sk
11-21-2004, 07:32 AM
The original logo for the Every Child Counts Programme was an image of two children, think Hansel and Gretel, arms linked moving from the darkness into the light, eyes focused on and outstretched arm reaching out to the stars that only they can see in the gathering sunrise. At the time, we felt this very fitting, in the fervent belief that all children deserve their unique and personal star, that many children who are academically at-risk need the hand up to pull them from the dark despair of constant failure to the bright light of knowledge.
But the starfish soon took over. David Ryan sent us a lovely image of the red starfish commonly found in Abaco’s water at about the time I heard the starfish story. You remember an earlier post about the young man walking on the starfish-littered beach chiding an elderly man who was painfully bending down, picking up starfish after starfish, tossing them back into the water, “Give it up, Old Man! Look at how many starfish there are! You can’t possibly save them all!” The old man, rising with arthritic pain, looked the young man straight in the eye, tossed yet another starfish in the water, saying firmly, “Maybe not, but I’m making a difference to THIS one, aren’t I?” For a time, we felt we were that determined gentleman, making a difference to this child, that child.
Now, returning this year, the tenth year of the project, I’m struck with our assumptions, realizing that the image, perhaps, ought to be that of the Phoenix.
Not a month after a double-blow from the girls (Frances and Jeanne), ECC is enormously transformed. Several things prompted this image, but being here with the “old timer” volunteers Dennis and Mary who “knew us when” and working the Community Clinic at St. Francis de Sales just after it was so badly hit by the storms, seeing ECC’s beginning, i.e. the “trailer” that was brought back from rusting rottenness to usefulness by sweating backbreaking work of a parent and a half-year resident boater. It is once again in tatters, as is the library. St. Francis was under a great deal of water and very little of this can be salvaged. But ECC did. It early on took the cast-offs, the leftovers (both housing and materials and, yes, the prevailing view of our kids) and transformed them into self-sufficiency and worth. Important to note: in doing this, these two gentlemen healed themselves.
The resident-boater found he has a learning disability. This man, so incredibly, modestly handy, trudged daily to the school (even now) from his boat to see what needs fixin’ with ECC as his wife works with the children in fabric painting, making t-shirts, shifts, and other things that may form the adult careers for some of our kids. He can fix anything: rewiring, reglazing, rescreening, repainting, reshuttering every building ECC has been in, quietly observing what was needed, more quietly doing those things oblivious to us in our harried attempts to assist disabled learners. In recreating our resources, he learned about himself and re-creating, healed his own past life wounds where his disability made him feel unable. We know different. Our kids know different.
The parent felt helpless. How could he help his son who had Down’s Syndrome. He watched daily as his wife packed lunches for both children, one scampering off to school, but one sitting, day by day, on the front steps. Waiting, watching for the school bus that would not come because of his disability. Wanting terribly to be able to go to school. ECC became that school and this parent’s heart was nearly bursting with the opportunity that allowed his son to be self-sufficient. How terribly important that must be to a parent whose child is disabled, knowing he can’t always be there to support. In rebuilding the tumbled-down, rotten, rusting trailer to create a clean, safe place for his son to learn, he healed himself. He said, “Do you understand? Can you know the feeling a parent feels when faced with being unable to help his own son? By letting me do this work, you let me be a father, a real father who can help his own son, for the first time.” Yes, this parent re-created himself, building a sense he can make a difference, make the future better in a tangible way for his son.
ECC has been, ever since its struggling beginnings, a healing place. It was for me as I faced certain death from cancer in the third year of the project. But Lyn, a cancer victor herself, refused to let me wallow, “burdened” me with all the things that needed to be done, working me like a mad woman, knowing that the focus on others would distract me should my fate be the expected prognosis or heal me. And it did both of those things – distracted me and healed me. And more.
And ECC's work transformed many others who have touched it, healing, lifting up, bringing people from painful circumstances to sturdier tomorrows. Involvement with ECC helped to re-focus the child-oriented life of our primary teacher who was knocked off-track because of hard life realities. It re-linked a volunteer couple who loved each other very much who had been going through rough times. It matched two other wonderful people to special “others” in marriage, bringing comfort to their lonely, battered hearts…one from the debilitation of divorce and the other from the death of a fiance. It united, healed and focused a community that was very much at odds with itself and in need of resources to help students whose repeated academic failure caused its children pain. That community now builds its capacity to take care of business. It has created new careers, new tough careers that take everything you’ve got and more, re-creating the very soul of a person in ways that enable them to give in ways they never thought they ever could, see things that could never be seen before as the vision Lyn has of the intense humanness of children takes hold and influences time and time again.
I was reminded of these things by our first Rotary-sponsored event being held at St. Francis this weekend, but the other contrasts were far more dramatic. The community is embracing ECC as Rotarians worked side-by-side by community Clinical Educators, doing what they can to make every-month diagnostic reading clinics work. Rotary linked with ECC to provide monthly screenings of second graders – the goal is all of Abaco – to identify learning difficulties early on so the interventions can be more effectively applied. People came from all over, clinicians donating their time and two years of their intensive training, Rotarians giving up their weekends to learn new skills in unfamiliar environs of the classroom, parents anxiously awaiting screening results. My presence there was irrelevant now as the community has taken on the task of seeing to their own, which is as it should be, making things better internally, recreating itself by itself for itself.
But the children! Therein lies the story, once again. I’m so lucky to have the staggered snapshot. Coming once a month there is the advantage of the perspective of time so growth can be seen that those directly involved on a day-to-day basis cannot possibly appreciate, ‘cept I TELL ‘em!
Little S. roaring around in this little walker, face lit up with pride and FREEDOM! Scared me to death. Saw out of the corner of my eye a little bit of thing roaring down the hallway approaching the front door. At the last minute, S “goosed” his walker, sending himself careening down the ramp. In my mind’s eye, I saw the doorsill and envisioned that precious child bent and broken on the cement steps. Rushing to the accident-in-motion joyous, triumphant laughter stops me in my tracks. Hearting beating out of my chest, I was told Trenille (refer to Janet’s “look of freedom” post) offered to teach S how to use his new walker saying to Lyn, “I’ll teach him how. YOU can’t do it! You don’t use a walker! I DO!” Well, Trenille taught him every little thing, including doing wheelies with a walker. A disability certainly is a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Handed lemons, Trenille and S have made the sweetest lemonade and pity those other kids that don’t have the privilege of having the joy of a walker. Was it only 6 months ago that S. did not have the use of his legs and now NOW! He’s doing “wheelies” with his walker? Deep breath.
S. “adopted” me this visit. He insisted on taking me for a tour of the petting “zoo” Miss Monica has created with the children. This woman is amazing. You may have remembered my description of her: her mind is so beyond anything I can imagine and she goes with it, making her appear hyper (she wears me out) but I know it’s because she has so many ideas, sees so many possibilities that others of us can’t imagine, that she talks a mile a minute and creates just as fast. I’m glad I’m not that smart. Anyhoo, she has worked with the kids to create an orchid collection and a petting zoo.
She takes the kids to collect orchids all over the island. She teaches them all about the plants on Abaco. (I need to have her show me this. There is so much I don’t know. Just found out about the ironwood tree! There is one ten feet from the new wing! EEEps!) She said the hurricane(s) were good because orchids are easy to spot right now. They harvest parts of the ones they find (don’t want to deplete them) and she shows the kids how to plant and nurture them. She has built (out of “found” materials) an orchid potting shed. They have erected an orchid display, complete with a misting hose! They are dividing them as “pups” come up and prepare them for sale. Eventually, they will advertise them for sale.
The petting zoo, though, is what S. wanted to show me. There was a bunny, 2 pigeons (one of whom almost lost her leg that was damaged in the storm), and 3 chicks that were given to Monica two weeks ago that are HUGE now! Apparently they are bred for rapid growth. They certainly got the message. These were S’s target. He badgered Monica to set up “his” seat, a low (just his size) bench made of “found” wood covered with “found” carpet so S. wouldn’t slide off (as he still doesn’t have full use of his legs yet). Monica and I were talking when I saw him expertly flip open the cage and reach for a chick! I almost died! I have birds and know how easily they can be crushed, without intention to do so, b/c there is so little to them, just a bitty shell of tiny bones with lots of fluff! I started to stop him but watched him carefully cup his hand and gently scoop the bird up under the breast, fingers curling carefully under the stubby little wings. Just right. So gentle. So careful. And S swung the bird to his chest where the bird nuzzled into S’s tender little brown neck, poking under the edge of his collar.
S turned his round little face up to me, treating me with a HUGE brilliant sun-white-toothy smile instructing me that “this is the way you pick them up. You have to be REAL careful, Miss Sharon.”
Oh my. And the children teach us.
It was very evident that Monica had spent hours showing them how to be responsible and careful, stressing that these animals are tender and dependent upon our care.
I won’t mention that these very birds, when big enough, will be lunch as Monica monitors the kids to use solar ovens to cook chicken and peas’n’rice for the school one day soon. I gagged when told, but was assured that they need to know how to raise food, cook it, keep themselves and using chickens for food is just a part of the process.
James and Vincent who were caught in their silent worlds unable to talk are now talking up a storm. I’m reminded parents who fret over whether their children will talk and then, when it happens, when the dam breaks and the words spill out every whichaway, they wish they could stem that tide a bit as their kids become insatiable chatterboxs, asking “What’s this?” “What’s that?” D, who chooses to be silent (elective mutism, all systems intact, but no speech) FREED by the outisland internet, able to communicate by the learning games on Riverdeep. Together with S in my lap, they were clicking on EVERYTHING, giggling and laughing at “talking books” they were creating, twisting three-dimensional geometric figures learning words way above their age (cylinder, pyramid). For the ECC now, through the generosity of a variety of people, finds itself thrust into the electronic age as Mr. Lynch's out-of-the-blue donation of high end computers (fully loaded) merges with another donation of a projector (adding to Mike Swank’s donation years ago), the generous transport from wing-ed angels like Fletcher Schiller and Pedro Garcia who flew them over and hand-carried them to the Centre! The world is, quite literally, a learning place now. We just have to figure how to harness it.
Yes, perhaps the ECC image should be the Phoenix. You will remember the image of that great bird, rising from the ashes, recreating itself. The families, the learning disabled children, the blessed teachers and paraprofessionals, those stalwart volunteers who continue to come and/or donate, all find that in the selfless involvement the return on investment is very sweet.
And so, last night, walking home from Mango’s, I was struck with other Phoenixs. We were their SECOND customers on this first day of Mango's re-opening. We talked a bit with two of our sponsors (Jimmy the owner and Nick the chef who mentors one of our students) who have just re-created Mango’s enough to open for the first time after the devastation of Frances and Jeanne – Phoenix again. Nick said they lost most of their equipment but they may have a better situation. They rearranged the kitchen to make it more efficient. I must say that was one of the best meals I’ve had there in a string of “best meals!” The community was dark as the streetlights have not been reworked since being under 6-10' of water. I try to imagine that but my mind recoils from the possibility. I realize that this community again recreates itself just as it did from Floyd, and scars will serve to make it better, stronger, able to face whatever the future holds. Not bent, not broken as you would expect given the impact of these back-to-back hurricanes, but defiantly resilient. Re-created. Phoenix.
Few people were on the street this night, the wind was high and cool. I pondered my return from this place of healing to face the reality of my toxic work environment, realizing I will, once again, be able to cope b/c of the faith and optimism of the people associated with ECC. I’m exhausted, spent from four solid days of being used and abused (said with a great deal of satisfaction). How frivolous, how petty the frenetic intensity of madly going about doing nothing in the States seems, how little patience I have, how rebellious I feel as I come back to wannabes who have no idea how they reveal themselves. It strikes me that ECC is recreating me each month, sculpting my priorities, sometimes in less-than-subtle ways. Puts me to mind of the “wind beneath my (broken) wings.” Less is more and a LOT more satisfying.
Saturday was a riot. It was such fun to see two Rotarians corralling twenty or so youngsters who had come to be tested ALL at one time! We were testing four and then six kids each hour or so, which meant these poor Rotarian business folk were pretty haggard. I TOLD them we could use all the help we could get! But nowhere in their wildest imaginings were they prepared for an ECC Community Clinic experience. I expect, though, if they hang in there, we will see more community volunteers next time, and they will shape us up. It’s hard to do concentrated testing and worry about energetic kids at the same time, so their help was very welcomed. They’re going to buy puzzles, crayons, paper, books, and other things to be ready for January’s clinic. And we talked turkey about the numbers we can handle at a time. They saw how hard we worked to test those we did.
I spent Sunday sorting through the boxes of materials Pedro and Fletcher flew over for us, pulling out the cards that work with the Language Master Beth’s Yellow Air Taxi flew over for us, re-writing our preschool battery, writing up my reports. Some clinicians came by for one-on-one help. Winging my way home I reviewed a manuscript for the International Reading Association for all of about 20 minutes until I fell asleep. I awoke to total darkness, looking out on the winking lights of Ft. Lauderdale. Odd. I felt the Phoenix, transformed from one life (ECC) to another more familiar life of the ordinary, every day, grading papers, washing clothes type.
Which is real?
But the starfish soon took over. David Ryan sent us a lovely image of the red starfish commonly found in Abaco’s water at about the time I heard the starfish story. You remember an earlier post about the young man walking on the starfish-littered beach chiding an elderly man who was painfully bending down, picking up starfish after starfish, tossing them back into the water, “Give it up, Old Man! Look at how many starfish there are! You can’t possibly save them all!” The old man, rising with arthritic pain, looked the young man straight in the eye, tossed yet another starfish in the water, saying firmly, “Maybe not, but I’m making a difference to THIS one, aren’t I?” For a time, we felt we were that determined gentleman, making a difference to this child, that child.
Now, returning this year, the tenth year of the project, I’m struck with our assumptions, realizing that the image, perhaps, ought to be that of the Phoenix.
Not a month after a double-blow from the girls (Frances and Jeanne), ECC is enormously transformed. Several things prompted this image, but being here with the “old timer” volunteers Dennis and Mary who “knew us when” and working the Community Clinic at St. Francis de Sales just after it was so badly hit by the storms, seeing ECC’s beginning, i.e. the “trailer” that was brought back from rusting rottenness to usefulness by sweating backbreaking work of a parent and a half-year resident boater. It is once again in tatters, as is the library. St. Francis was under a great deal of water and very little of this can be salvaged. But ECC did. It early on took the cast-offs, the leftovers (both housing and materials and, yes, the prevailing view of our kids) and transformed them into self-sufficiency and worth. Important to note: in doing this, these two gentlemen healed themselves.
The resident-boater found he has a learning disability. This man, so incredibly, modestly handy, trudged daily to the school (even now) from his boat to see what needs fixin’ with ECC as his wife works with the children in fabric painting, making t-shirts, shifts, and other things that may form the adult careers for some of our kids. He can fix anything: rewiring, reglazing, rescreening, repainting, reshuttering every building ECC has been in, quietly observing what was needed, more quietly doing those things oblivious to us in our harried attempts to assist disabled learners. In recreating our resources, he learned about himself and re-creating, healed his own past life wounds where his disability made him feel unable. We know different. Our kids know different.
The parent felt helpless. How could he help his son who had Down’s Syndrome. He watched daily as his wife packed lunches for both children, one scampering off to school, but one sitting, day by day, on the front steps. Waiting, watching for the school bus that would not come because of his disability. Wanting terribly to be able to go to school. ECC became that school and this parent’s heart was nearly bursting with the opportunity that allowed his son to be self-sufficient. How terribly important that must be to a parent whose child is disabled, knowing he can’t always be there to support. In rebuilding the tumbled-down, rotten, rusting trailer to create a clean, safe place for his son to learn, he healed himself. He said, “Do you understand? Can you know the feeling a parent feels when faced with being unable to help his own son? By letting me do this work, you let me be a father, a real father who can help his own son, for the first time.” Yes, this parent re-created himself, building a sense he can make a difference, make the future better in a tangible way for his son.
ECC has been, ever since its struggling beginnings, a healing place. It was for me as I faced certain death from cancer in the third year of the project. But Lyn, a cancer victor herself, refused to let me wallow, “burdened” me with all the things that needed to be done, working me like a mad woman, knowing that the focus on others would distract me should my fate be the expected prognosis or heal me. And it did both of those things – distracted me and healed me. And more.
And ECC's work transformed many others who have touched it, healing, lifting up, bringing people from painful circumstances to sturdier tomorrows. Involvement with ECC helped to re-focus the child-oriented life of our primary teacher who was knocked off-track because of hard life realities. It re-linked a volunteer couple who loved each other very much who had been going through rough times. It matched two other wonderful people to special “others” in marriage, bringing comfort to their lonely, battered hearts…one from the debilitation of divorce and the other from the death of a fiance. It united, healed and focused a community that was very much at odds with itself and in need of resources to help students whose repeated academic failure caused its children pain. That community now builds its capacity to take care of business. It has created new careers, new tough careers that take everything you’ve got and more, re-creating the very soul of a person in ways that enable them to give in ways they never thought they ever could, see things that could never be seen before as the vision Lyn has of the intense humanness of children takes hold and influences time and time again.
I was reminded of these things by our first Rotary-sponsored event being held at St. Francis this weekend, but the other contrasts were far more dramatic. The community is embracing ECC as Rotarians worked side-by-side by community Clinical Educators, doing what they can to make every-month diagnostic reading clinics work. Rotary linked with ECC to provide monthly screenings of second graders – the goal is all of Abaco – to identify learning difficulties early on so the interventions can be more effectively applied. People came from all over, clinicians donating their time and two years of their intensive training, Rotarians giving up their weekends to learn new skills in unfamiliar environs of the classroom, parents anxiously awaiting screening results. My presence there was irrelevant now as the community has taken on the task of seeing to their own, which is as it should be, making things better internally, recreating itself by itself for itself.
But the children! Therein lies the story, once again. I’m so lucky to have the staggered snapshot. Coming once a month there is the advantage of the perspective of time so growth can be seen that those directly involved on a day-to-day basis cannot possibly appreciate, ‘cept I TELL ‘em!
Little S. roaring around in this little walker, face lit up with pride and FREEDOM! Scared me to death. Saw out of the corner of my eye a little bit of thing roaring down the hallway approaching the front door. At the last minute, S “goosed” his walker, sending himself careening down the ramp. In my mind’s eye, I saw the doorsill and envisioned that precious child bent and broken on the cement steps. Rushing to the accident-in-motion joyous, triumphant laughter stops me in my tracks. Hearting beating out of my chest, I was told Trenille (refer to Janet’s “look of freedom” post) offered to teach S how to use his new walker saying to Lyn, “I’ll teach him how. YOU can’t do it! You don’t use a walker! I DO!” Well, Trenille taught him every little thing, including doing wheelies with a walker. A disability certainly is a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Handed lemons, Trenille and S have made the sweetest lemonade and pity those other kids that don’t have the privilege of having the joy of a walker. Was it only 6 months ago that S. did not have the use of his legs and now NOW! He’s doing “wheelies” with his walker? Deep breath.
S. “adopted” me this visit. He insisted on taking me for a tour of the petting “zoo” Miss Monica has created with the children. This woman is amazing. You may have remembered my description of her: her mind is so beyond anything I can imagine and she goes with it, making her appear hyper (she wears me out) but I know it’s because she has so many ideas, sees so many possibilities that others of us can’t imagine, that she talks a mile a minute and creates just as fast. I’m glad I’m not that smart. Anyhoo, she has worked with the kids to create an orchid collection and a petting zoo.
She takes the kids to collect orchids all over the island. She teaches them all about the plants on Abaco. (I need to have her show me this. There is so much I don’t know. Just found out about the ironwood tree! There is one ten feet from the new wing! EEEps!) She said the hurricane(s) were good because orchids are easy to spot right now. They harvest parts of the ones they find (don’t want to deplete them) and she shows the kids how to plant and nurture them. She has built (out of “found” materials) an orchid potting shed. They have erected an orchid display, complete with a misting hose! They are dividing them as “pups” come up and prepare them for sale. Eventually, they will advertise them for sale.
The petting zoo, though, is what S. wanted to show me. There was a bunny, 2 pigeons (one of whom almost lost her leg that was damaged in the storm), and 3 chicks that were given to Monica two weeks ago that are HUGE now! Apparently they are bred for rapid growth. They certainly got the message. These were S’s target. He badgered Monica to set up “his” seat, a low (just his size) bench made of “found” wood covered with “found” carpet so S. wouldn’t slide off (as he still doesn’t have full use of his legs yet). Monica and I were talking when I saw him expertly flip open the cage and reach for a chick! I almost died! I have birds and know how easily they can be crushed, without intention to do so, b/c there is so little to them, just a bitty shell of tiny bones with lots of fluff! I started to stop him but watched him carefully cup his hand and gently scoop the bird up under the breast, fingers curling carefully under the stubby little wings. Just right. So gentle. So careful. And S swung the bird to his chest where the bird nuzzled into S’s tender little brown neck, poking under the edge of his collar.
S turned his round little face up to me, treating me with a HUGE brilliant sun-white-toothy smile instructing me that “this is the way you pick them up. You have to be REAL careful, Miss Sharon.”
Oh my. And the children teach us.
It was very evident that Monica had spent hours showing them how to be responsible and careful, stressing that these animals are tender and dependent upon our care.
I won’t mention that these very birds, when big enough, will be lunch as Monica monitors the kids to use solar ovens to cook chicken and peas’n’rice for the school one day soon. I gagged when told, but was assured that they need to know how to raise food, cook it, keep themselves and using chickens for food is just a part of the process.
James and Vincent who were caught in their silent worlds unable to talk are now talking up a storm. I’m reminded parents who fret over whether their children will talk and then, when it happens, when the dam breaks and the words spill out every whichaway, they wish they could stem that tide a bit as their kids become insatiable chatterboxs, asking “What’s this?” “What’s that?” D, who chooses to be silent (elective mutism, all systems intact, but no speech) FREED by the outisland internet, able to communicate by the learning games on Riverdeep. Together with S in my lap, they were clicking on EVERYTHING, giggling and laughing at “talking books” they were creating, twisting three-dimensional geometric figures learning words way above their age (cylinder, pyramid). For the ECC now, through the generosity of a variety of people, finds itself thrust into the electronic age as Mr. Lynch's out-of-the-blue donation of high end computers (fully loaded) merges with another donation of a projector (adding to Mike Swank’s donation years ago), the generous transport from wing-ed angels like Fletcher Schiller and Pedro Garcia who flew them over and hand-carried them to the Centre! The world is, quite literally, a learning place now. We just have to figure how to harness it.
Yes, perhaps the ECC image should be the Phoenix. You will remember the image of that great bird, rising from the ashes, recreating itself. The families, the learning disabled children, the blessed teachers and paraprofessionals, those stalwart volunteers who continue to come and/or donate, all find that in the selfless involvement the return on investment is very sweet.
And so, last night, walking home from Mango’s, I was struck with other Phoenixs. We were their SECOND customers on this first day of Mango's re-opening. We talked a bit with two of our sponsors (Jimmy the owner and Nick the chef who mentors one of our students) who have just re-created Mango’s enough to open for the first time after the devastation of Frances and Jeanne – Phoenix again. Nick said they lost most of their equipment but they may have a better situation. They rearranged the kitchen to make it more efficient. I must say that was one of the best meals I’ve had there in a string of “best meals!” The community was dark as the streetlights have not been reworked since being under 6-10' of water. I try to imagine that but my mind recoils from the possibility. I realize that this community again recreates itself just as it did from Floyd, and scars will serve to make it better, stronger, able to face whatever the future holds. Not bent, not broken as you would expect given the impact of these back-to-back hurricanes, but defiantly resilient. Re-created. Phoenix.
Few people were on the street this night, the wind was high and cool. I pondered my return from this place of healing to face the reality of my toxic work environment, realizing I will, once again, be able to cope b/c of the faith and optimism of the people associated with ECC. I’m exhausted, spent from four solid days of being used and abused (said with a great deal of satisfaction). How frivolous, how petty the frenetic intensity of madly going about doing nothing in the States seems, how little patience I have, how rebellious I feel as I come back to wannabes who have no idea how they reveal themselves. It strikes me that ECC is recreating me each month, sculpting my priorities, sometimes in less-than-subtle ways. Puts me to mind of the “wind beneath my (broken) wings.” Less is more and a LOT more satisfying.
Saturday was a riot. It was such fun to see two Rotarians corralling twenty or so youngsters who had come to be tested ALL at one time! We were testing four and then six kids each hour or so, which meant these poor Rotarian business folk were pretty haggard. I TOLD them we could use all the help we could get! But nowhere in their wildest imaginings were they prepared for an ECC Community Clinic experience. I expect, though, if they hang in there, we will see more community volunteers next time, and they will shape us up. It’s hard to do concentrated testing and worry about energetic kids at the same time, so their help was very welcomed. They’re going to buy puzzles, crayons, paper, books, and other things to be ready for January’s clinic. And we talked turkey about the numbers we can handle at a time. They saw how hard we worked to test those we did.
I spent Sunday sorting through the boxes of materials Pedro and Fletcher flew over for us, pulling out the cards that work with the Language Master Beth’s Yellow Air Taxi flew over for us, re-writing our preschool battery, writing up my reports. Some clinicians came by for one-on-one help. Winging my way home I reviewed a manuscript for the International Reading Association for all of about 20 minutes until I fell asleep. I awoke to total darkness, looking out on the winking lights of Ft. Lauderdale. Odd. I felt the Phoenix, transformed from one life (ECC) to another more familiar life of the ordinary, every day, grading papers, washing clothes type.
Which is real?