Life in progress

Tag Archives: growing up


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Jab – #AtoZ Challenge

My “J”-word is a bit of a stretch, but it’s the only way I could find to talk about an important subject without taking up another letter. So here we have “jab,” by which I really mean “point” and “poke.” Both actions are important in American Sign Language, more the former than the latter, however. Confused yet? I’ll explain.

Growing up we’re all told it’s rude to point. Pointing though, is an essential part of ASL vocabulary. You, me, he, she, and it, are all indicated by pointing. It took me a while to get over the ingrained sense of right and wrong; of needing to point but not wanting to. Now I do it all the time – and I get a lot of strange looks, particularly when Alex and I are out, pointing all over the place.

Poking, on the other hand, is a less-desirable way for a Deaf person to get someone’s attention. Alex loves to poke me with a sharply pointed finger, especially when he wants something he can’t have. Normally, a tap on the shoulder is used. Coming into physical contact with other people, even strangers, is natural in the signing world. It’s necessary. The other day in a coffee shop, I was watching a lady who I know is Deaf, trying to get through the line-up for the counter; she was on her way out. Her shoulder-taps were met with a mixture of surprise and, in one case, almost hostility. All she could do was smile and try to look friendly. The people in line had no way to know she was Deaf, and probably wondered why she didn’t just say, “excuse me,” like any civilized person would.

Alex is still small enough that he can get away with a lot of things in public. He smiles at people and they smile back. He touches them and it’s innocent; he’s still only a little above four feet tall. I’m not sure he’ll grow much more in height, but he’s bound one day to grow facial hair. When that happens, he’ll go from cute to uncivilized in the eyes of society. It’s difficult, even for a mom, to explain away.

My A to Z theme concerns the joys and challenges of being the hearing mother of my Deaf son, Alex. To learn more about his beginnings in life, click here to go to my first A to Z entry.


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#SoCS – Be

What do you want to be when you grow up? I used to hate that question. I never had a real answer because I had no idea. It, to me, was an impractical question. I’m ten! How would I know? Hold on, while I weigh my options… I used to be envious of the kids who could just spurt out a profession like it was what they were born for. How about, I want to be a caring, compassionate human being. It’s something else to know how you want to occupy yourself when you reach a certain age, isn’t it?

Right now I’m occupying myself with my laptop, awkwardly typing with the puppy’s head on my lap, and my kid is making weird gurgling noises at his own computer while he feeds from his pump. The tv is on but there’s no sound – nobody is watching it. Not even the dog. Is it true that dogs can’t see tvs? Is that a myth? Or was it just true of the old curved screens? Because Winston seems to be able to see my flat screen.

I had to get up to feed the dog. He made me put the computer down. I’m almost out of milk. I panic when that happens, because it means I’ll either have to drink my morning coffee black or not at all. And that last option is not an option. As my best friend observed, I don’t exist before coffee. I am not.

To be, or not to be? Ask me after coffee. I think my brain just exploded.

SoCS badge 2015

This mind-bending post is brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click here https://lindaghill.com/2016/04/01/theres-no-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-april-216/ to find out how you can join in!


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H is for High-Spirited

I used to be very much a horse person. I loved horses as a kid – wanted to spend all my time with horses, so I talked my parents into sending me to horse camp where I learned how to ride. I remember being assigned my horse at the beginning of the week – the one I would ride twice a day. Oh how happy I was when I finally graduated to the more high-spirited horses!

I began of course with the ones that just plodded along. The ones that give the rider the illusion that he or she is in control but in fact there is nuthin’ that’s gonna change that beast’s mind about following the horse-bum in front of it. I swear sometimes those kinds of horses are sleep walking.

Years later as an adult I went back to farm where I had formerly gone to camp and got a job taking out trail rides. The number one rule for guiding a trail is to watch the customers, meaning that as a guide, I’d spend three quarters of my time twisted around in the saddle facing forward but looking back. This includes while trotting and galloping. I remember my first trail – my God was I nervous! Nervous as in I didn’t have a single drop of spit in my mouth nervous. Riding backwards while running turned out to be the least of my worries that day.

You see, every once in a while we’d get a real ass (and I’m not talking about a donkey) go out for a ride. It was normally a young guy who wanted to show off to his friends how skilled he was on horseback. Invariably the ass had no idea what he was doing. Normally we could spot them 100 miles off and stick them on one of the aforementioned plodders. No problem, right? I got one of these guys my very first trail ride ever. And somehow he managed to do the one thing that would get a plodder’s attention.

We had on the farm a thing we called “the gallop strip.” It was a stretch of trail facing away from the barn (because if you gallop a horse in the direction of the barn it ain’t gonna stop) that nine times out of ten the more high-spirited horses would behave themselves on, and the plodders would get up to a trot… which was hilarious when we got one of our macho men on one, because he’d be bouncing all over the place totally out of control. Not so much on my first time out.

My macho man managed to hold his horse back through sheer brutality when everyone else started to run. Me, not being experienced, tried but failed to slow everyone else down (a lesson I quickly learned). So when the plodder, freaked out that his horsey friends’ bums had left without him, he finally bolted. The horse passed the trail line, passed me and took off for the barn. There I was screaming at the guy as he’s getting farther and farther away (with not an ounce of spit which was difficult) to pull back on the reins and stop squeezing with his feet which was what was making the horse go faster, I couldn’t chase him because the rest of my trail would chase me…

Needless to say I ended my first trail ride as a guide in tears. But, as they say, you’ve just got to dust yourself off and get right back on, right? I loved that job; I did it for about five years. And I’ve got a million stories to go with it.

So much for my letter of the alphabet today, eh? Oh wait – one of the synonyms for “high-spirited” is “dashing.” That works. 😀

Me at 12 years old

Me, at 12 years old

 

BATZAP by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions

BATZAP by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions


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Guest Post – Shades of Gray

I’m honoured to have the wonderful and talented Cordelia’s Mom guest post for me today! Thanks, CM!
Please enjoy!!

Shades of Gray

 

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… and gray window blinds.

You know, you folks have dirty minds. Unless, of course, you immediately thought of windows when you saw the title of this post.

Personally, I’ve never understood the preoccupation with sex. Sure it’s fun, especially with a partner who knows what he or she is doing. But let’s face it – sex has been around for a very long time, and basically it consists of the same basic action: one person’s body part interacting with the body part of another person.

Each generation has become a little more sophisticated in its knowledge of sex. I grew up in the 1950’s/1960’s, when television sitcoms couldn’t even show a married couple in the same bed. I turned 18 in 1970 – just at the time that David R. Reuben, M.D. published his book, “Everything You Want to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask.”

Believe me, that book was as much of a blockbuster as the current Shades of Grey – maybe even more so, because “Everything …” was not fiction.

At 18, I was still a virgin – in fact, I had never even had a date (remember – this was back when women were still supposed to remain pure until marriage). Wanting to enlighten myself, I managed to get a copy of “Everything …” and snuck it into my mother’s house, where I would read it in the privacy of my own room late at night.

Imagine my chagrin one day, when my mother asked me if I was reading that book. It was bad enough admitting to possessing that book, but imagine my absolute horror when my mother proceeded to ask me questions about it.

I mean, really? My mother had been married for many years and had four kids! At some point, she and my dad must have figured out how to do it.

But it wasn’t marital sex she was confused about. I’ll never forget our conversation wherein she said, “I can understand how homosexuals do it,” [hand gestures of pointer finger of one hand poking into the circle formed by the thumb and pointer finger of the other hand] “but how do lesbians do it?” [hand gestures of two palms flat against each other]. “I mean, girls don’t have that part.” (Had she said penis, I really would have died. I knew my brothers had them – I had even diapered my baby brother – but I sure didn’t want my mother talking about them!)

I was way too embarrassed to explain about same-sex relationships (and I only knew from things I had read), so finally I just handed over the book. I don’t know if my mother became enlightened as to those issues, but she never asked me any sex questions after that (thank God in Heaven).

These days, there is no mystery surrounding sex. It finds it way not only into books, but into sitcoms, movies and advertising. I’m not sure that’s better than it was in my mother’s day.

My mother’s generation watched Jimmy Stewart trying to catch the moon for his girl, and Clark Gable carrying Scarlett up the staircase. The current generation has Shades of Grey – is that really better? I don’t think so. Although people are flocking to the movie, Shades of Grey, for the perceived sensationalism, I still think most of us would prefer a good, old-fashioned romance – even one that ends with those famous words, “Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn.”

Which, by the way, was considered pretty risqué at the time. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? I’ll leave it to you to decide whether it’s been an improvement.
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I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at https://cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com or notcordeliasmom@aol.com
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Images by: Colt Group
and Cordelia’s Mom
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POSTSCRIPT: Thank you, Linda, for giving me this opportunity to guest post for you. I am truly honored!

You’re welcome CM!
A note for my readers: please click on over to Cordelia’s Mom’s site and read my guest post too!
http://cordeliasmomstill.com/ Thanks!!


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In Praise of Carrots

As some of you may have read here in recent months, I’ve been having ups and downs with my eyesight of late. For weeks I get up each morning and have to squint to see the computer screen. On some of those days I found an improvement after a couple of hours but other times it would last all day. Then, suddenly, it would get better for a while and I could see as well as I did a year ago.

Over the weekend my eyesight began to get progressively worse, resulting in yesterday having to wear my distance glasses just to walk around the block so as not to strain my eyes too much. I assumed it had something to do with screen time. But then it occurred to me.

Carrots. I eat them daily for a while but then I stop. So yesterday afternoon, after my paper route was done, I had about half a dozen raw baby carrots, and this morning when I woke up I could see my computer screen. Without squinting!

I always assumed it was an old wives’ tale to get kids to eat their carrots: “Eat ’em,” my mother used to say. “They’re good for your eyes.”

Who knew it was true?! I’m such a happy bunny today! 😀


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What Keeps You From Feeling Your Age?

I stood at the kitchen counter yesterday, stirring Christopher’s medicine into his orange juice and I remembered learning to stir for the first time; I might have been three or four years old. It came back to me in a flash. My senses all conspired to bring me there: the sound of the spoon clinking around the inside the glass, the feel of the circular motion and the sight of my fingers manipulating the spoon in a way I no longer need to concentrate on.

Sometimes it’s the smell of freshly mowed grass, just as I recall it wafting in my bedroom window when my dad went out to mow the lawn before an early game of golf on a Sunday morning that takes me back. Or the taste of a shortbread cookie, dipped in a cup of tea.

Though many of my memories take me back to my childhood there is something inside me that refuses to believe I’m more than half my actual age. Despite my aches, the deterioration of my eyesight, and my inability to react as quickly as I used to, in my mind I can’t possibly be 50 years old.

They say that children keep us young as long as we can remember how to play.  For some it’s staying active, both in body and mind. I’m sure those memories that return as though they were only yesterday must have an influence on how we feel.

I hear people, all the time, say they don’t feel as old as the calendar tells them they must be.

What keeps you from feeling your age?


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Inspire

I love to inspire people. There are many ways to do so, however. I’m told that my prompts inspire writing, which is great – it would be wonderful to inspire a painting, but I don’t know that I have the face for it. I’m afraid any painting I’m in would have to include a broomstick. Haha.

But I also get a lot of satisfaction out of inspiring people to live better lives, be happier, be grateful for what they have… the list is endless.

I want to ask you this: if you could inspire people to do one or two things just by doing them yourself, what would they be? Please answer in the comments or, if you’re inspired to blog about it either link back here or comment with a link to your post so everyone can read.


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A Difficult Day

It’s been a particularly tough day with my son, Alex today. For those of you who aren’t familiar with him, he’s a Deaf, four foot tall, cute as a button thirteen year old who has somehow managed to combine adolescence with the terrible twos. He has scabs on both knees from a fall he took last week. They were both healing nicely but …

Alex can’t leave a scab alone. It doesn’t matter if he opens it up again, he’ll just keep picking and picking until it gets infected and I have no idea what to do. Today I tried the following:

1. Telling him “no.”

2. Taking away his laptop and turning off the tv.

3. Putting him in his room.

4. Saying please (trying to reason with him).

5. Putting a bandage on it. (He took it off.)

6. Restraining him.

7. Ignoring him.

8. Putting a cloth damp with rubbing alcohol on the cuts (which by that time were oozing pus).

9. Threatening to put MORE alcohol on if he didn’t stop touching it (in the end he held the alcohol-soaked cloth on it himself).

And what, of all this worked eventually? Ignoring him. For a limited amount of time.

This has been my day from the moment I woke up to the moment he finally went to sleep after whining that his knees hurt for about an hour from the time he went to bed.

Any suggestions? Because I’m looking forward to the same thing tomorrow and every day until he goes to his dad’s on Monday… and at this rate every other day ’til Christmas, if it’s healed by then.

P.S. If you “like” this post I’ll consider it support. 🙂


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Tongue Talk – Stream of Consciousness Saturday

When I thought of the tongue prompt yesterday I had no idea what I wanted to write. It just seemed like something people could have fun with. That hasn’t changed – I still don’t have any idea what I want to write.

There are so many things we can do with our tongues:

The first of course is taste – it’s one of the first things we do when we enter the world. Our tastes grow as we get older. Sure, there are things we can’t stand to eat, even as kids. Much to the annoyance of parents everywhere, often these foods end up in places they shouldn’t. I still remember picking sticky pieces of spaghetti off the walls when my kids were toddlers.

Shortly after taste comes our mother tongue. Or, in some cases, not. My son Alex will never know his mother tongue because he’s Deaf. Is Sign Language even a tongue? Maybe not, but Alex is certainly vocal enough. That’s something that comes with having hearing parents though. In completely Deaf families, they don’t use their voices.

Shortly after we learn to speak we learn to do other things with our tongues. Stick them out at people, for instance. (Thanks  Lee-Anne for reminding me of that one.) Some of us do tricks like twist them or curl them – which as I understand is something that is inherited. If your parents can’t do it, neither can you. I can lick my nose though…

As we grow up we learn to use them for kissing. I remember my first kiss – however I’d rather not. There was a lot of drool involved and I don’t think most of it was mine. Ick.

From that first kiss we graduate… My mother used to call it “sucking face” though I’m not sure that that was an expression she grew up with. Then there were the hickeys that we tried and usually failed to hide from our parents.  As I write this, I realize how much hell parents go through!

And of course there’s the next step.. but I won’t get into that here. Best left for the bedroom, eh?

That would be everything I can come up with, and I still don’t know that I’ve said anything of importance or worth reading.

Except the next time I go to the doctor and I see the tongue depressors, I’ll probably think of this post.

This post is part of SoCS! https://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/06/06/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-714/ Click the link to find out more, and to join in!


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Head – Saturday Stream of Consciousness – Object

headWhen my son Christopher came home with it from school, I asked him if it was Mr. Potato Head. He looked at me as if I was crazy and said, “It’s a clown!”

I’ve had this … head sitting on my kitchen counter for about three months now. It goes from making me sad, to creeping me out and back again, sometimes within the space of minutes. This disembodied head is my companion when I cook, when I wash dishes, and whenever I go looking for a snack. Unfortunately it’s never distracted me enough from a midnight snack however, to prevent me from getting one.

So where am I going with this post?

It makes me think about the lives our kids lead when they’re not at home. They have this whole other world when they go to school where they probably never think of us, except in terms perhaps of whether or not we’re going to make their favourite dinner that night, or did we go pick up the thing they wanted at the store. The way they slowly separate themselves from us as the years go on is both scary and comforting.  To know that they may just have enough interests that have nothing to do with us, enough to one day have lives of their own secures in my mind at least that they’ll be okay when we’re gone.

Even if their lives away from us consist of creepy disembodied heads. As long as they’re ceramic, I’m happy.

This post is part of SoCS. Find it here and join in the fun! https://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/05/30/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-3114/