Special Needs Parent

My interview with Special Needs Parent was posted today if you'd like to read it. Thanks, Michele, for all the work you're doing helping kids with disabilities and their parents.

Date with Silvi

Ian met with his PT and teacher today. He's doing phenomenal with his motor skills and is at about a six-month-old level as far as his speech is concerned (he's eight months old this week). He may be falling a bit behind there, but wow, can he ever suck on his big toe, which is more than his pop can do.

Even though I had the whole weekend off of work for once, I still had to put in twelve hours today. I realized that all this overtime has been a little hard on Silvi, especially when I got a call from her at 6:30 this morning, crying because I wasn't home when she got up. So tonight was one of our date nights. She and I were planning to head back to our favorite spot, the Global Market, but she decided that a ride on the merry-go-round at the Mall of America was in order. Food Network guru Alton Brown was there signing his book for a few hundred fans, but we opted for a quick plate of greasy Chinese food followed by a carousel ride atop a broken plastic horse. But Silvi was thrilled, which is more than can said for the merry-go-round operator. I don't blame him, because really, how many times can you tell people not to step off of the moving ride before you want to run screaming from the mall with a hand full of arcade tokens and a bag of day old cotton candy?

Even though I usually try to make it home by diner each night, which often means being at work before the rooster crows, I'm still pretty shot when I pull into the driveway at night. I hate how work saps the best part of me. I remember reading a quote somewhere that when a parent gets home after work that their children receive only their temperament, not their teaching. Anyway, it's probably the lack of sleep that's got me quoting writers who get to sit around all day and imagine what it's like to have a real job. No offence if you're a writer. I'm just jealous.

I hope Silvi remembers these little date nights. They're usually the highlight of my week. That, and watching Ian suck his toe.

Sufferin’ succotash

Talking about how busy you are at work is about as interesting as talking about the weather, but, man, I'm wiped! It's been six super stressful, seditious, sorrowful and scandalous sets of seven days. I'm going to do nothing this weekend but engage in severe amounts of sedentary, succulent sleep. Sheesh!

The Pope and Down syndrome

I am not a Catholic and know very little about Pope Benedict XVI, but came across the following while reading up about his visit to the US:

It may be worth noting that Joseph Ratzinger had personal experience of the Nazi approach to "rejects." A cousin with Down's Syndrome, who in 1941 was 14 years old, just a few months younger than Ratzinger himself, was taken away by the Nazi authorities for "therapy." Not long afterwards, the family received word that he was dead, presumably one of the "undesirables" eliminated during that time.

Twenty-four little hours

I'm putting in a 24-hour day today - continuous, that is. It started at 4am and, judging by how long it's taking to burn these DVD's here at the office, I'll be heading home around 4am. Back at 8am for a showing. Gotta love this industry.

I did, however, take a few hours away to walk to the lake on this awesome Spring evening with Annie and the kids. So many dogs to pet, swings to test, train tracks to... pretend a girl monster is coming around the corner? All righty then.

I've still got my winter legs - pasty white and as weak as Keanu Reeves' acting in Much Ado About Nothing. Time to break (hopefully not literally) out the skateboard, I suppose. Fat, long-haired 40-year-old on a longboard. You will NOT see that picture on this site.

Did my taxes a few minutes ago online to the sound of dentist drills burning to DVD. Not recommended. Hope I didn't forget to carry the 1; happy tax day.

Update: It's 4:06am. Do you know where your video editor is?

Imagination

This is my first experience with raising a three-year-old, so there are many new wonders for me to absorb. One of them is imagination; Silvi's imaginary life is in full bloom, and I've got to say, it's more fun than chewing Hubba Bubba watermelon gum on a hot summer day.

She's constantly inviting - demanding - me to join her on her magic (towel) carpet for a ride above the trees or to hide from the beast or to sword fight against said beast, which isn't such a bad beast after all. "Would you like a cup of tea, beast?" When she's scared, like when we go into the dark laundry room, she covers her eyes with both hands as if that will somehow provide a protective shield around her.

We read to her, tell her stories and she loves scary movies that I probably shouldn't let her watch. Like the dragon fight scene (and only this scene) in Beowulf. (And I'm not that bad of a parent; I watched it first and remembered the parts to fast-forward through. No head-biting, heart-ripping or dismemberment's for my little girl. Not till she's four.)

Silvi turns three on Friday. I wonder where she'll take me this year.

Walk the line

Rainy day yesterday. Silvi and I went out for breakfast together while Annie and Ian chilled out; Annie's chin deep into a Murder She Wrote marathon on Netflix Instant Viewing. I spent much of the weekend revamping my business website, making it more corporate (gack) and minimalist. A bit embarrassed by the *yawn* booooring videos I've put up as samples, but - that's all I's gots.

Also embarrassed by the cheesy Christian videos up there, but again... Man, I've made a lot of crap over the years. Sold out to the man. That's part of the reason I've started my own company, to create videos that I can be proud of and that won't come with a warning to not watch my videos late at night or before operating heavy machinery.

Lately, I've been working with a corporation on the side that is paying enough for me to invest some of the extra money into my own projects, which is pretty stinkin' exciting. (Thanks, Jim, for throwing the business my way.) I'm looking around for a writer for my philosophy video series; need to find someone who can walk the line between curriculum and documentary. So if you know anyone...

Speaking of walking the line, I'm delving into two books in my attempt to better understand, know, learn about, comprehend, find, discover what Jesus was like, who he was/is, etc. One book was written by an atheist, Jose Saramago and the other by an evangelical Phillip Keller. When Saramago, who wrote the killer book Blindness, published his novel - The Gospel According to Jesus Christ - it was renounced as heretical by almost everyone, Protestant and Catholic alike. Not hard to see why, since, according to Saramago, Joseph was the real daddy.

Keller, best known for his classics A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 and Lessons from a Sheepdog, is no doubt a fine writer, and more accurately reflects my own beliefs concerning these events, but, man, some of his book on the life of Jesus that I'm reading - Rabboni - is just downright cheesy. Stuffed crust cheesy. He's got Mary and Joseph sneaking lovey-dovey looks at each other, Mary not complaining (why add this interpretation) about riding - pregnant - on a donkey across the desert, Joseph a strapping tanned young man, etc.

That's why I have to read Saramago, a brilliant writer, in the other hand, to balance the story out. Same goes for a lot of other stories or books I read: If I'm holding Kierkegaard in one hand, the other hand's got Nietzsche.

Of course, I'm defaulting back to the original stories recorded by the Jewish writers of old to give me sure footing on this path, walking the line, struggling along the narrow ridge.

Sounds

One of the families in our Down syndrome group lent us some of the Woodbine House books, which I still hope to get around to one of these weekends. I'm most interested right now in teaching Ian new sounds. He's got the grunting sounds down pat; if I ever need sound effects of a constipated elk for one of my videos, I need look no further.

I've been looking him in the eyes and doing the "Mamamamama" and "Dadadadada" sounds for him. Guess he thinks I sound like a dehydrated elk.

Location Scouting

Last night Silvi was my model as she and I drove around Minneapolis location scouting for a shoot I'm doing this summer.
It's a story I've been working on for a while about reconciliation between Serbs and Albanians, thus, the Serbian Orthodox Church visible in the background.

Silvi and I ended up eating at a fine dining restaurant, not by choice, but because we were both famished after walking in the brisk air and the restaurant was near by. We shared a $13 hamburger, the cheapest thing on the menu. It was a very nice date, and Silvi was excellent company. We also got complimentary warm bread.

The block down the street from the church where I hope to do some shooting.

Railroad Tracks

Tonight was such a gorgeous night that we went down by the lake and walked along the railroad tracks. I took some video and threw this together; it's best viewed full screen (although I'm still struggling with the quality issues during the upload).


Railroad Tracks from Narrow Ridge on Vimeo.

A man's man

A list came out today with 50 movies that every man should see before he dies. These are manly movies, chest-beating, blood-drenched, ass-whooping, sweat-filled movies where the man knows what he wants, and he takes it.

I like many of the films on the list. But it's got me revisiting some thoughts that have been bugging me since Ian was born. Thoughts about what it means to be a man with Down syndrome. I know, I know. "Jeez, Tom, he's just a little baby and you're already trying to figure out how to turn your six-month-old into a sword-wielding philosopher." (I'm not really teaching him philosophical terms, in case you were worried. I am, however, teaching him how to say "Hey, baby, you got some fries with that shake? No, seriously, where's the fries?")

The hero's/anti-hero's in these films are individualistic, cunning, resourceful, strong, brutal, wise, funny, witty, self-reliant, charming and, most importantly, looked up to by millions of other men. Again, I know, I know, who's to say Ian won't grow up to be the next Bond, Ian Bond. Not that I in any way hope my son will have to compensate for his inadequacies by bedding women in every city around the globe. (My parents are counselors, if you can't tell.)

You get what I'm saying though, don't you? Innocence and vulnerability are not character traits that make for good hero's. But of course we all know there's not a "pinch of poop" of truth in that last sentence. Like Robert Bly says, “By the time a man is 35 he knows that the images of the right man, the tough man, the true man which he received in high school do not work in life.”

So if we know that the kinds of hero's portrayed in these films do not provide good maps on how to live our lives, why are they so stinkin' popular? Maybe, partly, it's a resistance to that whole "Blessed are the meek" thing. He might as well have said "Blessed are the pasty-white, paper-thin nerds who keep getting the books knocked out of their hands."



MAN #2: You hear that? Blessed are the Greek.
GREGORY: The Greek?
MAN #2: Mmm. Well, apparently, he's going to inherit the earth.
GREGORY: Did anyone catch his name?
MRS. BIG NOSE: You're not going to thump anybody.
MR. BIG NOSE: I'll thump him if he calls me 'Big Nose' again.
MR. CHEEKY: Oh, shut up, Big Nose.
MR. BIG NOSE: Ah! All right. I warned you. I really will slug you so hard--
MRS. BIG NOSE: Oh, it's the meek! Blessed are the meek! Oh, that's nice, isn't it? I'm glad they're getting something, 'cause they have a hell of a time.
The Life of Brian

I don't want Ian to have "a hell of a time." Of course, I have "a hell of a time" because I try - and fail - to live as one of the meek, which, by the way, is in no way synonymous with weakness, rather, in it's original language, is rooted in the concept of taming a horse. The "meek" horse is not broken and has not lost it's strength, but it's will is no longer primarily its own. Of course, this metaphor only works if the horse has a good trainer, a Robert Redford to whisper sweet nothings into it's ear. "Psst, horse, vote Democrat."

I guess what I'm saying is that it sucks that Ian - the man - will always be compared, judged, measured by the Rambo's, Eastwood's and Clooney's of the world. Sucks that I'm judged by these standards.

I know, I know. Chill. But I'm just a dad, worried about all the guys streaming out of the next showing of Fight Club.

An update on my grandmother

A little over a week ago, my aunt got a phone call from my grandmother's doctor telling her to come immediately, that my grandmother was dying. My mom flew out and spent a week with her, and it seems, for now, that she is "stable." I suppose this is how it will be for the next days, weeks, and even, perhaps, months.

Just thought I'd share.

Fire Island

*Via my cousin

It's begun

Ian met with the OT on Monday, and she thinks that Ian is about a month behind on his vocabulary skills. But he's doing awesome - right on track - in all his other developmental skills. And he's an ace at skeet shooting.

Monday night was all about shots. RSV, and two more with weird names. (They should just call them names like "Strawberry" or "Chocolate" shots. Make it easier to remember which one's he's had. "Ian had his Cherry Garcia shot last month and is getting a Mint Chocolate Chip one this month." See? Easy.) On top of shots was the drawing - or the jabs, pricks, gouges, pokes, prods, shoves, attempts at - drawing blood. No dice. No twice, no thrice, not even four times. Poor Ian cushion. Screamed himself to sleep. We have to take him back soon for more Bloodletting 101; maybe his veins will have expanded over the last three days?

The news that Ian is starting to slip behind "normal" "average" kids kind of sunk in a bit. Made everything a little more real. Annie had a bad day yesterday, and went over to her parent's place for moral support.

Maybe I need to lay off trying to teach Ian philosophical terms. Maybe he's just confused about when he should use material equivalence instead of material implication. Heck, we all struggle with that one. Fine. Back to boring ole A, B, and or C.

Escapes

I bailed out of work early yesterday; all the deadlines and constant stress was causing me to lose sleep. I was up for four hours in the middle of Monday night, lying on the couch, trying to switch off my thoughts. I shouldn't have gotten into the Frontline documentary on PBS called Bush's War, which is excellent. Highly recommend it, and you can watch it online.

So I just threw on my jacket and headed to the nearest movie theater. That's my chief escape. That, and philosophy books. Ahh, a cold winter's day, a hot latte and a good book on the ontological hermeneutics expressed in the existential-phenomenological works of Ricoeur. Bliss.

I quickly perused my choice of films and decided on The Band's Visit. Man, am I glad I did. Fantastic film! A+. Five stars. An Israeli film, it's about loneliness and connecting with others, even if just for a brief moment. It's one of those films that makes you ache and brings you joy, all at the same time. Films like these are why I'm in the field I'm in. How's that for a rave review?!

I haven't been going to enough movies lately. If I don't do the little things that bring me joy, I always seem to burn out. Now I just need to find a new philosophy book to read.

Speaking of which, I bought The Philosophy of Jesus by Boston College professor of philosophy, Peter Kreeft. Kreeft isn't for everyone; while mostly funny and witty, he can be a little dogmatic and combative at times. But I've always learned from his books and look forward to this one. I'm also reading Deep River by the Catholic Japanese writer Shusaku Endo. His book Silence (which Martin Scorsese is hoping to convert into a film) is one of my all-time favorites, and I can't wait to finish this one.

This week is much more relaxed, so I hope to do more writing. Hope to, anyway.

Glimpse of the future

I was playing around in Photoshop and wondered how I might look in my seventies.

My wife's one lucky woman, yes sir. Sorry, ladies, I'm off the market.

Polar Plunge

A few weeks ago I went to the Polar Plunge to benefit the Special Olympics and got some footage of a lot the people in our Down syndrome group. (I snuck a shot of Ian and Silvi in there, too.)


Polar Plunge 2008 from Narrow Ridge on Vimeo.

Heaven

Someone was finally able to sneak a camera into heaven and send an image of it back to earth. To get the full effect of the picture, you have to click on it to see it full size.

Play

Yesterday was an eighteen-hour day of editing. Today looks to be the same. Five hours of sleep; add it all up and you get - twenty-three hours. I took the leftover hour in the evening to play.

We all walked down to the park where I had a blast pretending to ride the slide into outer space with Silvi. She's smack dab in the middle of her "Look at me, look at me" stage, wanting the world to see her splash through ice-laden puddles or swing - by herself - on the big people's swings.

I would be lost without that little girl, continually pulling me out of the "grown-up" world of deadlines and meetings and important things. "Daddy, you're it!" "Daddy, come play in my room."

For all the work I did this week, the memory that stays with me most is not found on a computer screen, but on a playground, with my little, blond-haired girl dodging stars atop a wooden jungle gym.

Et tu, Dalai Lama?

I wonder if the Dalai Lama was ever taken to task or has since recanted his views (I stumbled across it while reading about all the protests in China):

Of course, abortion, from a Buddhist viewpoint, is an act of killing and is negative, generally speaking. But it depends on the circumstances. If the unborn child will be retarded or if the birth will create serious problems for the parent, these are cases where there can be an exception. I think abortion should be approved or disapproved according to each circumstance.

Dalai Lama, New York Times, 28/11/1993

Parent's night out

We had Silvi spend the night with my parents on Saturday so that we could go to the Down syndrome parent's night out. No kids allowed. We did, however, end up taking Ian since he isn't big on bottles yet, but he ended up sleeping through the entire event.

Two of the parents hosted it in their home, a gorgeous three-story house located on a hill overlooking the downtown skyline. They had a well-stocked bar of enough wine and beer to give me a headache the following morning. I think there were about twenty of us, and it was good to meet the parents in a less formal setting than the classroom. And without the kids demanding all the attention, we were finally able to have prolonged conversations, although many of them were on the topic of our children. A couple of the dads play soccer, so it was good to be able to talk sports for a bit.

OK. I admit it. I enjoyed myself. And I may even make a habit of it. Guess it is possible to teach an old dog some new tricks after all.

Africa

While I'm waiting for my timeline to render, I thought I'd mention that I got a phone call earlier today that a team of doctors from the Mayo Clinic saw my work and are hoping to hire me (freelance - for my own company) to go with them to Africa for a week in September. They teach on the latest techniques and want to document the training. I'm not sure, but it may be a little more exciting than shooting a dental training video.

Dental shoot

I spent all day yesterday shooting a training video in a dentist's office. The office was an hour and a half away in a small town, the kind where everyone knows everyone. It was snowing pretty hard, making the drive treacherous.

It was a three camera shoot, with one small camera suspended directly over the various patent's mouths, another camera shooting a different angle through a mirror clamped onto a stand, and the third camera shooting a wide, establishing shot. The dentist talked like one of his high speed drills, and I think he has been sniffing too much of the nitrous oxide. We went to lunch with him, where he often whistled loudly when he wanted the waitress. He spent the entire lunch hour drawing diagrams of crowns and teeth on his napkin.

We hired an additional freelance cameraman who we'd used before; he has narcolepsy. He forgot to take his pill once during a different shoot and kept dozing off in the middle of takes. He took his pill yesterday.

This morning we woke to snow-covered trees. I drive around a lake on my way to work each morning, and was wishing I had a camera.

This week is horrendously busy for me. I better get back to it.

"I'm the king of the world!"

Update: Get them out there

I shot an email to the director - Sophie Hyde - of the Australian documentary and showed her my rant and she's sending me a copy of her film. Look for a review here in the coming weeks. Thanks, Sophie! (I don't care what people say about you Aussies, you're OK in my book :) )