All Socks are not Equal

As it turns out, socks are objects to recognize, or visual ID. It’s always difficult to decide which particular classification of problem applies. At any rate, there is a problem, and it is socks.

 

Actually, there are two problems, and one of them is me. I want my socks paired properly. The same length. The same color. Elasticity. Texture.

 

All black socks are not created equal. They do not even look equal, not really. Different lengths, slightly different shapes. This being the case, pairing them should still be relatively simple.

 

It took watching someone else to realize that taking each sock, placing it next to each other black sock and making a likely guess, is not the normal strategy. This has been my life, long enough now, that it has become normal. A frustration, to be sure, but a normal one.

 

I haven’t hit a solution yet, but my sock purchases in future will be of very distinctive pairs. I can get to a broad category, “black socks”, or “red and white stripes”. If the socks are distinctive enough that each pair gets its own category, well, getting down to the individual ID level (never something I can do) isn’t going to be a problem. It is a solution, in that I still won’t be able to pair my black socks easily, but it is solution enough. I will be able to indulge my need to have my socks paired properly, and not have it become an exercise in frustration and futility. It is enough.

Hope is a Poison

Hope is a poison. No, that is not quite right. Hope is a poison depending upon the dosage. Most things are harmful in sufficient quantity, and hope is no different.  I resent people who suggest I should be hoping for a miracle. I resent people who tell me that I should not give up.

That sort of hope, in the face of odds that are impossible, is a cruelty. It is a cruelty because it a paralyzing thing. It catches the victim, and freezes them in “If only”, and “Someday.”

That’s fine enough, for a time. But we are human, and time passes, and we cannot stagnate, frozen in time, waiting. Hope is a paralyzing thing, because it keeps you frozen on the edge of anticipation, dreaming.

There is a time for dreams. But there is a time, too, for planning. For accepting. For improving. I cannot better live with the challenges I face if I am frozen, hoping for them to fade away.

Do not ask me to hope, or to pray for a miracle, when I have moved onward, past hopes and dreams, and into acceptance. I have done my grieving, do not ask me step backwards into denial. I do not need hope, as you would feed it to me, that things will disappear and obstacles will vanish.

I want no miracles. But I want the quiet victories, of learning new ways to do things, to experience things, of finding new and different joys. I want to explore the world that is left to me, to find its limits, and surpass them. And I will. Perhaps it not hope, this calm, accepting and dauntless confidence. Perhaps it is. Some things are only toxic, when mixed with others. And perhaps hope is one of those.

If you tell me to pray for a miracle, I will tell you that I have had all the miracles that anyone has a right to ask for, and more. I will tell you this, and it will be true. It will even be polite.

I am not certain, though, that it will be right. But how do I say that this medicine of hope, which you are trying to provide is a poison, in the mix that you are handing me is not a balm but a poison?

I’ll thank you kindly, for something well meant. And maybe someday, I will find the words that will stop you offering this poison-laced kindness to anyone else.

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Note: No, it has not been that kind of day. But I’ve been searching for the words for a long time, and the thought crossed my mind that I might be closer to finding them now.

Common Courtesy is an Uncommon Virtue

I improved someone’s day today. Not by being especially kind, or nice (as I was described), but simply by being polite. She was tall, thin, and rather frazzled. A cashier at a gas station. She apologized for having me repeat myself, explaining that she was somewhat deaf.

I simply smiled, and told her that it surely wasn’t a problem. I spoke louder, of course, because that is a consideration we show our fellow humans when they need it. I repeated that several times, as she apologized for things that were neither inconvenient, nor problematic.

At the end of our brief interaction, she told me I was nice, and suggested I should come by more. Yet I was not especially kind. When the simple consideration we show our fellow humans, the simple politeness, is considered nice, it says something about the rest of the world. That I was considered kind today says nothing good of the rest of her customers.

We make the world better or worse by our presence in it. We make other people’s lives better, or worse, by our presence in them. And I think, even in the little things, the actions of moments, we should still strive to make things better.

I see common courtesy far less often than I would like, for it is one of those simple, easy gestures, by which we improve the world. And, perhaps more importantly, by which we avoid worsening it.

On the Advantages of a Small Service Dog

Best is the ease of communication. Because I carry my service dog, such that she spends most of the time physically in contact with me, her communication is silent and subtle. Monitoring her has become second nature, and doesn’t rely on my vision. A good thing, that, considering that I trust my eyes far less these days.

Furthermore, because of what she must do, indicate on known individuals, it’s important for her to be able to see. Yoshi takes a positive approach, which is to indicate on familiar people (and cars, and helicopters- she has a very reasonable lack of faith in my abilities) and not to respond to the unfamiliar.

There are some flaws to this, of course. I am never without the sling and Pomeranian, and that limits freedom of movement to some extent. She has gained some weight since we started this and is heavier than any purse I have ever been in a habit of carrying. Still the real issues are neither hers, nor mine.

I come across, with some level of regularity, the “Floor problem”, namely that someone at the entrance of wherever I happen to be visiting insists that my dog must work from the floor. It is either a poorly explained version of “Dogs cannot be in grocery carts” (Not an issue, since I wear her), or the subtler “If it isn’t a seeing-eye-dog, it must not be a service dog” belief. In either case, the resulting discussion isn’t my preferred free-time activity.

Beyond that, of course, Yoshi is “cute”. She is cute, and portable, and worn in a sling and I have had more than one stranger in my personal space petting her without a word to me. An assumption, I suppose, that because she is cute she must be unemployed.

That said, for what I need, a smaller dog is definitely preferable. Cheaper to feed, of course, and better suited to the lifestyle of my desk job, but also close enough to communicate with body language.

There, but for the Grace of God

As I walked out of my final exam, I passed this plaque honoring students that have died while attending university here. And I thought, “There, but for the Grace of God, go I”. Because I am tremendously fortunate. Tremendously fortunate to be graduating this Saturday, and tremendously fortunate to be alive.

In August, not yet two years ago, my pickup was struck by a semi. And this is old news, nearly two years past. But for me, it may never be old news. And it doesn’t stick with me, because I came so very close to dying that day, but it sticks with me, because every time I reach for something behind me, and turn my whole body to avoid popping my clavicle out of place, I remember. I remember every time I throw braces into the cab before I travel. I remember each night that I take pain meds to sleep, and each morning that I take them with my coffee. It sticks with me in the things and the people I can’t remember. The things I can no longer do.

But I am lucky. I have been tremendously lucky, during the wreck, and after. The faculty of USD have been remarkable in their willingness to help me. Not only have I been blessed with excellent teachers, I have been blessed to know and work with excellent people, and I am the better for it.

This Saturday, I will graduate, in three years, and with decent grades, in spite of the wreck. I have been tremendously lucky.