Normal is a dryer setting

A friend of mine at work confided that her 17 year old daughter may be bipolar. Normally a high achiever, she is flunking out of school. She is depressed and acting out. Such a worry. I have tried to get her in touch with a neighbor in the ward (Kathleen) who has a son who is bipolar (John) and another son who suffers from anxiety. I thought it would be good for the two women to get together.

Kathleen had a book she had loaned to my friend. As I returned it, we ended up taking our evening walk with Kathleen and Roy. Kathleen had several interesting things to say about coping with a bipolar child. She said that anxiety is the most common of mental illnesses (who knew it was considered in the mental illness spectrum?). She said that the average time to diagnose and find proper medications for bipolarity is TEN YEARS. (Their son is 32.) She ended with, "Tell your friend that normal is a setting on the dryer. None of us are really normal. There is no such thing."

Work continues to be anything but normal. Lots of words occur to me, but normal is not one of them.

Grandma great is certainly not normal. Bob stopped by to visit on his way home from work. He offered to warm up a dinner in her fridge. She told him he must go buy her dinner or she would starve. Definitely not normal.

Several of our neighbors have had children return home to live with them. They are between jobs, saving money for a new house, waiting for their house to sell, or going back to school. One week we had three new family memberships read in - all were children returning to live with their parents. One of my neighbors has a daughter (call her Sue) who has moved back with her husband into her parent's home. They are newly married and young. They have had trouble with cars, and she is pregnant. Currently, Sue's husband works part time while he goes to school, seeking a degree in elementary education. Sue works full time, securing the insurance for the family. How great that her parents can help them out, and that she feels comfortable asking. Sue says she wants desperately to be a full time mom when the baby is born, yet even with two incomes and insurance they need to live with her parents. I see lots of stress in their future.

We went to a wedding reception with our good friend Jay (his wife was to the young women's broadcast with a granddaughter). While he has been plagued by severe pain in recent years, now his pancreas has given out (requiring him to take three enzyme pills with every meal/snack) and his heart is malfunctioning. Constant pain, doctor's appointments, and medications are his new normal.

I went out to lunch twice last week with friends from our old Relief Society presidency. Both have had stress with a child. One said, "I have lowered my expectations. If my son isn't suicidal, I count it as a good week."

Normal is a dryer setting. Most of us are just doing the best we can. Life is perfect for none of us.

New Phone?

As I was leaving one class in the business building, and dashing to another in Old Main, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to give Grandma Great a call. The phone made an odd sound I've never heard before. I actually wasn't sure it was even my phone, but I looked around and couldn't see anything else that could make that noise. As I walked, I kept hearing the same noise - diddle diddle diddle. I kept looking at my phone, thinking maybe it was time to trade up to an iPhone. I called Steve to see if it kept making the noise while I talked. It did, but he couldn't hear it. Since I was going to class, I decided I should just turn off my phone so it wouldn't be disruptive. The noise didn't go away. I was really confused.

I kept walking and looking at my cellphone for an explanation. The noise continued. Diddle diddle diddle. When I got to class, I handed my phone to one of my students and said, "Can you make this stop? I've turned it off and it is still making noises." After a minute, he said, "It isn't your phone. I'm putting my ear right next to it and it is coming from somewhere else." I had a brief thought that maybe Martians had attached themselves to me, when I looked down and saw I was still wearing the microphone I use to record my lecture. Evidently, the mic is programmed to complain when someone attempts to steal it. Pretty funny!

Failure to Communicate

We have been studying pattern matching in my advanced algorithms class. Pattern matching is just finding a piece of text (the pattern) in a document. We have algorithms for doing that effectively.

The homework question reads:

Given a pattern P and a text T, determine if P is contained within T or if P can be split into two pieces so that the first piece matches the end of T and the second piece matches the first of T. In other words, P is found by wrapping around T. Hint, think elegant (and simple).

One of my Asian students sends me an email: I didn't understand the hint you gave to us for problem 5. "Hint, think elegant (and simple)" Is this an example? in which elegant is a pattern?

So funny!

This rivals my experience a year ago in which a Nigerian student had written (in a paper I was presenting), "This cannot possibly be true". In his mind he was saying, "It possibly is not true". I explained that "cannot possibly" is even stronger than "cannot". It means it is absolutely impossible for it to be true under any circumstances. He argued, "No, the possibly creates doubt." I told him that is not what it means. I STILL don't think he believes me.

My partner in teddy-grahams

On Sunday, they sustained Steve as a nursery worker. It was amazing to see how the kids related to him. He had Hadley just giggling. Finn crawled on his lap and just snuggled in. It is a great calling for Steve as there is no stress, and he is needed.

I keep having people say things to me like, "Whoa. How can you do nursery? I would hate it. I can't sit on the floor. I'm so not good with kids." Or, "I've done that before. I was called for six months, but was ready to be released. It just exhausts me."

Poor strategy. If they don't want the calling, shouldn't they be convincing me how wonderful it is, so I won't want to be released?

I think it is fun. Kids are so amazing. It is easy to make them happy, and you always know where you stand. You can melt tears with a song or a funny face. There is never a dull moment, and you get to visit with other nursery workers. And when they have messy diapers, you get to take them to the DADS. I love it. It's the perfect calling.

Testimony

Tonight was our Relief Society birthday party. Lesa Stevenson (wife of Presiding Bishop Gary Stevenson) spoke to us. Through their calls as mission president, Seventy, and now presiding Bishop, they have still kept a home in our ward.

She recounted the devastating series of earthquakes (over 500) that hit Japan two years ago. They lasted for days. Lesa said, "You were always rocking." The earthquakes generated a tsunami, which swept away nearly 30,000 people and took out the nuclear power plant. She said she was with friends who had come to visit when the first earthquake hit. They were to meet Gary for lunch, when they could see smoke in the distance and their tour boat kept crashing into the dock. Luckily, they found cabs to take them home and were able to contact Gary moments before the entire cellphone network in Japan went dead. There was no communication for sixteen hours. She showed message boards in disaster service centers where people pinned notes saying they were there, where they were going, and who they were looking for.

She showed pictures of the "yellow shirts" worn by LDS volunteers as they cleaned up the wreckage.

Lesa told of Reid Tateoka, the Sendai mission president, who went against protocol and invited every missionary in his district to attend a leadership training in the mission home (high in the mountains). Four times he went to his wife to tell her what he wanted to do. Every time she told him that it wasn't what they had been trained to do - which was to invite only the district leadership. Finally, he said that is what he really felt he should do. The leadership training was March 11th - the very day the earthquakes hit in Sendai. Every missionary was safe.

Lesa told of a mission in Tokyo in which the mission president's wife needed to leave for a medical treatment. Before she left, she felt prompted to bake. She filled up all the freezers. She bought extra supplies. She stored lots of water. Her husband couldn't quite understand why she was doing it. She was gone when the earthquake hit, but because of following her promptings, there was food and supplies for all of the missionaries who descended on the mission home.

A few weeks before the earthquakes, Elder Holland came to tour the mission. As he met with the missionaries, he asked to give them an apostolic blessing. He did so, and it was wonderful, but before he ended, he paused and began again to bless all of the members. Towards the end, he paused again, and blessed all of the people of Japan and the political leaders. While such blessings are not usually, recorded, he gave permission for this one to be recorded and shared. So touching.

Gradeschool Memories

This semester has been an absolute killer. I'm afraid I haven't been a very entertaining partner. In an effort to be slightly more fun, I've been looking for plays for Steve and I to attend. Yesterday we went to "Murder Room" at the lyric. Two and a half hours of British farce was a bit tedious, but one of our (former) YSA ward members was in it, so that made it fun.

We had run a variety of (boring) errands such as shopping at Dillards closeout sale, picking up cheese, getting books at the library - so we arrived at the Lyric somewhat early. There were only two people in the theater, an indication that matinees at the Lyric are not well attended. Patron arrived slowly. Because we had all purchased our tickets online (with 'best ticket in the house' options), we were all clustered close together, even though we could have each had a whole row to ourselves.

I saw an elderly woman in sandalls (with no socks) and her younger partner(a daughter, it turns out) make their way to the seats next to me. I helped them read the seat numbers to locate their seats and hoped they didn't freeze in the chilly theater. The woman looked so familiar, so I asked who she was. Before she uttered the name "Zetta Peterson," I recognized her as the mother of my childhood friend, Lizette. I said, "You are Lizette's mother." She corrected my pronunciation "LEE-zette". None of us ever called her LEE-zette, but evidently her mother was not aware of our pronunciation. Lizette died ten years ago of breast cancer. Her obituary is below.

Lizette and I had been good friends in gradeschool, but never did anything together once our small school class was mixed with others in the valley at Logan Junior High.

I am the first to admit I have a terrible memory. While friends of mine can tell you what they ate at which restaurants on their honeymoon forty years ago, I vaguely remember we did go on a honeymoon. Others can give you a play by play of each pain during delivery. I'm lucky to remember whether it was morning or night when I delivered. If I didn't have a child as proof and a birthday we celebrate every year, even that memory would be dim.

Anyway, for someone having such a terrible memory as myself, I was amazed at the flood of memories that came back as I visited with Lizette's mother.

Peterson's had a huge, stately home on First North and First East, by the old library. It was a classic older home, like one you may expect to see on the set for Gone with the Wind. I have flashes of memories:

Being invited for Sunday dinner (they had chicken) and really not wanting to go. I didn't want to deal with the social expectations of eating with her family, nor having to eat food that was prepared differently than I was accustomed.

Sleepovers and having Lizette read me stories she had been writing.

Playing hide and go seek.

Doing the polka in their living room until we collapsed on the floor.

Walking to the library together. It was Lizette who introduced me to "Nancy Drew mysteries".

Trying on elegant clothes as dress-ups.

Having Lizette show me the "cooking wine" (gasp) her grandmother had in her apartment kitchen. So funny. We both thought having cooking wine was risque.

A carnival themed birthday party where each room was fortune telling or cards.

I remember watching her sister, Leita (the one accompanying her mother at the theater, ten years our senior), get ready for a dance at the college. Lizette told me Leita used a glue to keep her ears from flapping. [Really, why do I remember such things?]

I remember sitting out on the playground at recess having Lizette tell us stories. The group grew until there must have been twenty of us. The story ended with the heroine climbing a wall and looking over the other side. Lizette asked us what we thought she saw. We all gave our ideas. She said our thoughts about what we saw indicated our true beliefs about an after life. She never told us what was on the other side.

It was fun to visit. I told Mrs Peterson that I had such fond memories of her and her home. I told Leita that we had considered her to be the most elegant and exciting of big sisters. I could see I brightened their day, as they did mine.

Here is the picture of our fourth grade class. Lizette is the one with glasses on the top row. Can you find me? Steve got it right on the third try.

Obituary: Lizette Peterson-Homer Dr. Lizette Peterson-Homer, 51, of Columbia, Mo., unexpectedly passed away at University Hospital on Thursday, July 18, 2002. Lizette was born Feb. 24, 1951, in Cedar City, Utah, to Edwin L. and Zetta B. Peterson. She completed her bachelors degree summa cum laude at Utah State University in 1973. She went on to the University of Utah to earn her masters and doctoral degree in clinical psychology. She married Andrew Homer at her parents home in Logan on June 5, 1978. Following her clinical psychology internship at the Salt Lake City Veterans Administration Hospital in 1978, she took a position at the University of Missouri-Columbia where she spent her entire academic career. At the time of her death, she was the Byler Distinguished Professor and the Curators Professor of Psychological Sciences at the University of MissouriColumbia. Prof. Peterson-Homer led a distinguished career as a researcher, scholar, mentor and editor in the fields of clinical and health psychology and was internationally recognized as a leader and innovator in the field of pediatric and child clinical psychology. Her achievements were many and varied and included the award of Curators Professor, the highest professorial rank at the University of Missouri, the Distinguished Scientific Contribution Award from the Clinical Psychology Division of the American Psychological Association, the Society for Pediatric Psychology Significant Research Contribution Award, the Shannon Award from the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development and the Chancellors Award for Outstanding Research and Creativity in the Behavioral and Social Sciences.

She was named a Fellow of the American Psychological Association. She authored four books, 38 book chapters and 145 scientific journal articles and made landmark contributions to improving the quality of the lives of children. She served as the editor of two of the most influential journals in clinical psychology, the Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology and Behavior Therapy and was the founding editor of Cognitive and Behavioral Practice. She was also on the editorial boards of a dozen scholarly journals.

Lizette always described herself as a teacher. She was a highly sought after mentor who supervised 21 masters theses and 33 doctoral dissertations and a popular undergraduate instructor. Lizette loved the outdoors, the mountains and the ocean, hiking, swimming and snorkeling. She enjoyed gardening, cooking, reading mysteries and attending her childrens sporting and school events. Lizette had a strong and beautiful spirit. She cared passionately for her family and her profession. She is survived by her husband, Andrew and son, Geddes, both of Columbia; her daughter, Kestrel of Santa Cruz, Calif.; her mother, Zetta Peterson of Logan; sisters, Leita Peterson of Los Angeles, Calif., and Edwina Cross of Ashland, Ore.; and her brother, Edwin T. Peterson of Vernal, Utah.