The act of naming

We found four ticks on the dog already and it’s barely May!

I meditated the other day. It’s not a habit although I wish it was. I was at the upstairs window overlooking the backyard. I could see the woods and the river, and to the right, a stream. At that moment I looked at it and thought “stream” and that was all it was. Suddenly I wondered how a small child who didn’t have words yet would see the stream.

I tried looking at the stream again with this perspective. The stream caught the rays of the setting sun and sparkled and meandered in between the trees. It became a magical glittering shining thread in the landscape. I watched it without naming it and it became something fascinating and joyful. A child who does not think “Oh, the sun is just reflecting on the water” would believe in magic.

The act of naming separates us and makes the thing or person we’re naming an ordinary object. If we consciously give up automatically attaching a name or a ready explanation, the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

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Eagle Mountain

Yesterday we went on a hike near where we live.  Someday we’ll have to come back here just as the sun is setting over the lake.

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Spring break

Usually, at some point in March, you begin to feel spring underneath the cold.  Something in the air changes and you know spring is nearly here.  Not this March.  Underneath the cold, there was just more cold.

Then suddenly, last week, nearly 80 degree weather.  It went from January to June, weather-wise.  I am basking in it.  As soon as the temperature hit 50 a couple weeks ago, I was in my running clothes and out the door.  Have been running ever since, along with yardwork and sitting out on the deck and grilling steaks.  All the windows are open and sunlight and breezes move throughout the house.

This week is spring break.  My sleep pattern has been somewhat off kilter ever since we got back from San Diego, so I’m taking the opportunity to catch up on sleep and do various projects.   My only other goal is to go see “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” at some point.  Next weekend I visit my Mom!

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Peace

Last night, just before bed, I went into the guest room and got Nana’s afghan.  I tried to sleep but no luck.  I was wide awake until 4 am or so. I alternated between almost irrationally wishing Nana into heaven, my memories, and passing time on the laptop. I had Nana’s afghan, the one she made for me when I was a little kid, wrapped around me. I could feel the weight and warmth of it. For the first time in many years, I noticed the blue tag sewn in one corner, “Made with love by Nana”.

I stumbled into work on 3 hours of sleep. Word came that day. Nana died at 3:02 am.

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Saying goodbye

Nana is dying. She is very special to me.

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Nana, you were my playmate, my helper, my role model and my teacher. Your patience was infinite and your love never wavered.

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This is one of my favorite pictures, of Nana as a young woman. It must have been taken in the 1920s, but that dress and shoes would still be stylish today! I’ll bet you a hundred dollars the picture was taken outside of a church.

Goodbye, Nana. I love you more than words can say.

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Eat Pray Love

This book is soooo good.

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lol

Happy Easter, even if it is way too early and not remotely spring-like outside.

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To be insulted or not to be

As someone who had internalized hearing culture and values growing up, I was pretty definite about what was a compliment (”I couldn’t tell you had a hearing loss”) and what felt insulting (I now feel ashamed to say that once upon a time, calling me ‘deaf’ or asking me if I used sign language felt insulting.) Now I feel uprooted, in a limbo of sorts. What is oppressive? What should I be proud of? What is politically correct? What isn’t?

The other day, someone who oversees my position at work (in a marginal way, I don’t see or meet with him regularly) noticed my hearing aids for the first time. He asked about them (interestingly, as soon as he started asking about my hearing loss, he took a step backwards and lowered his voice) and I answered his questions (while taking a step forward and straining to understand.) He said he used to work with the Deaf at a school for many years, then stated “I could tell something was different about your voice, and I thought you had some hearing loss.” He is the second person I’ve ever met who said that my voice sounded different.

Whenever I am caught off guard, I respond with a smile, protecting the other person’s feelings rather than my own. My immediate inner reaction, however, is to feel indignant and defensive. But I have no idea how to respond and properly show that to someone. This time I thought about it again and thought maybe I should consider it a compliment of sorts! I am NOT hearing so why should I expect to come across as 100% hearing when I am not? I should take pride in the fact that my voice is different! Right?

I told Steve about it and he was pissed. He felt it was rude and we joked about how it would come across if it was said about any other handicap or condition. “You’re blind? Oh, I could tell because you have a cane and bump into things.” “You’re fat? Oh, I could tell because I saw you eat a huge buffet.” “You’re crippled? Oh, I could tell because you have a wheelchair.”

Today I was in the living room. I heard Steve in the kitchen groan and say “Oh no!” A couple seconds later, two Mormon types were at the door. It was too late for me to hide, I had to answer the door because they could see me in the living room. One woman immediately started signing, “you’re deaf?” Taken by surprise, I responded automatically, verbally “I’m hearing impaired.” Then in the back of my mind, I remember that the deaf community considers ‘hearing impaired’ as a politically incorrect term. Wasn’t I going to start saying that I was deaf anyway? Clearly it is not a word that comes to me easily even now.

Now we’re all confused. What does it mean if I’m hearing impaired? They don’t know. I don’t really know. The woman plunges on, tentatively using signs and then eventually signing less and talking more. She looks increasingly uncomfortable. I try to make them feel better with smiles, even though I think religious people who go door to door trying to convert people are insane.

Apparently, someone told the Mormons I had hearing loss and recommended me as someone to go to their services that will be in ASL on a certain date. I politely took their pamphlets and they left after that. Then I thought about how weird the whole thing was and should I take offense? I had been named and tracked down to my home purely based on my hearing loss. On the other hand, perhaps it was considerate to inform me of an event in the community that had accommodations and would have benefited from if I was fluent in ASL. Oh, and also if I was an insane religious person.

Either way. The confusion is a part of a cultural lens and identity shift and it is interesting to see how it changes my experience.

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Speechless

This is the weirdest, most perplexing topic I’ve ever read about.  Ever. I had no idea this existed.

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Home again

After much delay, we took off in a blizzard, barely managed to catch a flight in Newark that routed us to Houston, spent the night in the baggage claim area, and finally, after 24 hours, landed in San Diego. We may as well have landed in another world, given the extreme opposites in weather.

I spent a week being intoxicated on sunlight and the smell of large exotic flowers blooming everywhere. We visited good friends, the zoo, Balboa Park, gardens, a museum, Old Town, Coronado, Stone brewery in Escondido, three different beaches, cliffs, and tidepools.

Thankfully the red eye flight home was uneventful and it wasn’t long before we were dragging our suitcases through snow, ice, and slush.

I’m still recuperating. What a week!

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