You Can't Have That, But You Can Have This; or, Maybe Some Interruption-Transition Trials Are In Order

http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41QRXFG1E2L._SL500_AA280_.jpg

Dear reader, it is my best and most essential wish and hope for you all that you have been living well in this past year, and that the new year brings all of the best that you could hope for. Perhaps even better yet: things that you could never imagine for yourself, all to the best, and then even more.

This past year has been a challenging one for me in my new position---although not-so-new now, as this week, I will celebrate my one year anniversary in this placement.

My biggest challenge has been balance.
It has been difficult for me to leave my work at work. It is common for many people in many professions to do so. It is indeed common for team members who support learners identified as having autism to the degree to which our learners are identified to do so.

Below is a plan written for one of our kiddos. It's not an unusual or unique plan by any means. It is what is commonly referred to as an "interruption transition trial" protocol. An interruption transition trial is indicated for learners who have difficulty moving from one area/activity to another area/activity.
I thought that I would use our dear X's hard work and progress as an inspiration for myself this year: where X's goal is zero occurences of behaviors of concern per week, my goal will be to actively create more balance and smooth transition between my professional and my personal lives.

I've chosen to use this protocol for myself as opposed to an "accepting no" protocol (essential to this learning: you can't have that, but you can have this...please scroll downpage in the above link for a description of this trial) because I do believe that I can have both. I believe that I can be a good educator and a good daugher/friend/mother/wife.
And yes, even a good blogger.

So when reading "X," substitute "neroli." I will.

Goal: When given an adult direction or direction to transition, X will comply with the demand without engaging in behaviors of concern in the for no (0) occurrences of behaviors of concern per week.

Before teaching:
· Team develops a “bank” of transitional demands that will be presented to X.
o Team groups transitions by level of effort as well as level of interest/motivation to X.
§ Remember to consider:
what X would choose to do on his own/are easy for X to do, and group these as the "easies” or the “fun;”
· what X would rarely ever choose to do independently/are hard for X to do, and group these as the “hards” or “no fun.”

· Team develops a “bank” of reinforcers that will be used as a promise reinforcer when presenting the transitional demand to X.
o Team groups reinforcers by level of interest/motivation to X.
§ Remember to consider:
· what X would always choose if given free choice, and group these as highly-valued.
· what X would rarely ever choose if given free choice, and group these as least-valued.

Team develops a systematic list of transitional demands that will be presented to X.
Begin the list with the transitions that are easy/fun for X using a corresponding highly-valued promise reinforcer.
Continue to develop the list by gradually and systematically adding in transitions that are less easy/fun for X
Gradually and systematically changing the promise reinforcers used from more highly-valued reinforcers to lower-valued reinforcers.
When this has been organized, teaching may begin.

Staff: “touch this,”
X: touches
Staff: “Great job touching! You can do (name reinforcing activity). “
X: returns to engaging in reinforcing activity

Gradually and systematically increase the level of transitional demands to those that are less easy/fun (such as “get up and come here” when “here” is a chair 3 feet away.

Getting ready for a teaching session:

Staff puts system into place before teaching session begins.
Remember:
to have all activities and reinforcers that will be used ready and readily available before the first presentation of demands
to have all transitional demands and promise reinforcers that are to be used recorded on the data sheet to be used for the session before the first presentation of demands

Teaching the sessions:

Always remember to show promise reinforcer first; then present demand. Do not talk to X about the promise reinforcer.

Begin the teaching with the transitions that are easy/fun for X using a corresponding highly-valued promise reinforcer.

Staff: Shows X a highly-valued item or offers a highly-valued action, and says “touch this,” or “Do this.”
X: touches, or does
Staff: “Great job touching/doing (name the action)! You can do (name reinforcing activity). “
X: returns to engaging in reinforcing activity

Gradually and systematically change the promise reinforcers used from more highly-valued reinforcers to lower-valued reinforcers.

Staff: Shows X a lesser-valued item or offers a lesser-valued action, and says“Touch this,” or “Do this,”
X: touches, or does
Staff: “Great job touching/doing (name the action)! You can do (name reinforcing activity). “
X: returns to engaging in reinforcing activity

Continue to develop the teaching by gradually and systematically adding in transitions that are less easy/fun for X
Staff: Shows AS promise reinforcer and says in a playful tone,“Hey, X! Do____!”
X: (does the action)
Staff: “Great job touching/doing (name the action)! You can do (name the reinforcing activity)”
X: returns to engaging in reinforcing activity

Increase time that X is required to comply with staff direction before allowed to return to the reinforcing activity: for example, from count of 1 to a count of 10 to the count of 60, and so forth.
Increase distance that X is required to physically move from the reinforcing activity: for example, from standing up from a table where X has been engaging in a reinforcing activity to moving to a chair incrementally further away from the reinforcing activity to all the way across the room from the activity, and so forth.

If X complies immediately with the demand, and does not engage in behaviors of concern, immediately deliver the promise reinforcer.
If X does not comply immediately with the demand, but does not engage in behaviors of concern, provide the least intrusive level of prompting possible to assist him in complying with your demand.

If X complies immediately with this initial prompt, deliver the promise reinforcer.
If X does not comply immediately with initial staff prompts, remove the promise reinforcer. Do not refer to the promise reinforcer in any way.
Keep the demand on,prompting X as necessary with the least intrusive level of prompts possible to assist X to comply with your demand.

Do not deliver verbal praise for this prompted compliance. Do pair poor quality compliance or prompted compliance with language such as “you are doing (name the action demanded), “that’s how you (name the action demanded).”
Differentially reinforce this level of response.
Staff can also then say, “do (name the action demanded)” while also stating the positive behavior expected : for instance, “ stand up quietly.” Staff can then differentially reinforce this level of response.

The least amount of prompting as well as the least amount of time that X requires to comply with demands should be be more highly reinforced than other more highly prompted or less timely responses.

Always let the data inform your programming. Always remember that learning can look like and feel like fun.

I'm running the trials. I'll need all the help that I can get.

I'll talk with you soon.

Show Me Your Jalwa; or, Neroli's First Day at Her New Job

Dear reader, one of the most essential things that we do in our work with our children is to pair ourselves with reinforcers in order to establish instructional control.
In other words, we provide students with things and experiences that they like; in so doing, we make ourselves appealing to our students so that they can tolerate our presence---and ultimately enjoy our presence enough to be able to begin all the good work that we can do: show for me, I'll show for you.

A, B, C, D---they're ready for me to show them the good stuff.

Have a great day, dear reader.

Neroli's Last Day; or, A Social Story of Sorts

It was the night before Neroli’s last day with Black Diamond’s class. Neroli was asleep. She was dreaming about school. In the dream, she met the School Fairy. The School Fairy told Neroli that before she could go to what comes next, she had to take a test. Neroli remembered how well the students in Black Diamond’s class do when they take tests. She thought she would do her best just as Black Diamond’s class does.
The School Fairy told Neroli that she would have to pick her favorite student. The student that Neroli picked as her favorite would have a great year at school when the New Year came. Neroli thought this was a hard question, but she remembered that she had to do her best, just as Black Diamond’s class does. She began to think about the question. This is what she thought:

Vermillion…maybe I should choose Vermillion. Vermillion is always willing and ready to be a leader and a helper. Vermillion always remembers the words and the melodies when I forget how to sing them. He always can tell when his friends or teachers are feeling happy or sad and knows how to use his words to tell them so. When I trip and fall down, Vermillion always laughs with me about how funny it is to fall down and get back up again. Definitely Vermillion…

Madder…of course, I should choose Madder. Madder always makes friends feel welcome with a sense of humor. When it is his turn to be weather helper, he speaks to the group as if he were a weatherman on the news. He has such a wonderful way of talking about the world. I really like when Madder smiles and gives me high-fives when he’s proud of his good work. Certainly Madder…

Camouflage…well, maybe I should choose Camouflage. Camouflage has so much happy energy, and is always looking for ways to be a helper to his teachers and his friends. He remembers how to do his best work, not to do his fastest work, and that is such a great thing. Camouflage always gives nice words to his friends. When Camouflage and I have to sometimes wait in Teal's office, he makes shadow animals on the wall with me, and that is really fun. Absolutely Camouflage…

Naples Yellow…certainly I should choose Naples Yellow. Naples Yellow enjoys being at school so much. When he is happy, we all know it, and it is contagious. Naples Yellow does such a wonderful job of keeping time and schedule during the day, and what a help that is. He is a really good dancer. Naples Yellow is always patient with me when I ask if he will draw a picture of something for me, and his drawings are lovely. Of course, it’s Naples Yellow…

Cobalt…what about Cobalt? Cobalt has such a way of looking at and noticing everything around him. He uses wonderful words to tell his friends and teachers what he sees. Cobalt has a great smile and is a great playmate to his friends. When Cobalt and I wait after school for his van, he always can point out to me things that I would not have noticed if he weren’t with me. Positively Cobalt…

Rosegold…really, I should choose Rosegold. Rosegold always looks for ways to include all her friends wherever she is and whatever she is doing. She thinks about different ways to write about and draw about what she sees and hears and thinks. Rosegold loves to laugh, and she encourages her friends and teachers to do the same. When she lost her tooth during lunch, she smiled, handed me the tooth, and kept right on eating. Without a doubt, it’s Rosegold…

Prussian Blue…maybe I should choose Prussian Blue. Prussian Blue has so much energy for everything. Prussian Blue thinks so much about his friends and teachers, and is always willing to be a helper. He really loves everything about being in school. He does not give up easily, and he can use this to help himself wherever he goes. When Prussian Blue asks me to go down the slide with him at recess, we laugh all the way down. Really, it is Prussian Blue…


Then Neroli realized that she couldn’t choose any of these students as her favorite. They were all her favorites, each in his or her own way. Neroli wasn’t sure if this was the right answer to the School Fairy’s test, but she knew she had done her best work, just like Black Diamond’s class, and so that was the answer that she gave. The School Fairy smiled. This is what the School Fairy said:

You have passed the test! Each and every student in the class is any teacher’s favorite in his or her own way. Each boy and girl brings something just right to their class…so all these students will have a good year in school in the New Year!
Sometimes it is hard to think about and to do what comes next, and that is okay. Black Diamond, Paisley, and the other special teachers who help them---they will keep on seeing how special those students are. Neroli, you can go on to what comes next.


And with tears in her eyes, and love in her heart, she did just that.

Break on Through to the Other Side; or, The Importance of Being Earnest

Sweet Frida, Jean Wertz
http://www.wertzcandy.com/chocolate/personal/pers17.html

Dear reader, how are you?
This past week has been a long and busy one here: what with work, end-of-the-semester homework, domestic and familial responsibilites, and my sojourn on the couch for a long hazy weekend of sickness. I am feeling better, and for that, I am glad, for so very many reasons.

One major reason, dear reader, involves my opportunity. It seems only fitting that I share some detail with you, no matter the ultimate outcome.
Tomorrow I will be visiting an elementary classroom in a different school district. It is a small class of children with autism. All of the students are non-verbal.
Their teacher will be leaving around the Christmas holidays. And I, dear reader, am one of the candidates to take that teacher's place.
And that, as Forrest Gump would say, is all I have to say about that.

I wonder what selections we will all be plucking from that proverbial box of chocolates before the New Year?
What do you think, dear reader?

Naples, This One's for You; or, A Short Post

Our dear Naples Yellow is one of our returning students from last year. This year, the weather has become an object of perseveration for Naples; additionally, anything but sunny and clear weather has become something that causes much anxiety.
It's bleak and rainy today.
Our lead teacher is out for the next three days.
Naples, this one's for you.



I'm still waiting for the outcome of the opportunity I spoke of earlier.
(Waiting is helping me to think about perseveration: remember, autism falls on a band of the spectrum of human behaviors. We all have these behaviors, more or less.)
For some reason, when I think about waiting, I hear Kahe Ched Mohe from Devdas.




We all have our ways to lessen our worries, yes?

Have a wonderful day, dear reader.

I Can Only Dance with the Ones That I'm Given; or, Don't Go Changing to Try and Please Me

Today Cobalt's mother hurried up to me as she was dropping Cobalt off for school.
She was flushed, excited.
I don't often see her with this kind of smile, dear reader.
She began to tell me how she had been doing a lot of reading. And that she had a plan for Cobalt.
She wishes to cure Cobalt of autism.

Autism can be reversed, she said. I've seen it.
Cobalt is doing very well here at school, I say.
But Cobalt could be doing so much better, she says.
She pats Cobalt on the head as she says this, in front of all our students who I've brought on this sunny day to greet their friend.
Jenny McCarthy and Oprah have unwittingly caused more people to feel---well, a strange happiness that comes from promises of changing unhappiness: the kind one feels when it is felt that what you have just isn't good at all.

I think about Cerulean, who is, at last account, on the fifth classroom placement in four years.
I wonder if Cerulean yet receives plankton, hyberbaric oxygen, crystal therapy, and the like.
I think of Cerulean's family.
Of how they would be over-the-moon happy---if Cerulean was at the same place that Cobalt is.

I thought yesterday about beginning a different meditation practice into my routine: the making of enso. One every day.
After my encounter with Cobalt's mother, I think tomorrow is a good place to start.
Namaste, dear reader.
Namaste:
Cobalt
Naples
Vermillion
Thalo Blue
Rosegold
Madder
Camouflage
and
Cerulean

The Importance of Being Earnest; or, Can You Hear Me Now?

Julian Schnabel Ethnic Type #14 1984 oil, animal hide, wax and modeling paste on velvet; 108 x 120 http://www.artcritical.com/DavidCohen/SUN98.htm

Ecstasy of St. Theresa Gian Lorenzo Bernini, 1647-1652
Marble, height 150 cm
Rome, Santa Maria della Vittoria
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Ecstasy_St_Theresa_SM_della_Vittoria.jpg

One of the things I enjoy about my friendship with the blogger Artist Formerly Known as Purple Worms is our ongoing dialogue about the nature of art, and the relationship of art to artist. We've been engaged in this topic, off-and-on, for several years now.
It never gets old.
So when I wrote an earlier post about kitsch in response to reading Howard Gardner's take on the matter, I was fairly confident that AFKAPW would definitely be game to engage in the matter. And so she did!

AFKAPW wrote about kitsch yesterday in response to my earlier post. She informs us as to the origins of the word, and all the cultural attachments that are both origins and results of the word's usage. Please follow the link to read; she is ever more erudite than I, and I therefore won't attempt to paraphrase her words.
In her conclusion, she ekes out the relationship, if any, of art to kitsch:
Is kitsch art? So that gets me back to one of my all time favorite paradoxes - trying to define Art. (Capital A art.) When push comes to shove, I guess I resolve the issue by narrowly defining what I believe to be art. FOR ME (please note that narrowing there),
Art must

1. Communicate some kind of message or meaning (The meaning may simply be that art in the past has been ovely wrought and fraught with meaning and I am protesting against this past idea or that art has ignored the craft of working carefully with its materials.)

2. It must have access to and address society and issues important ot more than one person (thus be seen or heard - if it stays in the bottom drawer - for me it is not art - it is creative expression.)

3. (And here is the one that upsets lots of my colleagues in the Art department) It must have ideals, and have more than a superficial level - it must communicate about something metaphysically important (yes the nature of art itself fits in this category) In short for me art must speak to truth, justice, beauty or some such form.For me this solves the problem of kitsch. If the object is superficial with no depth, then it is kitsch. Now we have the question of audience - for me - if there is a group that finds depth in the object (it has a social/societal component) it is art. Of course that doesn't make it good art, but it is Art.

As is our custom, her words are most thought-provoking for me.

So under these conditions, how do each of the works above measure up?
One is Bernini, one is Schnabel; each labeled as Serious Art: yet the frequency of the transmission, the style of the communication is very similar.

Or is it?

AFKAPW speaks to the referent.
Is the referent absolutely necessary?

If so, how can each of us agree to the referent? Perhaps one could agree with others that the best referents that Art may address are the examples that AFKAPW gives: truth, beauty, justice, or some such form. Yet if this is the case, does it not also seem appropriate that such referents, such ideals, by their very nature, need many ways to be spoken of, the proverbial elephant to the blind men?

She then writes that :
I get tremendous joy in kitsch and alas I have to report it is in a different way than my tender and compassionate friend Neroli finds kitschy joy. I am at heart a nasty and critical individual. While my generous friend Neroli joys in the abundance of feelings and its excessive expression in kitsch, I have to admit to enjoying it as Schadenfreude 9another one of those untranslatable German terms). May the universe forgive me, but I get a certain vindictive glee out of laughing at the grotesquely exaggerated nature of kitsch and looking down my nose at. I just can't quite escape that one-up-man-ship inherent in being an insider looking at the ostracized outsider. In short I am the worst kind of snob. While Neroli laughs with, I alas laugh at. Now I will go to my zabuton and try to meditate on the nature and necessity of compassion and yes after all that I still love kitsch and find it stupidly reassuring.

And it is here that my experience with kids on the spectrum of autism and pervasive developmental disorders comes to bear: my feelings and thoughts about kitsch have everything to with my life experiences and nothing to do with any positive character attributes; all of us have generousity and compassion.
Communication, in all its forms, has become more and more my focus of interest. When I first came out of the gates of early adulthood, I thought that art was my passion; since my experiences of living so long with violence and isolation, and the subsequent implications of their workings in living without them, I've come to understand that it is really communication(Perhaps that in and of itself could be a component of a working definition of art?), particulary outside of the verbal realms , that engages me. Working with autism has brought this fact into focus.


Often, our kids with autism will speak to the same kind of referent that our kids without autism do; yet will do it in such a manner that would appear, if I may, kitschy: they are often displaying behaviors that anyone would be able to produce, and would be considered socially exuberant, exaggerated, or without any congruency at all to situational context. Yet, these behaviors are communciation nonetheless.
To extend the metaphor: often, these kids will produce opulent velvet paintings when their general-education-population peers are producing Zen brushwork: both are happy responses to the same experience.
For example, I've known one little person that we'll call Naples Yellow. In response to a happy feeling, Naples would jump up and down, pigeon-toed, all the while with one arm half-extended to the front, elbow bent, as if drawing another person into a one-armed hug; the opposite arm extended out, its hand moving in rapid circles, hitting that one-armed-hug-hand on the downstroke to affect a rapid and rhythmic clap, all in time to the jumping.
The other students?
To continue the metaphor: once they understood that this was Naples' way of saying "I'm really happy about this," they made room to hang this baroque, kitschy work next to their own.

Generousity? Tenderness and compassion?
Children making room for one another, often despite the models given to them by less enlightened adults.
Arguably the best Art of all; art with a capital 'A.'
There's the makings of that kind of Art within us all; there's the means of receiving that sort of communication within us all; and there's most definitely room to hang it all on the wall.
You'll know it when you see it, dear reader.


http://handicraft.indiamart.com/gifs/velvet-painting.jpg
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/cd/Original_face_enso.jpg

Truth in the Platitudes; or, No Old Sayings Were Harmed During the Writing of This Post

weaving draft (pattern for a woven design)http://www.cs.arizona.edu/patterns/weaving/books/SAMPLES/hj_draft.gif

Dear reader, you know how you can view an old saying: as a glass half-full; as a glass half-empty.
Just this weekend, as a matter of fact, I was listening to the Roykos, parents of a son with autism, describe their reaction to platitudes on the radio program This American Life---old sayings such as that well-worn war-horse of expression, the one that exhorts us that we will overcome hardships as we are never given more than we can bear as our lot in life.
I believe the Roykos recommended the proffering of that platitude as an invitation from one who was just itching for a fight---as the saying goes.

It's been a challenging year this year, and continues to be so.
Just when I have been feeling as if the wind is somewhat slack in my sails, so to speak, our new school year begins.
Enter one particularly tiny, affectionate, happy little person: a brand-new kindergardener, cute as a button, who walked into his new classroom for the first time, face solemn with the magnitude of his excitement, and melted into an illuminating smile and into my arms, giving me a bear hug and several quite hearty thumps on the back in the process.

Can I tell you what a special thing that is?
Can I tell you what makes it all the more special?
When I was a little girl, my grandparents lived in one half of a house; the other half was occupied by another couple their age. These good people were as grandparents to me as well, after a fashion---or at least a flamboyant aunt and uncle. I played with their grandsons as a girl, even though they were a few years younger than myself.
My new little friend, of the thumping bear hugs, is the great-grandson of my grandparents' neighbors, son to one of my childhood playmates in my grandparents' backyard.
As always, in her fashion, my grandmother seems to support me in deep and quiet ways.
This is the picture, this life says to me. See the pattern?

Life's full of the good stuff: the surprises and the guffaws, and a few thumps to the back from a tiny fellow with a huge heart can dislodge whatever may stick in your throat.
Free from obstruction, you are free to say yes.
Free to say yes to the good stuff; free to laugh at everything else: warp and weft, all part of the whole cloth.
I wish the same for you, dear reader.

That's my story. I'm sticking to it.

My Initial Reaction to Min's Reference; or, Navigating the Waters, Ancient-Mariner Style

There is no place for humiliation in the course of managing individual behavior;
behavior is a learned response, one that is predictable;
behavior exhibited is the best effort available at the time for a successful outcome by the individual:
these are the three assumptions from which our learning in class will proceed.
---Angela Kirby-Wehr, on the operating principles of functional behavioral analysis, and excerpted from my class notes.


Those assumptions are both ballast and Polaris: they are what help one keep an even keel and chart a steady course in sometimes uncertain waters.
Be assured, when we go to Meet Children Where They Are, it is well worth it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FFE3zUKmyU

And in the Role of the Witch of the West; or, Dependent-Arising Thoughts and Other Suprises

Dear reader, 1939 US film The Wizard of Oz has been referenced in yesterday's post as well as today's. I've included the hyperlink, in the event that you would like to read more about the film.

One of the things that I do not enjoy about working with the students and families that I do is that I sometimes experience dependent-arising thoughts in some of the remarks made to those of us in the field of work. I have been trying to grow an attitude of gratitude for the opportunity to break the cycle of dependent-arising when these instances do happen. I know they will always happen. So far, this attitude I wish to grow is a seed I hold in my hand; sometimes, I think that I've sown it: yet, with a fresh remark, I find that it's still nestled in my hand.

For instance, our classroom is in an entirely different building in the district. A support staff team member who had first expressed delight at our coming (I can't wait to get my hands on them. I love those autistic kids) entered the room yesterday and expressed the desire to come and visit from time to time as, even though our students will keep their former support member (as planned by design), she still wished to visit because, well, that's my little quirk. I love kids with autism.

Kids with autism?
Children are, and will always continue to be, children. Plain and simple.
Autism? A part of the whole child. Please make no mistake: these children are not broken.
The quirk, if one could call it that, and I do so here only to parallel the semantics---the "quirk" should be that you love kids.

You might think that I am referencing our newest quirky friend when I referenced the Wicked Witch of the West in the title.
Don't be too certain of that, dear reader.
It may very well be me, dependent-arising.

So I'll think instead about the young, enthusiastic women who came into our classroom yesterday morning instead: our students leave the room for specials, such as music and art, and these ladies are the general education teachers with whom our students will work for these things. They wanted to know what they could do to help our students; they wanted to know things such as their birthdays and the spellings of their names, so that our students would be included in their rooms in tangible ways: names on the birthday charts, name tags on desks.
A gentle reminder to their classmates in that room: I'm coming, I'll see you soon.
And for that, I am grateful.

Gratitude?
I'm finding, dear reader, that it can be found---even though we may have to shift our focus elsewhere---or perhaps, not even focus elsewhere; but rather, relinquish that focus to a gaze: allowing us to take in more than we had previously, allowing ourselves to be surprised at the goodness that we may find.
I love a good surprise, don't you?

Insomnia Becomes Her; or Yearly Reunion

I know I'm late, dear reader, lagging behind, with schoolwork and insomnia, but for those of you who still have time, the Perseids meteor showers are coming to a peak.

Please read about it here .

Tonight I will be most glad to be an insomniac.

How many of us haven't wished upon a star at some point in our lives? I mean, Jiminy Cricket knows what he's singing about, yes?

(Side note: how wonderful is it that I loved Jiminy Cricket as a child, and now have the pleasure of working with the students that I do, and am able to laugh again and again with them at the Jiminy Knock-Knock joke that they created? Believe it, my friends: life is often beautifully strange and ofttimes strangely wonderful; expressing the wishes of your heart in ways so much more eloquent than your own, in ways that you had not foreseen.)

Make as many wishes as you want, dear reader: I will be awake, and watching, and will send them along for you.

It would be the least that I could do. I'm glad for your kindness: something I had not foreseen, and so much more than I could ever have wished for.

Clear skies to you, dear reader.

I'll talk to you soon.

www.nasa.gov

Smiles Like a Watermelon; or, Old Dogs Learning New Tricks is a Happy Thing

One of the good things about getting older, dear reader, is the ability to be able to freely admit that one doesn't know something; or perhaps, if one knows somewhat about something, one is able to allow that there is Plenty More to Know about that something than the knowing that one currently enjoys.
This ability is a rather joyful thing to possess; handy in most situations that one can think of, and in some that one may not readily perceive.

For instance, I employed the Crocs website to order a pair of red Crocs for Little Guy's birthday, the item at the top of his handwritten wish-list. Being a person of a certain age, my experience with navigating websites is still rudimentary; I still regard the online ordering process as filling out a form to enact an exchange: this is who I am, this is how you can find me to deliver the goods, and here is how I'm paying you to do so, thank you very much, and now I will click the send button. In most instances, this viewpoint has been quite functional.
I began to check both porches of our house when the stated window of delivery arrived. In my previous experiences, the online ordering process has ended at either of these porches, and I didn't wish to Take Any Chances. He is going to be so excited! I think.
LG's birthday came and went. My ritual of the porches continued each day.
About a week and a half ago, I sent an email to Crocs, asking them to please advise me as to the status of the order; usually when I've ordered online in the past, the order confirmation has included tracking information, and I could not find any in the correspondence from them in my inbox. He is going to be so excited! I think.
My porch ritual continued. No delivery; no reply in my inbox.
Friday morning, I attempt to phone the customer service toll-free number listed on the Crocs website. I reach a recorded message that says the system is down, and if I know my party's extension, I may dial it at this time. Thinking I've misdialed, I dial again, and receive the same message, though I'm now listening to it in its entirety. It tells me to dial '0' for assistance, as I hoped it would: and then it continues to ring for the five minutes I remain on the line before hanging up.
Now feeling thwarted, for I had so hoped to speak with A Real Person, I begin to fill out the form provided on the customer service section of the website; the form is given as an alternative to phoning and speaking to a customer service representative: yet, I feel strangely irritated by the form. The form was my last option, and I feel as if I've been forced to use it.
Pull over, FedEx truck, and give me my Crocs, LG jokes, everytime we pass a FedEx truck.

So, from my limited experience with How Things Work When You Order From Crocs Online, I wrote my inquiry into this form, and I am sad to say, I was somewhat more terse than in my first written and unrequited inquiry: being in a job where I don't sit down all day, I felt that I could be a lifetime customer, but I would go elsewhere if I did not receive satisfaction, the choice was theirs---more or less.
Pull over, FedEx truck, and give me my Crocs, LG jokes, everytime we pass a FedEx truck.



A few hours later, I receive a short reply from a polite representative. The order was shipped and delivered, and indeed, arrived on July 13 (note, dear reader, 3 full days before the birthday); but if I indeed had not received the shipment, she would arrange to have a replacement delivered. I should, she notes, have been able to find this information on my account page on the Crocs website.
Oh. So that's how they do things, I think, glad to add some new knowledge to my previous experience.
I share with Snowy, LG, and Big Guy what the representative has told me.
Intuitively, like the most quiet flash, LG, BG, and I go to the front porch, the porch whose door we never, ever use. We open the screen door; inside the screen door, outside the front door, in that little space between, sits the box: snug, waiting.
LG and BG tear it open, laughing.
LG puts on the red Crocs and jumps up and down. He's beaming.
So am I.
Dear reader, I think so much about learning, and about experience. I'm glad to have this experience, as mortified as I felt, for many reasons.
I love to learn new things; so I'm glad to have my experience and knowledge about online ordering become more nuanced.
I'm glad to also have the lesson reinforced to me about assumptions: we assume so much knowledge as a given. I assumed that the FedEx driver would place the box openly on either porch, as the mailman and countless UPS drivers have done in the past. To the Crocs representative, so facile in the Crocs system, it was incredibly apparent how to navigate that system to find the particular knowing I wanted. To me, my experience of How Things Have Been didn't match with How Things Are For Crocs: and as a result, I felt frustrated, powerless. It caused me to feel anxious because I was trying to use what I knew had worked before (emails, tracking links, and telephone inquiries) to get me what I wanted (LG's happiness: beaming and leaping in bright red shoes).

We are told in our classroom management classes that students want most to feel as if they can affect others in a positive way (LG's happy leaping) as well as to feel that they have a sense of power and control over the environment (thus the desire to speak to a real person to reason out the situation as opposed to filling out a form and waiting) and to belong (I've been able to navigate the environment successfully, and make a positive outcome, so therefore, I'm in my element here---I belong).
In my Birthday Crocs lesson, I didn't feel power, belonging, or able to affect something positive, until I was able to have my experience more nuanced. Someone had to Spell It Out (delivered on the 13th, see it on your account page), and I had to be able to be Sufficiently Motivated ( Pull over, FedEx truck, and give me my Crocs, LG jokes, everytime we pass a FedEx truck) to step a little outside of my experience (box in plain sight on the porch), to Meet It Halfway (halfway between inside and outside, to be exact!).

How much do we assume as a given for our students with autism? For our students in any classroom? Or as a given for anyone that we meet?
My experience is too much, too often.

What a wonderful gift, this lesson: I'm much better equipped to Meet Halfway---and then the real good stuff of the trip, that part where we all learn good, new stuff together---in fact, because we are together---can begin.

I'll finish posting with a poem by the new United States Poet Laureate, Charles Simic: in honor of different ways of perception; in honor of a belated bit of LG's birthday celebration.
As I have another post to make up for my weekend silence, more about poetry later today, hopefully, dear reader, wherein I will again confess to how much I don't know, and why I revel in my foolishness.

Watermelons

Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/watermelons/


Former location of the "Green Buddha," in Wat Phrakaco, Laos
http://galen-frysinger.com/viet_nam/laos16.jpg

Give a Little Whistle; or, A Short Post

Dear reader, courtesy of our K-1 students, a knock-knock joke:

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Jiminy.
Jiminy Who?
Jiminy Cricket!
(guffaws and hoots ensue)

Those persons holding the belief that children with autism don't possess a sense of humor are sadly mistaken.

Sometimes Pie Just Isn't Pie; or, I'll Meet You at King's Anytime, Anywhere

I would like to revisit yesterday's post wherein an apple pie featured most prominently.
In college, I had some difficulties, as we all sometimes do. The nature of the difficulty that causes me to revisit yesterday's post? One that many of us have dealt with: an eating disorder.

So it is the apple pie brings a specific image to mind, the image of one of the best acts of kindness I've ever experienced. During this time of eating disorder, my roommate would take me to a chain restaurant, the kind that one can find all over the US, the family-style, home-style joints. Once a week, she would take me to this establishment and order one of their signature desserts, hot apple pie topped with cinnamon ice cream; and when it came, she would nonchalantly put the plate in the middle of the table, the two forks akimbo on the china plate, and pretend that that pie, that ice cream, didn't, to put it simply, scare me to death. Then we would eat and pretend, and kept at it, until we could simply eat, and enjoy.
I think often about her kindness and generousity of spirit evidenced in that simple weekly act of hers.

In doing so, she taught me how to be with Batman (code name) when he had to eat a bite of ham sandwich from his lunchbox before he could eat his favored food. (His family had consulted a nutritionist because his sensory affinities gave him one-dimensional nutrition, and he was on a schedule to sample new foods; to do this was most frightening to him.)
Whenever I am on the road, and see that franchise, I must stop.
Here, I say to my family, my joy, have some.
And we are all the more happy for it.
Never assume, dear reader, that an act of yours can be too little or too late.
Right, Nae?

Ebbets Field is Dead; or, That's the Krump

In yesterday's post, I spoke with you about a simple joy that is available to all of us: laughter. That the laughter was considered to be part of bodywork by the kundalini kriya that I referenced was quite a pleasing idea for me, one that I find most welcome.

It is my wish for you, dear reader, to laugh, and laugh really well, mind you, at least once a day. (Did you follow the embedded Darth Vader link from that post? It's a secret vice, looking at those images. But most definitely good for a laugh.)

Dear reader, since I made a resolution here to you and to myself to practice the craft of writing, I feel compelled to write further on the subject of violence that I began earlier; for it is specifically because of the violence that I have received in the past that I have difficulty with words in the present.

The life that was mine in the past of violence was one wherein one of the most oft-cited reasons for the beginning of violence was the extinction of Ebbets Field.

How can one not develop a sense of humor, an appreciation of the finer points of What Is Funny, when such a thing as the loss of that field is the gravity that holds you to that place, that one place, without seeming recourse?

And in that place I was kept in solitary confinement, a party of one; with a maitre d', of course: one who was very taken with all manner of ideas, and the loss of elegaic beauty that was Ebbets Field one of the most consuming of many that consumed. Needless to say, dear reader, I did not have great opportunity to engage with other people; to have conversation about stimulating things, much less the mundane things.

Use it or lose it as the saying goes. So I lost it.

I managed to escape once. I made small talk with the driver of the taxi. I cannot begin to describe to you to this very day, dear reader, the thrill, the joy, the absolute wonder in being able to speak to someone about the weather. The weather.

But as in most of these situations, these engagements between opposing forces (cat and mouse), I made a strategic error, and had to return, in order to win the war; in this case, the safety and custody of my son. Needless to say my return necessitated further isolation, and more strenous treatment to permanently affix my position.

One of the fundamental teachings of Buddhism is that suffering, dukkha, is caused by our attachment to things. We don't always get what we want when we want it, and perhaps we never do get it. It causes us to suffer, and our suffering plays out in inordinate ways: we might seek comfort from our suffering by using alcohol, by becoming a workaholic, by taking what we want by force. Perhaps we might take out our suffering on others without meaning to do so.

Yet again, we might mean exactly that.

And in the receiving end of that situation, words have no currency for your survival. You would be surprised how quickly verbal intelligences fade when they have no validity.

Visualization (backyard tree, running free) and laughter (say what?!?) are, again, a most welcome pair, in most every situation one may imagine.

And so, dear reader, from upstream I can practice non-attachment.

I am no longer attached to Ebbets Field with the same old ropes, with the black, the blue, and the stench of confinement. No, I believe that my dukkha was my silence; my particular brand of samsara was to deny that the range of voice available to each and every one of us as humans was also available for me.

By virtue of my experience, of being cut off from what is considered the average day-to-day, I am practicing non-attachment. In the classroom, I do my best to always see a child as a child, and not as a diagnosis. I am more reminded to meet these students where they are at, and to do so every day: the range of voice available to each and every one of us is no less available to them, and happily so!

I am reminded of the value of other intelligences outside of the linguistic realm, and it is in these places that I can most often look to meet these special students.

Where we go from there is up to them.

Non-attachment seems difficult to practice.

I believe that it is most often a case of seeming more difficult than it truly is. And if it becomes difficult, well, then, I am reminded of a skit from the television show, MadTV. The sketch features a male and female pair of dancers, who perform in a style that is known as krumping. In each of the skits, someone is always put at a disadvantage, to which the rejoinder is: "that's the krump."

So, dear reader, Ebbets Field is gone. People dress up their dog as el luchador. Darfur burns. Kids with autism are kids, first and foremost.

You and I, dear reader, are free.

We can talk about the weather, or not.

We can laugh all day long at whatever we please.

And that's the krump.

Through a Glass Darkly; or, How I Did On My Presentation

Last Thursday was our last day of our summer session class. We took a final; the professor passed out our grades for our presentations.

Yes anyway, how did that go?

Dear reader, I must begin the account by telling you that I am inordinately excited by the implications one can glean from spending time with Gardner's multiple intelligence theory. Really, really excited. Eight different ways to be intelligent. Eight. (Gardner now cops to 8.5: waiting for more hard data on the intelligence he calls existential)

What else?

The theory posits that each and every one of us possesses each and every intelligence. This isn't up for speculation, it is a given. A given! How beautifully generous is that? Every person has it all. It's hardwired within the brain.

Great, yes! What is even greater is to consider the other part of this axiom: each intelligence operates as a separate modality. Each has its own input that it alone can process; and indeed, it is the presence of the input for which it is wired that activates that particular intelligence.

So of course, I am really, really excited for many reasons.

As I have the pleasure of sharing a classroom with children who are not "neurotypical," this knowledge, this familiarity of the nature of intelligences as laid out by Gardner, in conjunction with the knowledge that all the intelligences can and will be activated in some capacity, given the proper input---it is as if MI theory is the "cash on the barrelhead," the insurance, if you will, that backs up what we as teachers believe about our students: they are smart, they are special, and they will succeed.

Operating with Gardner's theory as home base, our students can believe us when we say that they can and will be great students. We're putting our money where our mouths are when we meet our students "where they are," and provide an environment that allows their unique intelligence profiles the most fitting expression. It's not a matter of speculation or faith; it's a given. There is a lot of relief in that, and in that, a release from pressure: a lot of lovely, lovely room in which to expand and explore.

Operating with Gardner's theory as home base, we have a construct with which to advocate for our students to others who do not know our students in the same ways that we do. Simply put, there are many in public schools who are lacking the confidence to be able to meet our kids where they are. Appy a label to a student, and that label can nag and pick away at our feelings of efficacy in relating to that student. Apply a label of autism, I've found, and this effect is often greatly exacerbated. MI theory is beautifully suited to shifting our thinking from labels and concerns about our abilities to thinking about how a student's intelligences manifest. It shifts our thinking to the student's abilities, not our own.

So of course, when I presented this paper, my heart rate was already up, for I'm just so excited about MI theory. My cello intro was full of vibrato, but it came from my bow hand. Time seemed to go very quickly. I talked, and did my slide presentation on the big screen. I was very excited about the ideas. At one point, and I believe this is what happened, two sentences hybridized themselves in my brain: "we give our students expectations," and "we set expectations for our students," and what I did in fact say was that "we give our students sex."

(Oh, really, Neroli. Way to go. Not.)

I tried to do my best to be articulate. Everyone seemed to regard me with a neutral to bored expression. No one but the professor had comments or questions when I was finished. I didn't feel positively or negatively about the presentation: just empty, as if I had taken such a large breath, and had left it all out slowly. So when my friend the Artist FKAPW asked me about the presentation, I truly didn't know what to say.

So it was with trepidation that I looked at my grade on Thursday night. It was an "A." The professor noted that he liked the use of the cello, the pacing was good, my answers to his questions were well thought out, and he liked the point of MI theory as a way to enable students to have power within the classroom environment.

I was surprised. But glad. And glad to know that I still have some work to do when it comes to perception.

It is another beautiful sunny day here, as it has been for some days. Yesterday as my Little Guy and I went to sit on the back stoop by the apple tree to wait for his brother, the Big Guy, to join us, LG said, well, let's just sit out here and enjoy ourselves.

Yes, I said, let's do. You do, too, dear reader.

Strange Is Your Language and I Have No Decoder; or, Why Don't I Make My Intention Clear?

The majority of our students in the classroom in which I work have a diagnosis of autism. Autism is a condition that one hears very much about these days, and one that also can cause people who wish to speak about if for any number of reasons to approach dialogue about autism in increasingly polarizing ways. I myself am reluctant to write very much about my work, and only do so here because I wish to reference a certain way that our classroom, and many other classrooms providing service to children with autism and other differing abilities, approach communication.
Those with autism process sensory input differently than those who are "neurotypical." To oversimplify: in most cases, for those with autism, spoken language is not as well received as an input as is visual input. Although it is good practice to use visual input with all students, it is especially important for our students. When using spoken language, we often use what is known as "alpha statements:" statements pared of all but the essential, placed in the most simple words with best fit. These statements are then most often paired with visual cues, such as pointing or other gestures; sign language; or visual icons.
These visual icons can be used to facilitate communication when verbal language is not as much a player in the game of communicating. There are many assisitive technology devices that employ these icons to help along functional language; some more simple than others, some more expensive than others. The most commonly used system for creating icons is a software package called Boardmaker. One may find it here by following the link to the manufacturer's website:
http://www.mayer-johnson.com/
One can also design and make one's own "device" by creating icons and arranging them in the pages of a ring binder. The icons are backed with Velcro dots, and then affixed to Velcro strips arranged on the pages.
With this method, one can create pages dedicated to different conversations: for instance, a page for greeting statements, such as: hello, how are you? (or affix another icon such as "glad to see you, and so forth)--- I am (affix the appropriate icon); a page of request statements, such as I want (affix the appropriate icon, such as "a break," "to work," "to go to the bathroom;" a page of feeling statements, such as I feel (affix the appropriate icon---happy, sad, sick, etc.)

One can customize the icons and the pages for each child. Each main page can be further organized as each type of conversation dictates: if the child communicates the desire for a break by attaching the "break" icon to the "I want" statement during the course of communication, then another "I want" page is indicated, and the student may choose from several icons representing different break activities, such as a motor activity, a quiet choice, or a trip to the water fountain.
The organization is akin to how you might organize your folders and subfolders in your computer, dear reader.
Our students' schedules are posted using icons. The icons are arranged vertically on a Velcro strip affixed to a posterboard with their names on top. The icons show the students their day from start to finish. At each schedule change, the students remove the icon for what is now on their schedule, go to that area of the classroom, and then place the icon in the icon collection basket in that area.
There is something very satisfying about that.

I think that I have a tendency to use language as the icons are used in the classroom.

For instance, when I wrote about the rose petal in the arugula, there was much more to it than what I wrote; yet I chose the words I felt best parsed what actually occurred into a manageable packet that I might be able to transmit to you, dear reader. Though I was able to do so to some satisfaction when I posted about the rose petal, more often than not, I am more often seeing the icons of my own fashioning in my head.
In the Boardmaker software, one may customize the visual icons by typing whatever text you wish. To the side of the blog, I found a free icon of the 'Boardmaker-type" online; to the icon, I typed the text to a common phrase in our classroom: "time for group."
That was a fairly straightforward meeting of verbage and visual; yet it is often difficult for me to find the appropriate words for the visuals, and indeed, the sensory, that I perceive.

It's the old chestnut, that Appollian v Dionysian debate.
Words? Pictures? Perceptions?
Mutually exclusive? Tenuous relationship at best?

Dear reader, the students in our classroom brave the front lines of that age-old battle daily.
They are some of my best teachers.

Time Is a River; or, Do You Like Mulch in Your Shoe?

Today was the first day of summer vacation for me.

After the boys went to school, I decided to go to the river that I love. It was a lovely morning, the kind that everyone remarks on in passing, because we just can't believe we've been gifted with such a day.

It was sunny-bright and windy and a little chilly with the breeze that was blowing. In the pocket of my sweatshirt I placed a packet of sand that I keep; it is ironic that I keep the sand given its provenance: the sand is from a sand mandala honoring Chenrezig, known as the Buddha of Compassion in Tibetan Buddhism . The puja was performed by the monks from the Drepung Loseling Monastery; my keeping of the sand is ironic as the purpose of the puja is to destroy the sand mandala in order to speak certain truths about impermanence. Dear reader, you might follow the link to see for yourself: http://www.mysticalartsoftibet.org/Mandala.htm#top

It is at this point, dear reader, that I must disclose that I have been most in need of cultivating compassion.

I must also disclose that I have been in need of integrating the knowing of impermanence into my life.

The first time I visited this river, I was brought there by a former boyfriend. We had meant to surprise each other, and we did, delightfully so: I brought watermelon, his favorite; he brought me to a river, my favorite.

I visited this place often, even after J. and I parted ways. It was running along the riverbank after my-then-2-year-old son (he, pretending to be the proverbial Gingerbread Boy; me, pretending to be in hot pursuit) that I remember laughing for the first time in years. (Dear reader, I had been isolated and abused for some time before becoming free. More words for another time, perhaps.) When I received the phone call that told me of my brother's death, I immediately came to the river, in the winter; where else would I have turned?

Without any other way to explain this, I know these feelings each time I visit, and there is deep and simple satisfaction in it.

I wished to just sit without words for a while. I work in public education in an elementary special education classroom. Our classroom will miss one of our special people (who I will, out of necessity, give a designated pseudonym---Cerulean).

Cerulean's parents came to feel that Cerulean was not receiving adequate delivery of service in our classroom, and they are seeking a new placement. Cerulean left rather abruptly, and I felt very sad, for many, many reasons. We are always sad when we know we will likely never see people we care for again, are we not? I felt sad that Cerulean and classmates were not able to have a chance to say goodbye to each other in whatever way they needed; one of the manifestations of Cerulean's autism is that Cerulean does not use much verbal language.

Attachment, dear reader, is the cause of much suffering.

So feeling some strong attachments to feelings and ideas about the Cerulean situation, I went to the river.

As I was walking the trail before sitting zazen with the river, I met a woman, a young girl, and a large dog on the path. (No, dear reader: although it sounds as if it is a promising beginning to a joke, it is not. ) After pleasant conversation about the beautiful day, I remarked that I liked the lilac-colored Crocs worn by the girl. I laughed a little as I said this, as I myself was wearing a pair of Crocs. The woman said, they are a pretty color. But she keeps being bothered by the mulch getting into the little holes. Does it happen to you? the woman asked.

Sure, but I don't much mind, I said. I just slip them off, dump them out, and start all over again. The woman looked dubious for a fraction of a second, and then laughed a little. We went our separate ways.

I found a rock that proved a perfect seat and sat by the river. The intent of my sitting was to cultivate compassion regarding the situation with Cerulean. The day that Cerulean left was difficult for us for many reasons. That night, I had a nightmare. I was in a classroom with our students when Cerulean jumped up and ran out of the room. I chased Cerulean through the stereotypical labyrinth of corridors and floors of bad dream architecture. I finally was able to catch up in a stairwell. In my dream, Cerulean began to speak to me, in "I need..." sentences. Complete sentences. Many, many sentences. I didn't have anything that Cerulean requested in my dream. In my dream, I did not think twice that Cerulean engaged me in a wave of verbal language.

When I woke from this dream, Cerulean's speech was most wonderful and very sad, all at once.

When I was ready to return to the rest of my day, I stood up, and poured some of the sand in my pocket into the river.

I had to laugh a little again at this point. I suppose I finally perceived the joke, dear reader: you know, the one about the girl, the woman, the large dog, and mulch in the shoe?

I remembered that Cerulean sometimes wore Crocs. When this occured, Cerulean would, as a habit, deliberately insert mulch from the playground into the holes.