The first day in writing 101, the class was asked to write what they expected to gain from the course. I hoped to learn skills that would help me write with improved clarity and confidence.My work requires writing letters, reports and documentation. The wastebasket under the desk filled up too quickly with my strangled attempts to write what need to be communicated.
In writing it was difficult for me to decide on a thesis, focus on a theme and maintain cohesiveness. I was distracted by details . The storyline became lost in fragments of thoughts and opinions. Peer review reflected a need for clarity.
My technical deficit was "chasmic". I spent an inordinate amount of time and effort on the computer figuring out what happened or how to make it happen. I would put my finger on the wrong button ( click) and suddenly I was cyber-lost.
Instruction and peer review illuminated the absence of my own voice. I have a tendency to suppress my own authority in deference to "theirs". In the first draft of essay one their my thoughts and experience were completely absent.The instructors direction to "get off the fence" and "pick a side" helped me to narrow my writing focus. Peer review re iterated the need to find a point of view and stick with it. In my final draft of Essay One I was able to pick a thesis and commit to it. I reinforced that thesis by pruning what did not support it.I appreciate that this class gave me useful technology skills.
The blog format was well worth the my initial struggle. This new tool allowed me to be creatively inspired. The ability to apply graphics jump started my thought processes. The real article format that the blog provides sets a certain level of expectation which helped my writing. This format and instant access to peer and instructor review allowed me to easily make adjustment s in my writing.
I was able to respond appropriately to feedback. Essay One became strong after I added my own voice and clarified the thesis. This was a result of incorporating what I learned from peer and instructor reviews. The course instructor suggested that my first draft(s) lacked an intial attention getter. The absence of my own "voice" was noted in both peer and instructor comments. The draft title was questioned. I had evolved the Title from "Strange Bedfellows"to "Hope" to "Band aids vs. Solutions". I was invested in this last choice and did not want to change it. The instructor made a decent argument for changing it ,however, so I gave it some thought. The final title" Doors" was not only a much better fit, it inspired the opening narrative" I remember when the doors slammed shut" and encouraged me to use my own experience to strengthen the essay. This carried over Essay 3 , which was increasingly authenticand open. I can see the progression.
The guidance, practice, feedback, edit, and fine tuning process that was used in this course proved useful in developing my writing skills and building much needed confidence.The bonus was that I also learned interesting things about myself , other people, global and social situations. I sincerely appreciated the experience-Patricia Moore
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Portfolio Essay 1- Doors
I remember when major mental health and social service institutions slammed shut. It was like a floodgate opened. The streets of Seattle swarmed with people trapped in their heads, yelling, and having altercations with thin air. In the early 1980's, I navigated my young children downtown, through an entourage representing various mental health and addiction issues. I gave the children the mom look that warned them not to stare or comment. They did anyway. Of course, the animation, pacing, gesturing and ranting grabbed their attention. I really thought that this phenomenon would pass. There would be an election. The doors from whence they came would open back up and they would go back. Someone would step up and do something. It's not polite to look. I looked away.
It was decades before I looked again. The problem did not go away. I had little information on the nature, the scope or the true cost of this evolved climate of homelessness. The topic of homelessness can be overwhelming. Conversations often highlight frustrations and are less apt to focus on solutions. I mistrusted the opinions I formed from my car window. I felt, like I think a lot of people feel, that my opinions were impotent anyway. The cardboard brandishing "panhandler" bears witness that the spider web of shelter and human service systems have been unable to put a noticeable dent in the homeless problem. This illustrates my belief that current methods of managing homelessness are ineffective and should be rethought.
Last year I had the good fortune to work an outreach program that increased my exposure to housing and homeless issues. I got to see first hand what worked and did not work. The myths I held about homelessness crumbled. I served individuals that were 60+ years old and adults with disabilities. It was surprising and disheartening for me to see "grandma and grandpa " on the streets; but they are there. They have mental health challenges. They have disabilities. They have addictions. Once someone is homeless, it is difficult to co-ordinate services. The shelters have daily intakes, late arrival times, and early release times. They also require sobriety and civility. Most of the time homeless are on the move. They do not have personal calendars, cell phones or bus passes. When there are resources, scheduling and keeping appointments are problematic. I was just as likely to find a client in the hospital as anywhere else. It was my experience that housing was a huge predictor of the success of other services.
The Washington State Housing Committee and The Committee to End Homelessness-King County published some enlightening statistics. The number of persons who are homeless on any given night in King County is 8,000. The Emergency Shelter Assistance Program in Washington State provides a place to sleep for more than 45,000 individuals a year. In another context those numbers would be dubbed a national disaster. In 2003, 42 people died out-of doors and homeless in King County. That’s an average of one person dying almost every week and this is a normal year. These deaths occur in rural as well as urban areas.
Housing First Programs purpose that a productive way to address homelessness is to provide housing for the homeless. This may seem simplistic, ridiculously naive and cost prohibitive. However this approach is proving to be quite viable and cost efficient. One of the factors is that homelessness cause increased use of high cost services. The cost of housing is offset by reducing the use of high cost services. High cost services include: 911, emergency rooms, mental health hospitalizations, detoxification, inpatient programs, child protective services and incarceration. A report on children in homeless shelters, published in Pediatrics Vol.192 No3. revealed that sheltered children used emergency room visits 2-3 times more than did their housed peers. They found that being homeless is an independent predictor of poor health in children. The UCLA Dept. of Family Medicine reported their sampling of homeless adults found that 37 percent had visual impairment, 36 percent had skin/leg/foot/conditions and 31 percent had a positive TB test.
Reduction in health costs alone, would justify providing housing. The Washington State Housing Finance Committee reported on a Plymouth Housing Group’s project. PHG's "Begin at Home" housed 20 hardest-to-reach, chronically homeless individuals. The project’s outcomes after 1 year showed a 75 percent reduction in medical costs. That translates to 1.2 million dollars. Another project,The Sound Families Initiative, funded by the Bill and Melinda gates Foundation, provided housing for over 1,400 families. Approximately 85 percent of these were single parent households. The project's evaluation by the University of Washington School of Social Work showed that the housing was instrumental in stabilizing the children's education. The vast majority of these families were able to procure permanent housing.
People involved with other target populations are turning their attention to housing also. Programs for foster children who "age out" now consider housing crucial in preventing further costs in dollars and quality of life. Correction facilities look at housing as an important component of reentry programs as they now know that housing is a correlate of recidivism. The work and positive outcomes of The Plymouth Housing Group, the Committee to End Homelessness - King County, the Sound Family Initiative and other housing first models are changing thoughts about homelessness. They are turning the conversation away from one of managing homelessness and to one of ending homelessness. I believe that the ability and resources to accomplish this exist. I feel that not only is it possible, but quite feasible, that homelessness can be essentially resolved in this lifetime. The benefits would be far reaching.
Sources:
A Roof Over Every Bed in King County, Our Community's Ten Year Plan to End Homelessness. Seattle: The Committee to End Homelessness - King County, 2005. 1-6.
Herman, Kim. "The Commitment Continues: Washington State's Efforts to End Homelessness." My View Feb. 2008.
The Evaluation of the Sound Families Initiative. NW Childrens Institute. Seattle: University of Washington School of Social Work, 2007.
Miller, Daniel S., and Elizabeth Lin. "Children in Sheltered Homeless Families: Reported Health Status and Use of Health Services." PEDIATRICS 81 (1988): 668-673. 4 July 2008 .
http://www.pediatrics.aappublications.org/cgi/content/abstract/81/5/668
Gelberg, L, R M. Andersen, and B
D. Leake. "The Behavioral Model for Vulnerable Populations: Application to Medical Care Use and Outcomes for Homeless People." Health Services Research 34 (2000): 1273-1302. 4 July 2008 . http://www.pubmedcentral.hih.gov/articlerender.fcgi?artid=1089079
It was decades before I looked again. The problem did not go away. I had little information on the nature, the scope or the true cost of this evolved climate of homelessness. The topic of homelessness can be overwhelming. Conversations often highlight frustrations and are less apt to focus on solutions. I mistrusted the opinions I formed from my car window. I felt, like I think a lot of people feel, that my opinions were impotent anyway. The cardboard brandishing "panhandler" bears witness that the spider web of shelter and human service systems have been unable to put a noticeable dent in the homeless problem. This illustrates my belief that current methods of managing homelessness are ineffective and should be rethought.
Last year I had the good fortune to work an outreach program that increased my exposure to housing and homeless issues. I got to see first hand what worked and did not work. The myths I held about homelessness crumbled. I served individuals that were 60+ years old and adults with disabilities. It was surprising and disheartening for me to see "grandma and grandpa " on the streets; but they are there. They have mental health challenges. They have disabilities. They have addictions. Once someone is homeless, it is difficult to co-ordinate services. The shelters have daily intakes, late arrival times, and early release times. They also require sobriety and civility. Most of the time homeless are on the move. They do not have personal calendars, cell phones or bus passes. When there are resources, scheduling and keeping appointments are problematic. I was just as likely to find a client in the hospital as anywhere else. It was my experience that housing was a huge predictor of the success of other services.
The Washington State Housing Committee and The Committee to End Homelessness-King County published some enlightening statistics. The number of persons who are homeless on any given night in King County is 8,000. The Emergency Shelter Assistance Program in Washington State provides a place to sleep for more than 45,000 individuals a year. In another context those numbers would be dubbed a national disaster. In 2003, 42 people died out-of doors and homeless in King County. That’s an average of one person dying almost every week and this is a normal year. These deaths occur in rural as well as urban areas.
Housing First Programs purpose that a productive way to address homelessness is to provide housing for the homeless. This may seem simplistic, ridiculously naive and cost prohibitive. However this approach is proving to be quite viable and cost efficient. One of the factors is that homelessness cause increased use of high cost services. The cost of housing is offset by reducing the use of high cost services. High cost services include: 911, emergency rooms, mental health hospitalizations, detoxification, inpatient programs, child protective services and incarceration. A report on children in homeless shelters, published in Pediatrics Vol.192 No3. revealed that sheltered children used emergency room visits 2-3 times more than did their housed peers. They found that being homeless is an independent predictor of poor health in children. The UCLA Dept. of Family Medicine reported their sampling of homeless adults found that 37 percent had visual impairment, 36 percent had skin/leg/foot/conditions and 31 percent had a positive TB test.
Reduction in health costs alone, would justify providing housing. The Washington State Housing Finance Committee reported on a Plymouth Housing Group’s project. PHG's "Begin at Home" housed 20 hardest-to-reach, chronically homeless individuals. The project’s outcomes after 1 year showed a 75 percent reduction in medical costs. That translates to 1.2 million dollars. Another project,The Sound Families Initiative, funded by the Bill and Melinda gates Foundation, provided housing for over 1,400 families. Approximately 85 percent of these were single parent households. The project's evaluation by the University of Washington School of Social Work showed that the housing was instrumental in stabilizing the children's education. The vast majority of these families were able to procure permanent housing.
People involved with other target populations are turning their attention to housing also. Programs for foster children who "age out" now consider housing crucial in preventing further costs in dollars and quality of life. Correction facilities look at housing as an important component of reentry programs as they now know that housing is a correlate of recidivism. The work and positive outcomes of The Plymouth Housing Group, the Committee to End Homelessness - King County, the Sound Family Initiative and other housing first models are changing thoughts about homelessness. They are turning the conversation away from one of managing homelessness and to one of ending homelessness. I believe that the ability and resources to accomplish this exist. I feel that not only is it possible, but quite feasible, that homelessness can be essentially resolved in this lifetime. The benefits would be far reaching.
Sources:
A Roof Over Every Bed in King County, Our Community's Ten Year Plan to End Homelessness. Seattle: The Committee to End Homelessness - King County, 2005. 1-6.
Herman, Kim. "The Commitment Continues: Washington State's Efforts to End Homelessness." My View Feb. 2008.
The Evaluation of the Sound Families Initiative. NW Childrens Institute. Seattle: University of Washington School of Social Work, 2007.
Miller, Daniel S., and Elizabeth Lin. "Children in Sheltered Homeless Families: Reported Health Status and Use of Health Services." PEDIATRICS 81 (1988): 668-673. 4 July 2008 .
http://www.pediatrics.aappublications.org/cgi/content/abstract/81/5/668
Gelberg, L, R M. Andersen, and B
D. Leake. "The Behavioral Model for Vulnerable Populations: Application to Medical Care Use and Outcomes for Homeless People." Health Services Research 34 (2000): 1273-1302. 4 July 2008 . http://www.pubmedcentral.hih.gov/articlerender.fcgi?artid=1089079
Portfolio Essay 3
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3
Fingers that are not mine jab my eye and pry my eyelid open. Shock, the sudden sensation of being ripped from sleep. "Are you awake Gramma Pat?" Inside my brain a litany of sarcastic comebacks spew unbidden. On the outside, I smile at the little person beside me beaming with expectation. "Yeah sweetie,want some cheermos"? I tell myself that I'll fix eggs after I have my coffee, but cheerios are a quick and welcome stall. I roll out of the futon. For a moment I assess the possibility of getting right back to bed. I give up that thought and fold my sleeping area up for the day. Little Guy promptly plants himself down on it. Little Girl has slipped in and joins him. " Can we do a project ,Gramma Pat?" pipes Little Girl. "We'll see" and so the day begins with the phrase I'll repeat ad infintum.
On my way to the kitchen ,Little Girl half shouts that Baby is up. Indeed she is. I meet my daughter in the kitchen, Baby in one arm , cereal box in the other hand. Peripherally, I see Bigger Girl slip stealthily into the bathroom to score a shower before the morning restroom crunch. She knows in fifteen minutes the bathroom will be a hub ofactivity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.
Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.
Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.
Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.
We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.
At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment thatmade adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" . Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog.
I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me. , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
Posted by patricia at 9:33 AM 2 comments Links to this post Wednesday, August 6, 2008
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3 Draft Wednesday, August 6, 2008
No comments:
Portfolio - Final Exam
Television, rock and roll, and in recent years computer games have all been heralded as the fall of mankind. The interference of technology is cited for breakdown of family systems and creating social deficits. Certainly technology has had an impact the in specific ways families interact. The advent of the "TV dinner" was perhaps indicative of changes to come. Mealtimes that were once the family time to connect and review their day became a time to catch up on the evening news or escape from the day in a variety show. Marie Winn in Television: The Plug In Drug asks us to examine “What has happened to family rituals, illness rituals, holiday rituals -how many have survived the inroads of the television set?"
When my children were young we went "tvless" for several years. One thing that was striking about this time period was how much conversation revolved around TV. My children and I were out of the loop as our friends referenced television shows in conversations. Others viewing habits seemed amplified in the absence of TV in our world. We really noticed when people did not turn off their TV when talking with others or entertaining guests. We did things together. We ate together, we did projects together and the children played with their friends. However, we lost current event knowledge and other bits that television provides. The feeling of being somewhat separatist was not a positive.
If television is the mother she had a bazillion babies. Videos, DVDs. DS, Wei and text messaging have weaved their way in to the fabric of family life. I don't believe they have totally usurped family rituals. Rather the family rituals have metamorphosed. My grown family now calls or e-mails each other to set up a WEI game. Across the miles their WEI characters interact. The family has WEI representation of aunts, uncles, cousins and even gramma. Pictures and videos are sent through the
computer. Weddings, holidays and everyday events are widely accessible and shared instantly.
Rituals things that are repetitive. They often perpetuate the good things that a family wants to define itself by. It is important for families to connect and have rituals and traditions. It may be that rituals are not dead, but that their composition is different than in the past. Of course, I'd like my grandchildren to turn off their DSL to visit with me. If she sends me an e-mail about her latest activities instead that is fair enough. My grandchildren still have bedtime stories at night; we still get together for some holidays. However, like for many contemporary families, there are now have the options of using technology to create new and perhaps more widely inclusive rituals.
When my children were young we went "tvless" for several years. One thing that was striking about this time period was how much conversation revolved around TV. My children and I were out of the loop as our friends referenced television shows in conversations. Others viewing habits seemed amplified in the absence of TV in our world. We really noticed when people did not turn off their TV when talking with others or entertaining guests. We did things together. We ate together, we did projects together and the children played with their friends. However, we lost current event knowledge and other bits that television provides. The feeling of being somewhat separatist was not a positive.
If television is the mother she had a bazillion babies. Videos, DVDs. DS, Wei and text messaging have weaved their way in to the fabric of family life. I don't believe they have totally usurped family rituals. Rather the family rituals have metamorphosed. My grown family now calls or e-mails each other to set up a WEI game. Across the miles their WEI characters interact. The family has WEI representation of aunts, uncles, cousins and even gramma. Pictures and videos are sent through the
computer. Weddings, holidays and everyday events are widely accessible and shared instantly.
Rituals things that are repetitive. They often perpetuate the good things that a family wants to define itself by. It is important for families to connect and have rituals and traditions. It may be that rituals are not dead, but that their composition is different than in the past. Of course, I'd like my grandchildren to turn off their DSL to visit with me. If she sends me an e-mail about her latest activities instead that is fair enough. My grandchildren still have bedtime stories at night; we still get together for some holidays. However, like for many contemporary families, there are now have the options of using technology to create new and perhaps more widely inclusive rituals.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3 Draft
Fingers that are not mine jab my eye and pry my eyelid open. Shock, the sudden sensation of being ripped from sleep. "Are you awake Gramma Pat?" Inside my brain a litany of sarcastic comebacks spew unbidden. On the outside, I smile at the little person beside me beaming with expectation. "Yeah sweetie,want some cheermos"? I tell myself that I'll fix eggs after I have my coffee, but cheerios are a quick and welcome stall. I roll out of the futon. For a moment I assess the possibility of getting right back to bed. I give up that thought and fold my sleeping area up for the day. Little Guy promptly plants himself down on it. Little Girl has slipped in and joins him. " Can we do a project ,Gramma Pat?" pipes Little Girl. "We'll see" and so the day begins with the phrase I'll repeat ad infintum.
On my way to the kitchen ,Little Girl half shouts that Baby is up. Indeed she is. I meet my daughter in the kitchen, Baby in one arm , cereal box in the other hand. Peripherally, I see Bigger Girl slip stealthily into the bathroom to score a shower before the morning restroom crunch. She knows in fifteen minutes the bathroom will be a hub ofactivity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.
Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.
Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.
Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.
We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.
At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment thatmade adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" . Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog.
I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me. , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
Posted by patricia at 9:33 AM 2 comments Links to this post Wednesday, August 6, 2008
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3 Draft Wednesday, August 6, 2008
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3 Draft
Fingers that are not mine jab my eye and pry my eyelid open. Shock, the sudden sensation of being ripped from sleep. "Are you awake Gramma Pat?" Inside my brain a litany of sarcastic comebacks spew unbidden. On the outside, I smile at the little person beside me beaming with expectation. "Yeah sweetie,want some cheermos"? I tell myself that I'll fix eggs after I have my coffee, but cheerios are a quick and welcome stall. I roll out of the futon. For a moment I assess the possibility of getting right back to bed. I give up that thought and fold my sleeping area up for the day. Little Guy promptly plants himself down on it. Little Girl has slipped in and joins him. " Can we do a project ,Gramma Pat?" pipes Little Girl. "We'll see" and so the day begins with the phrase I'll repeat ad infintum. On my way to the kitchen ,Little Girl half shouts that Baby is up. Indeed she is. I meet my daughter in the kitchen, Baby in one arm , cereal box in the other hand. Peripherally, I see Bigger Girl slip stealthily into the bathroom to score a shower before the morning restroom crunch. She knows in fifteen minutes the bathroom will be a hub ofactivity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment thatmade adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" . Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog. I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me. , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
Posted by patricia at 9:33 AM 2 comments Links to this post
Fingers that are not mine jab my eye and pry my eyelid open. Shock, the sudden sensation of being ripped from sleep. "Are you awake Gramma Pat?" Inside my brain a litany of sarcastic comebacks spew unbidden. On the outside, I smile at the little person beside me beaming with expectation. "Yeah sweetie,want some cheermos"? I tell myself that I'll fix eggs after I have my coffee, but cheerios are a quick and welcome stall. I roll out of the futon. For a moment I assess the possibility of getting right back to bed. I give up that thought and fold my sleeping area up for the day. Little Guy promptly plants himself down on it. Little Girl has slipped in and joins him. " Can we do a project ,Gramma Pat?" pipes Little Girl. "We'll see" and so the day begins with the phrase I'll repeat ad infintum. On my way to the kitchen ,Little Girl half shouts that Baby is up. Indeed she is. I meet my daughter in the kitchen, Baby in one arm , cereal box in the other hand. Peripherally, I see Bigger Girl slip stealthily into the bathroom to score a shower before the morning restroom crunch. She knows in fifteen minutes the bathroom will be a hub ofactivity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.
Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.
Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.
Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.
We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.
At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment thatmade adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" .
Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog.
I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
Posted by patricia at 9:33 AM 2 comments Links to this post
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3 Draft
Fingers that are not mine jab my eye and pry my eyelid open. Shock, the sudden sensation of being ripped from sleep. "Are you awake Gramma Pat?" Inside my brain a litany of sarcastic comebacks spew unbidden. On the outside, I smile at the little person beside me beaming with expectation. "Yeah sweetie,want some cheermos"? I tell myself that I'll fix eggs after I have my coffee, but cheerios are a quick and welcome stall. I roll out of the futon. For a moment I assess the possibility of getting right back to bed. I give up that thought and fold my sleeping area up for the day. Little Guy promptly plants himself down on it. Little Girl has slipped in and joins him. " Can we do a project ,Gramma Pat?" pipes Little Girl. "We'll see" and so the day begins with the phrase I'll repeat ad infintum.
On my way to the kitchen ,Little Girl half shouts that Baby is up. Indeed she is. I meet my daughter in the kitchen, Baby in one arm , cereal box in the other hand. Peripherally, I see Bigger Girl slip stealthily into the bathroom to score a shower before the morning restroom crunch. She knows in fifteen minutes the bathroom will be a hub ofactivity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.
Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.
Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.
Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.
We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.
At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment thatmade adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" . Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog.
I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me. , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
Posted by patricia at 9:33 AM 2 comments Links to this post Wednesday, August 6, 2008
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3 Draft Wednesday, August 6, 2008
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3 Draft
Fingers that are not mine jab my eye and pry my eyelid open. Shock, the sudden sensation of being ripped from sleep. "Are you awake Gramma Pat?" Inside my brain a litany of sarcastic comebacks spew unbidden. On the outside, I smile at the little person beside me beaming with expectation. "Yeah sweetie,want some cheermos"? I tell myself that I'll fix eggs after I have my coffee, but cheerios are a quick and welcome stall. I roll out of the futon. For a moment I assess the possibility of getting right back to bed. I give up that thought and fold my sleeping area up for the day. Little Guy promptly plants himself down on it. Little Girl has slipped in and joins him. " Can we do a project ,Gramma Pat?" pipes Little Girl. "We'll see" and so the day begins with the phrase I'll repeat ad infintum. On my way to the kitchen ,Little Girl half shouts that Baby is up. Indeed she is. I meet my daughter in the kitchen, Baby in one arm , cereal box in the other hand. Peripherally, I see Bigger Girl slip stealthily into the bathroom to score a shower before the morning restroom crunch. She knows in fifteen minutes the bathroom will be a hub ofactivity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment thatmade adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" . Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog. I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me. , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
Posted by patricia at 9:33 AM 2 comments Links to this post
Fingers that are not mine jab my eye and pry my eyelid open. Shock, the sudden sensation of being ripped from sleep. "Are you awake Gramma Pat?" Inside my brain a litany of sarcastic comebacks spew unbidden. On the outside, I smile at the little person beside me beaming with expectation. "Yeah sweetie,want some cheermos"? I tell myself that I'll fix eggs after I have my coffee, but cheerios are a quick and welcome stall. I roll out of the futon. For a moment I assess the possibility of getting right back to bed. I give up that thought and fold my sleeping area up for the day. Little Guy promptly plants himself down on it. Little Girl has slipped in and joins him. " Can we do a project ,Gramma Pat?" pipes Little Girl. "We'll see" and so the day begins with the phrase I'll repeat ad infintum. On my way to the kitchen ,Little Girl half shouts that Baby is up. Indeed she is. I meet my daughter in the kitchen, Baby in one arm , cereal box in the other hand. Peripherally, I see Bigger Girl slip stealthily into the bathroom to score a shower before the morning restroom crunch. She knows in fifteen minutes the bathroom will be a hub ofactivity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.
Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.
Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.
Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.
We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.
At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment thatmade adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" .
Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog.
I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
Posted by patricia at 9:33 AM 2 comments Links to this post
The first day in writing 101, the class was asked to write what they expected to gain from the course. I hoped to learn skills that would help me write with improved clarity and confidence.My work requires writing letters, reports and documentation. The wastebasket under the desk filled up too quickly with my strangled attempts to write what need to be communicated.
In writing it was difficult for me to decide on a thesis, focus on a theme and maintain cohesiveness. I was distracted by details . The storyline became lost in fragments of thoughts and opinions. Peer review reflected a need for clarity.
My technical deficit was "chasmic". I spent an inordinate amount of time and effort on the computer figuring out what happened or how to make it happen. I would put my finger on the wrong button ( click) and suddenly I was cyber-lost.
Instruction and peer review illuminated the absence of my own voice. I have a tendency to suppress my own authority in deference to "theirs". In the first draft of essay one their my thoughts and experience were completely absent.The instructors direction to "get off the fence" and "pick a side" helped me to narrow my writing focus. Peer review re iterated the need to find a point of view and stick with it. In my final draft of Essay One I was able to pick a thesis and commit to it. I reinforced that thesis by pruning what did not support it.I appreciate that this class gave me useful technology skills.
The blog format was well worth the my initial struggle. This new tool allowed me to be creatively inspired. The ability to apply graphics jump started my thought processes. The real article format that the blog provides sets a certain level of expectation which helped my writing. This format and instant access to peer and instructor review allowed me to easily make adjustment s in my writing.
I was able to respond appropriately to feedback. Essay One became strong after I added my own voice and clarified the thesis. This was a result of incorporating what I learned from peer and instructor reviews. The course instructor suggested that my first draft(s) lacked an intial attention getter. The absence of my own "voice" was noted in both peer and instructor comments. The draft title was questioned. I had evolved the Title from "Strange Bedfellows"to "Hope" to "Band aids vs. Solutions". I was invested in this last choice and did not want to change it. The instructor made a decent argument for changing it ,however, so I gave it some thought. The final title" Doors" was not only a much better fit, it inspired the opening narrative" I remember when the doors slammed shut" and encouraged me to use my own experience to strengthen the essay. This carried over Essay 3 , which was increasingly authenticand open. I can see the progression.
The guidance, practice, feedback, edit, and fine tuning process that was used in this course proved useful in developing my writing skills and building much needed confidence.The bonus was that I also learned interesting things about myself , other people, global and social situations. I sincerely appreciated the experience-Patricia Moore
In writing it was difficult for me to decide on a thesis, focus on a theme and maintain cohesiveness. I was distracted by details . The storyline became lost in fragments of thoughts and opinions. Peer review reflected a need for clarity.
My technical deficit was "chasmic". I spent an inordinate amount of time and effort on the computer figuring out what happened or how to make it happen. I would put my finger on the wrong button ( click) and suddenly I was cyber-lost.
Instruction and peer review illuminated the absence of my own voice. I have a tendency to suppress my own authority in deference to "theirs". In the first draft of essay one their my thoughts and experience were completely absent.The instructors direction to "get off the fence" and "pick a side" helped me to narrow my writing focus. Peer review re iterated the need to find a point of view and stick with it. In my final draft of Essay One I was able to pick a thesis and commit to it. I reinforced that thesis by pruning what did not support it.I appreciate that this class gave me useful technology skills.
The blog format was well worth the my initial struggle. This new tool allowed me to be creatively inspired. The ability to apply graphics jump started my thought processes. The real article format that the blog provides sets a certain level of expectation which helped my writing. This format and instant access to peer and instructor review allowed me to easily make adjustment s in my writing.
I was able to respond appropriately to feedback. Essay One became strong after I added my own voice and clarified the thesis. This was a result of incorporating what I learned from peer and instructor reviews. The course instructor suggested that my first draft(s) lacked an intial attention getter. The absence of my own "voice" was noted in both peer and instructor comments. The draft title was questioned. I had evolved the Title from "Strange Bedfellows"to "Hope" to "Band aids vs. Solutions". I was invested in this last choice and did not want to change it. The instructor made a decent argument for changing it ,however, so I gave it some thought. The final title" Doors" was not only a much better fit, it inspired the opening narrative" I remember when the doors slammed shut" and encouraged me to use my own experience to strengthen the essay. This carried over Essay 3 , which was increasingly authenticand open. I can see the progression.
The guidance, practice, feedback, edit, and fine tuning process that was used in this course proved useful in developing my writing skills and building much needed confidence.The bonus was that I also learned interesting things about myself , other people, global and social situations. I sincerely appreciated the experience-Patricia Moore
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Unabashed Announcement for Animals Lovers
On September 6th I will be walking in PAWSwalk to help raise awareness, honor our beloved pets, and help animals in need!
You can support me and join the cause by making a donation or joining the "Dog-On-It, We Can Do It Team" by going to http://www.pawswalk.com/. Once there, you can find me under Pat Moore with my team.
You can also fill out a pledge form and mail in your donation or take it directly to me. Every bit counts
PAWS is a registered 501(c)3 tax-exempt organization, Tax ID # 91-6073154, which means that your donation is tax-deductible. So get involved and make a difference!
most sincerely- Pat Moore
Please consider the environment before printing this e-mail.
You can support me and join the cause by making a donation or joining the "Dog-On-It, We Can Do It Team" by going to http://www.pawswalk.com/. Once there, you can find me under Pat Moore with my team.
You can also fill out a pledge form and mail in your donation or take it directly to me. Every bit counts
PAWS is a registered 501(c)3 tax-exempt organization, Tax ID # 91-6073154, which means that your donation is tax-deductible. So get involved and make a difference!
most sincerely- Pat Moore
Please consider the environment before printing this e-mail.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Review - Writing 101 - 9:30 am
The first day in writing 101, the class was asked to write what they expected to gain from the course. I hoped to learn skills that would help me write with improved clarity and confidence.
My work requires writing letters, reports and documentation. The wastebasket under the desk filled up too quickly with my strangled attempts to write what need to be communicated.
In writing it was difficult for me to decide on a thesis, focus on a theme and maintain cohesiveness. I was distracted by details . The storyline became lost in fragments of thoughts and opinions. Peer review reflected a need for clarity.
My technical deficit was "chasmic". I spent an inordinate amount of time and effort on the computer figuring out what happened or how to make it happen. I would put my finger on the wrong button ( click) and suddenly I was cyber-lost.
Instruction and peer review illuminated the absence of my own voice. I have a tendency to suppress my own authority in deference to "theirs". In the first draft of essay one their my thoughts and experience were completely absent.
The instructors direction to "get off the fence" and "pick a side" helped me to narrow my writing focus. Peer review re iterated the need to find a point of view and stick with it. In my final draft of Essay One I was able to pick a thesis and commit to it. I reinforced that thesis by pruning what did not support it.
I appreciate that this class gave me useful technology skills. The blog format was well worth the my initial struggle. This new tool allowed me to be creatively inspired. The ability to apply graphics jump started my thought processes. The real article format that the blog provides sets a certain level of expectation which helped my writing. This format and instant access to peer and instructor review allowed me to easily make adjustment s in my writing.
I was able to respond appropriately to feedback. Essay One became strong after I added my own voice and clarified the thesis. This was a result of incorporating what I learned from peer and instructor reviews. The course instructor suggested that my first draft(s) lacked an intial attention getter. The absence of my own "voice" was noted in both peer and instructor comments. The draft title was questioned. I had evolved the Title from "Strange Bedfellows"
to "Hope" to "Band aids vs. Solutions". I was invested in this last choice and did not want to change it. The instructor made a decent argument for changing it ,however, so I gave it some thought. The final title" Doors" was not only a much better fit, it inspired the opening narrative" I remember when the doors slammed shut" and encouraged me to use my own experience to strengthen the essay. This carried over Essay 3 , which was increasingly authentic
and open. I can see the progression.
The guidance, practice, feedback, edit, and fine tuning process that was used in this course proved useful in developing my writing skills and building much needed confidence.
The bonus was that I also learned interesting things about myself , other people, global and social situations. I sincerely appreciated the experience-Patricia Moore
My work requires writing letters, reports and documentation. The wastebasket under the desk filled up too quickly with my strangled attempts to write what need to be communicated.
In writing it was difficult for me to decide on a thesis, focus on a theme and maintain cohesiveness. I was distracted by details . The storyline became lost in fragments of thoughts and opinions. Peer review reflected a need for clarity.
My technical deficit was "chasmic". I spent an inordinate amount of time and effort on the computer figuring out what happened or how to make it happen. I would put my finger on the wrong button ( click) and suddenly I was cyber-lost.
Instruction and peer review illuminated the absence of my own voice. I have a tendency to suppress my own authority in deference to "theirs". In the first draft of essay one their my thoughts and experience were completely absent.
The instructors direction to "get off the fence" and "pick a side" helped me to narrow my writing focus. Peer review re iterated the need to find a point of view and stick with it. In my final draft of Essay One I was able to pick a thesis and commit to it. I reinforced that thesis by pruning what did not support it.
I appreciate that this class gave me useful technology skills. The blog format was well worth the my initial struggle. This new tool allowed me to be creatively inspired. The ability to apply graphics jump started my thought processes. The real article format that the blog provides sets a certain level of expectation which helped my writing. This format and instant access to peer and instructor review allowed me to easily make adjustment s in my writing.
I was able to respond appropriately to feedback. Essay One became strong after I added my own voice and clarified the thesis. This was a result of incorporating what I learned from peer and instructor reviews. The course instructor suggested that my first draft(s) lacked an intial attention getter. The absence of my own "voice" was noted in both peer and instructor comments. The draft title was questioned. I had evolved the Title from "Strange Bedfellows"
to "Hope" to "Band aids vs. Solutions". I was invested in this last choice and did not want to change it. The instructor made a decent argument for changing it ,however, so I gave it some thought. The final title" Doors" was not only a much better fit, it inspired the opening narrative" I remember when the doors slammed shut" and encouraged me to use my own experience to strengthen the essay. This carried over Essay 3 , which was increasingly authentic
and open. I can see the progression.
The guidance, practice, feedback, edit, and fine tuning process that was used in this course proved useful in developing my writing skills and building much needed confidence.
The bonus was that I also learned interesting things about myself , other people, global and social situations. I sincerely appreciated the experience-Patricia Moore
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
And They All Rolled Over - Essay 3 Draft
Fingers that are not mine jab my eye and pry my eyelid open. Shock, the sudden sensation of being ripped from sleep. "Are you awake Gramma Pat?" Inside my brain a litany of sarcastic comebacks spew unbidden. On the outside, I smile at the little person beside me beaming with expectation. "Yeah sweetie,want some cheermos"? I tell myself that I'll fix eggs after I have my coffee, but cheerios are a quick and welcome stall. I roll out of the futon. For a moment I assess the possibility of getting right back to bed. I give up that thought and fold my sleeping area up for the day. Little Guy promptly plants himself down on it. Little Girl has slipped in and joins him. " Can we do a project ,Gramma Pat?" pipes Little Girl. "We'll see" and so the day begins with the phrase I'll repeat ad infintum. On my way to the kitchen ,Little Girl half shouts that Baby is up. Indeed she is. I meet my daughter in the kitchen, Baby in one arm , cereal box in the other hand. Peripherally, I see Bigger Girl slip stealthily into the bathroom to score a shower before the morning restroom crunch. She knows in fifteen minutes the bathroom will be a hub of
activity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.
Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.
Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.
Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.
We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.
At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment that
made adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" . Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.
I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog. I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me. , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
activity. My son-in-law made us bacon before he went to work. Our home smells wonderful.
Six months earlier we were all in our respective homes living the expected American life. I had a home, a husband, a dog. My youngest daughter was planning her wedding. My middle daughter and her husband had Little Guy, jobs, a home and Baby-on-the-Way. Little and Bigger Girl lived with their mom and dad. A phone call. Our ideas and expectations about home and family changed drastically. Bigger Girl was at school. Little Girl was rescued by the fireman. The fire took their home and their mother. We grieved mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend, mentor. We were all lost.
Little and Bigger Girl's dad became unable to care for them. My marriage crashed and I had no place to go. My daughter and son-in-law, expecting their second child, had planned to expand their family in the usual increments with a reasonable amount of privacy.Their household would explode from three to seven people in a matter of months.One of those people was me. Although I was grateful for their sacrifice, moving in with my children in my mid 50's was a blow to my ego. Western culture and thought prizes independence , rather than interdependence. Vocational, social and health care networks are designed around the nuclear family.
Their house took such a hit. Aunts, uncles, dad, friends, all wielded hammers and sheet rock and paint. Overnight the dining room became a bedroom. The once packed storage room became a bedroom/nursery complete with a castle painted on the wall. The garage filled up and scooted the car out. My futon was wedged in the computer room midst more boxes. I consolidated my needs to a shelf for clothes, a half a shelf of books, a tote for the still working- on- funeral business and a doll cradle of photos and mementos. The bathrooms and laundry room were at capacity with potty chairs and bedding. Our blended family and friends were a huge help and support. Several days a week the double air mattress filled the remaining living room space during their visits. The children were phenomenal in rolling with the flow.
We worked around our schedules and the children's schedules. There was daycare time, work time and school time. The yellow buses stopped in the driveway with regularity, dropping off and picking up. The women who drove the buses became my daytime adult contacts. Evening and weekend visits from our various family and friends were collective socialization. My friends visited in the context of my children and grandchildren and I was a presence to my children's and grandchildren friends and family. There was no hiding or withdrawing. There was no room and it would be too obviously rude. Flexibility was an absolute requirement. This communal living would have been disastrous if any one of us insisted on an individual right to the remote control.Instant dressing was a well practiced art. Reading was limited to bedtime stories or brief snippets with earplugs in place. Privacy and autonomy were difficult to hang on to. Sometimes I packed a bag and stayed overnight at a friends or went to my youngest daughters up North. I tried to keep working a graveyard job to keep some financial independence and maintain health benefits. I was drained . The kids needed someone home for the summer. I quit my job to help with the kids full time. Shortly thereafter I was hospitalized. The neighbor stepped up helped out with the children.
At some point I moved away from the sense of entitlement, self-pity and embarrasment that
made adjustment more difficult than it needed to be. There are a variety of practical reasons that adult children move or live at home,that senior parents move in with adult children or other communal arrangements. I stopped judging. Accepting the reality of what was , freed me to embrace and enjoy our home and what Little Guy refered to as "our big, big family" . Health insurance, however, was a lingering concern . As with other untraditional living situations health insurance does not accomadate dependent extended family . Although I am relatively healthy, the hospital stay was a reminder of the importance of health benefits. Work provides me health benefits. I feel this is a conscious responsibility to my family.
I found work in another town and commuted between daughters for awhile. Then I made the move to my own apartment and furnished it complete with a dog. I miss folding sheets with a child at each corner singing The Wonderpet's theme song,"Teamwork". But, I love sleeping in my own bed. I miss the ready availability of hugs. But, I love the silence. I miss the camaraderie.But, I love my freedom. Most of my adult life the feeling of home has eluded me. After living out of a suitcase , in other peoples lives, I finally found what home is for me. It's a comfortable place inside me. , wherever I might be. In many ways, I am grateful for this experience. It was a time our family and friends can be proud of . When we all rolled over, none of us really fell out.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Weaknesses and Strengths in Regards To Writing
Weakness: Decision Distess. Difficulty finding theme/thesis and maintaining cohesiveness in writing.
Weakness: Technology deficit. Spend inordinate amount of time trying to figure out "what happened or how to make it happen" on the computer.
Weakness: Voice Suppression, tendency to suppress my own authority in deference to "theirs".
Strength: Commitment: Having decided on a thesis , I commit to reinforcing that thesis.
Strength: Willingness to learn. I appreciate that this class has given me useful technology tools.
Strength: Ability to respond appropriately to feedback. Added my own voice , interest and reinforced thesis per peer/instructors reviews.
Weakness: Technology deficit. Spend inordinate amount of time trying to figure out "what happened or how to make it happen" on the computer.
Weakness: Voice Suppression, tendency to suppress my own authority in deference to "theirs".
Strength: Commitment: Having decided on a thesis , I commit to reinforcing that thesis.
Strength: Willingness to learn. I appreciate that this class has given me useful technology tools.
Strength: Ability to respond appropriately to feedback. Added my own voice , interest and reinforced thesis per peer/instructors reviews.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Torn
Molestation, abuse, incest, rape, whatever the form, sexual offences shatter lives . The impact
rips through families. Communities divide on how to deal with the issues. The fallout can be devastating. Victims often have relationship and intimacy issues that effect not only themselves, but also their families. Sexual abuse increases a persons susceptibility to drug use , pregnancy and suicide (Berger,2008).Victims carry shame, self-doubt and fear with them for years, decades, lifetimes . On the other hand, sex offenders were often victims themselves(Barbaree & Marshall,2006). Offenders have their own battles with shame , compulsions, cognitive and emotional impairments. They are some body's child, father, brother. Yet, they are defined almost exclusively by their crime. In King County, offenders are required to register . Declaration of this offence severely restricts housing options and results in homelessness. Food , shelter and safety are basic human rights. The right to housing for registered sex offenders must be reconciled with the right to safe housing for families and other individuals.
The emotion , sensationalism and strong reactions that sex crimes evoke may have the effect of overriding action ( Berber, 2008). Many people have been victimized or have seen the effects of abuse. Over 70,000 substantiated cases were recorded by the U.S Dept. of Health and Human Services Administration on Children, Youth and Families in 2005. The largest percentage of these victims, almost 30,000, were 12-15 years old. In comparison 5,407 victims were
children 3 years old and under. Parents of young children are frightened if they loose sight of their tot at a playground or mall. Fear and disgust, while valid, may actually distort our thoughts and impede investigating possible solutions to the issue of sexual abuse.
Therapeutic treatment for sex offenders is relatively new and sparsely available. Reports regarding it's effectiveness vary. Missouri reports 94 percent of those that complete treatment have no repeat offence up to 10 years after completion . Not reflecting in this percentage are the many who choose not to participate, or do not complete treatment(Yeager, 2007). Other programs report treatment having little , if any any effect.There is authoritative agreement that the evidence does not prove or disprove the success of treatment for sex offenders. The rate of re-offending is less than might be expected, with or without treatment. Recidivism averages 13 percent at 5 years. This is a lower rate than for general criminal offences (Trowbridge,2007).
Laws need to be improved, prevention initiated and effective methods of rehabilitation need to be explored . In the meantime the dilemma of housing for sex offenders needs to be addressed.
Less than 2 decades ago legislation passed that addressed housing as an equal opportunity. America does not sanction discrimination. There are restrictions, however, that impair access to housing for certain groups of people. A past felony severely limits housing options. Reasonably, registered sex offenders may not locate near parks, schools or other concentrations of children. Public housing, for the most part , is closed to the registered sex offender.
There are 3 registered sex offenders within blocks of where I live. They happen to be young adults.They would not be distinguishable in a crowd. Sex offenders come in all ages, sizes ethnicity, and personalities. There is no type. These sex offenders are people. They have names and the same general needs for food shelter, and safety as the rest of the population. Unfortunately, lack of housing choices translates to many sex offenders being homeless. Sex offenders living a few blocks away does not make me feel terribly secure, yet, there is some relief knowing they are likely home asleep as I write this. I would be tenfold more disconcerted if they were sleeping in a doorway,driveway, alley or behind a fence near here. There are over 400
registered sex offenders without homes in King County (King County Sheriff Dept, 2008).
I believe that housing could give sex offenders motivation, accountability and something to loose. Housing would provide a certain measure of public safety. I also believe it is not fair to ask victims or potential victims to accept carte blanc housing for offenders. Survivors could be re traumatized by proximity to offenders. Families and individuals may be unreasonably stressed as their expectation for security would be compromised. In this light, segregated housing for sex offenders is a viable option. Clean and sober housing for alcoholic/addicts is an example of a possible solution for sex offenders. Requiring transitional housing after incarceration provides a way of accessing where the person is at and their ability to safely integrate into society, in effect balancing the offenders right to housing and family's and individual' s right to safety. Getting homeless sex offenders into housing increases their visability and accountablity. Thought would need to go into location, practices, qualifiers and safequards for such housing. Exploring housing solutions for sex offenders that are sensitive to public security is prudent, given what is at stake.
Resources :
Age and Sex Abuse:United States,2005. U.S Department Of Health and Human Services. Administration on Youth and Families.
Berger, Kathleen. The Devolping Person Through The Life Span. NewYork: Worth, 2008.
Bussiere &Hansen . Predicting Relapse-A meta-analysis of sex offender recidivism studies. 1998.
King County Sheriff Department. http://www.kingco.gov.safety/sheriff/SOSearch.aspx
Marshall&Barbaree . The Juvinille Offender. New York 2006: Guilfold
Trowbridge,PHD., J.D, Brett. "Does Sex Offender Treatment Work?" http://www.trowbridgefoundation.org/
Yeager, Melissa. "Sex Offender Rehab Program Helps Nearly All Who Finish It." KY3, Springfield. 25 Oct. 2007. www.ky3.com/news/specialreports/10803431.html
rips through families. Communities divide on how to deal with the issues. The fallout can be devastating. Victims often have relationship and intimacy issues that effect not only themselves, but also their families. Sexual abuse increases a persons susceptibility to drug use , pregnancy and suicide (Berger,2008).Victims carry shame, self-doubt and fear with them for years, decades, lifetimes . On the other hand, sex offenders were often victims themselves(Barbaree & Marshall,2006). Offenders have their own battles with shame , compulsions, cognitive and emotional impairments. They are some body's child, father, brother. Yet, they are defined almost exclusively by their crime. In King County, offenders are required to register . Declaration of this offence severely restricts housing options and results in homelessness. Food , shelter and safety are basic human rights. The right to housing for registered sex offenders must be reconciled with the right to safe housing for families and other individuals.
The emotion , sensationalism and strong reactions that sex crimes evoke may have the effect of overriding action ( Berber, 2008). Many people have been victimized or have seen the effects of abuse. Over 70,000 substantiated cases were recorded by the U.S Dept. of Health and Human Services Administration on Children, Youth and Families in 2005. The largest percentage of these victims, almost 30,000, were 12-15 years old. In comparison 5,407 victims were
children 3 years old and under. Parents of young children are frightened if they loose sight of their tot at a playground or mall. Fear and disgust, while valid, may actually distort our thoughts and impede investigating possible solutions to the issue of sexual abuse.
Therapeutic treatment for sex offenders is relatively new and sparsely available. Reports regarding it's effectiveness vary. Missouri reports 94 percent of those that complete treatment have no repeat offence up to 10 years after completion . Not reflecting in this percentage are the many who choose not to participate, or do not complete treatment(Yeager, 2007). Other programs report treatment having little , if any any effect.There is authoritative agreement that the evidence does not prove or disprove the success of treatment for sex offenders. The rate of re-offending is less than might be expected, with or without treatment. Recidivism averages 13 percent at 5 years. This is a lower rate than for general criminal offences (Trowbridge,2007).
Laws need to be improved, prevention initiated and effective methods of rehabilitation need to be explored . In the meantime the dilemma of housing for sex offenders needs to be addressed.
Less than 2 decades ago legislation passed that addressed housing as an equal opportunity. America does not sanction discrimination. There are restrictions, however, that impair access to housing for certain groups of people. A past felony severely limits housing options. Reasonably, registered sex offenders may not locate near parks, schools or other concentrations of children. Public housing, for the most part , is closed to the registered sex offender.
There are 3 registered sex offenders within blocks of where I live. They happen to be young adults.They would not be distinguishable in a crowd. Sex offenders come in all ages, sizes ethnicity, and personalities. There is no type. These sex offenders are people. They have names and the same general needs for food shelter, and safety as the rest of the population. Unfortunately, lack of housing choices translates to many sex offenders being homeless. Sex offenders living a few blocks away does not make me feel terribly secure, yet, there is some relief knowing they are likely home asleep as I write this. I would be tenfold more disconcerted if they were sleeping in a doorway,driveway, alley or behind a fence near here. There are over 400
registered sex offenders without homes in King County (King County Sheriff Dept, 2008).
I believe that housing could give sex offenders motivation, accountability and something to loose. Housing would provide a certain measure of public safety. I also believe it is not fair to ask victims or potential victims to accept carte blanc housing for offenders. Survivors could be re traumatized by proximity to offenders. Families and individuals may be unreasonably stressed as their expectation for security would be compromised. In this light, segregated housing for sex offenders is a viable option. Clean and sober housing for alcoholic/addicts is an example of a possible solution for sex offenders. Requiring transitional housing after incarceration provides a way of accessing where the person is at and their ability to safely integrate into society, in effect balancing the offenders right to housing and family's and individual' s right to safety. Getting homeless sex offenders into housing increases their visability and accountablity. Thought would need to go into location, practices, qualifiers and safequards for such housing. Exploring housing solutions for sex offenders that are sensitive to public security is prudent, given what is at stake.
Resources :
Age and Sex Abuse:United States,2005. U.S Department Of Health and Human Services. Administration on Youth and Families.
Berger, Kathleen. The Devolping Person Through The Life Span. NewYork: Worth, 2008.
Bussiere &Hansen . Predicting Relapse-A meta-analysis of sex offender recidivism studies. 1998.
King County Sheriff Department. http://www.kingco.gov.safety/sheriff/SOSearch.aspx
Marshall&Barbaree . The Juvinille Offender. New York 2006: Guilfold
Trowbridge,PHD., J.D, Brett. "Does Sex Offender Treatment Work?" http://www.trowbridgefoundation.org/
Yeager, Melissa. "Sex Offender Rehab Program Helps Nearly All Who Finish It." KY3, Springfield. 25 Oct. 2007. www.ky3.com/news/specialreports/10803431.html
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