For the Future--too often, Waiting for the Rain

If I hate my own species, I have gone rogue, never a good thing.
And I haven't.
Too many people are on the earth, and this is impacting the world as I know it rapidly.
Animals, plant life are dying. We sort of see that.
We are killing the oceans, too. We dump our trash, our cremains, have oil spills, get all  excited about one or two shark attacks and start eradicating, and, huh?
I doubt my great-grandchildren will ever eat much seafood that was ever wild.  Weird, but that means it won't be as healthy, either.
With climate change, wildfires are taking out more homes, businesses, even communities. No way around it.
Time was, Syrian refugees could have been resettled in vacant land somewhere, some continent. Doesn't exist today, so we all have to move over. I don't blame them for leaving. Common sense applies. But we are still surprised and caught offguard when the street people move into our mansions, so to speak. We understand they are desperate, but they make us uncomfortable.

In my lifetime half the wildlife that existed when I was born will become extinct, except in zoos and refuges. Well, through the century they will continue to die.
For Southwesterners, it is so personal. No one my age didn't play with horned toads. Scratch 'em between the eyes, watch their bliss. Texas has a football team, the Horned Frogs.
No one thought they would die. Even my oldest son played with some. But they were gone when my younger son grew up.
I look at the world, at the universe, which my specie has given me an eye to, and it is exciting. I don't know what will happen in the future, even if we don't blow ourselves up.
But as so-called "stewards of the earth", mankind is pretty poor. We have littered for millennium.
The world will survive. Maybe people will, too.
I know in the past, each generation has thought they were making a better world for the next generation. I am so proud of my sons and granddaughters, and I think the world ahead for them, screw the economy, is going to be so much harder.
What I do know is that problems sometimes are easier to see than solutions we never dreamed of.
It got us here. I hope it gets us out.
This is a scary world to live in. It is not unhopeful.

The Rule of Three

This week, I am trying to teach my fifth grader the Rule of Three.

At first, she was resistant. Now she's getting it. I didn't learn the Rule of Threee until my 30s.. She is way ahead of me.

The Rule of Three is exaaaaactly that.

So many of us grew up believing in Either-Or.

That leaves us stuck in the box.

Look for the third alternative. Life is NEVER either-or. Always we have a third or more alternative. Three is good. Three is simple. I can deal with that.

So how are you doing with Either-Or? 

What would the third alternative be? Is that the one that works? Bet it is, but don't  rule out fourth, fifth or sixth alternative. You just don't have to rely on old Either-Or.

We are humans. Isn't that astonishing? We have so many choices if we choose.

We do choose.

I'll Run Out Of Good News Sometime

OK.

Just talked to a friend of mine. She just finished a book of 400 pages and really enjoyed it.

She's schizophrenic. She was hit with the disease when she was 32, and she hasn't been able to read for 15 years. Some of it is the disease. A lot of it is the medication. She was a librarian. She lost a lot. (understating it)

Schizophrenia is nasty. Persons with it cannot function. They have trouble connecting with others. Often highly intelligent, they can't really think. And they are aware much of the time of what is going on. Other times, what seems real is delusional. It is cruel.

She told me tonight that the medications don't really mask or cure the disease. They deal with the symptoms. Like I take Advil to deal with my rheumatoid arthritis.

But there are new medical protocols for schizophrenia. One involves the lessening of the drugs. She has gone from 16 to 3 meds a day. And now she can read. She still is schizophrenic, but she may be able to work again sometime. If we didn't have SSI for folks like her, we would have a lot more dead or under bridges. Including her--not her opinion, but mine. She's not in Texas. Here, she would be under a bridge.

I've known her for four years. Always, she has tried to give back. She leads a self-help group, she teaches a monthly class for medical personnel about what it's like to be her and other mentally ill people so they can better be served. She says she can tell by their faces who is learning and who is closed. She hopes the learning ones are able to be more knowledgeable and caring for people like she used to be.

Because she has been functioning well. She just couldn't read. Can you imagine that for a librarian? When she told me tonight she read a whole book for pleasure, I almost cried.

I told her about a book I enjoyed. She reserved it at the library on her computer as we talked. She has a kindle. She is miles ahead of me technologically, and she has just been learning the last year.

Many human beings are just as nasty to each other as they have been for thousands of years. Others are ill and untreated. That is truth and life.

But I know her, and what I write is truth. One schizophrenic who couldn't read can read again. She is reaching out to help others. And who knows what else? I used to be a pessimist, some 20 years ago. A current friend tells me somewhat sadly today I am an incurable optimist. I like it. I'll take it.

Hope beats doom every day.

What One Man Can Do

I first talked to M. when I was answering phones for the receptionist. He was concerned about his kids with their mother. They were divorced. He informed me he was four days sober. I congratulated him wholeheartedly.

Just a couple weeks before, I had a two-day training on drug addiction. We had a professor who could give us the chemical and physical traits of addictive drugs and a CPS supervisor from San Antonio. We were given 4 scenarios in the course of the two days, and divided into teams to figure out what we could do. We came up with this and that, but none of us believed in any positive solution. Addicts don't change, we believed. I had been working for a number of years and had had a lot of training in this. I was quite cynical.

And then the CPS supervisor told us these were all off her caseload as a worker, and they all had positive results. And she spelled them out. Wow. It DID take an extraordinary amount of work, but I was galvanized. There was hope. Not always, but sometimes. But, she said, the difference was we had to believe.

So when I talked to M. I was positive and encouraging. He was concerned about their kids, who were still with their drug-using mother.

Coincidentally, a CPS investigation was underway (not instigated by him) and it was decided the kids should no longer be with their mother, but with their grandmother, who was her mother.

Grandmother was in a stable situation. She cooked and cleaned. Most kids of druggies don't have clean sheets or any sheets on their beds. They live in filth, which is weird, considering the amount of energy methamphetamine produces.

I asked for the case and got it. I had a CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) volunteer working with me.

I had to set up weekly hour visits for each parent separately. The first time M. came in, 6'3" tall, muscular, skin lying flat on the muscle with no trace of fat, with a ponytail and hard eyes, my case aid (she and I were the only staff in the building) said, "Are you sure about this?" I said I was. By then, M. and I had talked several more times.

I knew he would be difficult. In recovery, he was sometimes volatile. He would get angry on the phone, slam it down and call me back five minutes later with a sheepish, "I'm sorry." This happened a lot. But he stayed sober.

M. was unusual. He was staying in a motel one weekend, taking drugs, and had plenty of drugs, which he used up. He tried and tried to get a taxicab to take him to a nearby city for more drugs, but noone would take him. He was high, and big, and scary. He flopped on the bed, coming down, and picked up the Gideon Bible in the drawer of the nightstand. And started reading.

He had a religious conversion. He quit using, and I believe his assertion that he never used again. He was so determined. Four days later, we talked for the first time. By then, he was actively attending AA every day. He had a job--he always worked even while addicted. He didn't have transporation, though and his mother had to pay his motel (she certainly didn't want him living with her), and he had to walk 11/2 miles a day each way to and from his construction job.

His daughters were 3 and 4. Both were already showing early signs of personality disorders. I got them into counseling with a talented play therapist. It took years. Texas has victim funds available for kids. They benefitted from these long after the case closed.

M. taught me a lot, in his recovery. He had little or no money, but he knew what his kids liked. He HAD to work a full shift, so our visits were at 6 p.m. He would go home, cook a Totino's pepperoni pizza and bring it to the visit. He always would read to the girls after, and play with them. He would bring two balloons he blew up, sneaking a dollar bill inside each for the girls to catch and break. 3 and 4? A dollar? They were rich! they knew it was magic. and they went home happy and calm, because their daddy had been a daddy and played with them and fed them and gave them each a dollar.

Their mother was more sporadic. We don't transport parents in CPS. If you care, you arrange it. Seems very fair to me. (I remember a court trial when the defense attorney asked me if I didn't agree two miles walking to the office was too much to ask. The mother was in her 20's. I replied, "It would require effort, but it isn't impossible." The attorney was asking a yes or no question and filed for a non-responsive answer, which the judge agreed to, but I think his lips twitched.) To her credit, B. was pretty good about calling beforehand when she wasn't coming. Many kids taken from a home because the situation is so bad aren't that fortunate.

M. was doing good. He was able to buy an old car. He was finally able to get an apartment.

Meanwhile, grandma wasn't supervising very well, though she was keeping the kids clean and well-fed. A couple of years earlier, she had the kids help her comb the seeds out of weed she was readying for sale, but she wasn't a big time dealer. She told an investigator once that her daughter and three men came home one night to have sex in the living room. All were high. Her then 2 an 3 year old granddaughters were sleeping on the couches in the same room. According to her report, she did not go get her grandchildren. She smoked dope to forget what was going on, and went to sleep. She told because she was angry at her daughter and thought this reflected on B. It never crossed her mind this reflected on her as well.

Sometime later, she told me in genuine puzzlement, "I don't understand why you think I am a bad person."

I responded, "I know you don't."

And I said it pleasantly, because she really had no idea. I just sighed.

I submitter my court report outlining services and describing the situation. The CASA worker submitted her report and recommended removal.
The judge went with her recommendation. I was not displeased.

There was a commotion when we got to the house. Police were called. The girls went to an experienced home where the parents were very loving and very skilled. The girls had moved around so much, been left with so many people, they settled in immediately.

I tried to work with B. who was actively using, although she was sober at visits. She was such a neat person when she was sober. I asked her, "Why would you become this horrible person on drugs when you are such a great person when when you are sober?"

She said,"When I'm high, I'm not there."

She said I almost convinced her to try. But she never did.

Meantime, M. continued to get better. Finally we allowed weekend visits with his girls. Transfer happened in the CPS parking lot. The foster parents delivered the kids, and I was there when M. got out of the car. This big, muscular guy walked up to the foster parents who were both under 5'6". They weren't quite sure how to react when M. walked up to them with tears on his cheeks amd said. "You are angels, I just want to thank you for taking care of my girls."

He threw his arms around them as they blinked in astonishment. It was kinda funny and a lot sweet.

Texas now has a law that says parents come through in a year or we terminate. That's hard on a recovering addict. M. got an additional six months. At first, I scolded M. for his presents, his trip to the zoo, etc. He finally said, "Charlotte, don't you understand? these are all the things I promised them and didn't carry through on."

I shut up. He set up a budget, put money aside, and was ready when the girls came home for good.

But B. had been the custodial parent, and we went to trial to terminate her rights. When it was over, she was impassive. M. cried.

At that time, I had 30 or 40 cases.Not counting paperwork, which is massive, I spent at least four hours a week actively working this case. M. and I agree that it wasn't my expertise,or the system that made him succeed. He says having the same worker throughout and my time and positive support with him did make a difference. We had the same goal. We became friends.

He was at my retirement party. I was at his wedding.

M. is still clean. It's been more than a decade now. He has a good job. The girls are doing well. He still attends AA and has sponsored many a person trying to get sober. You can't bullshit him, they find. He tries to help in the community, in his church. He is happy. He told me this repentance thing means you have to put the bad stuff behind you, not just sit in a puddle of remorse, or he would end up back where he started. He tries to be the best person he can be.

And he made a difference for me. Because of him, I had the hope and energy to work with so many others. Other caseworkers in the office felt the same way. We could believe because we had seen a man recover and straighten out his life and family. So we tried a little harder.

Because of M.