Dave’s FCS and the village

By Peggy | March 7, 2013 |

My friend, Lyndsay Knecht, gave a shout out on Facebook the other day to the auto shop that our family has patronized since we moved to the Denton area in 1993 — Dave’s Foreign Car Service. She was happy that Dave recognized although her engine light was on, there wasn’t really anything wrong with her car. And he didn’t charge her for the look-see to make sure.

Sam thinks Dave’s is great, too. “They tell me what’s happening,” Sam says. He knows what work they’ve done to his car and what’s coming up — like changing brake pads and the transmission fluid — so he can plan.

“They also let me know when it’s time to get new tires,” Sam says.

He doesn’t get the tires at Dave’s. He goes a few blocks down to Briscoe to get that taken care of.

Because I know most everyone at Dave’s (I wrote about one occasion where Dave talked me off the ledge not long after Mark died), and I know they keep an eye on others who get their referrals, I don’t feel like I have to backtrack to make sure nobody’s taking advantage of Sam as he takes care of his car.

Sometimes, when I think about why Sam wants to stay in Denton (believe me, the marginal quality of life in the Barnett Shale makes you think really hard about that — and I didn’t say “terrible quality of life” because that would be an affront to the people of the Eagle Ford), I know it’s all these small, reliable relationships he has in the community.

The restauranteurs near Albertsons know him, especially the guys at Luigi’s Pizza, where he’s been known to knock back a pie all by himself on a break from work. He schedules his own check-ups at the dentist and the doctor. Wayne Johnson takes good care of his diminishing hair line at Unique Barber Stylists. They know him DATCU credit union, too. And of course, there’s everyone at Born2Be.

Even for adults, it takes a village.

Posted in adults with autism, decision-making, hope, problem-solving, self-advocacy

What I did on my spring vacation

By Peggy | March 4, 2013 |

I’ve been home from work for the past week, burning off vacation time that I would have otherwise lost. I didn’t make any plans, other than to visit Mark’s Aunt Regina in East Texas. I was able to  stop by Born2Be Wednesday and watch Sam prepare for regional Special Olympics.

Here he is working on part of his trail pattern

Sam and I took Regina out to lunch and then we took her on a drive to, and through, Mrs. Lee’s Garden.

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Regina told us that, back in the garden’s heyday, there were many more daffodils than we saw on Friday. I can’t imagine. The Dallas Arboretum should have so many blooms.

Sam and I took turns taking photos of each other sitting on a rock in the sun. It was a beautiful day.

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Then we went back to Regina’s house and helped her change a handful of lightbulbs, something we do for her in about three out of every four visits. Sam put a CFL in one slot, and that bulb just keeps on shining. But we can’t talk her out of the incandescents in the other spots. I forget how frequently those burn out.

This week at home, I raised puttering to competitive sport. Well, maybe not puttering as much as spending time at the bottom of the to-do list, taking care of those things that always seem to languish. The loppers got fixed, for example, as did the hose to the shop vac. Then a whole bunch of stuff got lopped or vacuumed.

Inside the house, I went through my annual ritual of cleaning out files to make room for other paper. I figure if I don’t buy more filing cabinets, then I can keep the paper collection down. It’s hard. I see so many things as source material, holding the potential to be the start of another great story.

While tending the garden, I got plenty of thinking time in. Then turned that into more personal writing time. That always feels good.

About ten years ago, I read a magazine story about how to keep the spirit of a vacation going after returning to the daily grind. It really improved our family’s quality of life to find lazy time together, occasionally staying up late to watch a movie or make an otherwise ordinary meal a grand occasion. A week at home packs its own wisdom for the rest of your days. I think I finally caught on.

Posted in getting back on the horse, problem-solving

Parenting is a contact sport

By Peggy | February 16, 2013 |

Some people like to claim their gray hair comes from things their kids did. I see my scars and remember.

I have a long skinny scar that runs from knuckle to knuckle on my ring finger that came while digging in the garden with Michael. He felt so badly when he saw that his little shovel missed its mark and drew blood.

I was surprised how strong he was.

I’ve got a knot on my forehead from trying to help build a fence for the cashmere goats, a 4H project that lived here for 5-6 years. I got clubbed so hard by a round of woven fence wire that was hung up on a t-pole — almost spring-loaded, like a giant mousetrap — that it should’ve killed me. But the kids were all standing there, so I told myself to take the hit and keep on ticking.

Today I went to work with an odd-looking burn on my chin, like a permanent dribble of hot chocolate. I thought for sure at least Bj would say something, but no one asked.

Last night, Sam was determined to learn how to cook fish tacos. He dropped in the first battered fish strip from such a height, the frying oil splashed. Sam got a few splashes on his arm and I took one on the chin. But by the third strip, he was dropping it in perfectly.

Like Jason Robards character said in Parenthood, parenting is “like your Aunt Edna’s ass. It goes on forever and it’s just as frightening” and is unlike football, since there’s no end zone where you get to spike the ball and do your little dance.

Except he missed the part where parenting is a contact sport.

 

Posted in health, hope, love, Uncategorized