Sunday, September 28, 2008
Blogging break
Life has become too stressed. My coursework is gobbling up all my time, so I am discontinuing posting for a while.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Memory Walk
I've pasted below an email I sent out yesterday. I think it speaks for itself.
Five years ago today, my father died from complications related to Alzheimer's disease. Before that day, it had been around 2-3 years since he'd recognized me. It was only a matter of time before my sisters and eventually our mother were also washed from his memory by this horrible, devastating disease.
Related to his Alzheimer's condition, Dad also had developed Parkinson syndrome, a disease scientists think may be fundamentally related to Alzheimer's as often people diagnosed with one will develop signs of the other. I cannot begin to describe the emotions that rose in me as my father's health deteriorated, as his mind which he'd taken such pride in and his body began to fail him. However, I can say that his death at the age of 71 was actually a relief, both for him and for the rest of the family. We knew he would not get better, and watching him literally lose his mind was torture every day.
So, I write to you today, not for sympathy but to ask that you join me at 1 p.m. Oct. 5 at Stephens Lake Park in Columbia (Broadway and Old Hwy 63) for Memory Walk, a fundraising and attention raising event sponsored by the Alzheimer's Association. This organization provided information and support to my family as we grappled with Dad's illness, and now I'd like to give back. Please help me do so. Please follow the link listed in the message below and join my team, The Literate Ones (https://www.kintera.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=275436&team=3174799). Or create a team of your own and walk in honor or memory of someone you love.
One final thing to consider: since my grandmother died with Alzheimer's and my father died with Alzheimer's and unless I die in a car accident or some other unforseen cause, I have greater chances of dying with, if not from, Alzheimer's disease. So, if you won't walk for my dad, my grandmother, or someone else you know, would you please walk for me? The research that the Alzheimer's Association supports may be the very studies that will enable me not to develop the disease that took my father from me way too soon. Thanks for your support. I appreciate your friendship and understand if you are unable to attend the walk. Your thoughts on that day will also sustain those of us who are able to attend.
Rebecca
Five years ago today, my father died from complications related to Alzheimer's disease. Before that day, it had been around 2-3 years since he'd recognized me. It was only a matter of time before my sisters and eventually our mother were also washed from his memory by this horrible, devastating disease.
Related to his Alzheimer's condition, Dad also had developed Parkinson syndrome, a disease scientists think may be fundamentally related to Alzheimer's as often people diagnosed with one will develop signs of the other. I cannot begin to describe the emotions that rose in me as my father's health deteriorated, as his mind which he'd taken such pride in and his body began to fail him. However, I can say that his death at the age of 71 was actually a relief, both for him and for the rest of the family. We knew he would not get better, and watching him literally lose his mind was torture every day.
So, I write to you today, not for sympathy but to ask that you join me at 1 p.m. Oct. 5 at Stephens Lake Park in Columbia (Broadway and Old Hwy 63) for Memory Walk, a fundraising and attention raising event sponsored by the Alzheimer's Association. This organization provided information and support to my family as we grappled with Dad's illness, and now I'd like to give back. Please help me do so. Please follow the link listed in the message below and join my team, The Literate Ones (https://www.kintera.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=275436&team=3174799). Or create a team of your own and walk in honor or memory of someone you love.
One final thing to consider: since my grandmother died with Alzheimer's and my father died with Alzheimer's and unless I die in a car accident or some other unforseen cause, I have greater chances of dying with, if not from, Alzheimer's disease. So, if you won't walk for my dad, my grandmother, or someone else you know, would you please walk for me? The research that the Alzheimer's Association supports may be the very studies that will enable me not to develop the disease that took my father from me way too soon. Thanks for your support. I appreciate your friendship and understand if you are unable to attend the walk. Your thoughts on that day will also sustain those of us who are able to attend.
Rebecca
Friday, September 12, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Blessed
Yet another week without any writing I'm at all comfortable sharing. Yikes. I hope the semester settles down some. So, instead I'm going to share an epiphany I experienced this week.
On Thursday evenings I'm enrolled in Qualitative Research Methods I. Can I just say ick? This past Thursday was a revelation in how little I know and how little I processed the reading assignment. I thought I had a firm understanding of feminism and critical race theory, but the prof and some other students proved me oh, so wrong (picture me frowning, thinking "what the heck did she just say...did she even speak English?").
Anyway, the professor said that each week two or so of us would share bits about our lives, as who we are and our belief systems we bring to our research will often color what we find. He began by sharing a bit about himself. Wow. First of all, he grew up in a Soviet block nation during the height of the cold war. His college was so poor that each class had two books: one for the professor, one for all the students to share. They had one tv channel that broadcast for 5-6 hours a day. They couldn't speak out at all about the government, even in their own homes, or they'd be put in prison or worse.
The longer he talked and shared how he came to the US and the conditions he grew up in, the more I realized how damn lucky I am. Yes, I have student loans that only my death will repay in full. Yes, I'm concerned about gas prices rising and the cost of health care. But...I have all the materials and more that I need to complete my coursework. I'm reasonably healthy and can afford and have access to health programs, like the yoga class I've been trying to sign up for all weekend. I am soooooo blessed. While my father is dead (5 years this coming Saturday), my mother is only 4 hours away by car and immediately accessible by telephone...as are my sisters I grew up with. I am so fortunate...it's pitiful that I needed the reminder.
Have a great week. I'll be enjoying the cooler temperatures.
On Thursday evenings I'm enrolled in Qualitative Research Methods I. Can I just say ick? This past Thursday was a revelation in how little I know and how little I processed the reading assignment. I thought I had a firm understanding of feminism and critical race theory, but the prof and some other students proved me oh, so wrong (picture me frowning, thinking "what the heck did she just say...did she even speak English?").
Anyway, the professor said that each week two or so of us would share bits about our lives, as who we are and our belief systems we bring to our research will often color what we find. He began by sharing a bit about himself. Wow. First of all, he grew up in a Soviet block nation during the height of the cold war. His college was so poor that each class had two books: one for the professor, one for all the students to share. They had one tv channel that broadcast for 5-6 hours a day. They couldn't speak out at all about the government, even in their own homes, or they'd be put in prison or worse.
The longer he talked and shared how he came to the US and the conditions he grew up in, the more I realized how damn lucky I am. Yes, I have student loans that only my death will repay in full. Yes, I'm concerned about gas prices rising and the cost of health care. But...I have all the materials and more that I need to complete my coursework. I'm reasonably healthy and can afford and have access to health programs, like the yoga class I've been trying to sign up for all weekend. I am soooooo blessed. While my father is dead (5 years this coming Saturday), my mother is only 4 hours away by car and immediately accessible by telephone...as are my sisters I grew up with. I am so fortunate...it's pitiful that I needed the reminder.
Have a great week. I'll be enjoying the cooler temperatures.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Oops! and Huzzah!
Okay, I just realized that I didn't post anything yesterday. Oops. So, since I haven't written anything worth sharing this week (ahem...it was the first week of classes, and I was experiencing difficulties adjusting...do you really want me to post my rant about Vygotsky? I think not), I'm just going to tell about a neat moment of fate intervening. :)
In October, I'm supposed to go to Atlanta (yes, the scene of my horrid trip full of melt-downs, see this post), and for the past three weeks I've been trying to find out if the national office or my university is supposed to pay the air travel expenses since it's a training session for the research I'm working on. Well, I found out Wednesday that MU pays the airfare (hooray! and since the conference is in just over a month, can we also yell out, expensive!). Needless to say, I'm frantically trying to get approval and all that stuff, when the divine Debbie (you rock!) sends me an email about a Mindful Writing conference in Atlanta that starts the day I was supposed to leave. Yes!
So, I'm ever so thankful that the people at national weren't on the ball (which is unusual for them) because fate, it seems, wanted me to go to this Mindfulness conference. Huzzah!
In October, I'm supposed to go to Atlanta (yes, the scene of my horrid trip full of melt-downs, see this post), and for the past three weeks I've been trying to find out if the national office or my university is supposed to pay the air travel expenses since it's a training session for the research I'm working on. Well, I found out Wednesday that MU pays the airfare (hooray! and since the conference is in just over a month, can we also yell out, expensive!). Needless to say, I'm frantically trying to get approval and all that stuff, when the divine Debbie (you rock!) sends me an email about a Mindful Writing conference in Atlanta that starts the day I was supposed to leave. Yes!
So, I'm ever so thankful that the people at national weren't on the ball (which is unusual for them) because fate, it seems, wanted me to go to this Mindfulness conference. Huzzah!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A visitor
Last night, a visitor came knocking [exaggeration] at my door. Actually, he was sloooooooowwwwwly creeping past my door. I don't remember fuzzies being quite so long or big around, and I seem to remember some old saw about the darker the fuzz, the harsher the winter. Hooray! Something to look forward to. By the way, sorry for the fuzziness (sorry, bad pun) of the shot. I'm still trying to learn how to work my new camera. :)
Olympics
My past two weeks have been dominated by the Olympic coverage from China. Last night, for instance, I stayed up into the wee hours (4 a.m. to be precise) to watch the United States win gold after defeating Spain. Since I'm not normally a night owl, I hope this post makes some modicum of sense. If it doesn't, I'm not going to worry about it, because nobody but me pays any attention to it anyway. :)
The media hype the medal count (USA lead with 110, but China had the most gold) and the world and Olympic records broken, like Phelps winning 8 gold medals and setting new records just about every time he dipped his pinkie toe into a puddle. However, I love watching the Olympics not only for these phenomenal feats of determination and talent but also because of the stories.
The Olympics generate such phenomenal narratives--of triumph and defeat. For example, take Henry Cejudo. He's the 21-year-old son of undocumented Mexican aliens (and doesn't that phrase just sound odd?). His father walked out on the family 17 year ago, and Cejudo's mother raised her six kids with help of friends and family, moving from apartment to apartment, working several jobs at a time to keep the family afloat. Cejudo says he wasn't a good student, which is partly his reason for not wrestling at the collegiate level. But he took a chance, deciding to wrestle in the senior circuit, and won BIG. That's a phenomenal story. That's a story that highlights not only the joys of the Olympics but the possibility inherent in living in America.
Or consider Tyson Gay. When he didn't qualify for 100m in track and field, he made no excuses. The interviewer and the commentary guys gave him plenty of opportunity to blame nursing a hamstring injury for not running fast enough to make the medal round, but he didn't take it. He flat out told the reporter, I just didn't get it done (that's not a direct quote, notice the lack of quotation marks). Wow. That's an awesome statement of personal responsibility in this age of celebrities (including athletes) and others who blame everyone and everything else for their own bad behaviors. Gay didn't win the gold (Usain Bolt did without even running full out, a kid-glove slap to those he ran against, but that's another day's posting topic), but Gay did win my admiration. That's a story I'd like American youth to hear. That's an attitude that should be emulated. You rock, Tyson Gay!
Stories like those are what make the Olympic games so dynamic. When watching, I want everyone to win (yes, even the non-USA people) because each one has a story of personal triumph and hardship. But I realize that just by being at the games, they've won already. These athletes have managed to accomplish feats that highly paid politicians cannot: they participate in a global contest with honor, respect, and pride, and manage to do so with little acrimony. The troubles in Georgia served to highlight the phenomenal accomplishments of the Olympic games. It saddens me that the world leaders cannot take a clue from these contestants and strive to live more respectfully with each other.
Yes, I know the Olympics had their problems (the Tae Kwon Do competitor who attacked a referee, the Swedish wrestler who through a fit when he didn't win and was later proven right that a call was especially bad [layers upon layers of problems there], or the Chinese gymnasts whose ages seem a little iffy). Overall, though, the games remind us of the possibilities, they encourage us to strive to be our best, they serve as hope that the future may be brighter than today.
Post script: Just a few minutes after writing the above message, I read the story of Samia Yusef Omar of Somalia. Samia is what the Olympics are really about. I'm not even going to try to retell her story; just read it.
The media hype the medal count (USA lead with 110, but China had the most gold) and the world and Olympic records broken, like Phelps winning 8 gold medals and setting new records just about every time he dipped his pinkie toe into a puddle. However, I love watching the Olympics not only for these phenomenal feats of determination and talent but also because of the stories.
The Olympics generate such phenomenal narratives--of triumph and defeat. For example, take Henry Cejudo. He's the 21-year-old son of undocumented Mexican aliens (and doesn't that phrase just sound odd?). His father walked out on the family 17 year ago, and Cejudo's mother raised her six kids with help of friends and family, moving from apartment to apartment, working several jobs at a time to keep the family afloat. Cejudo says he wasn't a good student, which is partly his reason for not wrestling at the collegiate level. But he took a chance, deciding to wrestle in the senior circuit, and won BIG. That's a phenomenal story. That's a story that highlights not only the joys of the Olympics but the possibility inherent in living in America.
Or consider Tyson Gay. When he didn't qualify for 100m in track and field, he made no excuses. The interviewer and the commentary guys gave him plenty of opportunity to blame nursing a hamstring injury for not running fast enough to make the medal round, but he didn't take it. He flat out told the reporter, I just didn't get it done (that's not a direct quote, notice the lack of quotation marks). Wow. That's an awesome statement of personal responsibility in this age of celebrities (including athletes) and others who blame everyone and everything else for their own bad behaviors. Gay didn't win the gold (Usain Bolt did without even running full out, a kid-glove slap to those he ran against, but that's another day's posting topic), but Gay did win my admiration. That's a story I'd like American youth to hear. That's an attitude that should be emulated. You rock, Tyson Gay!
Stories like those are what make the Olympic games so dynamic. When watching, I want everyone to win (yes, even the non-USA people) because each one has a story of personal triumph and hardship. But I realize that just by being at the games, they've won already. These athletes have managed to accomplish feats that highly paid politicians cannot: they participate in a global contest with honor, respect, and pride, and manage to do so with little acrimony. The troubles in Georgia served to highlight the phenomenal accomplishments of the Olympic games. It saddens me that the world leaders cannot take a clue from these contestants and strive to live more respectfully with each other.
Yes, I know the Olympics had their problems (the Tae Kwon Do competitor who attacked a referee, the Swedish wrestler who through a fit when he didn't win and was later proven right that a call was especially bad [layers upon layers of problems there], or the Chinese gymnasts whose ages seem a little iffy). Overall, though, the games remind us of the possibilities, they encourage us to strive to be our best, they serve as hope that the future may be brighter than today.
Post script: Just a few minutes after writing the above message, I read the story of Samia Yusef Omar of Somalia. Samia is what the Olympics are really about. I'm not even going to try to retell her story; just read it.
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