The most touching funeral...

We went to the funeral of a sweet friend, Marilyn Hurd. She was 80 and suffering with Alzheimer's. Something about being in the Relief Society Presidency for five years dictates that all ward funerals must be attended.

Marilyn and Dean are part of a great ward family. They would do anything for you. At age 80, Dean started teaching primary. Marilyn would volunteer for anything you needed done. It was fun to learn about what she was like as a young mother. I've only known her as old and (in recent years) fragile.

The most touching part of the whole funeral happened before anyone said a word. We sat down, and I looked back over the crowd. Just behind me was a whole row of Dean's primary boys. I was so touched. I tried to tell Steve what I had seen, but I couldn't make any words come out. So special!

No budget for compassion

Starting last Friday, I started receiving a host of emails. Today, almost the entire day was taken trying to resolve the issue (without any real success). It is a convoluted set of circumstances. Basically, USU's office of global engagement incorrectly allowed an international graduate student of mine to do an internship (CPT). In fact, they approved his CPT TWICE, by mistake. The rule is complicated. I was never informed. Those that did receive the message in our department didn't understand, and didn't pass it on to me.

My student is in SLC with a wife and two kids. He has a contract for an apartment for a year. He has no car. They are telling him to stop work immediately and return to USU, where he has no job and no apartment. He has to apply for a different kind of internship permission, which can't be granted for FOUR MONTHS.

Very bad news, right? Listen to the tone of the email that was sent:

Dr. Watson,

I need X to stop working on his curricular practical training internship immediately to comply with immigration law.

Unfortunately one of my less seasoned advisors allowed him to extend his curricular practical training application this semester without taking note of the counsel I had given X last semester and it has further complicated the issue.

X is well aware of the immigration laws regarding curricular practical training because we discussed the laws at length last semester and that discussion is documented in his immigration file.

Please let me know if you need further information or if I can be of further assistance.

They could have said, "Gee, I'm sorry this happened to you. We messed up. We'll do anything in our power to help you through this." Instead, they inferred that he knew he was in the wrong and chose not to follow the rule. ARGGGGG.

The university always uses money as an excuse for not doing things, but there is no forced limitation on compassion.

Love in the nursery

We have been in the nursery for a year now. The kids are pretty special.

Hadley is almost three. She and Steve have this thing going. When the older kids were still in nursery, all the boys flocked to Steve. It is a magic he has. There was someone always tackling him, sitting on his lap, or showing him a special toy. Hadley didn’t mind the competition. She always made sure Steve had time for her. One day, we were getting ready for the lesson. Steve was trying to get one of the boys to sit on his lap and stop running around. He asked, “Won’t you sit on my lap?” Hadley quickly took stock of the situation and realized the boy was not going to sit down, so she ran over and sat on Steve’s lap. So cute. Last week, Lochland (for of our new recruits) was NOT happy to be in nursery. I figured Teddy Grahams were a good bribe. Lochland could not be bought off that easily, but the girls thought it was great. I kept getting them out of the box and offering one to whomever looked hungriest. Hadley reached her hand into the box to get a handful – but they weren’t for her. She took them over to Steve, who hadn’t had any. Such love.

Smurf Feet

Lori told me about soaking your feet in a solution of 2 parts water, 1 part vinegar, and 1 part mouthwash. I soak my feet while I'm on the computer, so it can be a half hour or so. I follow up with a pumice stone and it makes a huge difference. Better than anything else I've tried to get rid of rough heels. I stick the solution in a rectangular tuperware container, so I can use it multiple times.

I was cleaning in the bathroom(More later), when I discovered an old bottle of mouthwash. I decided it was time to replace my solution. The mouthwash was blue, and though several posts had warned against using blue mouthwash, I used it anyway. Sure enough. Smurf feet. Right down to the toenails. Luckily, it is winter so no one saw my feet. So funny!

About cleaning... I've been inspired by a cleaning post on facebook. A woman has a schedule for cleaning her whole house (including base moldings) every month. She does some deep cleaning every day, rather than save it for the weekend or a week in April. Since the kids have moved out, our house rarely gets deep cleaned. I figured I could afford to work on acquiring some new habits. Here are the favorite hints I have tried:

Tie a baggie containing white vinegar over your shower head. Let it sit overnight. Voila, hard water deposits are gone.

Use antibacterial wipes to do a 3-minute wipedown of bathroom and kitchen counters everyday.

Use a small amount of white vinegar on a microfiber cloth to clean blinds.

Buy microfiber cloths from the automotive department (Walmart has them $5 for 8). Spray the microfiber cloths with a small amount of water, attach them to your Swifter, and use them to clean wood floors.

Wipe down doors (inside and out), cabinets, switch plates, and walls once a month.

Vacuum out heating vents and air return grills.

Of course, her month's schedule will likely take me six months to complete, but it's better than my original schedule, which in some cases was never.

Here is the link to the cleaning schedule. Here

My inheritance...

I've been reminded of things I learned from my parents.

Yesterday, Steve was complaining that his sink was slow. I googled "slow bathroom sink" and found a video clip. I followed the instructions and was so thrilled to pull my pipes apart using wrenches in our toolkit. I found hairballs and black sludge. Steve was grossed out, but I thought it was great. All that junk that wouldn't be slowing down the drain. I felt like a little "Dad". Dad was so self-reliant and could fix anything. I don't have his fix-it skills, but I do have the satisfaction.

Before Christmas, I was in a meeting with the provost. She was so good - asking our opinions and really listening. I've known her for a while so I wasn't surprised, but after the meeting was over, the woman next to me expressed her amazement. Thinking of my mom,I passed the comment along to the provost in an email. Mom used to always say, "If you hear a compliment, pass it on. It is like a double compliment. One person said it, and you agreEd or you wouldn't have passed it on."

The provost thanked me for my note. Several weeks later, I saw the provost as I was leaving the public library. The first thing she said to me was, "Thanks for that note. It made my day."

Thanks,mom and dad.

And there's more. From both my folks I learned to use what you have and appreciate a sale. Mom used to read the ads, make her shopping list, and go to several stores to get the best price on everything. She would have loved "Price matching" and "grocery Smarts". Actually, she didn't need them. She knew a good price when she saw one without needing someone to tell her it was an "extreme" deal. She knew how to make a dollar go far, even when she didn't need to. It was kind of a like a stewardship over the resources that she had been given.

Dad kept all kinds of things "in case he ever needed them". Screws, nails, plumbing supplies, sections of hose, wood, wire... you name it, he saved and filed it for future use.

It is almost like a game with me. Discovering eggs that are near their expiration date, you think of something you can make to use them up. It just seems unappreciative to let them go to waste.

In the past six months, in addition to the pipe cleaning, I've replaced the regulator on our barbecue grill, cleaned out the regulator on the Cache cooker so it works, and replaced the wheels on the sliding glass door screen. These tasks are new to me. I always just assumed the man of the house would do such repairs, even though Steve has never shown much interest. I've finally decided that I can do such things. It is liberating.

I think being frugal is part of my heritage. "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." Having parents who grew up in the depression, being frugal is a virtue.

Far From the Tree

I have been reading a most compelling book about children who are not like their parents - gay, dwarf, schizophrenic, downs, autistic, transgender. It is called "Far from the Tree" by Andrew Solomon. I had to stop reading because of language, but not before I recorded some quotes:

This book's conundrum is that most of the families described here have ended up grateful for experiences they would have done anything to avoid.

Deaf people were considered moronic - hence our use of the word dumb to describe idiocy - but such limitations were the result of denying them language.

She loves and is loved well, as I had hoped.

(Thinking of aborting a fetus known to be a dwarf) The psychologist was saying that either way, there's always going to be a moment when you regret your decision.

For six months, Emily (the mom) would cry herself to sleep. "I almost drowned him in the tears I shed over him."

Perhaps the most insidious stress is the social isolation that can ensure when friends retreat, or when parents withdraw from friends' pity or incomprehension. the birth of a healthy child usually expands the parents' social network; the birth of a child who is disabled often constricts that network.

Susan Allport, an authority on maternal attachment, writes that in nondisabled populations "it is not parent providing care to helpless young but parent and young, together, performing carefully synchronized, ruthlessly selected dances of reproduction and survival. The newborn is born knowing its steps, but, like all ballroom dancers, it must have a partner.

I'm reminded of a friend who said that when she found out her husband couldn't fill her needs, she changed her needs; they've had a long, good life together.

People always regale us with these little sayings, like, 'God doesn't give you any more than you can handle.' But children like ours are not preordained as a gift. They're a gift because that's what we have chosen.

From the Essay, "Welcome to Holland"

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.