A Powerful Force For Love

Today I had Patrick's IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for his transition to high school.

I wasn't expecting too much since we had recently had another IEP meeting and pretty much set up all of the expectations for next year and planned it all out ahead of time.

This was just a more formal hand off:

You, junior high group, formally pass the torch to the high school group.

It was an intimate affair.

One school psychiatrist. One inclusion specialist from the high school. 

One junior high inclusion specialist and me.

And the person of honor: Patrick.

So we started out the meeting in the usual way.

Let's list Patrick's strengths.

Patrick, you go first.

Patrick was prepared.

Mike, his awesome inclusion specialist, had worked with him.

He listed off his reading, his love of Shakespeare, his love of drama...

and then he paused.

So the team, ever conscious of time, and the need for a steady pace, stepped in.

Mike asked pointedly: "Any more strengths, Patrick?"

Patrick was thinking about it.

I wanted to jump in and list the many, many strengths that I know he has.

But I resisted.

I distracted myself: I pondered how I would have handled this question 

asked of me in a room full of adults as a 15 year old.

I would have said way more ummmms.

[Once again, I considered how faulty this whole process was...

how contrived and forced.

What 15 year old would want to discuss his or her strengths or challenges in a room full of adults?

What adult would?

Asking a typical student to do this is hard.

Asking a teenager with a developmental disability to do this is Herculean.]

Patrick ummed for only a short second and then he hit it out of the park:

"Oh, and I'm a powerful force for love."

What on earth?

Never.

Honestly.

Ever. 

Have I said that phrase.to anyone.

There was a silence in the room.

I wasn't sure if they had heard him...but Mike did.

I agreed with Patrick and chimed in.

"Yes, he's a powerful force for love...but I'm not sure where that will go in our paperwork."

In my mind, I'm in a trance.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Why, oh why, isn't that measurable?

Why does an ability to move fractions into percents seem to this audience as a greater strength?

Where's our humanity?

*****

What I love about this whole episode is that to those of us who have our days graced with someone with Down Syndrome this whole conversation doesn't seem so far-fetched.

People with Down Syndrome have a remarkable ability to keep it real.

To be candid and spot on.

They get to the heart of a situation.

They speak their minds...

without pretense or hidden agendas.

We just have to listen.

Or their genius gets overlooked...or lost...or worst of all, remains unknown.

No adult took the bait.

Patrick's comment went untouched.

Except for me.

His words just echoed. Over and over.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

His words became the haunting opportunity that remains largely missed in our schools.

Students with intellectual disabilities should be,

MUST BE,

included in typical classrooms...for this very reason.

THEY ARE A POWERFUL FORCE FOR LOVE.

And our classrooms need way more love.

Our typical students could sure use some love...

some acceptance...

some social, emotional acknowledgement.

Our schools need this powerful force,

way more than fractions or dates in history or grammar.

LOVE is the answer.

*****

Still, hours later, I'm hypnotized by those words.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Maybe he said them just for my benefit.

They have forever changed me.

Patrick's words have become a mantra...

a challenge...

a request from the universe.

Most of all, they have become my heart's desire...

a daily affirmation...

to live more forcefully...

for love.

Let's be a powerful force for love. Today.

The Egg and The Thank You

So a few weeks ago I was on the phone with my husband at midnight and I heard a loud knock on the door.

I asked my husband to wait and I went to the door.

My dog was growling -- a low, guttural sound that he rarely makes.

Awesome.

The dog is freaked out.

I opened the door, stepped outside and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

I asked into the darkness if anyone was there.

It was quiet.

Buddy was still not quite right and about 20 minutes later I opened the door again to prove to him things were okay.

He sniffed around, marked his territory and settled back into his nighttime sleepy fluffball position.

I didn't think about it until the next day.

I went upstairs to open up the windows to let in the cool morning air before the heat of summer pressed in...

and I saw it.

An egg smashed on my window.

I opened the window and looked around.

Suddenly I'm Sherlock.

I search every other window in my house.

I patrol outside.

I'm convinced I've been egged by haters.

But why?

What's controversial?

What have I done that would need an egg punishment?

I thought perhaps Mary Kate had said something at her work.

Could Patrick have bothered someone?

Who throws an egg at someone's house?

I know it sounds silly, but I spent my day obsessing on the egg.

I felt bruised.

Embarrassed.

Guilty.

Dirty.

Ugly.

Ashamed.

Like I had done something wrong.

Like someone I loved had done something to deserve it.

John blew it off as a kid-thing.

He's so much better at being drama-free.

It was a summer day -- and the school-is-happening-soon clock was ticking.

I knew I needed to break out of my funk.

I did the take-the-dog-for-a-walk-and-ignore-it thing...

this tactic is very effective.

Until you get home...and see bits of egg shell mocking you on your roof.

I couldn't shake it.

Through lunch, grocery shopping, normal summer fun with the kids and even through dinner.

I had egg on my face.

Finally, it was time to walk Buddy again.

I asked Caroline to come along (to cheer me up) 

and with a dog on a leash and a kid holding my hand I was ready to face the mean old world.

I had my armor on after all.

I got to the end of my walkway and stopped.

Someone, a stranger, had taken the time to draw three chalk flowers next to Caroline's big flower on the sidewalk and next to those three flowers the words: thank you.

I was floored.

Who could that be?

I hadn't revealed my egg shame to anyone.

No one was around.

Those flowers weren't there this morning.

Where had they come from?

It actually didn't matter.

It was my chance to exhale...for the first time all day.

I just stared at those flowers and smiled...a really big, goofy smile.

A tiny act of kindness.

The tiniest.

Three flowers and a thanks washed away that gooey egg -- a sprinkle of goodness 

straight from the universe.

So tonight I'm grateful for the smallest of things, the "everyday deeds of ordinary folk"...

they do, indeed, keep the darkness at bay.

Your job tomorrow: do a small thing.

One simple act of kindness and love.

It's so fun to consider...so many options.

Go ahead.

I double dog dare you.

Sprinkle the world with some love.

We all need it.

You never know what you might wash away.

Thank You, Monet!

"I hope some day to meet God, 

because I want to thank Him for the flowers."  

--Robert Brault

Caroline in a field of white and purple daisies.

It's that time of year, or maybe it's because we just had earth day, or maybe it's because I spent some time at my favorite place, the beach, but I have this beautiful planet on my heart.


No matter where you walk, right now it's showing off.

Taken as I was driving because I was so so utterly blown away by the fleeting majesty.

In my heart, I want to be a photographer, if only to capture the momentary glory and remember...
to press it on my heart in hard times and times of deep sadness...
to know that right around me -- always within reach --
is this.

I have an irrational fondness for these tiny, tiny daisies that sprout up only at this time of year amid the regular grass...as if trying to blend in...and finding it an impossible task:

We have wild mustard blooming and those magical California poppies and lupines and iris and roses...always the roses.

I can't help myself.  

I'm in love...with this earth, with the non-stop wonders that surround me... 

with the everyday holiness.

It's sacred.

Found at a Brownie meeting...in between skit practice and singing campfire songs.

One of my most recent favorite books had the dad thinking aloud with his terminally ill teen-age daughter about our world:
"Sometimes it seems the universe wants to be noticed.  That's what I believe...I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed."
The Fault In Our Stars -- John Green


I agree!
It's pretty obvious it wants to be noticed...

This happens every, single day.  No.big.deal.

How do we stop noticing??
How can we not tear up with the beauty?
I guess it's called taking it for granted...
but I want to stop and notice.
I want to fill my heart up with the every day glory that is only here in this moment, right now.

*****

I recently taught an art lesson to a bunch of 2nd graders.  We went to our local arboretum and looked at some bridges and wild flowers and just stopped and got quiet and paid attention.

I told them that Claude Monet painted the same bridge in London, the Waterloo Bridge, over 100 times.
This took my breath away.
I showed them the same bridge painted on three different days, years apart by Monet...
one was a gorgeous pinkish hue, fused with early light;
one was bluish in tone with a hint of fog...the blue, a light turquoise with some green tints as well;
one was a lavender, dusky and melancholy and utterly breath-taking.

I've been thinking so much about Monet's wisdom.

Nothing is the same.

Each day it is a bit older, a bit more lush, or broken in, a bit more overgrown or mowed or the tree limbs are bare or that flower is just springing up or the light plays a different way.

His passion for seeing the very same scene with different eyes has transformed me.

Seals and Crofts said it best:
"We may never pass this way again."

Just for today, let's notice.

Joy

                                                    

Here is my joy...

 I call him prozac with fur.

Three years ago he was born...he entered my life 1023 days ago.  There has not been a single day that he didn't add a little bit of joy.  Many, many days he's added big heaping gobs of joy to my life.  As a matter of fact, my love is irrational, biased, over the top and just plain sloppy.  

I like it that way.

I'm officially one of those dog people. And guess what, my dog is one of those kinds...the one who sticks by me, follows me around the house.  Wherever I am, he is.  

Do you notice my pile of clothes in the background of this pic??

 Yeah, me neither.

That's how it goes with Buddy.

He makes it all better.

When one more piece of crap piles on an already bad day and my tears can't hide anymore...little padded paws come and check on me.  They don't tell me to hush.  They don't ask me to explain or need me to think.  A pair of chocolate eyes just looks at me...a wet nose nudges...this unbelievably wise and gentle soul just bears witness and comforts.  He's just there.  Present in the moment.  That alone is enough.

I want to bring him to every hurting place on our planet.  I want him to comfort sad kids, lonely old people, angst-ridden teenagers...even my crabby, weird neighbor.  But then, I wonder.  Maybe his comfort is made for me alone.  (Well, I can't leave out the rest of my family, but you know what I mean.)  Maybe dogs and our other bright spots in our day are just that...our individual, made-just-for-us-in-this-crazy-universe kind of joy.  

Maybe our dog is like our fingerprint...personal, identifying and only ours.

It's a mystery.  

One of my very favorites.  

I waited a long, long time to get a dog...too long.

I'm so very grateful for him.

Grateful for his effervescence.

Grateful for his willingness to just hang out with me day in and day out.

Grateful that somehow our worlds collided and I get to be with him each and every day.

I marvel at the sheer luck...but maybe it is something bigger.

Maybe something, somewhere, knew I needed this kind of love.

Maybe, just maybe, it was meant to be.

Buddy...

Thanks for the $114 Ticket, Really

"Chance is perhaps the pseudonym of God when he does not wish to sign his work."
 -- Anatole France

I don't know what the universe is trying to tell me...but like a message in a bottle, something is in here.  Perhaps you can tell me.

Yesterday, I noticed two meter maids looking over my husband's car parked on the street in the front of our house.  They really looked deep in conversation and although I thought it might have something to do with John's car, I was smug.  He had the correct parking pass (don't ask); he had just paid his car registration so I knew he was up to date there.  No, I insisted to myself, those two just hadn't seen each other in awhile and were doing the cooler talk over John's car.

Hours later I noticed a ticket -- it never pays to be smug.  $114. Crap.  What could possibly be the reason? No tags to prove an updated registration. Oh yeah, I remembered.  John's car had not passed the smog check and so he needed to take his car in.  And, whenever he takes his car in, because it's German and fancy, it costs a lot. Hence, the dawdling over dealing with it and the ticket.

"That's it." I fumed.  I will just have to take his car in tomorrow and deal with it.  I never drive John's car and because of this detail I believe (however erroneously) that I shouldn't have to deal with it when it comes to maintenance or smog checks.  That's his territory.  

So, taking his car in was a bold move.  I knew John would appreciate it (one less thing for him to deal with) but still I was out of my comfort zone.  Add to it that I dropped it off wearing a swim cover up because I was on our way to a water park with the kids and the whole event felt weird.  Nevertheless, I was proud of myself for tackling an annoyance that in my mind wasn't really mine to handle.

I gave the car guys John's cell phone should they need it and away I went.  A couple hours into it John got a call: 

"So, Mr. Foraker, it looks like you need a new catalytic converter."  

cha-ching 

"It usually costs around $3000."

 Damn those fancy cars.

"But it looks like you have a 10 year warranty on this part...and, it expires, um, tomorrow.  So, if you don't mind, we can keep it over night and replace the part for you free of charge."

The story goes that John couldn't keep his cool and literally laughed out loud and into the car guy's ear.  He asked him to repeat the good news.  The car guy was laughing at the circumstance too.  What are the chances.  John has owned his car for over 12 years.  The converter was normally under warranty for 2 years until someone did a class action law suit and the warranty became extended for ten years.  That's 4,384 potential days for repair and we showed up on day number 4,383. 

Frankly, I can't believe they didn't round up.

Who knows, maybe everyone -- including car guys -- can spot a crazy lucky moment gifted from the universe and honor it.

 The only thing I know...I need to go out of my way and thank those two over-achieving meter maids.  I owe them a cup of coffee (and maybe even a lottery ticket) at the very least.