Making a Difference

How to Heighten Your Creativity

2008-11-27T00:33:00.001-08:00

Read essays, articles, or books on creativity and you will more than once you will read that you can heighten your creativity and create new ideas by reading magazines that you wouldn’t typically read. The suggestion is to go to your local newsstand and pick up magazines you wouldn’t ever read and read them for ideas, connections and trends.

This is an often repeated example of using outside stimulus as a way to jumpstart our creativity.

I have read this suggestion many times. I’ve suggested it myself. I’ve even done it a few times. But I’ve never seen anyone show someone an example of doing it.

Until now.

Earlier this week I found the April edition of Wired Magazine in my briefcase as I traveled. I had picked it up a couple of weeks before in an airport because I was drawn to the cover, which suggested that the main focus of the issue was “The New World of Games.”

While I am not a current subscriber to Wired Magazine (used to be) and you might not be either, I think you will find both the process and my results enlightening and fun.

My Process

Reading a magazine for creative insights is pretty easy. Get a magazine, a highlighter, and perhaps some paper or your Journal. Then begin reading. Don’t skim or read only the things that are immediately or naturally interesting to you. Read everything. Read the articles AND the ads. And while you are reading, be asking yourself things like…

What does this remind me of?
How does this relate to my situation, problem or challenge?
What did they do that I can do?
How could I use this?
How can I learn from the experiences or suggestions in the article (or ad)?

These certainly aren’t the only questions you can ask, but they are enough to get you started. You can go into this creative journey with a very specific challenge or problem in mind, or you can just do it to see what serendipitous ideas you generate – either way is fine!

In this case, my journey was a random one – I wasn’t thinking about a specific issue or challenge, I was just reading to see what I might find.

How to Read the Rest of This Article

The rest of this article will provide some of my ideas and what spurred them. I encourage you to read on observing my process and seeing what ideas or insights you get from my insights. In other words, I encourage you to use the process I just described on the rest of this article!

You may also decide to go to the library and get the April 2006 Wired Magazine to see all of what I am describing.

My Journey

… page 26 – a side bar asks the question, “Is a half hour show too long for today’s viewers?” Three people answer with different perspectives. My first reaction is that this is an interesting question…. And my second was that the answers given basically come down to the quality of the story. If a good story is told, people will watch (hey, we sat through 3 + hours for Titanic!) So while this is an interesting question, it is a bit backwards. The relevant question is, how good the story? This relates to my work in terms of training – how long do people want to learn at one sitting, etc. Do I think that times are changing? Sure I do. But people are still people. They will worry less about time is they are engaged. In the end – whether through story or great interaction in a learning situation, the right question is how can we engage people, not how long is the experience.

… page 29 – Lexus presents a four page advertisement for a PBS series with Charlie Rose. It contains very interesting excerpts from two shows in the series. This content was so compelling to be almost worth the price of the magazine itself – far better than many articles I have read in the past. It reminds me that advertising can be relevant and that when we educate and inform others in a valuable way, we might do a better job of marketing, persuading, or selling, than by trying to market, persuade or sell.

… page 56 – talks about a feature film based on a Beastie Boys concert. This movie was created from footage recorded by 50 fans from cameras the band gave them for the length of the concert to film their entire experience. Over 100 hours of raw amateur footage was edited together for this movie. Though I don’t own a Beastie Boys album and haven’t been to their one of their concerts, I am completely captivated by this idea! It appeals to me because the band got this idea and implemented it (the collection of the footage) in 3 days – from conception to footage. 3 Days. This has been challenging my thoughts about how long it takes me to implement or being willing to implement something . . . fast. It also speaks to the power of getting your Customers involved in the experience of your product or service. This two thirds of a page has had me thinking a lot in the last few days.

… page 66 the Play section of the magazine shows pictures and brief descriptions of new products. One on this page is called the Storm Tracker (This is an umbrella that has a bulb at the end of the handle that collects forecast information from local forecasts (wirelessly) and tells you if you need to carry it, based on how much it blinks. The more it blinks, (up to 100 times per minute) the more likely rain will fall. While I don’t see many people paying $99 for this, I was intrigued by the use of a small “non computer” device to give us data that we might be able to use. While I don’t design products like this, I am fascinated by how these types of technologies might be able to aid, impact or influence performance and learning in the future. The Storm Tracker has opened my eyes to be watching and thinking about this question.

These examples get me through less that half of the magazine, and I didn’t even share all of my insights from the first 66 pages!

Rather than continue in this article, I encourage you to read more on my blog, as I will be sharing more of these snippets there.

I hope that riding along on my journey has been interesting, and I hope that you got an insight or two through my examples above. More than that though, I hope that I have convinced you to pick up a magazine you’ve never read before, and try this process for yourself. If you do, I promise you will learn something, and you may solve a vexing problem or identify an amazing opportunity along the way.

Here's To You!

2008-09-30T22:33:00.000-07:00

This has been an incredibly busy and exciting week for me, but I don't want to talk about that right now. This wee entry is all about you. Yes, I'm talking about you. Wherever you are, reading this, I'm thanking the universe for putting you in this world, because you are incredibly special.

There are currently billions of people populating this beautiful world we live on. Many have come before us, and hopefully, a whole lot more will follow. But, consider this, and this is where it gets really amazing, of all those people who have ever lived, and will live, not only on our good Earth, but anywhere else, in this entire universe – there is only one you.

You are utterly unique, and precious. No one will ever be like you, think like you, or perceive the universe in exactly the same way. You have never happened before, and will never happen again. What you are, exactly the way you are, at this precise moment in time, has never been before, and will cease to be when you are gone.

Understand and embrace how very special you are. You are a portion of the divine uniquely fashioned and sent forth to learn and understand and contribute in a way no other soul can. You have a simple, and yet vial purpose; to be yourself. That's it.

Be yourself. No one else can. No one else can be what you are, know what you know, do what you can do. No one. You are as singular as a snowflake, as precious as a flawless rare gem, an irreplaceable, invaluable part of creation.
You totally rock.

We need you. We need your insights, your wisdom, your talents. We need what only you can bring to this world. You are here now because you chose to be, and you have much to teach us. We thank you for joining us, and we are all that much the better because you are here.

You are loved. Believe this, and open your heart and mind to all the infinite possibilities and the abundance available to you. The universe wants to bless you, to fulfill your every desire, to help you to prosper so you can give, and grow and add the fullness of your special gifts to the tapestry of creation. The singular thread of your life is vital to that weaving, and will add such wonderful colour and depth and complexity, shining into eternity.

Join us in the dance celebrating you. You are just so…awesome. I'm totally blown away.

Woo hoo!

You are perfect. You are eternal. You are amazing. Truly one of a kind.
And, you are here. That has to be the most amazing thing of all. You, here, now.
What are the odds? And yet, here you are.

Thank God.

Take a bow, give yourself a hand, and go out there and knock 'em dead, kiddo.
I know you can do it.

Hugs and kisses from your biggest fan,

Phoenix

The Lesson of the Five Dollar Bill

2008-09-20T15:32:00.001-07:00

I apologize for the hiatus but life has been kinda keeping me busy for the past week. But it's all good, so I don't really mind. But anyway, back to our regularly scheduled blog, already in progress…

I'm not alone, I'm sure, in having gone through some rough financial patches in the past. The time I'm thinking about, however, about eighteen years ago, was particularly rough; after having left my husband I found myself on my own in Winnipeg with a newly diagnosed autistic two year old and her twelve year old sister, forced to try and provide for both of them with social assistance and not much else. As you can well imagine it wasn't exactly a picnic; although I did my best we went through some pretty lean times, especially during the 'adjustment period' while I was learning how to live on a lot less than I'd previously been accustomed to.

Those days are long behind me now, both my girls grown up, while only one of them gone. One thing I'm very proud of, my kids never missed a meal, no matter how tight things got. I have, on occasion, but they never did. Once, though, I was afraid I was not going to be able to keep the promise I made to them, and to myself they would never go without, when I found myself with bare cupboards and not a cent to my name the day before I was going to receive my monthly allotment, and then something really amazing happened not only enabling me to feed my kids that day, but it taught me a valuable and lasting lesson affecting my perceptions and the way I would view reality from that moment forward.

I don't remember where I was coming home from, but all I was thinking about was 'how am I going to feed my kids dinner tonight' when I looked down and right in front of me in the middle of the sidewalk was a five dollar bill. My world instantly went from desolate to triumphant; I scooped my prize and headed back out for the grocery store. Okay, five dollars wasn't a lot to work with, but it was more than enough for my purposes. I only needed to get through 'til the next day and it wouldn't have been the first time Hamburger Helper was the entrée on offer.

I continued on my way, very happy and grateful for the windfall. I considered myself extremely fortunate and blessed, but as I walked I started thinking about what had actually happened here. That money hadn't just appeared on the sidewalk out of thin air, in order for me to have found it; someone had to have lost it. My blessing was someone else's misfortune.

Yeah, I know, we're only talking five dollars here, but in that moment five dollars was a tremendous amount of money to me, and extremely important. It was literally the difference between my children going to bed hungry that night – and not. I put myself in the place of the person who'd lost it and fervently hoped it had not meant as much to them as it did to me. That their losing it didn't mean they'd been left with nothing.

I didn't want to gain at another's expense, plain and simple. And I didn't want to take without giving something back, even if it was only my gratitude. There was no possible way I could pay them back, or return the money to them if they needed it. I'd also never know if the loss had harmed them. So, I did the only thing I could think to do, I felt I was obligated to do. I thanked them for helping me, and hoped the universe would bless and recompense them for that money and more.

Still walking, still thinking. Why had what happened, happened? Why would the universe bless me at the cost of someone else? Did I deserve this money more than them? Did I need it more? I thought that was too simplistic a way of looking at it, and yet couldn't escape the feeling I was missing something important.

A single event. A five dollar bill lost and found. My gain, someone else's misfortune. Good for me, bad for them. It couldn't be both, and yet it would seem to be, depending on your perspective.

Maybe it was neither.

That's when I got it.

The five dollar bill was potential, plain and simple. An opportunity. Neither good nor bad. It simply was. How that event was perceived by the people it affected, how they thought about it, and what they did as a result of experiencing it – that's what made it 'good' or 'bad'.

Depending on your perspective.

Let me explain what I mean by opportunity. The universe knew I had a need, and it selected someone to supply it. By causing them to lose that money – an event they probably perceived as 'negative' – I was blessed. But…I wasn't the only one, because although my unknown benefactor probably didn't realize it, what the universe gave them by causing them to lose that money was an opportunity to do me - someone they would probably never meet – good.

They 'gained' an opportunity to bless me. Although they would never know it, the universe did. And…so did I.

So, because I recognized this, thanked them and blessed them for their unconscious generosity, they really didn't 'lose' anything. I'm sure they were recompensed because believe me; I spent most of that day blessing the heck out of them.

My point is everything happens for a reason, it's neither good nor bad, it's simply what it is; how you respond to it, colours it from your perspective. We are sent what we need to learn and grow, and what we manifest through our own thoughts and actions. We are the ones who put the value judgements on what happens to us and decide whether it is 'good' or 'bad'.

Naturally we tend to think of pleasant things that make us happy as 'good' and stuff that doesn't as 'bad', but if you can get past that, especially for the bad stuff, and view everything as simply an opportunity to learn because, I just demonstrated, even stuff we think of as 'bad' – really isn't – if you see it from a different perspective.

More on this next time, but for now, here's a thought; if you lose something, rather than getting all annoyed and angry with yourself, try thanking the universe for the opportunity it's given you to do someone else some good. Maybe what's passed out of your hands could really help someone else. Then let it go with thanks, and wait for something even better and brighter to come back to you.

It will, you know.

Blessings
Phoenix

Diogenes Never Lost A Change Purse

2008-09-12T23:13:00.001-07:00

Last Tuesday, while on the way to the airport to meet Shannon I stopped at a grocery store to pick up some stuff she would need. It was a place I formerly frequented when we used to live in that part of town, but as we haven't for over a year, it's been awhile since I last walked into the place.

Paying for my purchases required me to whip out my trusty change purse, reminding me of an incident that had occurred there, a few years back, involving the aforementioned purse. It's a good story. I'll tell it to you, shall I?

I had a regular routine when I did my weekly shop in this store, park the car, get the cart, and get on with it. To get the cart, you have to put a quarter in the thingee that unlocks it, and I keep my change, coincidentally, in a change purse. This purse habitually resides in my fanny pack. Now, I used to have a bad habit of neglecting to zip the pack back up properly after I've taken things in and out, and a couple of times I've had stuff fall out while I've been walking around not realizing I'm unzipped, but fortunately, I've mostly caught and retrieved before moving on.

This particular day, however, I did not notice my change purse had slipped out, somewhere in the store, while I was zinging up and down the aisles getting me groceries. I didn't miss the darned thing until I was returning the cart to the stand after having completely finished shopping and stowing, and upon retrieving my quarter was dismayed to discover I no longer had a change purse to put the change in.

I was extremely choked to find it gone; it had about 25 bucks in it; a folded ten dollar bill and an additional 15, give or take, in Loonies, Twonies* and other small change. It wasn't money I could easily afford to throw away at the time. Heck, I wouldn't be too happy about losing that much money even now, but back then, definitely a blow.

Extremely upset and not too optimistic about my chances of success, I rushed back into the store and retraced my steps. I had no idea where or at what point during the twenty minutes or so I'd been in the store I'd actually lost it – if it had been five minutes or fifteen. I was reasonably sure I lost it in the store, but that was all I knew.

A few more minutes of frantic and fruitless scurrying around wound me up even more, at which point I headed for the customer service counter in the faint hope someone had found it and turned it in. I held out even less optimism for this option – it was a generic change purse with no traceable ID, and…it had money in it.

Let's face it, I was dreaming, what were the odds whoever found it would actually turn it in. Hey, we all know everyone is just out for number one, yes? Someone finds free money in a non-descript container with no name or contact number for the owner, they're gonna keep it, right? I mean, why wouldn't they, not like they could give it back or anything?

Right?

Yeah, well, I knew all that, but I had to give it a shot.

The girl at the counter confirmed my worst fears; no one had turned anything in. She listened very politely while I ranted, spewing stuff along the lines of, 'don't know what I was expecting, people suck', yadda yadda, none of it particularly kind, or enlightened, and my parting words to her were:

"I hope they choke on it."

I got two steps away from the counter and something flashed into my mind not only stopping my in my tracks but making me instantly mentally retract all my unkind thoughts. That something was a lesson I'd learned years previously, also involving money, when I was on the other end of the process, and I'll tell you about this one next time.

I had lost something – it had been found by someone else. Maybe that person needed it more than I did, and that's why this had happened. My 'misfortune' could actually be a blessing to someone else. I had to see it that way. Not as a loss, not as something 'bad' that had happened to me, but as something 'good' I had done for someone else.

So, I did. I stopped cursing and started thanking. I hoped my purse had been found by someone who had been helped by the money, and that it had done some good. I blessed the person in my thoughts, and then I let the whole thing go and went on with my day. Went to the dollar store and bought another change purse. Didn't like it as much as the old one, but ah well, replacement secured, lesson learned, move on.

And…I did. As well as completely forgetting about the incident.

Until, a couple of weeks later, when I happened to be at the customer service counter in the same grocery store talking to the same clerk. She took my money for the purchases I'd just made, I was about to leave when she suddenly said:

"Oh, by the way, did you get your change purse back?"

What?

She looked under the counter, and there it was! Where it had been sitting for the last couple of weeks after someone had turned it in not five minutes after I'd been there inquiring after it.

You want to hear the best part? The money was still in it. All of it.

Now, is that not too cool or what? Swear to God, true story! I was so impressed and blown away that this wonderful person, whoever they were had done this incredible thing for me. And you better believe I blessed and thanked them again for their kindness and honesty. The way I started out thinking about them, though, I didn't feel like I deserved it. But they had not only given me back everything I'd originally lost, I came out way farther ahead in the bargain. I was doubly gifted, not only for having what I'd lost returned to me, but I was also given a powerful confirmation there are good and honest people out there. You just have to have faith and think right.

Diogenes was wrong; there are honest men and women in the world. And I have the change purse to prove it.

Do right and you'll never lose.

Phoenix *For those of you who aren't Canadian, which is, I expect, most of you the 'Loonie' is the name given to our dollar coin probably because it's got a loon on it. That would be my guess. When the two dollar coin came out there was some debate as to what it should be colloquially referred to – Dubloonie – my personal favourite, was in the running for awhile, but Twonie eventually won out. Personally I don't know why, the coin has a polar bear on it, not a loon, but there you are. And this concludes our unscheduled, but we hope entertaining Canadian trivia moment, eh?

The Return of Shannon

2008-09-09T20:35:00.001-07:00

Shannon is back! Today I made the trip to the airport, met her at the gate, drove her back to our domicile, and now my empty apartment is a home again. I mean, the cats are great, but it's just not the same. Already the place is being reorganized and restructured, everything lined up the way Shannon likes it and needs it to be, she's been bustling about behind me picking up things and putting them away as soon as I put them down, the blinds are being closed for the evening as I write this and it's just…

It's all pretty darned good.

Like most autisics Shannon brings OCD to a truly sublime level. Rigid routine, structure and the meticulous organization of everything in her universe (including, a lot of the time, me) is comforting to her, helps her deal with stress and sensory overload. She needs to do it, she needs me to do it with her and for her, and figuring this out early on went a long way towards gradually defusing the terrifying tantrum syndrome. Growing with her was an incredible learning experience for both of us, and once I started making the connection between the TV remote being in the wrong place and her going ballistic all over the living room, I decided it might be a good idea to start putting it where she wanted it to be and leaving it there already. Along with gradually learning and implementing all the other various routines and rituals she needed in order to be able to feel safe and secure in her personal universe.

Don't think it was always easy. More than once I found having to follow the restrictions her requirements placed on me arbitrary, annoying and extremely confining. I mean, what the heck did it matter if the blinds were opened three inches instead of two? And geez, the world wasn't going to come to an end if every single stinking condiment wasn't lined up in precise row in a certain order on the door shelf in the fridge.

Well, yes and no. Maybe my world would keep on spinning on its comfortably chaotic axis. Casual clutter had worked for my just fine before Shannon came into my life. But I told myself this wasn't about me. While I was able to adapt, she wasn't. It wasn't her fault if she needed everything about her to be organized in an exacting and precise way, and if it made her feel good to do it and to have things all her way, I should just suck it up and do it already.

I was the adult, I was the one capable of changing and adapting, and also able to understand the need for it, so I was the one who had to do it.

Funny thing, the more I dug in and conformed, the less I resisted her need to control everything in her environment, the more I gave her what she needed, the better things got. Feeling safe, in control and understood, she stopped screaming. Knowing I was seeing her and getting what she wanted and needed, she realized she didn't have to put all that frantic and horrific energy into attempting to communicate basic wants and needs. She started calming down, 'coming out' venturing beyond her immediate comfort zone of me and our personal bubble. She started talking more, allowing limited contact from other people, got better about being in public to the point I could take her places I'd never dreamt possible a few short years previous, and she eventually learned to deal with the sort of stimulation that used to send her into a screaming frenzy.

No, it hasn't been easy, but it's been so worth it. And not just on Shannon's side. I've learned a few things too, about self-discipline, and the comforting simplicity of order and structure. It's kinda nice to know where everything is, and to not have to think about planning your day. In an odd way, structure is very liberating. Something I may or may not have come around to eventually learning if not for Shannon.

Besides, bonus situation here, the kid is cleaner than I am. And she never runs down. Buzzing around snapping up stuff as soon as I'm done with it, tossing it in the garbage bin, the recycle bin or the dishwasher, or where ever appropriate. Nothing piles up in this place, let me tell you!

And besides, how many people can say their nineteen year old daughter's room is immaculate and they didn't have to lift a finger or spend hours nagging her for it to get that way?

Yep, Shannon's home, and everything that means is right with my world again.

I know, not too profound, but I felt like sharing it anyway.

Enjoy and blessingsPhoenix

Broken?

2008-09-07T19:47:00.001-07:00

I was watching my favourite reality show this morning. You know, Extreme Make-over: Home Edition. The team was down in New Mexico doing a build for a family who'd moved into a crime-ridden neighborhood and almost single-handedly were turning it around and were putting their all into rehabilitating it and ministering to the homeless and needy people. During the expositional 'meet the family' segment at the beginning Ty asked the dad why he did it. I found his response particularly touching, the love he so eloquently expressed for the people he and his family were so dedicated to helping. But what most captured my imagination was what he called them.

Broken people. It sounded so sad, yet so apt, very evocative and strangely poetic. Broken, but not valueless. Worth the effort. That was how he saw them, and his passion, his deep rooted respect for a segment of humanity most of us more than likely walk on by without even considering, I found it very inspiring, and that spirit of incredible generosity and acceptance driving him, I wanted to understand it better.

I thought a lot about what I had seen and learned as the day progressed, then decided to take a short jaunt to the new grocery story only ten minutes walk from my place, to pick up a few things. On my way back I got a small surprise.

That old 'be careful what you wish for' thing? Sometimes it works really fast!

I was a couple of blocks away from my house when a very scruffy looking, back-pack toting man on a bike drew up to the curb beside me. Obviously a street person. He was very polite, apologizing profusely for bothering me, and assuring me I didn't need to be afraid of him (which I wasn't). He made a request of me, I gave him what he wanted, a civil enough exchange, still on the impersonal side, and that might have been the end of it, except…

Maybe it was because I looked him in the eye, maybe he sensed I wasn't judging him, but whatever it was, he suddenly started talking to me, and I listened. He told me he hadn't always been like this, homeless, once he had a life, a good career, a family, and somehow he'd lost his way. He wanted to turn his life around, to get off the streets, and I tried to be encouraging, telling him if that's what he really wanted, he could do it. We talked a bit longer, he sang me a song he'd written himself, about his life and for just a fleeting second I understood what Gerald Martinez had been talking about. No matter what he looked like, no matter how far apart we were in circumstances, though he was broken and wandering down a hard and comfortless road – not valueless. Not beyond hope and definitely not beyond redemption. He yearned and felt and dreamed and in that, we weren't so different.

The moment passed, he thanked me for my kindness; I thanked him for the gift of his song. We went our separate ways. I hope I gave him encouragement and a measure of self-respect in addition to some small change, but what he gave me; I definitely think I got the better part of the bargain.

He gave me a piece of himself, and a profound lesson in respect and tolerance, as well as a greater understanding of the value of each individual human being.

No matter our particular circumstances, we are all special, each one unique, we all have value. We have to look beyond the surface, and reach out when we can, because any kindness, no matter how small, could be of incalculable importance.

Now, I'm not saying what I did on that street corner in any way compared to the way that incredible family in Albuquerque are making a difference, but for me, it was a small step along the road to greater understanding. I have no idea to what extent our exchange affected him; odds are I will probably never know. But I will remember him, and hold the hope he will find the way to be the man he wants to be. And who knows, miracles happen every day, perhaps the universe has one in store for him.

Here's hoping.

Phoenix

Bless the Children

2008-09-05T23:06:00.001-07:00

As parents we love our children; their happiness is the most important thing in the world to us, and we want to do everything we can to keep them from pain and harm. It doesn't matter if they're five or thirty five, even grown and out on their own, that desire to protect, the need to help; it never goes away.

You want to protect them with every fibre of your being but sometimes, paradoxically, intervening is the worst thing you can do. It doesn't sound right and it definitely isn't fair, but there it is.

It's hard, really hard during those times when for all your love and concern, there's nothing you can do to stop them from choosing a difficult and painful path. You have to stand back, stay silent, let them go on their own, to strive, experiment, discover, and sometimes falter, because it's their right to make their own choices, and it's the only way they will learn, and grow. Not all their decisions will be right, smart or wise. Like every other human being who's gone before them on their singular life journey, including their parents, they will make mistakes. They'll fall down, they'll stumble and skin their knees, and they'll burn their fingers on the stove you told them not to touch. While you stand there and let them, because you know what, sometimes the only way to learn the lesson is make mistakes, burn your fingers and fall down.

They have to do what they have to do, even if it hurts them, and hurts you more, having to watch, unable to do anything else.

I sometimes wonder if this unanswerable but necessary sorrow, if this is the way God (and I am using this one term to encompass all the various emanations of the Divine Truth as it has expressed itself to humanity through our history. I believe all are valid. Feel free to substitute the name of your choosing) feels when he walks amongst us on this beautiful planet he has given us to shape as we please and sees so many of us stubbornly, willfully hurting ourselves when we refuse to see, refuse to believe, choosing to be selfish and cruel to ourselves and others, because we can and we want to be. What tears does he weep, loving us so much and yet knowing, with a divine, all-encompassing vision and wisdom we can only faintly emulate, but can't even begin to approach, that he must let us be. Yes, he has the power to take away our sorrows and travail, to make it all better, but he knows for our best good, he must not intervene. He has given us the privilege of free will, the incredible gift of creation, the ability to make our own personal worlds and this larger reality we all share what it is, exactly the way it is. If he stepped in, and made it all go away – what would we learn? How would we grow?

We all know there is such a thing as too much, a child pampered, spoiled and sheltered, indulged and given everything they want does not make for a very successful adult. They have earned nothing, they have done nothing, they have learned only a false sense of entitlement; they expect everything and give nothing back.

If we as loving, concerned parents are diligent to not do such a disservice to our own children, then why do we rail at God when he refuses to 'spoil' us?

Sometimes the answer is, and must be 'no'. That does not mean we do not love any less, or desire to help. There are times when acting on that natural inclination is in fact, the worst thing you can do. This is hard to understand, even harder to enact, but realizing when to let go, when the greatest act of love and respect you can bestow upon your children is to not interfere, to do nothing, this is truly the beginning of wisdom.

Knowing it's the right thing to do doesn't make it any easier. But if you truly care, it's the only thing you can do.

When I was a small child I had an extraordinarily vivid and profound dream. At the time I was much too young to understand it fully, but that has changed a little with time and experience.

I dreamt I was walking in a beautiful, lush garden with Jesus. He didn't look like the 'Jesus' I saw in the portrait hanging on the wall of the Sunday School room; he was a clean-shaven young man, with brown curly hair, dressed in contemporary clothing, but I knew he was Jesus. I didn't think there was anything odd about the dichotomy of his appearance, or the fact I was holding his hand and walking through this garden with him. It just was what it was.

We walked quietly through the garden, not talking, enjoying the serenity and beauty of the place, the path we were following meandering past the trees and fantastic flowers until we came to a huge, overgrown stone gate. He opened it up and led me inside this little enclosed area of the garden.

Inside, the ground was grassy, and strewn across this verdant carpet were dozens of what I can only describe as – kids toys. I don't remember what they were called, but they were common in the sixties, a kind of building set, sort of the pre-cursor to the erector set, round connector wheels and sticks and dowels made of painted wood. You stuck them all together and made stuff.

Anyway, there were a whole bunch of these things lying on the grass, like a bunch of kids had been there playing, putting together their fantastical constructions, and then had left them lying on the grass after they'd been called in for dinner. Jesus lit right up as soon as he saw them, pulled me by the hand, urging me to draw close and inspect them with him.

"My children made these!" He said to me excitedly as he got down on his hands and knees and carefully picked up the first one. "Aren't they wonderful!"

I stood by his side and watched him examine this thing, turning it over carefully, reverently, holding it with exquisite care while he looked at it like it was a precious diamond. When he had finished drinking in every detail, smiling and oohing and awing like this was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen, pointing out various things to me about how great it was, he put the first one down, ever so carefully, and picked up the next one. All the time urging me to join him and look at them too.

I wanted to make him happy, I mean, come on, after all, he was Jesus, so I sat down and picked up one of the…things. He was having a good time, and he thought they were really special, but honestly, when I looked at the one I was holding, all I saw was a weird spherical mess, a kind of decrepit collection of wooden dowels stuck together with the round wooden connectors. It didn't even look like anything recognizable; it was a haphazard mishmash, a bizarre jumble of wood.

I tried, I really, really tried to see what he was seeing, to see this crude, bizarre thing as something wonderful, but I couldn't. I just didn't get it, but if he said it was something great, well, I would take his word for it.

We went a little farther into the enclosed glade, still looking at the forest of constructs on the grass of the glade. Then abruptly he stopped, looked down at one in particular, his face suddenly as sorrowful as it had been previously joyful.

It was another one of the many, many wooden thingees we'd already seen, but this one was different. This one was broken. Smashed and splintered, totally ruined as if someone in a fit of anger had stomped on it and deliberately destroyed it.

Tears formed in his eyes; he got down on his hands and knees and gathered all the little broken bits together, cradling them to his chest. He didn't say anything, just sat there and wept, such profound grief and sorrow over this smashed kid's toy, I couldn't comprehend it. I felt so bad, to see him so sad, but it was like he wasn't even aware of me anymore, he was so lost in his sorrow. It was then I realized these 'things' were about more than they seemed, they represented something bigger, more meaningful, but I was only about five or six, and the larger lesson was too complex for me to grasp at the time.

But I never forgot the dream, and with a little more time and life experience, yeah, eventually I got it. Or at least I like to think I have.

However we may grieve him, with our willfulness, pride and selfishness, he never stops loving us. Never doubt this, and remember also, even when we seem inextricably mired in the deepest well of misery of our own making, no matter how it appears, we are neither lost, nor alone. He never leaves us, even if we leave him no choice but to let us go.

Love your children enough to do no less.

A Mother

Phoenix

Diana Remembered

2008-09-01T19:34:00.000-07:00

My apologies, I really should have written this yesterday, but it wasn't until very late I realized yesterday was…the day.

So, I guess I'm doing it today.

Eleven years ago, 31 August 1997, a bright light was tragically extinguished, taken from us by the heedless actions of representatives of the media juggernaut that stalked and preyed upon her in order to satisfy our insatiable need to know about her. It was a day indelibly etched on my consciousness, not simply because of the tremendous grief and disbelief I felt, like almost everyone else in the world, but because of a singular event I experienced, intimately connecting me to the tragedy in a way I never could have expected or anticipated.

I had no special connection to Diana; I was simply one of the many, curious masses vicariously viewing the purloined, published moments of her life as the media stole them from her and fed them to us. And yet, that day, I truly felt her pain in a way I will never forget.

This story actually starts a couple of weeks before that fateful day. I was on a bus, travelling from Winnipeg to Ontario, where I would spend two weeks visiting family and friends, and then take Shannon back to Winnipeg with me, her summer visit with her Dad being over for another year. It was the second day of the journey; I was bored, having finished my book several hundred miles ago. So, when we made a rest stop at a small roadside gasbar/diner I eagerly hopped out of the bus, hoping to procure more reading material.

A quick perusal of their scant periodical stand was bitterly disappointing. The only reading material on offer, and by my standards it barely qualified, was a whole lot of tabloids. Now, normally, I would not even have considered any of them, but the prospect of being trapped on a bus for at least another five hours with absolutely nothing to read made me break my strict policy of avoiding that trash at all costs and actually 'gulp' buy one. I went for what I figured was the least of all the evils. I don't remember which one it was now. Hey, it was eleven years ago!

Well, five minutes into it I wanted to toss it out the window. It was chock full of intrusive and extremely unflattering pictures of Diana on a beach and a yacht with Mr Feyd, and the editorial comments accompanying the pictorials, neither kind nor gracious. Yep, the magazine definitely wasn't shy about sharing its opinion of the ex-princess's latest romance, her morals and her right to be on a public beach attempting to have a normal life like any other human being while looking any less than like she'd just walked out of a salon after getting a full body-make over.

They had plenty to say, all right, and none of it was good.

It made me angry; I remember swearing at the damn thing and wishing the parasites publishing it would leave the poor woman the hell alone. I stuffed it in the trash bag and left it behind when we got to Winnipeg. After I learned she was gone, I wished I'd kept it. Just to have the contrast between how they were vilifying her two short weeks previously, and yet pursuing her relentlessly, versus deifying her after her demise. The magazine I no longer possessed became very symbolic in my mind, a foreshadowing of the building obsession and insanity culminating in that terrible chase with its tragic result.

I honestly don't know if the whole magazine episode played any part in what I experienced the day she died. I do know she was on my mind for much of that period, and I had, well, I wouldn't call it a presentiment…precisely. I only know reading that magazine and realizing what the world was saying about her bothered me, and that feeling of wrongness and impending…something, wouldn't go away.

Two weeks later it's 31 Aug, and I'm back on the bus, with Shannon, on the second day of our two day one night bus trip home. It's a beautiful late summer day, I didn't really note the time at the time, the sunlight is streaming through the windows; the bus is making its way smoothly but steadily on down the hi-way and I'm drowsing in my seat. Not quite asleep, and yet not quite awake, in that funky twilight zone between awareness and oblivion.

And…here's where it gets weird.

I was floating happily in this white, warm place when suddenly I was thrown into chaos and darkness. I felt confined, trapped, the world was spinning, literally over and over, I could feel terror like a palpable thing, and hear a woman screaming. Don't ask me how I knew, but I was certain I was in a car, and it was rolling over. The sensation of spinning, the sounds, the screaming were so utterly, frighteningly real.

I was only in this place for a couple of seconds, but the experience scared the crap out of me and I jerked abruptly awake, but briefly disoriented, completely unsure of where I actually was. When I recovered, realized I was safe in my seat on the bus and had not, in fact, just been in a crashing car, I was slightly less freaked, but still, having some sort of a whatever it was I'd just had about a car accident while in a bus, not the most reassuring thing to have happen to one. However, as I had more time to calm down and process I came to a certainty what I had tapped into had nothing to do with me. This had happened to someone else and was not, in fact, going to arrive on my doorstep.

I didn't know who that someone was, wasn't sure if I'd ever know, so I filed the incident away and went back to enjoying the ride.

Bear in mind for most of that day and into the evening I was incommunicado on a bus, so I had no way of knowing what had just happened in that tunnel in Paris until way later that evening once we hit town and taxied home. It was a little after 11, I turned on the TV and while I was unpacking my suitcase, that was when I'd heard Diana had been involved in a car crash in Paris, and she had died as a result of her injuries.

Stunned, I listened to the broadcast, learned the time of the actual accident. Did a little math, connected the dots between when the accident had happened, and allowing for the time difference, that meant about the same time the Mercedes came to the end of the line in that tunnel I was an ocean and half a continent away, was sitting on a bus…sort of drowsing…

That's when I knew whose car I'd briefly been in earlier in the day. I can't tell you how I knew, I just…

I knew.

In the days that followed, like everyone else I mourned and tried to deal with the unreality of it all, closely followed the sorrowful spectacle of the floral outpouring against the gates of Buckingham Palace, and watched every second of her funeral ceremonies. The whole time I pondered what I had experienced, how had it happened, why had it happened, and what did it mean?

In the end I came to the conclusion in all likelihood it was simply a result of being in the right place at the right time, or rather the right mental place at the right time – nothing more profound than that. That's not to say, however, it also wasn't an occasion for a powerful lesson.

I don't believe I am or was anything special enabling me to do what I did. I just got lucky. What I mean is, in that moment she was 'broadcasting', wide open, and I just happened to be an on-line receiver tuned into the right frequency.

I believe we are all connected. We are constantly broadcasting thoughts, feelings and emotions creating an interconnecting, subliminal network between all of us. The original world wide web, if you will. What we all think and feel and believe, we're continually sending it out there, each of us forming the greater, global reality we all share in the process. We also influence each other in ways we're not consciously aware of. I believe precognitive dreams, visions, hunches, come from this global web, and each one of us can tap into it. Maybe not consciously, or at will, but we do it all the time without even being aware of it. Some, obviously are better than others, and have more control over the process, but it can definitely happen, like it did to me, if the 'broadcaster' is sending out a particularly strong psychic signal, and you just happen to be, like I was, in an altered, receptive state.

I'm convinced that's what happened. I was in that null space, open and unknowingly receptive, and I got sucked in by what must have been the psychic equivalent of an atom bomb. The terror, the confusion, the pain, the disbelief, those last, desperate seconds blasting out into the ether, tearing a hole in the very fabric of reality. And I just happened to be there too, at the exact same time, wide open to making that tenuous….connection.

I can't prove any of this; of course, I know that, like most profound truths, this one is entirely internal and subjective. Nevertheless, I know what I know, and I know what I believe. And I know, just like every single one of us, everything I think, feel, believe and manifest through my thoughts and actions has a real effect not only on my personal world, but on the greater universe all the rest of us inhabit. I know the power that gives me, and as well as the accompanying responsibility to strive to be as positive an influence as possible. I can choose to make a difference. We all can.

And I have a woman I will now never meet who reached out unknowingly to me in what might have been her final, conscious seconds on Earth to thank for this amazing insight. I wish I could thank her. I wish she was still with us.

Diana, the world won't forget you. I know I never shall. Wherever you are now, I pray you have found peace.

Shape your own worlds with care and love

Phoenix

Reality Rocks

2008-08-31T14:11:00.001-07:00

I'm not a huge fan of reality shows. And although it's effectively permeated the current cultural consciousness, and not for the best, in my opinion, I'm probably the only person on the planet who hasn't watched a single episode of Survivor. Okay, maybe not the only person, but if there's a club for Survivor-avoiders, I'd be happy to claim a spot.

While I might not have actually viewed the show, I do know how it works. Can't say I'm crazy about the win-at-any-cost, survival of the slyest, last-man-standing, advance by elimination, adversarial, confrontational values the show promotes, and encourages in the contestants. The whole thing is set up to, and in fact is counting on bringing out the worst in the participants for the audience's amusement. But then, that's what everyone is tuning in to see, right, who's the biggest, baddest, nastiest, trickiest, the more horribly everybody behaves towards each other, the better. That's what sells tickets, right? That's what keeps 'em coming back for more.

I mean, get real here, who wants to watch a show about people being nice to each other? About people helping one another and working towards a positive, life-affirming result? Who cares about something that makes you feel good and promotes co-operation, incredible sacrifice, and making a difference for the better in people's lives when you can feel superior while snickering at the antics of a bunch of selfish, self-interested, out for number 1ers set on snatching the prize before the anyone else gets it, battling their way to the finish line in a contrived scenario calculated to reduce all of them to the lowest common denominator of disgraceful human behaviour.

Yeah, that's entertainment, all right. When you put it like that, who cares about 'nice'?

Um…me. For one. Also pretty sure I'm not the only one.

When it comes to reality shows that float my boat, the one at the top of my list is Extreme Home Makeover. I love this show, and I never miss it. I find it inspiring, incredibly positive, a wonderful celebration of everything kind and good and admirable about humanity. This is a model of 'reality' I can get behind; people giving of themselves unstintingly, accomplishing amazing feats for families in truly dire straights. And the recipients are no less amazing or inspiring. People who have so little, or are facing truly daunting personal challenges, and yet they give of themselves so selflessly, and accomplish so much with so little. I gotta tell you, when I see the tremendous challenges and burdens these people are shouldering with such grace and courage I am triply grateful for my many, many blessings. A sobering reminder no matter how bad I think things are, even my worst day is a hundred times better than what some of these pour souls are going through. It really puts things in perspective.

Oh yeah.

We need more shows like this one. It is truly shining proof people are at their very best when they are working together and helping each other. Mountains can be moved, and miracles created by mutual co-operation and positive effort. Give and you will receive. Bless and you will be blessed. Yeah, I know the whole point of it is to get ratings and ultimately, hopefully make money for the sponsors but there's still a whole lot of good karma being generated, and the positive example it presents and the model it is advancing of change through generosity of spirit and co-operation – the importance of that cannot be stressed strongly enough.

Selfish, pointless competition versus altruism, co-operation and generosity? Tearing down versus building up? I know which one I'm gonna go for. As well as opting to support the advertisers who show me the kind of reality I want to see.

So, sorry Survivor and all the other reality shows of your ilk, I'm voting you off my island. Give me caring, sharing, courage and compassion. Now that's reality that really rocks!

Go out and do something nice for someone, you'll feel great!

Phoenix

Judge Not: Part Three

2008-08-30T14:09:00.001-07:00

Hi, thanks coming back and here we are again, picking up the tale of me and my incredible, exploding daughter about to attempt a death-defying expedition to the grocery store. Sounds like pretty mundane stuff, right? Well, you would think so, and I'm sure for millions of people all over the world, contemplating the prospect of something as simple as taking your kid to the local mall to pick up groceries wouldn't be an occasion for terror and trepidation, not to mention feeling like you were taking your life in your hands. I wish I could say, in days gone by the daily shop was a no big deal but I gotta tell you, every time I stepped out of that apartment I felt like I had a great big bulls-eye painted on my back.

You see the kicker was, the truly ironic part of all of this, if you looked at Shannon then, you would have seen this very beautiful, very quiet, very solemn, very normal looking child. The distinctive autistic mannerisms that mark her now, the rocking, the exaggerated hand-flapping, the inappropriate vocalizations, back then she didn't do any of it to the degree she does now, a trained observer would have picked up on the few tell-tale physical behaviours she manifested too subtle for the average eye but to Joe and Josephine by-stander she looked like every other child who didn't have these challenges to deal with. She didn't come with a big, blinking 'autism' banner over her head, she didn't look like she had a problem. Therefore anyone seeing the pair of us and taking in one of her unscheduled but regular floor shows were left to draw only one conclusion. And believe me, they did so, and nine times out of ten were none to shy about sharing their disapproval of the spectacle – her for providing it and me for apparently letting her do so.

This irony caused me many bitter moments of contemplating the basic, innate unfairness of the whole thing, I don't mind telling you. I couldn't help but think if she'd had a visible affliction rather than drawing the ire of the crowd I'd be getting accolades. More than once I considered getting her a T-shirt that said something like "I'm not BAD I'm AUTISTIC". But I didn't, I kept telling myself I could deal with it.

Again, let me stress it wasn't Shannon giving me the grief, the tantrums I could deal with, and was managing to do so, I just wanted people to leave me alone so I could help my daughter. We'd be going along, minding our own business, she would start going off, I would drop everything and try to calm her down, and then, the inevitable crowd would start to gather.

Now, to be fair, some people were intelligent to realize the force of the fit she was pitching was way over and above a mere temper tantrum. They got there was something not 'normal' going on here. I did get a few kind offers of assistance, but they were very few and far between. However, as much as I appreciated them over the usual abuse, at the time I couldn't spare them a lot of time to chat or offer explanations. I needed to stay focused on Shannon.

What I really wanted was for everyone to go away and leave us alone. The fewer people, and the less distraction the better, not to mention I was able to stay on an even emotional keel if I didn't have to deal with having to deal with the gawking – and mostly hostile public.

But of course, that virtually never happened. Shannon was a show-stopper, all right, and she never failed to draw a crowd. Most of them were determined to share their extremely uncharitable opinion of my daughter's obviously undisciplined upbringing and my lousy parental abilities. And they weren't too shy about getting right in my face about it.

I was outright threatened. I was maligned. I was told I didn't deserve to have children, and they were going to see to it my daughter got taken away. I was told I should be arrested for child abuse. Not just once, but many, many times, practically every time we went out and Shannon had one of her lapses I was subjected to this ordeal. Everywhere we went people attacked us. I was appalled and daunted by the sheer viciousness of some of the comments, how mean people were to us. I mean, I know she was a tremendous disruption; unless you've experienced it you really have no idea how violent one of her tantrums could get – just short of an actual seizure, but what hurt so much, what little an explanation I could spare to give to them, they wouldn't even listen.

It truly wasn't her fault, it wasn't my fault, I didn't want to disturb or inconvenience them, we were doing the best we could, and we did have rights too. Inwardly, I bristled about the injustice of it, I told myself they were just a bunch of narrow minded poo-poo heads and I shouldn't care about what they thought about me and my daughter because I knew the truth, but you know what?

It's hard not to care. It's hard to turn your back when people are throwing verbal stones at you, and it's hard not to cry when they say terrible things about your child. Things you know she doesn't deserve, things you know they would be appalled have come out of their mouth if they could only spend a few, short minutes in your shoes, see things from your perspective and learn the truth.

I tried my best, but I got caught in this self-defeating spiral of feeling worse and worse about myself the more I kept hearing about what a terrible person I was. I knew it wasn't true, but I started believing I deserved to be censured. It also didn't help the few friends I had left stopped dropping by, with apologies, but they just couldn't deal with Shannon.

Not a really happy time in my life, as you can well imagine. The low point, the absolute nadir came one day in January when Shannon starting acting up on the bus, something she almost never did, and the passengers commenced complaining, loudly, to the driver. The upshot was, the bus driver pulled over and apologized, but asked us to leave.

I'll never forget the sound of the passengers cheering as Shannon and I were thrown off the bus.

Did I mention it was January? In Winnipeg? And it was -30 Degrees Celsius? Fortunately we were dressed for the weather, but still, we had to walk from Sherbrooke to Broadway, which, if anyone is familiar with Winnipeg, is no small hike, even if the weather is nice but in January, not my idea of fun.

As I trudged on homeward on that cold afternoon, with my now silent daughter by my side, I was feeling pretty low. To be honest, I was feeling like a victim. We had done nothing wrong, and yet, here we were, judged, condemned and cast out.

And yet, to be treated like criminals, did that make us so? No, it didn't. We hadn't done anything wrong. No matter what everyone on that stupid bus thought or said, none of that changed what I knew about Shannon, and about myself.

I was okay. She was okay. That's all that mattered. And you know what, it took that unceremonious and humiliating ejection for me to see, for the first time, the innate truth, the lesson in all of this. See it, understand it, and really believe it.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. I was only a victim if I thought of myself as one. My baby was fine, so was I, I was going to continue to do whatever I needed to do for her, the whole rest of the darned world could take a flying leap, who cares what they thought of me and her, you don't want to help me, who the heck needs ya, shut the heck up and stay out of my way.

That was it; that was all it took. After that epiphany nothing changed, not immediately; Shannon still had her public fits and folks still lit into us about it, but you know what, for me it was a completely different experience. It just flew on over me without touching me, the proverbial water off the ducks back thing. I focused on her and tuned it all out. And another funny thing, once I stopped listening to the nay-sayers and caring about what they said, I don't know if it was a case of it stopped happening or I just stopped paying attention, but whatever, our daily journeys became less and less of an exercise in terror. And yeah, Shannon grew, gained more life and coping skills, improved her ability to communicate, and though it took years of patience and effort on both our parts, the terrible tantrums gradually became a thing of the past. She does occasionally have a wee melt down from time to time, but nowhere near the scale of her youth, and she is able grasp the need for self control and exercise it.

Only one of the many small but meaningful miracles she has manifested in her life and development.

Oy, this was a little more than I meant to share, but I hope it's brought you a new perspective on judging based on appearances, and maybe the next time you see a situation think you know what's going on, consider maybe you don't. Maybe the next time you see a young mother struggling with an obstreperous, loud child you won't automatically assume the worst of them both. Maybe you'll offer a kind, encouraging word instead of a harsh one. I hope you'll ponder it, and also consider the tremendous power you have to affect another person, either positively or negatively, simply in passing.

The choice is yours; to help or harm.

Do good and you'll never go wrong.

Thanks for stopping by

Phoenix

Judge Not Part Two

2008-08-29T21:30:00.001-07:00

Has this ever happened to you, you're out somewhere public, the park, the corner store, the mall, riding the bus, and your day is abruptly disturbed by some kid pitching a public fit. You strive to carry on, the noise level increases, but the mother doesn't seem to be doing anything about it. You don't want to be annoyed, but you can't help it, this is bothering you, it's disruptive and what's more, it shouldn't be happening, in your opinion and wouldn't be if parents made the effort to exert more control over their children, as this parent obviously isn't.

Sometimes, you may have done more than think it – you've let that mother know, in no uncertain terms she isn't doing her job and her kids are going to grow up to be holy terrors if she doesn't get a grip and rein them in. Kids didn't behave like that in the good old days, oh no. And it's all the parent's fault. Or words, and judgments to that effect.

If it sounds like I'm speaking from personal experience, well, I used to be that 'lousy' mother, and I was subjected this form of censure and public humiliation on practically a daily basis. It was a long time ago, and the scars have mostly healed, but still, these aren't some of my favorite memories. However, I learned a lot from the experiences, although admittedly they weren't a lot of fun at the time.

When Shannon was a toddler, versus present day, her public behaviour and general appearance were almost completely reversed. That is to say, the amount of self-control she possessed, her ability to deal with external stimuli and changing situations, and the way she appeared to the casual observer was the total opposite of the way she is now.

And therein hangs a tale, as the cliché goes. As well as one of the most powerful and painful learning experiences of my life.

When she was small Shannon had very minimal communication skills; she didn't start speaking until she was almost four, and even then she had a vocabulary of only approximately 50 words, most of her speech was echolalic and the few words she did know she used out of context, so trying to figure out what she was actually saying/attempting to communicate was…challenging. Let's just say I became an expert at reading her body language, and non-verbal clues.

Like most autistic people she was extremely sensitive to external stimuli; she had difficult processing sensory information and found certain sounds in particular distressing. Loud noises, sirens, bells, high frequency sound, loud-speakers and PA systems like you'd find in schools and supermarkets still bother her, although thankfully she's grown more able to cope with the types of noises and sounds that used to cause her pain and distress when she was a small child.

Another thing she was – and still is extremely sensitive to – and this is the one that used to really pitch me into that rock and hard…place, frequently; my moods. My emotional state. From the time she was a baby Shannon has always reacted instantly and emphatically to any strong negative emotion I display. If I become angry or upset, well, so does she. It's not so bad now, but when she was small, keeping myself on an even emotional keel at all time was vital, no matter what was happening with Shannon, or with me, because if I lost it, whatever stress she was experiencing and displaying, the added impetus of me getting upset about her having one of her 'spells', well, the throwing gasoline on the fire analogy is not inappropriate.

Oy, you have no idea…

I figured out pretty early on if I was going to be any use to Shannon at all I had to learn how to stay calm, calm, calm. Placid, serene, nothing but happy, happy, joy, joy around her; I couldn't even cry in her presence or she'd become really upset. I had to be this way no matter what she was doing or where we were because if I didn't keep it together and stay cool, what I'd have to deal with as a result would have been fifty times worse than the original problem. And it was already pretty overwhelming.

Shannon didn't have language or a way to communicate her wants, needs and problems, nor could she process the pain and confusion of the sensory overload she was frequently subjected to. But it all had to come out somehow, and boy, did it. Shannon would frequently lose total control and pitch horrendous fits. Sometimes three, four times a day. Any time, anywhere. Think about the scene in Rain Man where Raymond loses it, and then imagine a three year old's version. Complete with throwing herself on the floor, yelling, screaming kicking. The worst little kid's hissy fit you've ever seen - a totally over the top tantrum times ten. There was no warning what would set one of these bouts off, although as time went by I got better at reading her body language and the distress signals she would telegraph, as well as figuring out what the triggers were so we could try and avoid putting her in situations that would set her off, although it wasn't always possible to entirely eliminate them.

Eventually I got pretty good at knowing when one was coming, as well as evolving coping strategies and ways of dialing down the stimulus before she reached critical mass. This wasn't, however, an overnight process, it took years of observation and trial and error and most of it happened, and had to happen when we were out in public scrutiny.

Way back when, I failed more than I succeeded. She would go off, and once she got going there was no way to stop it; any attempt anyone made to restrain or yell at her or calm her down just made it worse. All I could do was to stay calm, focus on Shannon, speak softly to her and try and 'talk her down'. I couldn't even touch her when she got like this. She would yell and kick and scream until she was done, and then it was as if it had never happened. She would calmly, quietly get up, and we'd be on our way again.

This is where the fun starts. I had this adorable child-grenade on my hands, and like it or not I had no choice but to take her out into the world when I did stuff like, oh, shopping for groceries. I was on my own; there was no one else to do any of this stuff for me, or for me to leave her with while I did it, so I would bundle her up, grit my teeth, and sally bravely forth with my miniature, constantly ticking time bomb never knowing when she was going to go off.

It was never a question of if. It was always a given it was going to happen; I just didn't know where or when. But that wasn't what bothered me about the whole thing. Shannon's episodes I could deal with. They weren't her fault, she couldn't help herself. I hurt when she hurt, yes, it grieved me to see her in so much pain the rage and frustration had only one outlet, and I would have done anything to have spared her that, but if throwing those fits was the only way she could work it out, I didn't blame her. No, Shannon wasn't the problem, what was…

Quite another thing entirely.

What I desperately hoped and prayed for when I got up each morning wanting that day to be the one when I wouldn't have to face what I knew was waiting out there for me and my precious baby girl, that was a whole 'nother world of woe.

And on that note I'll leave you for this evening, concluding this (I hope) in part 3.

Blessings

Phoenix

Judge Not: Part One

2008-08-23T21:50:00.000-07:00

I got a nice surprise in my email the other day. My youngest daughter Shannon is spending the summer with her Daddy, and he sent me some pictures of her by his pool. She looks like she's having a great time. She's been gone since the last week in June and won't be back until the second week in September. I really miss her, and yet, I'm extremely happy for her when she goes on her yearly adventure to Ontario to be with her Dad. It's good for them to be together; this brief but essential time of all-important connection enriches and benefits them both immeasurably but that's not what makes it so important to me that it happens. The very fact she is able to make this journey at all fills me with wonder. To me, her annual pilgrimage is vastly symbolic of the Shannon's incredible accomplishments, a life-time of small, steady and significant miracles I am every grateful for and never take for granted.

Years ago it's something I desperately hoped for, but hardly dared believe could ever be possible. She's come so far in 19 short years.

I'll probably be writing about Shannon a lot. Not only is she the light of my life, but she's been my greatest inspiration and teacher on this journey we're taking together. Through the years of trying to penetrate the barriers between us, comprehend her interior universe and learn to communicate with her she's caused me to examine many of my preconceived notions about reality, meaning, perception and consciousness itself. She's also enabled me to discover an amazing inner wellspring of patience, tolerance and understanding I never dreamt I possessed.

Because of her I've become a pretty cool person. But then, she has that effect on a lot of people. It's only one of the many things that make her so special and infinitely precious.

Shannon is a high-functioning autistic. If you met her, you'd know immediately she is 'different'; as she's grown the classic autistic mannerisms and behaviours barely noticeable when she was a toddler have become discernibly more pronounced. To me, the way she behaves is perfectly natural and normal, all a part of what makes her 'Shannon', but yeah, if you were to pass us walking together on the street, she'd draw your attention.

Her 'otherness' to the outside observer was brought home to me one sunny afternoon. Shannon, one of my sisters and me took a day trip to Vancouver and were strolling through Gas Town. I was walking along, enjoying the sights, chatting with my sister, when I suddenly realized Shannon and I were alone and I was talking to myself. Judy was behind us; she'd stopped walking, and was glaring daggers at a couple of the passers-by. A bit puzzled, I waited for her to catch us up, and when she at last rejoined us she was muttering darkly and still glaring behind her.

Understandably I asked her what was up, what had upset her so, and her response knocked me for a total loop.

Stupid people, staring at Shannon and talking about her like that. They should mind their own damned business."

Or words to that effect, it was a few years ago, more than long enough for my long-term memory to fall down a bit in the verbatim department. I might not have her reaction recorded word for word, but I sure enough remember how upset she was, and why, however, what had ticked her off had quite the opposite effect on me.

Strange as it might seem, Judy informing me I had completely failed to notice my daughter being gawked at and unkindly gossiped about in broad daylight on a crowded city street was for me, in that instant, a revelation, and a moment to celebrate a quiet personal victory.

Intellectually I know Shannon's behaviour is 'different'; she can't help but draw attention. I'm sure she does, everywhere we go, but here's the real cool thing…

What I hadn't realized is I no longer see it! I didn't know that; up until that moment I was completely unaware I am utterly oblivious to any negativity directed at us by people who don't know Shannon and pass unkind judgement upon her because of something that isn't her fault and she cannot control. Seeing Judy's reaction, the anger and outrage for Shannon's sake she experienced during her small exposure to the kind of public censure and at times outright hostility Shannon and I used to routinely undergo when she was much smaller, well, it took me back, very briefly, to less happier times. But in a good way, because thanks to Judy I was shown Shannon isn't the only one who's come a long way.

I've done some growing too, in the interim. So it would seem. Who knew?

My Shannon is my world, and if people stop and stare, so what. I don't care, I don't even see them. Go me, and go Shannon, and if you've got a problem with us, well, that's your problem.

This is where I am now, and it's a great place to be, but it hasn't always been this effortless and easy. And on that revelation hangs another tale.

More on judging and why you really shouldn't to follow.

There but for the grace of God...

Phoenix

Operation Sunshine

2008-08-22T22:05:00.001-07:00

Grey skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face."

Hello again, it's Friday and I hope you've been having a good week. Things going well in your workplace? If yes, good for you, glad to hear it. At mine, not so much, unfortunately.

Brush off the clouds and cheer up, put on a happy face."

I work in construction, for a large dry-walling company, and for the past week our job site has not been a happy place. We've had a small horde of boarders descend upon us from various other sites, young lads, pretty cocky and full of themselves and along with their tool belts, power drills and overinflated opinions about their relative skills they've brought a whole lot of attitude and personality differences.

Take off that gloomy mask of tragedy; it's not your style, You'll look so good that you'll be glad you decided to smile."

Anyway, these boys have been bickering all over the job site. Up on the scaffolding boarding the ceiling, down on the first floor working on the corridor, in the stairwells, in the hallways there's been yelling and whining and pouting and stomping; big grown men throwing hissy fits from one end of the building to another and running to our supervisor practically in tears demanding he 'deal' with so and so 'and I can't work with this guy, and 'he can't work with that guy' and yadda yadda, boo hoo hoo! Needless to say all this hysteria has been liberally and constantly punctuated by enough profanity to make a biker blush.

It's been extremely entertaining.

Pick out a pleasant outlook, stick out that noble chin."

Now mind you, I've been fortunate in that none of this unpleasantness has directly impacted me. I'm not a boarder, so I don't have to work with any of these guys; for the most part I've been tucked away in little corners fire-taping. Happily isolated on the periphery of the chaos I've been able to work away more or less serenely, tuning out the sound and fury and occasionally getting a chuckle from some of the more inventive invective. No doubt about it, these boys can cuss!

Wipe off that full-of-doubt look, slap on a happy grin."

Yeah, I might not have had to deal with it, but as the week has progressed, the effect it's been having on our supervisor has been hard to ignore. He's a really good guy, a true rarity, a boss who cares about what he's doing and the people working for him. I like him; he looks after us and makes our site a really good place to work. When it's not being messed up by a gaggle of kvetching drama dudes. He really gives a crap, and these guys have been giving him nothing but grief for the entire week. Five solid days of non-stop nonsense had him close to tearing out his hair come quitting time today.

And spread sunshine all over the place, just put on a happy face."

He doesn't deserve this, and the squabbling isn't doing the boys much good either. Not to mention how all of this must be being perceived by the other trades, yeah, we're looking pretty professional these day…not!

On the drive home today I was contemplating the situation and my poor, harried boss and it suddenly occurred to me; I was being presented an opportunity to take some of my own advice. Here was a situation being handed to me on the proverbial silver platter to do more than just talk about making a difference.

I had a choice here, I could keep on skating around the scenario and ignoring things, after all, it wasn't really affecting me directly was it or...

I could do something to help.

And if you're feeling cross and bickerish don't sit and whine, Think of banana splits and liquorice and you'll feel fine."

Now, this is not as unlikely an option as you might think. It's a pretty small site, and a small crew, we're talking less than a half a dozen guys here, and I have a wee trump card I can pull out and play. A teeny, tiny slight advantage that might work in my favour towards getting these lads to pay attention to me and possibly listen to a small, sweet voice of reason.

Heh.

You see, I am a female. I realize you may have figured this out already, the picture on the top of my page being a major clue, but yes, I am. Now, ordinarily that doesn't carry a lot of significance but in the case of my current place of employment, it's a double whammy in my favour. Not only am I the only female on our crew, I'm the only female on the entire job site. Which, as you might imagine, gives me a certain 'cachet' about the place.

The guys on the site, and not just our crew, are very nice to me. I comport myself professionally and don't try and trade on my gender, I pull my weight, and they respect me. Nevertheless, I am still aware they are aware I'm a girl.

I knew a girl so gloomy, she'd never laugh or sing."

I'm thinking this could work for me if I try to take a more 'active' and yet still subtle role in the positive motivation department, giving a go at possibly persuading the guys they should try playing nicer with each other. Very low-key of course, but using humour (they're quite used to me being funny and saying outrageous, but amusing things), positive reinforcement and the fact they are guys and they don't like looking foolish in front of females, maybe I can get them to see they're behaving like butt heads and well, stop it already!

Hey, it's worth a shot!

She wouldn't listen to me, now she's a mean old thing."

So, this weekend I'm going to spend some substantial time visualizing our site as a happy, harmonious place with all the guys working together amicably and actually working, I'm gonna bake some cookies and Monday morning I'm going to take them in, pass them around and 'Operation Sunshine' will commence.

Wish me luck! I'll keep you posted!

So spread sunshine all over the place, and put on a happy face!"

Phoenix

Kindness of Strangers

2008-08-18T20:56:00.000-07:00

I'll have more to say about the media in future entries, but tonight I wanted to comment on something unexpected and pleasant that happened to me on Sunday while I was standing on a street corner waiting for a traffic light to change, especially as the incident is happily applicable to the purpose of this blog.

I love it when that happens!

Anyway, like I was saying, I was standing on this street corner waiting for the walking green when I was joined by an elderly woman, obviously intent on proceeding in the same direction once we got the go-ahead. Complete stranger, never seen her before, we stood side by side for a couple of seconds, waiting patiently, when suddenly, out of the blue she paid me a rather nice compliment. I was very pleased and surprised, thanked her accordingly, and that small, but gracious kindness opened the door to a further brief but equally enjoyable conversation between us lasting the duration of our wait and our transit across to the other side before we went our separate ways, both our days a little brighter for the contact.

Maybe as events go, it wasn't huge or life-changing, but you know what, it put a smile on my face lasting the rest of the day. And it was a very tangible reminder how something so little can mean so much, and have such a positive impact.

I'm thinking this isn't the first time this nice lady has reached out to someone she does not know. I bless her for her gift to me, I hope she continues to dispense her random kindnesses, and I definitely will remember her and strive to do likewise.

We need a lot more like her, which is kinda why I'm writing this.

We all encounter a lot of people during the course of a day, some we know and love, some we know more casually through work and conducting our daily affairs; the bank teller, the clerk at the check-out counter of the supermarket, the numerous retail and trades people in the establishments we patronize, and some are seemingly random, people whose paths cross ours maybe only once during either one of our lives.

If you believe there is no such thing as chance, and the universe has orchestrated everything and everyone to be exactly where they need to be at any particular point in time, then really, maybe that person standing behind you in the check-out line isn't so random after all. Maybe they have lived the course of their entire life to bring them to this very instant in time in order to provide you with an opportunity to do them good.

Something to think about: maybe you should take a chance; offer a gift to a stranger. You never know what good you can do with a few kind words, and what could possibly result. Trust me, at the very least, you'll have made someone's day, and you'll feel pretty good in the bargain. Double bonus, yee-har!

One thing I do know for sure, it will come back to you. Probably when you least expect it. Maybe, when you really need some kindness.

Definitely, it will make you smile.

Feel good about yourself, you're fabulous!

Phoenix