A school for autistic kids - we're in!...

Last week, I must admit, I was having a difficult time. Since our daughter's diagnosis, we have had raised hopes...possibilities for groups and therapy's, guiding help along this large learning curve that is autism...all dashed. The first was due to funding being cut two weeks before a program began: "We don't feel like kids over 12 really benefit." Then, other opportunities, but she was "too high functioning," "too old," "too verbal." Whatever the reason, we had nothing...and when trying to learn, figure out what has just been well faked over the years, teaching things that we were never taught, therefore don't think to teach...it has been a lot to absorb!

Then, I met a local gal on-line whose son attends HOPE ranch academy. I had never heard of it, but it is a school for kids with autism AND has stables! I looked into it more, but there wasn't very much on the website, albeit they have won many national awards. The gal gave me more information - promising things, like they take the Gardiner scholarship Abigail has and are completely affordable...that her son loves it there...A phone call and email sending diagnosis documents later, I received a call for us to come in and do an interview and tour!

Wednesday, Abigail and I drove the thirty minutes north and found the middle school/high school campus. The principal was wonderful and, although she never likes being put on the spot, Abigail held her own. The 9th/10th grade head teacher came in and spoke with us, as well. Abigail seemed very at ease, despite any nerves she concealed. When it was time to go meet the class, I could see her body, each step more rigid than the next. Expressionless, she went in with us as the principal introduced her to the class. When the principal asked them to introduce themselves, teens went around and did so...the more names and smiles that passed their lips, the more I saw Abigail relax and smile back.

On the way home, she said to me: "Mom, I can be there and just be myself, not worrying about what I say or how I say it, that I will be judged." My heart crumbled, with both the motherly ache of her past and the joy of her future. Her class is small - 8 boys, 4 (with her) girls, and two teachers. There aren't rows of desks, but scattered in ways that make them comfortable - some facing each other or a wall. They are sensitive to the "triggers" that cause shut-downs and meltdowns. No sensory overload, even in the text books themselves, and all learning and work is done in class, not sent home. Six hour days through the year make up for the half-days public schools take during their seven hour school frame. They are taught speaking skills, like projecting and eye contact; social cues and picking up on body language, what isn't being spoken. They are introduced to the various areas of gray in life, pulled from the more comfortable default of black and white.

I must say I cried that afternoon, so relieved that Abigail will get the help and support that I cannot give alone, the guidance in areas that I am still unaware, supported by teachers and peers who think like she does. We, as well as the doctors, are confident that Abigail will live a normal and independent life, but having that extra help will go miles towards success!

It was a year ago that we sat with the team of psychiatrists and behavioral science personnel at Florida State University. What a year it has been, too! Such a learning curve and adjustment, so many things to wrap our minds around and accept. As we say and believe, ASD is not a disorder, as the D suggests, but a difference in how the mind works and processes. We are proud to have such a sensitive, caring, animal loving, artistic, and intellectual daughter...and look forward to what this next year brings, painting our lives with the unexpected colors of life!

"Braining" with a sinus infection...

Perhaps I should have posted a few days ago - I am sure whatever wound up on the page would have been hilariously incoherent. I must admit, this week has been a crazy haze. With Shane up in Raleigh for the week, I was flying solo with the three kiddos, dog, cat, gerbil....and a nasty sinus infection.

For all you seasoned sinus infection survivors, you know what I mean - foggy head, imploding/exploding skull, ear pressure, face hurts, headaches, and, until the antibiotics work their magic, a general sensation of being hit by a bus. Before 2006, I frequented the pharmacy for meds, one sinus infection after another. After seeing an ENT, an ordered MRI disclosed the answer. After the doctor placed the film onto the glowing display board, he pointed to an area of black - "Do you see this mass here?" If you are a doctor and reading this, PLEASE never open with a question about a mass!! With cranial radiation, brain tumors are higher risk for me, so you can guess where my mind jumped with the word"mass!" It wasn't anything - as he went on, he explained it was a void - he thought it odd because clearly I had sinus passages but... "It is like they stop here and pick up there," he said pointing to what appeared to be a glowing bridge with a chunk fallen off the middle. "Very odd." I asked him if a misaligned radiation beam could do that, being mine was, hence to loss of hearing. "Yep, that would definitely do it!"

That lovely conversation led to extensive sinus surgery, the kind that I had to sign the wavers stating that I understood the risks and that even the slightest stray could result in brain injury or death. Wow! It ended up being more complicated than the doctor imagined, cutting and creating new passageways, widening others. Yes, it was painful; but not as bad as all the irrigating follow-ups. (Yes, irrigating, not irritating, although, that is true, as well!) When the doctor tells you to take two Vicodin before coming, you know it is going to be fun! Numbing gel applied, wait ten minutes, string wirey tubes up the nostrils, through the passageways, clearing any debris, etc. Seriously - put this stuff on your bucket list, folks!

Anyway - since then, I have only had one, maybe two, sinus infections per year - a very, VERY significant improvement from two per month! However, I believe I have become more of a sinus infection wimp. What used to be daily pain is now a couple days per year. In between the months, I forget the upper teeth pain, falling asleep mid sentence, overall bla that makes adulting difficult!

I am thankful that my parents were in town this week, as they helped tremendously with school runs, a dinner, and even taking a kiddo home for an overnight - the bliss of hearing the crickets! We made it, even getting 95% of school done....yet, it wouldn't be a "Shane's away" week without some minor upsets, like choking on a bug or chasing down a massive wasp in the house....or the dog and cat, in tandem, corning an anole and knocking over the table holding all the painting supplies, Anie screaming so loud that I was sure police would be knocking on our door! Positive - no animal got sick, no one broke anything significant (my favorite coffee mug and a small cut on the unnamed child who broke it aside), AND it is over!

No hurricanes our way (so far), but Florence did dump a lot of water in our lake and my parents' pool!
Happy Weekend to you all!

How could I possibly be a fly risk?!...

In my previous blog, I promised to share the story behind the flying risk...

It all began back around 2001, when I was taking a US Foreign Policy and Terrorism class at NC State. On the first day of class, we were warned: "If you have anything to hide from the government, this is not the class for you." Hmmm, that was an interesting way to begin a 400 level (aka, Sr.) class. Luckily, it was further explained. The on-line research that we would be conducting for the class would cause the federal agencies to "red flag" us for suspicion. In addition to that, our emails/on-line use may be monitored. I was fine with that - nothing to hide!

What she failed to mention was that being red flagged also meant that airlines had to take a special precaution, as well. Then again, this was almost nine months before the 9/11 attacks, so perhaps it wasn't a noted issue during that term. On my first flight, later that year, I was pulled aside by the airport's TSA.  Nothing about my appearance or demeanor suggested terrorist, so I was a bit surprised by the harsh nature and overly thorough patting down that I received, as well as the combing of every item in my backpack and the trashing of my contact eye drops! (Yep, they were tossed into the trash bin!) 

I thought it was a fluke, until the flight home....repeated scenario, minus the eye drops, which I opted not to pack. The following year, both in September and in December, the same thing. (Albeit, the gal in the two-gate, North Dakota, airport was exceptionally nice.) Coming home from Sweden, my underwear and other unmentionables were splayed out by the over-eager attendant rummaging through my suitcases. Sigh.

On my first flight with my eldest, who was just shy of a year old, I thought MAYBE the crazy would cease. On my flight out of Raleigh, I was accompanied by a family friend who was allowed past the checkpoint to help me with departure. No problems. On the way back, from Phili, however - a completely different story. As I broke down the stroller, two more personnel than the four already present (and no one in this particular line), began to watch me. I was told that I couldn't leave the baby in the carseat; so, took her out and added it to the conveyer belt. When I began to walk through the scanner holding my baby, a sextet of voices shouted, "No! You can't do that, you have to go through alone!" What? Ok - carseat is scanned, baby back into seat, and I walk through alone. When I want to go back and get her, again, "No! You can't do that!" What?!? So - exactly how is my baby, in her car seat, supposed to get through the scanner? Pixie dust in your pockets? So, there I was - me on one side, baby on the other. A TSA was sent over to see what the problem was. LUCKILY, he was struck with the absurdity of the airport personnel's logic and told them to let me get my baby! They protested, said I could have something in her diaper. He asked me. I told him that other than some urine, and possible a bowel movement with all the fuss, no. He was more than welcome to check and change her, if necessary, though. He declined.

After ten years and three children, I was finally dropped from that "red flag list," at least as far as airports were concerned. Overly familiar with the scanning and pat-downs, pulling aside bags to be examined, and the scrutiny of untrusting eyes, I opted to be amused by it instead of annoyed. I thought of packing a brownie, labeled: "For the dear sir or madam who is checking this bag," but opted not to - offering a sweet might land me in the glassed side room with a drug dog!

My last flight, with my fourteen year old daughter, should have caught their eye - red hair, momma of three, armed with a teenager? Now, THAT is scary!

Being this is about airplane travel - what better picture to attach than a sunset with a boat? (Read: she can't find the picture from the airplane window, so added this instead!)

Delayed travel plans...

If you wondered why I have not blogged in over a week, this is why...

This past Wednesday, I was mostly packed and ready for my Friday morning departure - TPA to Cleveland. My grandmother and her best friend were set to pick me up from the airport and I was eager for the weekend plans: Saturday's fish fry at a cousin's, getting to chat and catch up with family that I haven't seen in at least a decade...Sunday breakfast with my aunt, grandma, and cousin, then time visiting the rest of the McLaughlin crew. Monday and Tuesday were set aside to do something I haven't in a long while - rest... Rest with no children needing anything, no fights to break up, no whining or complaining, a blissful rest, that is.

Wednesday evening, I was feeling a bit "off." I assumed I was tired from my jam-packed week and getting ready for the trip. (Let's face it, moms - we don't just pack for ourselves and go...there are the lists of reminders for the hubby, the pre-prep work of having clothes and meals ready, and a myriad of other contingency planning for "when Mom is away.") However, Thursday told me I was wrong, severely wrong. Around 11am, I put aside my stubbornness and did the unthinkable; I called the Dr. (For everyone who doesn't know me in the health capacity, I tend to wait until I am sick at least 4 days to a week, sometimes two, before making that call...NEVER on day one, unless I have a very high fever and suspect a relapse of pneumonia or the likes, but that has never happened.)

Sinus infection. Although she said that she wouldn't "tell me what to do," the Doctor didn't recommend the flight and pressure changes on my already swollen sinuses and ear drums. I have only flown once with a sinus infection (that, before lift off, I didn't realize I had, assuming just a cold...) and that isn't exactly the kind of pain that I would want to purposely replicate. (Before 2006, when the ENT cut new sinus passageways through my face and forehead, reuniting the once-severed tunnels that allowed proper drainage, I would get an average of 15-20 sinus infections, whether new or not completely cleared before vamping back up, per year. Now, maybe one or two, if that, per year.)

Although I can't complain about the frequency change, the timing of this one was SO horrible! After a phone call to my grandmother and text to my aunt, I crashed for hours. Friday morning, I decided to officially cancel the flight and let people know. It was the right call - Friday was worse than Thursday and Saturday made it seem like a tickle. Something I despise about sinus infections is that they don't immediately change course with antibiotics, like strep throat or ear infections, where symptoms dissipating in days. No, they take their blessed time, requiring at least three to start turning around in the correct direction. At a snail's pace, if it were, with no eagerness to vacate and leave the host alone. At least this one is, indeed, a bacterial one. (Virals don't respond to antibiotics, duh, and take at least a week and a half to change course.)

So, if home and sick, why not blog? That is another subtle difference between a sinus infection and others - cogency. My husband thinks I am hilarious when I have them because apparently I appear drunk and make little sense in conversational flow, then fall asleep mid-sentence! I can only imagine how one of my blogs might read.... "I'm sick, its...No flying to OH, did I tell you when I was on the flying risk list in college, all 5'4" of me and I had surgery for sinuses. Sinuses is a funny word. Why can't my daughter put her shirts on rightsizing out...where is the Tylenol? posi'peo'''''kkkkkkkk" (That last part is me falling asleep on the keyboard, hehe.)

Maybe I will elaborate how a tiny, green-eyed, blonde hair (at the time), pale white me ending up being a flight risk in my next blog! ;)

Luna always knows when I am sick and sticks close (often too close) by my side.

The brutal truth about homeschooling...

So, here we are...nearing the end of the second week of school. Four days of hybrid school and seven of homeschooling (eldest two are only in the hybrid one day a week) are completed...still one to go and, quite frankly, I am brain-fried and bone-weary. Here is the brutal truth about homeschooling. Even if the love teaching runs in your veins - that art of conveying information in multiple formats, constructing lessons to cater to each pupil's learning styles, many (if not most) days can suck that love dry! Why?

Although you may be able to take off the parent hat and put on the teacher one, that hat is invisible to your child! Chances are high that a kid in a classroom isn't going to groan when Algebra begins...or sigh on the ground when Biology textbooks are opened...or release a massive and noisy gas with a giggle, stating, "Fiction makes me fart!" Most likely, they don't bicker or make faces at their fellow classmates or dance around victoriously singing, "I finished before youuuuuu!" Am I correct? All too often, I have to remind my kids that I am now wearing the teacher hat with a, "Would you do this in Mrs. (Insert a present hybrid teacher's name)'s class?!"

I have yet to discover a curriculum, with all subjects included, that fits the varied styles in which my kids learn. With kids in three different grade levels and curriculum, the planning for each subject's year takes no less than five hours. Then, there is the preparing for instruction, teaching it, and grading work each day. Part of FL homeschooling also requires us to create and maintain a portfolio through the year to submit to a licensed teacher at evaluations. On any given school day (between the different levels of instruction and the above), each child spends 3-5 hours doing school, whereas I spend no less than nine! This almost always translates into bill paying, emails, writing, changing laundry loads, and such, being done sometime between dinner and bedtime.

The "pay" is worth the sacrifices of time and sanity, however. Although it isn't received in the tangible form of salary and is often unappreciated, homeschooling does earn me a peace of mind - I know my kids are learning what they need in order to succeed in college and life. They are being taught in the styles that they learn and are given chances to use what they learn in practical applications. And that, my friends, is the brutal truth about homeschooling!

One of those practical applications - after learning all about dinosaurs, why not a trip to Dinosaur World?!

It's Wednesday - Humpday?...

Perhaps some of you recall a certain auto commercial from a few years ago - the camel is walking through the cubicles of a work place asking if anyone knows what day it is. "Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike - guess what day it is, what day it IS?" Finally, someone answers, "humpday." The tagline is comparing how delighted drivers are with their insurance and a camel on a Wednesday.

Of course, no employee shares this particular camel's excitement of it being Wednesday or humpday, even if it does mark a halfway point of the usual work week. Today, I relate more to the employees - all was fine until the camel entered, or, in my case, the lack of a hump in the form of a book bag. More than 25 minutes into the drive to school (and less than 2 minutes from it), I realized that my youngest forgot her back pack. (Insert - a freak-out began, which included the phrases, "This is the worst day of my life," and "I am never going to graduate!") In the parking lot, I emptied my purse (which can strap on like a backpack) and placed her pencil and sketch book inside. With the promise of returning before her third class, the tears were gone and the drama ceased for my quiet ride home.

Although this is not truly an incident worthy of note, it did set off a domino of other events through this day that were unexpected - making an extra 50 minute round trip in the day does that to a person. For instance - in rushing with writing science terms onto the white board, instead of writing the word "organism," I wrote another word, with two less letters. "Um, Mom?" Sigh. it didn't particularly help that it was part of the definition for "asexual reproduction" and thoroughly confused my 13 year old son. Later, I was writing out the brainstorming of the older two in their discussion of the differences between a democracy and a republic (for their history class). One of the older two said that a democracy doesn't have a Death Star. Yes, I actually started writing the words out on the white board before giggles ensued. Those are a couple of the more humorous dominoes of the day.

Some Wednesdays are very much like that commercial - the proverbial camel running around saying, "Guess what day it is, what day it IS?" - The ever-annoying reminder that there are still two more days AFTER today to get through before the bliss begins, before the weekend, before the break in classes, human taxi time, and homework. Happy Wednesday to you all!

This about sums up my "Humpday" feelings - Evan, when he did NOT want to have his 9 month pictures done in 2006!

As summer ends- random musings...

As the sun sets and the noisy chorus of katydids begin their evening tones, I sit on my pretentiously named lanai and muse about the ending summer break. Traveling, company, camps, and lessons…it was less of a break than I hoped for, yet…lunches didn't need to be packed, setting out clothes wasn't required, and the "mom taxi" took a breather, mostly.

I am officially "Floridian" now - blood so thin that sitting outside, fan on, in the middle of the summer days doesn't phase me…so thin that waiting in an overly air conditioned airport for four hours sent me into the gift shop for a sweatshirt by hour two. When we moved here, on the first day the temperature dipped into the lower sixties, I spotted a woman in a parka jacket. I was donning shorts and a t-shirt and laughed before suddenly realizing that I might be just like her someday in the near future! It took the better part of four years, but now I am -  Albeit I don't have a parka, but I can be spotted in long pants when the temperature falls into the 70s and a long sleeve shirt in the 60s. Yep - cold wimp, but hot strong!

This is, most likely, the last summer that my eldest two will be shorter than me. My daughter looks me eye-to-eye and my son isn't far behind…of course, I am a bit vertically challenged and always assumed they will all grow taller than me. It is also the last summer that all my kids were under high school ages and not driving. Next week, my eldest will officially be in high school and in November, behind the wheel with her learner's permit…wasn't I just cleaning poop art from the walls last month?

Next week, the streets will be speckled with yellow buses, bringing children to and from schools…backpacks will be out of the closets and on kids' shoulders, all brimming with books, notebooks, pencils, and lunches. Strict bedtimes resume and the mornings will once again begin with the struggle of waking the teens and getting everyone out the door. I call this herding cats, as it feels equally successful. However,  at 8:30am, the car doors will open and I will enjoy the twenty-five minute ride home alone…my bliss…until noon rolls around, that is. To clarify - their school is a hybrid homeschool, so these three hours are only on Mondays and Wednesdays - the rest is all up to me. Yet, in those six hours, there is no need to quiet children for their at-home and working dad, no instruction to give, no arguments to break up, no interruptions while cleaning, and no one to barge into my bathroom time!

Thus begins the 2018-2019 school year…

Yep - about sums it up!

Vacationing with autism...

I will have to admit - when we lifted off a little after 1pm this past Wednesday, I was a ball of nerves. My eldest, Abigail, had taken her meds for altitude sickness and was tightly holding the bandana that was specially made for her (by a new, dear friend in FL) - four selected pictures of her therapy cat, Sassafras, and name printed in the perfect blue…she stroked the pictures and quietly chewed her gum.

Before the trip, we went over many "escape routes" for the unknown. It was the first time she was going to spend time with her NC bestie, Addison, AND spend the night(s) without family present. Yet, she never used any of them! Parents of kiddos on the spectrum can appreciate the weight of this, the amazement and the pride - watching your child grow into themselves, asserting themselves more, and being ok with who they are.

Of course, it greatly helps to have amazing friends who are patient and understand, not forceful or taking things personally when they are not. Addison was amazing, even through the singular meltdown on Sunday. She gave Abigail space and never made her feel badly about it…at all! Bestie's family was equally amazing, I must add. They made Abigail feel welcome, at home, and loved.

We rented a car and took a road trip across the state, me in the chauffeur seat and the girls giggling in the back. Addison reminds me of my son, Evan, in that she is ever the comedian, making Abigail laugh. Ab proudly showed Addison her grandparents house and blossomed in their presence. It made my heart warm and soar, despite trip exhaustion, aches, and pains - it was wonderful! With her cousin, at my brother's home, she was alit and took many videos and pictures.

Meltdowns/shutdowns are an autistic reality, though. I honestly was happily surprised that there was only one, but that singular event caught me off guard. I know she was tired, hadn't done her "run-arounds" in four days, and was missing her kitty - a trifecta for an emotional storm over what seemed like so little. She used her calming mechanisms and spent some time alone, then slowly brought down the walls. Again, I cannot emphasize enough how amazingly patient and kind Addison was! Even my nephew sensed something and acted accordingly. The trip back across the state went well, as did the following departure date.

For our family, puberty brought around changes that pointed us in the direction of seeking help…the kind that aids a kiddo with HFA (high functioning autism) with self-calming mechanisms, self assertiveness, picking up on less obvious social cues, adjusting to the flexibility that comes with life. We know that ASD stands for autism spectrum disorder - but it isn't a disorder or disability, it is a difference - a different way of seeing the world and responding to it. As a parent, there are challenges, but there are some serious perks, as well. Abigail's life is very black and white which, at times, is very hard to work around; however it also means she follows the rules. Lying makes no sense to her, so she is extremely trustworthy. She says what she means and doesn't play games with people's emotions.

Returning to the vacationing part of this blog - there is more preparation than packing when it comes to autism. Bringing something of your therapy animal, like the specially made bandana, can work wonders for their minds and calm…having options and "outs" with code words or signs are their own special relief.

Now that our very delayed flight brought us home and life resumes, as I reflect on this trip…I am proud of my daughter and how she utilized self calming techniques and all that she learned! I am touched and thankful to both my FL friend and Addison's family for their help in this success…and by Addison, who has made it possible for Abigail to be herself, all the time, with her friendship and loyalty.

Abigail and Addison - sipping their Starbucks and sporting their "best friends" necklaces. :)

Full circle...

Again, I am sitting on my pretentious lanai, inhaling the scent of meat cooking on a neighbor's grill, listening to the the birds calling like wild pterodactyls, back and forth, breaking the silence. If it weren't for interrupting children, I might feel a little like Joe in his homemade shack on the back of the Gilmore land, typing away. Of course, the screen is too pretentious and the momma gator gliding in slow ripples across the lake make it feel less so!

A couple of blogs ago, I talked about Joseph Lee Gilmore. What you see propped up on my art easel (the lovely ribbons added by my youngest) is the last book that Joe wrote, The Butterfly Doctor. His daughter, Jody, sent me the manuscript almost two weeks ago. Spending a long afternoon with the pages, I was pulled into a world of beauty-painted scenery, mountains and rivers, and the colorful characters of pre-war West Virginia.

I believe the first time we read a novel or story, we are more consumed by the plot, actions, and dialogue filling each page. We often miss the artistry. The Butterfly Doctor was no exception - in first reading, I actively followed each turn in the winding story, shedding tears at the end…but this time, I am caught up in the artistry - the near poetic concoction of words followed by the bluntly raw.

Back to the title of the blog - the full circle…
Years ago, my grandmother, Ruth Darling, typed many a hand-written manuscript on her typewriter for Joe's publishers. Here I am, decades later, sitting out on my ever-pretentious lanai, using the typewritten manuscript of his last book and inputting it into digital form! There is also the bit about my opportunity to partake in the journey of having Joe's final novel, post humous, into the published world…Joe - who red lined my first story and gave me honest editorial in my first, ten-year-old writing venture! I doubt that little girl would believe me if I shared what her future would hold. It borders the surreal...

Happy weekend to you all!

World War II, the untold stories...

So - this is less of a blog and more of a request. (If there is no interest in my back story of this request, go to the last paragraph for the specifics.)

Years ago, I had a full outline for a novel; but as I began, I realized that the hours upon hours required for doing the story complete historical justice weren't available to me at that time. (I did have a one, five, and six year old, all running circles around me then!) However, over the past few months, little by little, my research continues…just not as I expected. Instead of the nine men and women I wanted to give voices, many others have begun to "talk" as well.

My original story focused around the untold (or at least less told) stories - like my Serbian "Teta" who spent much of the war (from Yugoslavia's surrender until liberation) in two horrific concentration camps…or my "Chicko" who refused to surrender with the Royal Yugoslavian Army and continued to fight until he was captured and sent to a labor camp, both of which were Serbian Orthodox Church and not singled out for their religion. There is the hero stuck in a 4F body, due to abuse from his father…the corpsman stuck in Saipan…the list goes on of stories not made into epic books, documentaries, and movies.

As others have begun to share their stories, I am seeing my original plans morph from a historical fiction novel, based on the lives of real people, and more towards a compilation of mini biographies, giving voices to the untold stories and perspectives - of all fronts and people groups, regardless to axis or allied  - World War II was not forged by the masses of men required to fight them and those soldier's have stories! Some are heart breaking and some heart warming or even downright funny!

I would like to follow this further and broaden my ears to more stories - if you lived during World War II (whether an impacted family member, a soldier, or anyone who lived it), or have a memorable, interesting, or "untold" story concerning World War II - I welcome it with appreciation. Whether you wish the names to remain anonymous or given…I have a list of specifics for those who wish to share. Please contact me, either in the responses or personal email. Thank you!

A few of these gentlemen who I could easily find photos I have saved:

US Army - European Front

US Navy Corpsman - Pacific Front, Marshall Islands

US Navy - Pacific Front

US Air Force - Aleutian Islands (Alaska area)

Why would they put a 55+ community there?!...

You may be aware of such communities - all residents must be at least fifty-five years old (absolutely no one under this magical age may reside there, regardless to how geriatric your body or mind might be). In these high-gated communities, golf carts are considered viable forms of transportation and often have their own paved lanes. My great-grandparents once lived in one (although, by appearance, it seemed more like a 75+ community; but, then again, I was a child). I remember visiting and wandering into the clubhouse, only to receive the stark glare of "stink eyes" from some elderly gentlemen.

Sandwiched in between four neighborhoods, all with pretentious signs and monuments marking their entrances, a builder is creating a 55+ community. This chosen location baffles me - all adjacent neighborhoods are full of children, it will be walking distance from the middle and high school, and less than 2 miles from the elementary school! I wouldn't think this to be ideal location for this type of community!

It isn't merely the location, but also the shopping. Closest stores will be flooded by people under the magical age of fifty-five and golf carts will be moving targets for newly licensed teenage drivers. Not only this, but the nearby shopping areas are void of hearing aid stores and beauty shops. (This is unlike every strip mall the further into Tampa that one drives - where every strip mall is equipped with both, as well as in-sole, chiropractic, and wheelchair stores…ok, joking on that last one, but you get the idea.)

So - why build here? Perhaps it is due to the taxes being slightly lower in this county, but there are pieces of land for sale closer to the hospital that also would work, farther removed from thousands of people who are younger than 55. Maybe it is the hopes that us, who have not reached this magical age, will gaze longingly beyond those high gates and say, "Honey, when we are fifty-five, let's sell the jeep and get a golf cart, live in there…" Um, doubt it.

Without finding the builder and posing the question directly, I doubt the truth behind the location will be known. As I sit on my pretentious lanai, the wind is whipping the curtains skyward and ominous clouds suggest I wrap up this questionable rant before the coming downpour! Happy Wednesday!

The age of the "stink-eye"

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air...

As I sat on my pretentious lanai, this past Saturday evening, I watched as colors lit the sky. They reflected off the water of the lake, upside-down mirror images of the explosions above. Scared of the sounds, my sixty-pound American bulldog wedged her body between mine and the mound of pillows, head on my lap. I began to contemplate as the show progressed…how many veterans who have fought for freedom were also feeling the same. Bursts of light emit gun-shot sounds, a resonating noise over air and ground.

The finale was spectacular - the dark sky blown bright with all the rainbow's colors, in arches and wide lines. As the deafening noise became silent, billows of smoke began rising from the rooftops - dark clouds of deep grey slowly ascending.

On July 3, 1776, John Adams wrote to his wife, Abigail, only hours after the Continental Congress voted for the independence of the American colonies. Did you read that date? In it, he stated, "The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America." Did you catch it that time? It was actually July 2nd, not 4th, that independence was declared, or at least voted upon. So, why the 4th as "Independence Day?" This was that day that the official document, our "Declaration of Independence" was finished and signed, then printed and spread through the colonies.

In the letter, John Adams also told his wife: "By pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of the continent to the other." Albeit early, due to the 4th falling on a Wednesday this year, that evening's display definitely checked off Adam's final wish…or did it? When news spread through the colonies, American's rang bells, lit great bonfires, fired their guns, and illuminated their windows with candles. Interesting that the illumination here is with candles, not exploding fireworks. Of course, present day pyro technology was not in existence at that point, unless you could the crude explosives used on July 4, 1777. Amidst the war for Independence still raging, 13 of these were sent skyward, one for each colony.

If we followed the tradition of the first anniversary, we would be observing fifty fireworks - more of a reverent, yet celebratory scale. I wasn't counting Saturday night, but there were at least double that amount exploding in the sky. Three interesting facts about our nation's fourth of July fireworks: 1. Ninety-nine percent of the fireworks purchased are from China. 2. The US spends over a billion dollars in fireworks - a BILLION! 3. Seventy-seven percent of male injuries in July are due to fireworks - burns, blinding, hearing loss, lost digits or limbs.

To summarize these three - over a billion dollars are spent, 99% of which goes to another country's pocket, and lots of people get hurt - I must (sarcastically) say, sounds super patriotic to me! In all seriousness, though - Happy Fourth Of July, the official signing and sending of our country's Declaration of Independence! Stay safe with the pyros and have fun!

Interview with author Joseph Lee Gilmore's daughter, Jody Ospina...

Joseph Lee Gilmore

Fancy this - a writing blog that is actually about writing again! Call it a throw-back Thursday, if you will. :)

Last week, during her visit to our lovely state of Florida, I was granted the opportunity to interview Jody Ospina, daughter of beloved author, Joseph Lee Gilmore (1929-2005).

First - a little more about Joseph Lee Gilmore…

He was born to Joseph P Gilmore and Westa Mae Reynolds on 1/31/1929. After graduating from Ohio State, he worked at the Lorain Journal and the Toledo Blade before settling in at Goodyear International as the Vice President of Public Relations. He married Donna Hanes in Huron, OH, on 8/8/1952. They had three children, Jim, Jody, and Billie. In the fall of 1969, he decided to take a prolonged leave of absence at Goodyear to write full time, seeing if he could "make it."He went on to write four stand-alone novels and 8 books for the Nick Carter spy series, all of which were published between 1973 and 1985. In the January 1972 issue of Redbook, Joseph was featured in a novelist interview, named "The Reunion."After a heart attack in late December 1969 and later issues, his writing took a back seat to his health. Joseph passed away on 12/5/2005, leaving a legacy of books, children and grandchildren, and memories. (See the bottom of the blog for a list of his books.)

My personal favorite, in the memories department, was the time Joseph and Donna came to our middle Tennessee home in 1989. I had written my first "book" before he came. It was during my second year of treatment for cancer - I was bald and embarrassed to even ask, but I so wanted to know the opinion of an "actually published writer!"He asked if I wanted real criticism or just a look - I wanted the real and raw. The next morning, he produced my manuscript - little notations in red ink all over. "Every draft needs work, but you have talent, Beth Ann." I think those ten words had me floating on cloud nine for the next month! I, of course, still have that copy, red ink and all - cherished!

The interview, with Jody (Gilmore) Ospina…

As we sat sipping our ever-healthy diet cokes at Mom and Dad's kitchen table, amidst discussions on how to best research genealogy and writing, I nearly let this opportunity slip by! My original idea to do the interview Jody was over a year ago, when my blog was centered solely around writing. My questions are in this boring black and Jody's answers are in red. (Please excuse the boring wording of questions - this is my first attempt at an interview!)

What did you think about your dad's career choice - to be a writer?
I was proud of him and amazed by it. I remember opening the Redbook and there was his name - amazing!

I know he had a full-time job during your childhood, so how much did he write and where?
When he was still working, he would write after we fell asleep - I remember falling asleep to the sounds of the typewriter. After he was writing full time, he would spend ten hours or so in a day, but not everyday. He was a loner, but an outgoing introvert. He built a little cabin out of plywood way in the back of our twenty acres. He had a little card table and chair out there.

His books weren't children's novels - were you allowed to read them as a kid? Have you read everything he wrote? What do you think about the books?
Oh, yes, we were allowed to read them. He wrote for the Nick Carter series. Then, he wrote a bunch of "dirty books" for esquire and such - Billie and I used to sneak into his office to read bits of it, we were a little  embarrassed, but he made good money doing it! I don't really remember Blue Flame, but I really loved Night Never Ending. Rattlers was made into a sci-fi movie and renamed "Rattled."

Speaking of Night Never Ending - there is quite a story around that one, even some danger?
(He wrote that with Eugenesz Komorowski, a Polish POW in WWII who was shot in the Katyn massacre.) Dad was drinking at the VFW - Komorowski was a janitor there. Someone suggested dad should buy the guy some drinks and get him to talk about WWII. It took a lot of visits and drinks to get him to open up to dad and talk. Somehow, he was threatened from the Russian secret service because it implicated them. So, he moved around the country and was too scared to talk. Obviously there was truth to that when we started getting harassed. It started with phone calls and someone speaking what we thought was Russian. Then, they would call and hang up, over and over again. Finally, a car would pull up into the driveway with lights onto the house at night and just sit out there. As kids, my sister, brother, and I didn't understand the extent or know the details, but Mom was afraid and Dad, less. After Night Never Ending came out, Reader's Digest was going to pick it up, but then decided against it - there were already Cold War problems and they didn't want to enflame things with Russia. The rights to turn the book into a movie have been bought a couple of times, but no one seemed to want to go through with that.

I heard that you discovered something in 2016?
We were going through some of Dad's old things and found a completed manuscript, titled "The Butterfly Doctor!" We didn't even know he had written another novel. It is completely different than his other books, with spies and suspense. It is about his brother, Jim, whose passion was to rescue animals and any living thing, including an injured butterfly - my favorite of his yet. We are in the process of getting that typed into the computer (it is all type written) and we'll see if anyone is interested in publishing it.

Anything more about your dad, about writing specifically?
When he was in his room or cabin writing, we weren't supposed to go in and bother him; but, if we did, he was never angry or annoyed. He was always so kind!

Which is exactly how I remember Joseph Lee Gilmore to always be - very kind! A special thanks to Jody for allowing me to interview her and to her sister, Billie, for being available to answer the unknowns!

Known Books, dates are publication dates-

"Nick Carter" Series:
Strike of the Hawk - 1980
War from the Clouds - 1980
The Treason Games - 1982
The Christmas Kill - 1983
Operation Vendetta - 1983
San Juan Inferno - 1984
Last Flight to Moscow - 1985
The Assassin Convention - 1985

Vendetta - 1973
Night Never Ending - 1974
Rattlers - 1979
Blue Flame - 1982

The Butterfly Doctor - hopefully sometime soon!

An additional "PS" to this - My mom and Jody have been close friends since they were 11 and 12 years old. My brother is named after a combination of both of their father's - William Joseph.

My next 30 years...

No, this blog is not about the Tim McGraw song. :O haha

Thirty years ago tomorrow (June 21st, but knowing my tomorrow will be crazy, I post this today!), I was diagnosed with Acute Lymphocitic Leukemia. As a "high-risk" patient, older than the usual age of diagnoses, and it being the late 80s, my chances for leaving the hospital were a bit grim. All that being said - here I am, 30 years past expiration date - alive!

I was perusing the statistics on survival…the amount of us who have had secondary cancers and other life threatening illnesses due to the treatment of our cancers is mind boggling. I truly am lucky that all of my "long tern/late term side effects" of years of chemotherapy and radiation have been limited to chronic illnesses, auto-immunity diseases, and some geriatric issues! Then, there are the children - yet again, blessed to be in the limited group who have actually been able to bear kids!

Experiencing cancer and the thirty years that have followed - all of it has taught me a plethora of attributes and values that I doubt I would have gleaned without the experience, at least not at such a young age! Understanding the frailty of the human body instilled a true value of life and the importance of expressing to loved ones their value - to see the person inside, not the shell. It taught me patience - hours waiting for doctors, blood tests, procedures, and treatments will do that to a kid! Twelve hours for a blood draw, doctor visit, a unit of plasma, and chemo most definitely is only passed with patience!

Bravery and courage - the two are actually different. Bravery is having the mental and moral strength to face danger, fear, or difficulty. Courage takes that a step forward - it ventures, preservers, and withstands danger, fear, or difficulty. (Thank you to Merriam-Webster dictionary.) My experiences taught me both, in facing the truth of what was happening, of whatever bone marrow biopsy or spinal tap was on the horizon (bravery) and then to withstand it (courage).

Compassion towards others, true empathy and understanding, no matter how the person looks or acts, is something that became a part of me. Usually young kids and teens aren't around too many others who are missing an arm or leg, are bald, have odd scars on their bodies, or the likes. This was part of my life, whether in the hospital, at the clinic, or at cancer camp, I was surrounded by kids and teens who didn't "look" normal. Seeing past whatever is "different" about a person, seeing them - who they really are, is experience that I gleaned through those years and have held onto til this day.

Perseverance, despite the mountain looming ahead or the years it will take the climb it, knowing all the while that hardships will abound - again, something ingrained into who I was and became. This is something from my mom's journal and my after thoughts, added a few years later.  My mountain: two and a half years of chemotherapy, radiation, blood tests, surgeries, bone marrow biopsies, spinal taps, shots in the arms and legs, hospitalizations; with side effects ranging from nausea and vomitting to balding, weight gain, fatigue, hearing loss, and pain. It was my mountain with two and a half years to climb. (Mom in black, me in red.)

June 22, 1988 (Wednesday, talking about Tuesday) 6:41AM, at Oakwood Apartments

Yesterday was overwhelming. In the morning after, not much rest and fitful at that…Dr. Groncy came in and did the bone marrow test. Mark was there, too. God’s grace was so evident, Beth was great! But oh how I hurt and felt sick at what she had to go through. Lord, thank you for keeping her IV line open.

The things that I remember – My nurse put some meds in my IV that made me feel a little groggy, but not sleep. Many nurses came into the room with the doctor, apparently to hold me down (which was much scarier than the thought of a pencil size needle going into my help - I am so claustrophobic!) They agreed to not hold me down (I was on my stomach) as long as I didn't move. I didn't move an inch! Dr. Groncy had a very difficult time getting the marrow out and literally had to be on top of me to pull it out. A small piece of bone even dislodged! I remember that dad had to leave the room, red-eyed, and trying not to be sick. Mom also told me that she prayed that she wouldn’t have to throw up watching the test. I didn’t move at all and the nurses started to leave, one by one, which made me feel more at ease, even with the doctor grunting at the pulling!

Mom and Billy, Mark, Beth, and I all went to a conference room after the bone marrow. The social worker, psychologist, and Jo (the nurse) were there as well as Dr. Groncy and Cindy, our day nurse. Dr. Groncy said that Beth has leukemia. Today we will find out the specifics for treatment and chemo will begin today.

I remember this, as well – I think the main reason why I remembered was because there were a lot of people in the room and everyone was so somber, minus me and my brother, who now goes by William. I didn't understand the gravity of how ill I was or exactly what was beyond the horizon, though. I just felt that finally, after months of  feeling unwell, something was going to make it better.

10 :40PM, June 22nd (Wednesday), 1988 – the Hospital

Beth had a rough day – blood work drawn, the bone marrow, a nuclear (injected) heart study. 

Today we got Beth’s treatment schedule from Dr. Groncy. It sounds so scary.

For that, I was a bit bored, quite frankly. Mom and Dad were handed a thick stack of papers with drugs, schedules, side effects, and the likes. I could see mom was overwhelmed, though – even though she tried not to act like it. I didn't grasp the gravity of what I was looking at - literally, the next two and a half years of my life were written in ink. 

If I continued to divulge the many lessons learned through those years, it would become pages of a book - which it very well may become someday! My last thirty years: all the above, finishing school, traveling the world and living in four more states, marrying my college sweetheart, giving birth to three miracle children, writing a novel, teaching high school homeschoolers, homeschooling my own kids, creating and running a non-profit for pediatric bone marrow transplant kids…being a part of an amazing family, meeting and cultivating life-long friendships, growing hair (!!), and being alive! As for my next thirty years? Who knows - watching my kids grow up and have lives of their own, witnessing various penned pages publicized, growing old with my husband, still having hair (!!), and alive!

Here's to all of our next 30 years!