A Job to be Envied

           Although I am not "gainfully employed" at the present moment, I do have a job. Well, actually, I have several: I am a full-time wife, mom/Grandmum, home maker, business mentor, driving instructor, unlicensed plumber (with 4 fixed toilets & a sink faucet replacement to my credit), rookie sailor, autism expert, public speaker, lifelong learner, scanner, home-school supervisor on break,  mediocre cook (but decent yogurt-maker), writer, mixed media/ upcycling artist, kayak queen, sporadic runner, cyclist, Irish dancer, athlete, standardized patient & clinical skills instructor, actress, props mistress, chauffeur, bicycle repairman, photographer, carpenter, and poet; the list implies I don't do any of the above well.  This is not intended to be an apology.

          I don't do a good job keeping the house neat or clean.  I try. Really. But I live with seven people, and an eighth who spends a great deal of time here--except for sleeping. And I've never been neat. Ask any of my siblings or former roommates. I am organizationally challenged. But that's not the topic of this entry.

          My employment status is rather uncategorizable. (Sorry, Spellcheck.)  I recognize this period of my life as valuable, although the IRS may rank 2013 as one of my lowest income years. I have survived 19 years of diapering babies and toddlers, and 7 years as caregiver to an elderly parent. Perhaps this is my only chance to catch my breath and take stock of where I've been and where I am meant to be.
      
       The following poem describes my kayak trip this week--when I finally got to see a bald eagle while on the water after years of searching them out. It is justification for my role as unpaid poet & lover of nature.
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Cicadas roar
Drowning out the din
Of vehicles rushing
Over the highway bridges
Mourning the demise 
Of the weekend gone by.

Birds on tiny islands chant
Prayers to dawn they've yet to see
From their western vantage point
Where shadows of night linger
Oblivious to the fact
That Monday is here.

Egrets, white as the sparse clouds
Swallow sunlight and emit it 
From their pure feathers
Their graceful movement celebrates
The epitome of their beauty.

Slow river carries us
Above its shallow basin
Green weeds dance like hula dancer skirts
Tickling our boats as we glide over them
Warm water drips off our paddles
Onto our arms
Splashing its way back in.

Our trio of paddlers
Immensely grateful
That we travel here beneath the Rat Race
Appearing subdued and serene
Masking our exuberance
For our meanderings
On this utterly perfect summer day.

We feel in our bones
How vital it is
For us to connect to nature's beauty
Instead of losing our souls
In pursuit of passing material gain
In some God-forsaken cubicle.

We take our coffee break
Drinking from a steaming thermos
Blue kayaks nestled in a muddy bank
Of an island rookery
We savor the sweetness of blueberry scones
Watching the everyday lives
Of egrets, herons, and cormorants
And discussing politics
Out of earshot of supervisors
Not envying those of our species
Showering for work at home.

 As we paddle along 
The shady groves between the islands
Soothed by the breeze 
On our suntanned skin
We caught sight
Of a lone bald eagle
Wingspan as wide as our boats
Soaring to a perch above us
Studying our fleet from his vantage point.

We paused in awe to admire him
In his regal majesty 
Marveling at our fortune
For finally finding him
The illusive symbol
Of our nation
After years of hoping
To catch just a glimpse of one of his breed
On our river sojourns.

I brush aside my twinge of guilt
For indulging in
What some might regard
As truancy from my domestic duties
And thank God for my youthful sense of adventure
And my current state of mid-life physical fitness
While many of my age-peers
Show signs of decline
Trapped inside their vehicles
 On their way to Friday's paycheck.

Art Ventures

       SuzyOzone Art Studio is not open for guests...not yet, at least.  But for the curious among my friends, I'm willing to give a peek. As a mixed-media/up-cycle artist, my collection of supplies takes up more space than it merits.  Last week, I took a trip to the Habitat Re-Store & Creative Re-Use shops in Lancaster and came home with an abundance of treasures. I should put it in my will that if I pass away before using up all my creative resources, I bequeath the remainder back to those two wonderful businesses. I'm hoping my family won't turn me over the the reality TV show about hoarders in the meantime.

    Some of my more organized friends who have succeeded at de-junking, Feng shui, and removing all clutter a la St. Francis of Assisi, would have to sit me down to a serious lecture. That's why I keep earplugs on hand. Of course, they are right, and change is necessary--but the one principle they suggest is not bringing anything into the house without an immediate use or a place to live. And put your toys away when you are done playing...don't they know I'm NEVER done??!!

    Anyway, I feel I must give evidence that I am trying. I re-purposed an old box spring into an upright wall storage unit for some of my art supplies. I stripped it down to the wooden frame, stapled in 18 cardboard envelope boxes (salvaged from my brief stint working at an insurance agency), and decorated it. I do more art if I can see where I put my things.  Using hot glue, I connected wood chess pieces up and down the front sides of the frame--you can see my assortment of scissors displayed on them:

It may be hard to see in the photo, but a set of vintage building blocks spells out the name of the studio down the center post. The two middle-left shelves have white popsicle molds holding paint markers.
 
In order to prove there was a good reason to save empty prescription bottles--I connected a bunch of them onto a backboard, covered them with red satin ribbon and fabric trim, and sorted out my collection of Sharpie markers.

There are always multiple projects in process simultaneously. I steal a few minutes here and there to work on them. Several have been completed recently: a miniature blanket box and a sculpture of  house cleaning fairies..

                    This is on the back of the fairies sculpture: "I wish the cleaning fairies believed in us like we believe in them."

    Oil on canvas (yes, I occasionally work in traditional media) of a seascape. You have to squint really hard to see me in my sailboat near the horizon.

 I didn't do the drawing: it's from a gift bag used for European postcards (I think). Looks like Old Amsterdam, and it may have come from the gift shop of the Van Gogh Museum. It is colored with brush markers and some color has bled through from a food-dye stained paper towel decoupaged underneath it.

   Mixed media from an altered book titled: My Life as a Trapeze Artist. I started many years ago. The photo of the wooden puppets was taken in Austria in a toyshop window.

 

  More mixed media from the same book; the images are of Kabuki dancers from an old book about Japan.  

 Acrylic paint and iridescent medium on leather.  This is a work in progress. Waiting for ideas to strike.
That's all for now. Bug me and I'll post more.

"iPod is disabled. Try again in 22,718,572 minutes."

"iPod is disabled. Try again in 22,718,572 minutes."

 by Susan Oscilowski

published in Youth Advocate Program  Autism Spectrum Disorders Newsletter May/June 2013 

copyright 2013

Color me clueless when it comes to technology, so if this message appeared on my device, I'd shriek and then calmly hand it over to one of my sons.  As my personal tech-support team, Robert and John Paul know what to do, just as I know which articles of clothing should never go in a washer or dryer.  I have learned to delegate any task involving gadgets, knowing that I'd sooner put defective items into electronic recycling than even consider repairing them.

But the ominous-sounding warning struck my friend Anne's device, and we laughed about the message as we both took a rare afternoon together for coffee.  When I mentioned it to Robert, he explained something I couldn't repeat here if I tried-and John Paul chimed in, attempting to translate the solution into a language he thought I might understand...at 15, he's still too naïve to know it's hopeless to expect I'll ever get it. But I think they were confident the iPod could be reset electronically-I was able to comprehend at least that much.

Anne's teen son Billy, wanting to use his younger brother's iPod, apparently entered every mathematical algorithm he knows to find the password to allow him access. It's in their genes to unlock hidden code, and our sons share a similar knack for knowing how to operate machinery equipped with a motherboard, chip, or other magical widget. Tommy thought his cleverness would prevent Billy from using his iPod, but although Billy didn't get in, he made it nearly impossible for either of them to be able to use it.

Just how long will it take before Anne's boys will be able to try to get back in? Using an app that converts minutes to years, she discovered that 22.7 million minutes is about 43 years. The brothers will be in their 50's, and the device would have been obsolete for nearly 42 years, based on my observations. Anne will be quite elderly by then, and if I'm alive, I'll be approaching the century mark.

My intention for this article was to share some advice, hope, ideas, or stories with others who like Anne and me, are blessed to raise children on the autism spectrum. The topic wasn't supposed to be about devices, but there's a reason I am redirecting my thoughts into that realm. As a student in a Communication Mentor course, one of my assignments was to assist individuals with verbal challenges--- and their parents or supporters---in experimenting with a variety of devices designed to overcome deficits in spoken language. I brought an iPad to Billy, and because of his amazing capacity to operate computers, it was a near-perfect fit. (They just had to figure how to lock him out of Angry Birds.)

Youth Advocate Programs' philosophy of presuming intellect applies here: even though we can't understand what Billy tries to communicate to us on a daily basis, he is always trying. For more than a year, he has been using Proloquo on his iPad, and has made great advances in speech and expressive language. Three of my sons have a diagnosis of ASD, and like Billy and Tommy, they have genius oozing out of their pores. Although my boys have not had impairment in expressive language, it's easy to see why outsiders might not view them as intellectually gifted. And artistically gifted. If I didn't have a space limit on my writing, I'd happily go into more details about them.

We are living in an age unlike any other because we have tools at our disposal to break silences and dispel stereotypes which have left so many people with harmful and downright wrong labels and assessments. We had the fortune to meet many people in the Communication Mentor course who have much to teach the rest of us about their hidden gifts.

At a conference on the West Coast, 6 of my kids and I met one great example of this. Peyton Goddard of San Diego sheds powerful light on breaking silence. As someone trapped without capacity for speech for two decades, she harbored deep insights and profound comprehension about the world around and inside of her. At the conference, her mother read Peyton's poetry; her presentation knocked my socks off.  Our presentation of Irish dance that evening had a similar effect on her, as she needed strong persuasion by her father to leave us after we finished our show and took time to meet her and her family.

Until the bonds were broken as a young adult, she was thought to be severely intellectually disabled, and faced a life I wouldn't wish on my worse enemies. In her book, I am Intelligent, co-authored by her mother Dianne Goddard, Peyton chronicles an interior life and incredible journey filled with despair and hope. Her breakthrough came, when at age 22, she typed "i am intlgnt" on an electronic device offered by Dr. Robert Friedman-who, like her parents, knew that Peyton had much to share with the world after being dismissed. She is the first person in the US to graduate as valedictorian from college using facilitated communication. Her book is not for the faint of heart, but I couldn't put it down as I laughed, cried, and gasped through the contents.

Billy won't have to wait 22.7 million minutes to try to gain access to his brother's disabled iPod. Someone will figure out how to fix it. This energetic teen is already proving what Anne and other family members knew all along: that he possesses gifts which need to be unwrapped and enjoyed. We all do.

Gotta love October days

                                               CLINGING TO TODAY

Mid-October mid-day sun

Cajoles me to squint against her radiance,

A breeze I can barely feel

Peels the golden brown leaves

From their grasping branches.

Ceremoniously they process

To their graduation,

Descending in clearly defined groups--

Stripping the splendid forest array

Softly into grey.

I crunch a firm crimson treat

With tongue and teeth--

It bursts with tart juice swimming

Along my grateful taste buds.

The flavor sings me a memory of decades

Dwelling in days like this one to savor

Crunching raked piles of glee

Under stomping giddy feet.

Inside, a fleece jacket waits its turn

To wrap me in comfort,

Assured I won’t neglect it much longer

As days get shorter.

But this day my naked arms accept

A few more bronze freckles

Destined to last till I wither

Unlike the crispy brown specks

On route to decay.

Yesterday’s rain softened the mud;

Compressing the scribbled-crayon carpet,

Tickling my nostrils with a lasting perfume

I suction it deep into lungs and retain it.

Black locust saplings, bedecked in oval emeralds

Defy the annual aging of elderly neighbors.

A dozen Phoenix trees, as big as me

Sprung from the seeded ashes

Of parents toppled by fierce winds

This time last year;

The orphans mock the murderers

Who toppled in terror

Ancestors quaking their burial grounds

With great drama before they succumbed to slumber.

Upon this fertile earth

Which gave them birth

The children rose swiftly,

Like an army, strong and plentiful

Climbing independently

Towards cerulean skies.

As I sit, crickets belt out solos;

Paired cicadas do duets,

Their tune the dirge of siblings laid to rest;

Redheaded woodpeckers add percussion

Hammering beaks for smaller relatives

Of the noisy procrastinators avoiding naps.

I toss the core of my Winesap sucked dry

Contributing to the sweet stench of decay

Hoping the soil will be as satisfied

With my donation

As I linger

Still squinting

Ignoring chores which will still be

Wanting to be done

After I drink in what remains

Of this impeccable day.

SuzyOzone

10/24/12

Losing It part 3

For those of my readers who have seen my recent posts on Facebook, you already know this...or some if it. For others who don't have valuable time to waste on social networks--techno-gossip--hope you get a laugh.
As a follow-up to a recent post here, I did locate the missing new phone in my husband's car--it had slid down the front passenger seat on the side by the door. Finding it only brought a pale sense of relief. Five days later, the new phone parachuted from the pocket of my pants into a flushing toilet. I never saw it go in, but heard it, and knew from the ache in my stomach that I wasn't going to find it under the cabinet in the powder room, where I'd hoped beyond reason that it would appear.
Stop laughing! It's not that funny. Nor is it uncommon. The comments on my FB post revealed many stories of cellphone mishaps.
I had just transferred a large collection of phone numbers off the old cell, and didn't get rid of it. A few hours later, I heard a faint buzzing sound from the potty where it took a nosedive. A brief session with a plunger retrieved it, and withing a few days of letting it dry out in a jar of rice, it still has capacity to function, at least as a camera or storage device for MP3 files. The new one--if it survives past the two year expiration date for the insurance policy--will suffice for now.

Employments Symposium

I headed to Philadelphia today with 7 of my kids to take part in an event sponsored by Networks for Training & Development. Last year, I took a course with them to become a Communication Mentor, hoping to work with individuals who are non-verbal. Learning about Assistive Technologies has opened  my mind to a paradigm shift; being able to facilitate communication for people with physical and intellectual challenges has had some amazing results.
While attending classes at Arcadia University, I met some amazing people. Jill Gromen was one of the organizers for today's event, and she & I had some conversations about my son's experiences with a mentor who led him to find work doing photography and video production & editing. Chris made his debut as a speaker, taking part on a panel with three other young people overcoming obstacles like he has. He was eloquent as he shared his relationship with his  hero, and told the story of how meeting Bill led to his pursuit of an entrepreneur venture. His presentation was met with overwhelming approval, as was his display of his photography, and his short video clip from his latest soccer film.
The O'Clan Contingent of the Rebel Heart Irish Dancers (Miss Stephanie, Andrew, Robert, Maria, John Paul, Teresa, and I) performed during the lunch break. Miss Stephanie talked about the founding, growth, and development of the troupe, and our mission in education, entertainment, community involvement, and outreach.
She explained how her siblings take part in almost all of shows, and help with teaching, choreography, costume design & construction, running shows, and taking care of all aspects of business.
It was difficult to leave the Crowne Plaza, because so many of the participants were overwhelmed with the contributions we made to the event.
Miss Stephanie got an email from the organizers of this year's TASH conference in November. They said they were reviewing  our proposal to perform and present our story at this year's event in California. They are trying to see if they can fit us into the schedule (and hopefully fund our travel and lodging expenses). I am keeping my fingers crossed and my outlook hopeful.
I'll update when I hear more.
And speaking of updates, my poem "Silent Voice" was rejected for this year's version of Wild Onions Magazine. I'll get over it. It was meant for Alina--not everyone affiliated with Penn State College of Medicine Department of Humanities, after all. And she & her mom loved it. In the end, that's all that matters.

Crowning Moments

Allow me to gush about the amazing experience of being a part of the Rebel Heart Irish Dance family. The 100+ member troupe has officially adopted me as "Mum" of all. It's no surprise that non-Oscilowski dancers and their families touch my heart. I can't tell you how many times other people's children have brought tears to my eyes. Our show this week at Cumberland Crossings in Carlisle was a great example.
Anan, one of the youngest dancers, tends to steal any show that he and his 3 year old sister Alana perform with us. They exceed the quota of cuteness allowed in any one place.
Anan performed a 2-hand ceili with my son Andrew. Andrew is 19 and stands about 6 feet tall, and Anan who just turned 5, is short for his age. As they prepared to dance, and Miss Stephanie was telling the audience about what they were doing, Anan looked up at Andrew with such admiration, you'd think he was holding hands with God. The beaming smile on his face as he looked at his towering partner was one I will cherish.
I doubt that many residents of Cumberland Crossing noticed how well Andrew performed the step, as they were too charmed by the little guy hanging on for dear life at the hands of his mentor.
Andrew's mission has been to recruit the young boys who get dragged to the studio for their sisters' lessons. He has privately tutored many of them, and attends the lower level classes to give instruction and encouragement to the males wanting to emulate him and his brothers John Paul and Robert. Although he is humble about his dancing feats, Andrew has won the hearts of many, including the boys who look forward to their time in class and at shows.
What a gift!