last day, Queen Teen announced, "I'm so lucky! I get to come to Disneyland. Not everybody gets to go, but I do. And I get to go next year too!"

Yes you do, darlin.

When life and school crash together in a painful sort of way

We got some bad news at Stanford last week about Queen Teen's prognosis. Her hearing has deteriorated to the point where even her hearing aids aren't much help, and the audiograms over the past two years show a steady decline overall. After her audiology appointment we saw the orthopedist to take a look at her knees and he ruled against bracing. I wish I could say it was because her knees are fine and she doesn't need braces, but the reality is that bracing won't help so why put her through the trauma? Her ataxia has worsened, and odds are she won't be walking in two years anyway, so there's no point in forcing her to wear braces. She left the appointment happy that the doctor agreed she didn't need to wear braces ("I told you!"). She didn't hear the whole conversation. I swallowed my tears, put on a smile, drove us the three hours home, then went out on the back deck with a big bottle of wine and drank more than half in one sitting. Sometimes you just have to get drunk.

There was no time to grieve. I had school and papers and midterms and a book to publish, meetings with service providers and Queen Teen's teacher. By Friday I was still sad, but ready for class, and while I drove to San Francisco I thought about Queen Teen's need for alternative communication and probably a power chair. I needed to lift weights and learn ASL even faster than I'd anticipated. It would be okay. We'd get through it somehow, just the way we always do: with love, faith in each other, and a lot of gallows humor.

The weekend's classes were focused on working with people with multiple disabilities; people who use canes and walkers and wheelchairs. My teacher began discussing the process that families go through when a child's disability requires a power chair. It's hard to watch your child go from walking to needing a chair. Parents grieve, and children grieve for the freedom they lost. There's also a lot of anger...

Are you frickin kidding me? This week, of all weeks, is the week we discuss children with degenerative conditions and how they need to be able to use a chair? I wanted to spring up and run from the room, but I didn't want to create a spectacle. Instead I focused on breathing, trying not to cry, trying not to show how unbelievably impossible this situation was. Was this some kind of cosmic joke? Was the universe or God or whoever you want to believe in out to get me? The reason my whole world was unraveling was the class topic? Then I felt the edge of hysteria, like I would start laughing so loudly I would scare everyone, right before falling on the floor and disappearing. It was just too surreal and painfully ridiculous.

I didn't fall apart. I got through the rest of the day and made it back to the security of my home in one piece. But I'm dreading next week's class. Why? Because the topic is Deaf-Blindness.

Yeah, I kind of already know that one too.

The chaotic roar of 19th Avenue

(image from San Francisco Sentinel)

After my triumph crossing 22nd street, I immediately had to prepare myself for the next street crossing challenge: 19th Avenue.  19th Avenue in San Francisco is a major, six lane artery that runs North-South along the West side of town, through Golden Gate park and along the Sunset District. It is the path of Hwy 1 as it cuts through The City, so there are a lot of cars on that road. Thousands of vehicles, all day and all night. And somehow, I had to get my blindfolded self across that crazy road.

But first, the class learned to walk beside 19th Avenue. We met at Rivera and 19th and took turns crossing Rivera, trying to sort out the cacophony of trucks and cars and buses that fly by at 40 mph. My class partner went first, so I practiced teaching. I was amazed once again by how easily he could line himself up for a straight line of travel listening to the parallel traffic. Then it was my turn to be the student. I put on my blindfold and stood at the corner of Taraval and 19th, concentrating hard to locate the sound cue I need to cross safely. As usual, the sound swirled and echoed all around me. I heard the Muni train clatter past, but it sounded like it was on top of me. A motorcycle roared by and I jumped. I flagged my class partner and said I couldn't do it, so he guided me across. On the other side of the street I traveled down the sidewalk along 19th Ave, but still felt dizzy with the sound. Half a block later, after jumping every time a loud car went by, I pulled off my blindfold and switched to the low vision simulator.

Even with a little vision, the noise was awful. My partner encouraged me to try crossing the last street with my blindfold, and I agreed. I knew I had to get across Rivera somehow, or I'd never make it across 19th. I took a deep breath, listened hard, trusted that my partner would keep me safe, and crossed Rivera. By the time I made it across the street, my heart was pounding and I wanted to cry, but I breathed deeply and forced myself to stay calm.

One thing my partner and I were able to verify is that I am indeed hearing the echoes of traffic. Because the traffic noise sounded like it was on my right (where the road was) and left (where the buildings were), it felt like I was walking smack down the middle of 19th Avenue (probably shouldn't use the word "smack" in that sentence).  Logically, I knew I wasn't, so I didn't panic, but the sensory overload was exhausting. I had to concentrate with all my might just to walk a straight line.

How was I going to cross 19th Avenue if I couldn't even walk along it?

And there was much rejoicing when I made it across the street!

(image from Wikimedia Commons)

I thought it would never happen. After weeks of standing on street corners with my eyes closed, listening to the sounds of traffic stopping and going at intersections, feeling the sound curve around my head and crash against buildings, I finally walked across an intersection under blindfold.

Un-frickin-believable.

My class met at Guerrero and 22nd in San Francisco's Mission district for our first street crossing lesson at a traffic controlled intersection. I kept both my blindfold and my low vision simulators (glasses covered in cheesecloth) in my pocket, ready for anything. My class partner and I went to our assigned intersection and practiced listening to the traffic under blindfold until we could determine the "now" moment. The light would change and the traffic on Guerrero would surge, creating a distinct roar of cars in motion. After taking a moment to listen for right turners and red light runners, we would step forward to cross the street, our cane arcing back and forth as we attempted to keep a straight line of travel to the destination corner. My partner had no trouble hearing the different sounds cars make as they travel forward through the intersection or turn in front of him. He has an incredible ability to differentiate sound and correct his own alignment by mere millimeters.

I am not so lucky.

When it was my turn to be the student and his to teach me, I covered my eyes with the blindfold and was immediately drowned in a roar of noise. Engine sounds swirled around me once again and I could only hear the right turners when they'd already passed me and traveled several car lengths down the street. How would I ever make it across the road safely?

I was determined, though, and I knew my class partner wouldn't let me get run over. And I realized that the traffic signals helped me determine the right time to cross. Unlike stop signs, the traffic flow had a definite pattern. With a little logic I could easily tell which direction traffic was flowing. I needed to pinpoint when my near parallel traffic traveled through the intersection, so I only had to sort out specifically how that group of cars sounded when the light changed. I still couldn't hear if someone was turning right, but again, I knew my class partner would grab me if a car was turning in front of me. Plus our instructor was observing and giving us both feedback. Between the two of them, I wouldn't die.

Here we go, I thought. I took a deep breath, listened for my cue, and started across the street. The sound roared around me as usual, but I knew logically it was moving forward because the light had changed to let traffic flow down Guerrero. I crossed 23rd street as fast as I could, my cane tapping back and forth, then swinging side to side as I found the curb, cleared, and stepped out of the street.

I did it!

Both my partner and our teacher cheered. I was grinning so big my cheeks pressed against my blindfold. I did it. I really did it.

I did it once more with the traffic heading toward me on my near parallel. This was actually easier for me to hear because the roar was coming at me instead of behind me, except that I had to wait a while when there were loud motorcycles blocking any other sound. I like motorcycles, but while waiting to cross the street I really wished every Harley in town would get their frickin muffler fixed!

By the end of the day, I was exhausted, my brain and my senses on overload. But I also felt very proud of myself. I was able to keep my anxiety low and stay focused on the sound cues I needed. And my cane skills didn't fall apart.

Wow. Maybe I'll be able to cross a busy stop-sign controlled intersection someday. But first, I have to cross 19th Avenue: all six lanes of traffic crammed, people-get-hit-by cars-traveling-at-40-miles-per-hour-weekly, 19th Avenue. That's what our class will be doing next week.

oh boy...

I knew I was going to be busy with school!

(Image by Randy Glasbergen )

Wow. The last time I updated my blog was Feb. 17th, and now it's March. What happened? School work, house work, child care, and publishing have dominated every ounce of time I have, leaving absolutely zero for anything remotely creative, including writing. Yes, publishing is creative, but I'm in the marketing/networking phase, which is focused on finding your target audience and making sure they know about the book; not the time for imagining scenes and inventing characters. Sometimes I look at my journal and my almost completed play, my novel longing to be written and my memoir in need of revision, and I ache for just one hour to lose myself in a story of my own devising.

Not today. Today I have to finish my intersection analysis, read 100 pages for my classes and start working on my exit report. Writing will have to wait until Summer.

And now Queen Teen is sick, so even homework is tricky to get to. She's had a cold for over a week, was finally getting better, and now it looks like she caught the flu. Poor thing. A double whammy of sickness. She lying in her bed trying to rest with a 100 degree temp and a nose so stuffed up she can't even blow it properly; just wipe and whimper because it's so sore. There is a mountain of used tissues and books around her right her now.

School is tricky, but I love it. I never did make it across the street under blindfold. Instead I'm wearing a low vision simulator (old glasses frames wrapped in cheesecloth to obscure my vision) at street crossings because there isn't enough time in the class for me to train my hearing to differentiate sounds. Good thing I'm not graded on being the cane traveler because I would flunk the class. Instead, I'm graded on my ability to teach and so far I'm getting an A. Yes!

What am I doing on this blog!? I need to get back to my homework while Queen Teen is distracted by books for a bit. I just wanted to say hello, check in with my blog community and pals, and stretch my writing muscles for a few minutes. If you don't use them, they get weak, just like any part of your brain.

Sorry I haven't had time to stop by your own blogs. I miss hearing the news. School won't last forever and I know I'm investing my time into my future right now. My hubby and I have been discussing what we'll do when I have a job, and it feels amazing to plan for the future instead of dreading it.  Time well spent, I say.

Well, back to work. Take care everyone.