Excerpts from Breaking it Down and Connecting the Dots –

Two weeks ago, a social services agency asked me to prepare a fifteen-minute presentation on motivating staff as part of the interview process for a training specialist position.  While reviewing the PowerPoint slides they had sent to assist in my preparation, an exchange with my sixteen-year-old stepson flashed through my mind.

“You can’t make me do anything!” he said, challenge rippling through his voice.

“You’re right; I can’t,” I said calmly.

* * *

I recently took part in a job interview for a middle management position at a large organization with a well-respected diversity program.  I was professionally dressed.  The interviewers were respectful.  I answered their questions at least reasonably well, and asked questions that generated a spirited and friendly discussion.  Fifteen seconds after leaving the office, I knew I wouldn’t get the job.

* * *

“Intersectionality,” Google told me through the voice of my speech synthesizer, “is a concept often used in critical theories to describe the ways in which oppressive institutions (racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, xenophobia, classism, etc.) are interconnected and cannot be examined separately from one another.”

Huh?

* * *

Football invades our house in late August, with no firm retreat date.  Joseph, my seventeen-year-old stepson, is the starting noseguard on the Rock Bridge High School football team, and Louis, my fifteen-year-old stepson, plays percussion in the Rock Bridge band.  Normally, the season ends by Halloween – but not this year.

* * *

“Feelings, not thoughts, drive actions.”

* * *

Last week, Lisa and I celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary at home “Reminiscing” (Little River Band) while consuming brie in puffed pastry, California rolls, and sparkling wine with background music, courtesy of SiriusXM.

“You’re listening to Yacht Rock radio,” the announcer intoned in a snarky, pompous voice, along with patter about the minimum size of a boat before it could be properly called a yacht.

“Yacht what?” Lisa asked with a smile in her voice, accompanied by the thunk of a glass gently being placed on the table.

* * *

“Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye.”

Thus chorused some Congressional Democrats after the American Health Care Act (AHCA) narrowly passed the House of Representatives.

* * *

Mudville, FL – Vixen News reports that zoologists claim that they have discovered a new swamp-dwelling creature, which they have called the trumputin.  A spokesperson described this creature as a four-legged beast connected at the hip that lurches from place to place hurling curses and poisoned darts at its enemies.

* * *

“Glory to God in the highest,” the angels sang as they announced the birth of Jesus to the shepherds.  “And peace to his people on earth.”

Over the years, I have heard many sermons about the Christmas story, but I don’t recall coming across any reflections on the meaning of “peace.”

So…what is peace?

Excerpt from Breaking Barriers

For some unknown reason, I was born totally blind.  I grew up in Pleasantville, New York, a working-class town an hour north of New York City.  My mom juggled parenting, teaching, cooking, cleaning, gardening, building, and other tasks related to the care of a large, noisy two-story house.  My dad taught chemistry at Sarah Lawrence College, a small, well-respected liberal arts school about forty-five minutes from our house.  My sister Jenny, who has normal eyesight, was born a year later.

Dogs were always a central part of our family.  Suzie, a black Labrador retriever, was nine months old when I was born, and Molly, another black Lab, arrived when I was eight.  They crashed through the underbrush as Jenny and I walked in the woods with Mom and Dad near our Pleasantville home and swam in the ocean and the lakes on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where my parents had bought a small, run-down cottage when I was three years old.  We threw things for the dogs to retrieve and played tug-of-war using an old pair of rolled-up jeans with a knot at each end.  And we shared our deepest secrets with them as we ruffled their thick coats and scratched behind their soft ears.

When I was nine years old, I became interested in guide dogs after meeting a couple of blind adults who used them.  During my sophomore year of high school, I began receiving newsletters in braille from Guiding Eyes for the Blind, a small nonprofit organization thirty minutes north of Pleasantville.  At that time, Guiding Eyes was the second organization that trained German shepherds, Labrador retrievers, and other breeds to lead a blind person safely from place to place, matched each dog with a person, and supported each team as they learned to work together.  These newsletters shared entertaining examples of the adventures of these person-dog partnerships, and by the time I graduated from high school, I was hooked on the idea of working with a Guiding Eyes dog.

But I didn’t apply until I graduated from college because living around dogs made me realize that the long rehearsals and road trips connected with my music-making, when combined with my coursework and beer-drinking binges, wouldn’t be a good environment for a dog.  I continued using a cane to get to where I needed to go, and found myself being hyper alert so I could react to the information it transmitted as it bounced off and around obstacles several feet in front of me.  A week before I graduated, several of my eating-club friends gave me a T-shirt with the words “Move, or I’ll stick my cane up your ass” written in print letters large enough for me to feel.  As I proudly put on the shirt and laughed along with others in the room, I remembered someone telling me that using a cane is a contact sport.  While the shirt honored my tendency to use the cane to clear human obstacles in my path, I thought that a dog might be a faster, more relaxing, and less obnoxious way to get around, in addition to providing companionship and entertainment.

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