Filthy carpeting and flourescent lighting

I'm finding it hard to believe that my tenure at "clinic" is nearing it's finish. Sooner than I know it, I will be taking all the skills I've learned in that alternate-reality of a second home and attempt to apply them in that "real world" I keep hearing about.

What I refer to as "clinic" is the Communications Clinic of my University. As a first-year Masters student heading for a degree as a speech pathologist, I spend the vast majority of my time either at the clinic or preparing for my time at clinic. Clinic comprises a total-immersion approach to training us 38 would-bes in the multitudinous and extremely variable populations of people to whom we could or will attend to once we are graduated and certified.

Clinic has tested me. Tested all of us, I believe. It is a scant percentage of our credit load, but requires energy and ambition, hard-work and ingenuity on a regular basis. I have reached unprecedented lows and highs of pride as a direct result of the demands put to me from my clinical schedule. In the short period of nine-plus months, I have learned how to assess, diagnose, and treat the speech and language aspects of individuals ranging in age from infant to geriatric with countless different disorder types ranging from traumatic brain injury, to stroke, Parkinson's Disease, fetal alcohol syndrome, Autism, nerve damage, dyslexia, language impairments, to name but a few.

When I realized this was the path I wanted to pursue, I truly had no idea how much we were expected to know and how different the paths open before me would be. I could take this degree and work with infant children and their families on developmental issues; I could work at a hospital teaching post- coma patients how to swallow and eat again. I could work in a rehab facility teaching folks with brain-injuries how to read, and reason, and be appropriate again. I could work in a school with a caseload as wide as the sea and children with disorders as varied as snowflakes. It seems there is no end to the variety and choice and opportunity for learning something new every day along the way.

Grad school has kicked my butt just a bit, and clinic is where the hardest hours have been spent. Learning how to trust yourself enough to feel confident and competent with someone else's happiness and success at your nascent fingertips is not the simplest of journeys. This experience has humbled and encouraged me. I feel ready for the real world but look back and can easily see a time when I was not. I still have the sense that I have learned enough to only get me through the tip of that proverbial iceberg, but I also know that this is something I need to continue to grow and learn and feel the heft of my efforts. Challenge is a necessary factor in life if you expect yourself to grow outward and upward.

It's ironic to me that the place where I have learned so much, and faced so many internal personal battles, is as ugly as our clinic. Outdated and slated to be replaced this very fall (right after I am finished with it, of course), the clinic carpets are stained beyond belief, its white walls ridden with marks of unknown origin, and its lights garish in all their florescent glory. More than often, though, I find myself not noticing this. Not noticing and thinking more about the people who have aided me in my crazy trip through these past few semesters. My classmates and supervisors and above all my clients. Patient and supportive and challenging me at every turn, this world has changed me. Indelibly.

The Goodness of the Universe

After living in San Diego for almost two years, I finally made it down to Black's Beach for one of the infamous full moon parties on the longest day of the year. Except for two small problems: (1) the folks who organized this particular party neglected to check the lunar schedule regarding when, in fact, the moon would be full and (2), they also forgot to double check that it really was the summer solstice. They were a few days off on both counts and although the night was beautiful and well worth a sundown beer and bonfire, it was not quite the naked drum-beating hippie mass of lunar-love I was expecting. We ten and our one modest bonfire were the only things on the beach once the sun-worshippers disappeared along with their celestial idol.

Franco and I weren't quite as young or as energetic as the recent college graduates we hiked down the cliff-side to meet, so as they skipped and twirled along down the beach, he and I kept the pace to a saunter, holding hands in that sunset-on-the-beach idyllic way and letting go for brief moments to share a thought or tell a story. The subject of the safety of our things way back yonder came up, and I made the comment that I believe in the goodness of the Universe and that I knew our things would be just fine where they were. Despite the fact that I have had things stolen from me, and had people I trusted betray my loyalties, I still proceed on the concept of karmic retribution and know that the world needs all the positivity and loveliness it can get. I do my best to put it out there; do my part to balance that dark with glorious shining light. I figure it's the least I can do. We walked further away as the the ocean and the sun melted into one another, and turned back as the mist descended all around us. The other members of our group were but tiny frolicking silhouettes far in the thickening dusk. We two turned back through the creepy-strange sand bugs and lapping waves towards our things and our food.

Everything was there when we arrived to our unburnt wood, snacks and backpacks. The Universe delivered on my promise.

After a few hours of lounging in the flickering firelight with the sand fleas and drunken grads, Franco and I decided to take our fading Mag light and head back up the steep cliff path to my waiting vehicle. The moon was a whisper of an idea on the far side of the heavens and the only light to be seen the whole world around us was the diminishing fire we'd just left.

As we approached the trail head, I noticed the barely distinguishable outline of a small and skinny human form leaning against a solitary fence post. I called out to the form to help dispel the initial thought that this person was there to do us some sort of harm. I held the flashlight up so that Franco could see what I was seeing, and I told him I thought this guy needed some help (keep in mind, communicating for Franco and I, with our hands full of sandy beach goods and pitch blackness surrounding and only one crappy flashlight for illumination was an interesting challenge to surmount at this hour).

Turns out the poor guy was on the beach for his first time and had lost his friends once darkness descended a full two hours before. I was amazed that he was able to find the path's entrance on the obscured cliff face considering the following: (1) it really was black as a panther's paw and (2) this dude was WASTED. Alcohol fumes rising from his pores in a fine mist. Falling over every three steps. Wasted.

We of course offered to walk the guy up the narrow, unlit, sheer-drop off cliff path, and for the most part I literally held on to his backpack or shirt to make sure he didn't fall off and plunge to his death. He repeated "thank you thank you" like a mantra and did not resist this almost-babying kind of treatment: he knew he needed it. Twice during our ascent I truly believe that he would have been a goner had I or Franco not been physically holding on to him. It was a nerve-wracking hike.

Well, as things often lead into one-another, I ended up driving our new friend home as I did not feel right leaving him alone in the near-abandoned dirt lot to fend for himself. Luckily for us he lived within five miles of my house, and I knew exactly where it was. He was telling me as I approached his house that he wanted me to wait for a minute once he went inside; he had something he wanted to give me.

I dropped him off. He went inside. He came back out.

He was holding something in his hands and he told me that he wanted to give me this gift as a sign that, (his exact words) there "truly is goodness in the Universe," and that thanks to us his belief in it was renewed afresh that night. Then he handed me a beautiful raw crystal and said that he received it in thanks for a random good deed he had done, and now it was mine to keep or give away as I saw fit.

My little moral: do good. Be good. Put it out there and spread the light. There is always someone who will need you more than you know and you never know when they're gonna show up in your life.

Tinkering in the yard

I haven't lived in a house with a garden to play in since I moved out of my parents house. My mom used to "make us" help her in the garden, but I never really saw it as a chore. I loved getting my hands dirty, reshaping the mounts of dirt to hold new colors and life. My favorite part was watching something I helped plant grow big and healthy, and then eat it! My mom grows all kinds of things. Me, I grow plants. House plants. I have slowly learned how to really take care of my leafy "pets" over the years, as apparently I am not blessed with the green thumb of my mother which allows her to grow the most amazingly prolific plants. A neighbor once brought over an aloe plant that she had almost killed. When next I took notice of the plant, green aloe fronds were dripping over the edge in self-proclaimed virility. The plant was massive! I asked my mom her secret and she said she just put it under her antique Singer sewing machine and ignored it. "Too much attention, that's what kills plants," she told me. But I remember her talking to her plants, and there was always music on in the house. Maybe that was the magical element keeping her leaves so green.

I name my plants. I talk to them and assure them they are loved. I haven't killed one in years. When I pot baby plants from a spider or philodendron, I encourage the new parent to give a name (I'm more than willing to help pick a name: Franco's first plant was PJ, the first pawned-off progeny of my beloved Phil(odendron)). Who said puns were dead? Who??

I have grand plans to build a little tarp shelter on the balcony and grow herbs and tomatoes and peppers, but I have some waitin' to do. . .I don't really have regular access to that space as of yet. Point of all this. . .I miss gardening and playing with dirt and smelling that perfect smell of organic matter and worm breath, released when your hands get at least wrist deep in the earth.

I used to landscape every summer so I got my fix that way. I didn't seem to matter that I toiled all day in other people's gardens. In fact, I feel fortunate because I'm pretty damn sure I'll never be able to afford gardens and yards like some of those people have!

So today, Franco and I dug in. He moved to this great place on a canyon with a backyard and some rose bushes and other random plants gone to seed. (Puns are not dead). We dug holes and filled pots and carefully moved miscreant plants from one place to another. It was a lovely day in the shadow-slanted sunshine. Getting our hands in the dirt, thinking about what we can plant that we can watch grow together, and harvest to give us nourishment. Heh. Metaphorical.

On the note of growth and nourishment, Happy Father's Day to my Dad, who has played such an enormous role in my own. I love you.

May gray takes a break

I think it's ironic that my first post on here carried a negative tone, seeing that I am usually an extremely positive person, to such an extent that I'm sure it annoys many of the more cynical people out there. We all have our days I suppose.

I am feeling light and hopeful, and happy that Obama is the nominee for the Democratic party at long last. It's difficult to see any kind of good coming out of this country's government after the debacle of the past eight years, but one can only hope for what beauty may appear on the horizon after the worst of storms. My mom always offered this tidbit of wisdom when my hope was lost: "It's always darkest before the dawn." If things get darker from this point on, God help us.

Summer school is under way, and WOW am I not cut out for it! My internal clock runs something along the lines of, "Wheee! It's May. . .time to turn of the brain, celebrate another birthday, and go play in the sun!" This time around, things will be different. I am accustomed to having the choice of just taking off and doing the fly-by-pants-seat thing when the mood strikes me. Now my choices are limited to: do I want to start working on this project right now, or tomorrow afternoon once I'm done with a full day at the clinic. Sigh. I have noone to blame but myself :)

It's gorgeous out today, and seeing as I don't have much work to do. . .yet. . .I am going to go soak it it. Happy Thursday!

Birthday. Why not bornday?

If I had as crappy of a birthday as I had today when I was 16, 18, 22. . .I probably would have rolled up in a sad little soggy ball of tears and self-pity and waited for the masses to bestow upon me their most heartfelt sympathies that my perfect day wasn't glittering in shining gold; that the princess of the hour (that would have been me) had to deal with the real world and life on that day just like any other day, poor thing.

Alas, the adult (cough cough) version of me realizes that the world did not conspire to ruin my day because it's the day of my birth. I accept that the millions of tiny things that went wrong from the moment I woke up actually have zero connection to the occurrence today of the anniversary of my new presence here on earth. None of it is related, and because I know that, I know also how small and insignificant this day is, and therefore how truly small and insignificant I am. Sigh.

But I am not here to whine and complain, I promise. I'm here to say that I didn't let it take over. I not letting the fact that I didn't get to eat pie for breakfast crumple all hopes of a beautiful day. Or the awful fight I had with my friend spell grief and doom for the rest of the day. Because today, my friends, I am one year, or one day, or one moment wiser, depending on how you look at it. My newest lesson is that today truly is like any other day, and that just like any other day I embrace what it can teach me and send it on its way.

I do not feel 28 years old, nor 28 years young. I feel both wisdom beyond my years and a youthful innocence and exuberance that won't be squelched. I know I am both mature and womanly and yet very very childish. Another year tacked on and I still am not quite sure what I want to be when I grow up. I am still struggling with who I am and where I want to go. I am still a child of this earth, wondering if I'm doing things right. Funny how the same questions are in my mind today as on any other day. They're just attached to a new number.