“A stitch in time saves nine” is an old idiom that really has little to do sewing, but has more to do with mending what is wrong now instead of waiting until you have a larger problem.  If there’s a tear in your shirt, a few small stitches now, mean less toil and thread later.  It’s a good saying that applies to a lot of the conversation we’ve had here lately about strategic planning, and how we change and create while mending what’s not right about what we’re doing currently.  And there’s a lot of change around here lately, and the need for more stitching.

Two years ago, I asked for a sewing machine for Christmas, something that I could learn on, create with.  On Christmas morning, I unwrapped a box to find a white sewing machine with all the basic bells and whistles.  That weekend, I opened it up, read the manual and attempted to thread the bobbin and thread the needle.  I plugged in the foot pedal, turned on the light that illuminated the needle, and turned on the machine.  Instantly, the thread snapped, the bobbing pulled tightly and there was a tangled knot of yellow thread on an old piece of cloth.  I cursed, tried again, only to have the same results.  I reconsulted the manual and the numbers and small lines pointing to different areas on the machine, labeling pieces with words I’ve never heard of.  What the hell was a “bobbin winder?”  A “stop latch?”  A “tension regulating thumb nut?”  The manual picture, similar to the one below was useless. 

Frustrated, and annoyed, I packed up the machine, it’s colorful set of threads and boxed it back up.  In my linen closet it sat for two years.

About a month ago, I stumbled upon a gorgeous craft idea—jute twine with burlap pennants sewn together to create a festive banner.  It was the perfect complement to the wedding I’d spent the year planning.  Jordan and I had chosen not to get married in a church, but on a farm instead.  Having no central alter as a church would, or focal point that another venue might have, we decide we would exchange our vows under two trees.   It seemed to be a wonderful idea –I would make the handmade pennant banner to string between the two October trees creating canopy of sorts above us.  The only problem being that—two years ago I had completely failed, and therefore loathed the machine.

The idea itself was important to me.  This was the place where we would stand in front of our family and friends and each other, and say yes to each other.  Having cared very little about the entire planning process (just pick a dress, just pick some food, just wear any black dress you want for the bridesmaids, any black suit you already own for the groomsmen) the small details of making the actual day beautiful were important.  It was  enough, that I figured it out. 

Reading the manual again (which still proved to be little help), I began to just do it.  I tried threading the bobbin, the needle and just sewing.  The thread would break, so I’d reexamine where the tension was and correct the thread.  Eventually, it worked as a machine ought to. 

I stitched together an idea, and made it happen with my own frustration and work.  It is beautiful and imperfect.  The stitches are loose in some places, but they’re attached enough.   I had to rip out a few seams and throw away a bit of burlap that was too far gone to use, and had to tie knots on some of the twine to connect when it got tangled in a needle and I had to cut it apart.  It was difficult.  Some pennants are uneven, smaller than others.  Some have loose threads on the back where no one will see.  I ran out of white thread mid-way through and had to switch to yellow.  Still, it’s lovely, and looks pretty damn close to the original inspiration.

It’s symbolic, really, of a lot of the work we do here.  A lot of this is trial and error, and a lot of error, a lot of loose threads and unsightly knots.  Our work is stitching and threading together beautiful, imperfect people to create something new.  Our work is changing, and it’s difficult, sometimes resulting in cursing ourselves, as my first attempt at sewing caused.  I’m sure there are many of us how go home thinking, why can’t we just figure this out?  It can’t be that difficult!  What’s the point of even trying if it’s going to be so laborious?  But, we don’t have to reupholster the entire system, and we’re not making alterations on the people themselves.  Really, it’s starting with a few small and meaningful projects, and working on them until they are connected, quilted in the fabric of others’ lives.  Sure, the seams still show on a few things we do, and the stiches aren’t tight enough on some other things we’ve created.  Maybe we’re trying to stop making things we used to be known for, and we’ll need to rethread our needle and learn how to sew differently.  And we’ll need a lot of help since it will never be finished.  There’s definitely no manual for any of this, and if there were, it would probably be as helpful as the manual I had for my machine– a chart, some labels that are meaningless, some jargon that others don’t understand and some numbers.  (In fact, we’ve probably seen “manuals” exactly like this about people!)

The good thing about all of this is I’m not an expert sewer, and I’m not expert at connecting either.  I’m likely to get my finger under the needle and feel as much pain and frustration as the next person.  I’m likely to get tangled and stuck, and will need to rip it all out and try again.  It’s helpful however, that others are sewing with me, helping to stitch and embroider together a city that’s better, more meaningful, more personal and understands that there’s no one whose gifts and voice, and hands and heart, and thread and fabric, we do not need.

Ok, so in order for this post to make sense, you’re going to have to jump in the Cincibility Time Machine and travel back to June, 2010 and read this post.

Are you back?  Ok, Good!

I’ve been meaning to follow up on this for a while, but keep forgetting.  I had a friend who read that post last year and was challenged by it.  So she sent me this email, which I’m sharing here because I get this same line of questions at least twice a week:

On Saturday night, I went to a “hootenanny” and played freeze
tag with the kids for a long time.  I loved it.  I was the only
parent who played.  They didn’t need me to play, but I had a great time.

I probably looked ridiculous…But is it really bad to enjoy something that is different from everyone else?  I don’t think…”Hot Potato” [is all that fun], but what if someone asks?   Okay, so if Hot Potato is not appropriate, is Uno or Jenga?

Are we trying to normalize [people with disabilities]?  Is
it [them] or the community that needs to change?

Great questions, right?   Who are we to tell people they can’t play childish games if they want?  Why can’t we all be accepted for who we are and live our lives the way we want?  Where do we draw the line?  What is “normal?” Who gets to decide?

Tough issues, no easy answers, but here is my response:

First of all, thank you for thinking on this with me.  This is exactly the same kinds of thought processes we have had at Starfire for the past few months, and the same things I’ve been wrestling with for the past two years.  It’s good to chew on this, and it’s good to have your thoughts.

let me start with a story:

Today, [a young man] who is a Junior at Starfire U, played dodgeball with a group of kids.  Most people would consider dodgeball a kid’s game and compare it to Hot Potato.  The difference, though, is the context in which he played that game of Dodgeball and the role he occupied while playing it.  The Juniors are spending a week with teens and young adults from the Mayerson Student Project volunteering all over the city.  Today, they were at a summer camp for kids, and our members and the students from Mayerson were acting as Counselors.  So he was in the respected role of summer camp counselor, and in the valued role as volunteer.  He was in charge of making sure all the kids followed the rules and no one got hurt.  He also got to play dodgeball!

If his (or anyone’s) passion or interest was to play Hot Potato, I hope that we…would be willing to take the extra step of thinking of ways they could do so in an adult, valued way.  This is what our staff do everyday:  “Where can an adult play Hot Potato?”  Well, you pointed one out:  a birthday party for children!  There’s nothing wrong with being silly with kids, is there?  Lots of people do that.  What about volunteering at a daycare or preschool?  What about telling stories at the library?

There are lots of ways that adults can play Hot Potato that we just need to think about…“OK, now where in the community is that valued?”…..Where do other adults who like party games go?  Is it just Hot Potato, is it other party games , like Catch Phrase, which is essentially Hot Potato for adults (We actually played that two nights in Louisville with about 10 of our staff and 3 members, and we all loved it!)

Another difference between your instance of playing freeze tag and our members playing Hot Potato is that you’ve got “status to spare.”  People with disabilities, whether we like it or not, are discriminated against and judged everyday.

They are looked at as an eternal child (if you’re like me, you get asked “How are the kids at Starfire?” all the time, even though no one here is under 13 and most are over 20!).

So we have to think of ways to fight that stereotype, by bending over backward and avoiding things that may reinforce that image in people’s minds.  If you play freeze tag, people think you’re a cool, free-spirited mom who is acting silly for a minute, but then you step back into the role of valued adult.  It’s endearing.

If a group of adults with disabilities play freeze tag, everyone who sees it walks away thinking that adults with disabilities enjoy childish games and end up treating them as such.

We know that it’s true that in some cases, adults with disabilities like to play Hot Potato, right?  But if that stereotype is holding people back from getting jobs, getting married, ordering their own beer, being asked what they think about decisions in their lives, and living wonderful adult lives, do we have to help perpetuate it?

And where do we draw the line?  Is Hot Potato too childish?  Freeze Tag?  Hide n Seek?  What about “Ring Around the Rosie” or “Duck Duck Goose”?

It’s about saying:  “OK, that’s good….What could be better?”

Essentially it boils down to:  Honor the person, find valued ways to help support their interests, understand that being seen as a childish adult can hurt their image and lead to other problems.  It took me a while to understand this.  My questions were hers as well.

This is tough stuff to think about, but good questions and good thinking always lead to good results.

And lest anyone think I’m “all uppity” or “holier than thou”…..au contraire, mon frere:  Here’s a picture of me in a Santa suit at a big dance for adults with disabilities!

Yikes!  So you can see that these lessons are hard won.  I’ve earned the right to reconsider my past poor decisions.  They are my mistakes and they are precious to me.

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Saw this article this weekend on NPR.  Too good not to re-post.

It’s even bigger than emergencies, though.  It’s illnesses, loss/grief, tough decisions and missing ingredients.

“And we will be ready, at the end of every day will be ready, will not say no to anything, will try to stay awake while everyone is sleeping, will not sleep, will make the shoes with the elves, will breathe deeply all the time, breathe in all the air full of glass and nails and blood, will breathe it and drink it, so rich, so when it comes we will not be angry, will be content, tired enough to go, gratefully, will shake hands with everyone, bye, bye, and then pack a bag, some snacks, and go to the volcano.” –Dave Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

There is a moment before you find out something awful.  We’ve all known this time.  A moment of pause, clarity, and serenity.  Things are as they should be.  Things are as they’ve always been.  It’s almost as if you’re watching an old family film, slow motion, no sound.  People are smiling, laughing, talking.  You see yourself, younger, healthier, and brighter.  The camera is shaky, but the intention is real, the love seen on film is raw and endless.  There’s that moment of what was, before what is to come.

Of course, you don’t know this, and no one in the old film knows it either.  The reel continues and everyone is oblivious, ignorant, and better off for it.  You don’t know to appreciate that moment, to hug the person next to you, smile til your cheeks hurt, zoom in our your mom, dad, grandma, and capture a few still images in your memory.  You don’t know that at any minute someone will walk into the room, utter a few meaningless words, and crush you.

I’ve felt this two times before in my life.  Once in February of 2002 someone said those words to me, and once in May of 2010, I said those words to a group of friends of mine.  After the words, there’s the silence.  The suspended noise.  And then there it is: the new reality, the nonsense of the present, the confusion and disbelief.  There is death.

There is a delicacy of life and relationships that you’d think I’d have learned by now.  I know there’s a fragility of what one holds as truth, of what one thinks they know, of the reliance on others.  Today, a friend of ours learned that her mother unexpectedly died, and I can remember perfectly, and with unfortunate detail, exactly what the moment afterhearing those words feels like.

I’ve thought lately of the idea of how as we grow, we become older versions of ourselves, and how sometimes, this older version of me, I don’t quite recognize.  I’ve always had this love/hate relationship with birthdays.  Each passing year I get further and further away from that younger me, the one who had no idea about any of this.  Somewhere in the passage of time, we lose people– both through death uncontrollable, and through negligence, and of our own choosing.  We don’t return a phone call, we don’t swallow our pride, our stubborn natures refuse to apologize.

A few months ago I ran into one of my best friends from high school at the Northside Tavern.  There was an awkward stare, a smile, and then we shared a drink.  I joked, “You’ve got five minutes to tell me what you’ve been doing for the past seven years!  Go!”  And he did; the abbreviated, edited version, of course.

The older version of Phil met the older version of Candice that night.  And fast forward a few months of hanging out again, calling, and reconnecting, it feels like no time at all has passed in our friendship.  It has, of course.  We don’t spend our Friday nights at Bogart’s listening to bad music from high school Battle of the Band Challenges.  We don’t drive around aimlessly in the city laughing.  We might, if gas were still $1.75/gallon.  We didn’t know a lot then, but we were invincible, purely indestructible, as all seventeen year olds are.

The funny thing is, I don’t even remember why we stopped talking to begin with.  But, we know better now.  And we know a lot more now that seven or eight years has aged us into people who talk about health insurance, taxes, and get excited about home renovations.  We know now about marriage and the difficulty and wondrous power of relationships, he knows about raising children, and we know now that our mothers in fact weren’t crazy then, and we appreciate them more than our seventeen year old self ever would.

There’s no way to get the moment before destruction back.  The continuation of time serves one comforting purpose though, as the days go by, so does the pain, it distances itself, slowly moving out of your chest, bones, eyes.  And miraculously,
one day, you laugh, smile through tears.  And you don’t feel guilty for doing it.

Before I get started here, I felt the need to point out the new skyline we got last week!  The tiara on top of the Great American Tower was lit and it looks terrific. 

It’s one of the new “treasures” of Cincinnati!  (You may not realize it, but that was one heck of a segue…keep reading!)

Tomorrow night, November 16th, Prairie Studio in Northside will host the “Treasures of Northside,” the fourth in a series of conversations about our neighborhoods here in the Queen City.

The first one was held in Westwood last spring, followed by Madisonville and Oakley.  I’ve also heard of plans to host “Treasures” conversations in Clifton, Deer Park, Pleasant Ridge and Kennedy Heights. 

Basically, these are nights held in the neighborhood where three to five people step up and tell the stories of their passions.  We’ve heard from artists, football coaches, social activists, and knitters.  They’ve had Cincinnati names like the Ronckers, Rosenthals and Aglamesis present, but most of the people telling their stories are ordinary people doing extraordinary things by following their passions. 

This is part of the movement to shine a light on people’s strengths…to highlight what’s wonderful instead of what’s wrong.  It doesn’t sugarcoat the problems we face in our city, though.  In fact, many of the presenters have been people who have confronted poverty, exclusion, division and crime in their neighborhoods in creative and compelling ways.

If you have the time, head down to Prairie tomorrow night and check it out.  You won’t regret it!

And perhaps I need to get a “Treasures of Bellevue” going.  Who would tell the stories in your neighborhood?

Tonight I got to see Sr. Helen Prejean at St. Susanna Church in Mason.  (I was told by Fr. Bob Farrell that a video will be on their website here soon!)

The evening was an incredible gift and left me with a lot to think about.  Afterward, I was talking to some friends I ran into.  As most of my conversations go, we talked way too long, and before we knew it, it was getting late.  I wanted to buy copies of Sr. Prejean’s book, which she was signing, and ended up being the last one in line.  As I approached the table where she sat, I could hear her asking everyone else to tell her their story. 

I started getting nervous:  “What on Earth am I going to talk to Sr. Prejean about?…I should thank her for her work and passion…I could tell her about Starfire and the life and spirit that fills the hearts of everyone there…Should I ask her for some wisdom or advice on staying strong in the face of fears and insecurities?”  I was searching and I finally decided that I would ask her to pray for my friend Andrew, who has had a rough time of late, and the people in his life that are helping make it easier. 

When I got to the table, she said “So you’re the last of the Mohicans, huh?”  I said “Yes, Sister.  How are you holding up?”  She said “Oh, I’m fine.  This gives you life, doing this kind of work.”  I agreed with her and she continued:  “You know, I was in Denver a few years back and there were a couple of big guys like you at the end of the line.  I noticed that they were talking and seemed to be enjoying each other’s company.  When they got to the table, I said to them ‘I’ve had my eye on you guys for a while now.  What’s your deal?  Are you best friends, used car salesmen?  Why are you so friendly?’  One of the men said ‘Well, Sister.  My son killed his son.’  They were fathers from the tragedy at Columbine.”

I was speechless.  I looked at her and saw tears well up in her eyes and felt them coming to mine.   She held my hand and I said “Amen.”

A few months back I found a name on one of the many listservs I subscribe.  Her name was Grace, and she was teaching something eco-friendly, yoga-spirited at Park+Vine in Over-the-Rhine.  Our schedule didn’t accommodate her time frame at Park+Vine so I asked Grace to coffee to chat.

We met close to her Downtown office and had a wonderful conversation about, well… I can’t recall details, but it was fluid, their was laughter, and we both got to know each other a bit better.  She, a transplant to Cincinnati, had a full-time “day job” and was teaching yoga, art and craftiness to keep her centered.  I asked her if she’d be willing to teach yoga once or twice at Starfire to our new freshmen class.  She said yes hesitantly, not sure how much of a committment she could make, or perhaps not quite sold on the idea of Starfire yet.  (This happens, and I allow people to learn for themselves the power of community, and the beauty of what we here already know.)

Grace has her own blog which you can find here: http://www.frontporchyoga.com.  It’s a wonderfully written account of one person’s life and experiences.  I’ve included Grace’s most recent post in it’s entirety below.  Thank you, Grace for sharing your light with us, too 

________________________________________________

Starfire Love

So I am continually reminded of our one-ness.  You know, the fact that we are all so intertwined and connected and the SAME?  It’s so hard to recognize sometimes.  We speak differently with unique accents, we look differently with various skin tones, we praise differently with our spiritual paths, we move differently with various body sizes and shapes, and we love differently with handshakes or enfolding humongous hugs.  But what I am learning this year is that love is love is love– no matter how it is expressed or by whom.  If we could all just tap into that true, pure love, we’d feel the oneness, and experience it in our very core. 

2010 has been a year of awakening for me.  I watched “Autism: The Musical” and followed these lovely autistic kids on a brave and sometimes difficult journey to be creative and let their light shine in a public theatrical performance.  I started reading Kelle Hampton’s inspiring online journal called Enjoying the Small Things about raising her beautiful girls, one who is gifted with Down Syndrome.  All important reminders that we are all one. 

And more recently I have been painfully reminded of the fear and separation that resides in the hearts of so many people from the  teenage suicides caused by bullying.  But I can’t help but be encouraged by the incredibly honest and open responses to these tragedies with all the supportive ”it gets better” stories peppering the online community. 

On a personal note, I was given the opportunity a few months ago to teach yoga to an amazing group of students at Starfire U.  Their mission: “To enrich the lives of teens and adults with developmental disabilities through unlimited opportunities that build independence and community inclusion.”  I’ll admit here that I didn’t know how they would respond to yoga, since most of them had never tried it before, and I was unsure what their level of fitness would be or where to even begin.  But it has been one of the most amazing experiences I have ever had, and it has taught me so much about ONEness that I want to share my feelings with all of you…

I am bursting to write about my teaching experience at Starfire.  I am absolutely giddy when I leave their facility after teaching- my cup is so FULL, and I can’t stop smiling the whole time I am teaching these precious students.  The students are so sweet, welcoming, honest, and true.  I am overwhelmed by their fearlessness and enthusiasm to try something new.  They are so respectful and such great listeners- keeping quiet and attentive through the whole hour classes (which impresses me because there are definitely distractions since we practice in a “common area” and not a room with a closed door).  They might not have as much muscle control or spacial understanding as some other students I teach, but I approach the class in a playful way and hope that they are inspired to be curious about how their bodies move and know that their breath can help them calm down anytime they are upset.  I feel so blessed to have the opportunity to teach them!  Every time they say “Welcome to Starfire!” or shake my hand, I am so moved.  My gratitude is overflowing for the angels at Starfire…

Do you see that the light in me is a reflection of the light in you, and vice versa?

I like to read “lifestyle” and “fashion” blogs from time to time and even have my own blogof such (not to shamelessly plug or anything….).

Anyway, I stumbled across a similar blog by a girl with disabilities, named Melissa. She’s a great writer; very compelling and honest about living with disabilities and how that might influence her wants and needs. She’s also a fellow Midwesterner!

Check out Melissa’s blog So about what I said…. here!

My birthday is on July 25th (make a note!) 

When I started working at Starfire, I met Steve, whose birthday is on July 26th. 

We started a tradition of celebrating our birthdays together.  It’s terrific because we spend the three months leading up to our birthdays reminding everyone about when our birthday is.  In fact, we basically celebrate our birthdays until mid-August, and then we start talking about it again in March.  There’s no shame in it, just birthday brotherhood!

The first year we celebrated, we decided to get together for lunch.  I asked Steve where he wanted to go and he said “KFC.”  I asked him if he was sure and named about 20 other restaurants that were much nicer and more deserving of our inaugural birthday meal.  He stuck to his guns, and so on July 26th, 2002, I picked Steve up from his group home and we went to lunch at the KFC in Western Hills.  We got the lunch buffet and Steve came back with a giant plate of mashed potatoes.  He had a biscuit and one chicken leg, but the plate was mostly mashed potatoes.  He sat down and talked about how much he loved mashed potatoes, I told him that fact was apparent, and we had lunch. 

I remember taking him home that day.  I pulled up and walked him in the door and he told the staff at the home that he had mashed potatoes and I made a comment about how it was a big helping, intending it as a joke.  The staff there told me that he had wrecked his diet, and that Steve was supposed to be restricted to a half cup of mashed potatoes (I think he probably had about 4 half cups of mashed potatoes at lunch!)  I was so happy that Steve ate those mashed potatoes. 

Here’s a picture of us this year at the Reds game. 

We went on the Friday after our birthdays, and Steve said it was OK to bring my son (who ruined our pic with his silliness) with us, since he’s into baseball, too.  We didn’t have any mashed potatoes, just a diet pop and a hot dog.    But we didn’t get home until midnight because the game went into extra innings (they lost!)  I called at 9:30 to let Steve’s home know that he wanted to stay for the whole thing and they complained about a shift change, but couldn’t dissuade us from our mission.

It seems we’re always getting into some kind of trouble on our birthdays.  It’s probably not the trouble that most people would even consider being a problem, but Steve lives by a different set of rules that limit his mashed potato intake and how late he stays out.   Next year, maybe we’ll go to a sports bar and get a beer (GASP!!!)

I recently read the following on a Yahoo! News feed that I get sent to my email from time to time.  Usually it contains silly lists like the top 5 things you need to know about your house, or 7 signs you know he’s into you, or the 30 must-have accessories of fall… Generally, I delete them but this one was about work life balance, a topic on my mind lately.  Though it’s targeted at working mothers, I think it applies to all of us, enjoy:

“Stop thinking of yourself as split into separate but equal roles: mother, worker, me. Listen to philosopher John Locke, who said that a person recognizes himself as the same being throughout his life, in different times and places. You are one person, indivisible, who just happens to wear many hats. And while I get that the weight of all those hats can wear you down, at least be happy you’ve got something important to do.”

Earlier this week, Tim and I sat on a panel at a social media training in Columbus. The training was mostly for PR people and the like who work in the disabilities community, but other interested parties were welcome.

I found  that there’s a lot of fear associated with social media. Perhaps people are afraid of slander. Or the fact that a lot of what goes on is going to be out of their control (until they delete it). Or it’s the fear of the unknown.

I’m not trying to be Cooly McCoolgirl or anything, but I have never been scared of social media, and it takes a lot of patience for me to understand why someone is. Perhaps I am not afraid because I was what the social media gurus call an “early adopter” of facebook. I joined in 2005, and I have always been interested in how easy it is to get your voice out there on the internet.

Working for a government organization you have to be careful with things, most definitely. But both Tim and I tried to encourage everyone in attendance to just take the plunge and do it.

I was chatting with a friend who works for Apple out in California about this. He said a company who doesn’t have any sort of social media is probably already obsolete. I tend to agree, if they don’t jump on really soon.

This is where people get their information now. At least the people who will be running the country in the very near future. They like that they can interact more directly with a company this way, by writing on their wall or tweeting about it.

Case in point- blogger Heather Armstrong, from Dooce.com (warning, some content may be NSFW, but it’s not too bad) tweeted a few times about some bad service she got from buying a washer and dryer. This pretty much scared the crap out of the company and they immediately helped her out. Granted, she’s pretty big in the web world, and holds a lot of influence. But this is an example of how social media can make or break someone. You can read about her saga here.

To wrap up this sort of nonsensical post- one thing I mentioned on that panel, that sums up everything I think about social media and the disabilities community – Social Media, facebook, twitter, etc helps to humanize our systems.

It makes everyone on equal footing, be it an person that is served, or a small service provider agency. We are all the same. Take the bureaucracy out of it, and think about the people. Think about making your organization more accessible and open to discussion.

Last weekend, Jordan, our friend John and I all saw the Hanging Garden exhibit at the now-deconsecrated Holy Cross church in Mt. Adams. The church itself has been sitting in deconsecrated disuse since the 1970s when the monastery closed and the parish merged with Immaculata a few blocks away on Guido Street. We entered the church and were greeted by chanting monks adorned in rich orange robes, harmonious and discordant voices echoing against the barren and weathered walls. I’ve thought a lot lately about how to improve the spaces within we work, how to improve the work we do. It’s part of the wonderful culture of freedom and trust of Starfire, the ‘yes…and’ dialogue that’s encouraged, expected of all of us. I attended the first of many strategic plans on Tuesday, and I’m excited again to see how tonight unfolds. One question in particular reminded me of this exhibit, ah the beauty of serendipitous experiences! The question was: It’s 2019, how has Starfire changed? How are lives different? What changes have taken place? What’s better… and so forth. 

While my small group had great ideas, (more power, more person centered plans, less barriers to being involved, more neighborhood based events, and so on…) In essence, I hope the future of Starfire looks a lot like the picture above. It is a perfect metaphor for Starfire. It is hopeful when out of aged spaces (or ideas or ways of always doing something) comes beauty, new life, and a gathering. It is also important to note, that sometimes the beauty is too much for others, and they turn away, unable to share in its light.  That’s okay too.

Notice how the walls in the background aren’t perfect. No one has tried to fix the exposed beams above, no one has painted over the imperfection of the historic church still sturdy after years of disuse. Instead, therein the flaws and the visible details we wished were preserved better, is a reverent gratefulness for the past, our foundation, and unexpectedly, and illogically a tree. The tree is a burst of life, hope, ideas, and growth from the source of our something beautiful, simply, made more beautiful.  A closer look shows the new life connected to the wilting lower tree.  Connected, entwined, and not forgotten entirely.  In fact, the new tree needs the roots of the old tree to survive, to hold it’s trunk up, to sturdy it’s new branches.

A few years ago, I was big on collaboration.  It seemed like the thing to do.  Funders asked about it (A LOT), and imagining a world where we all worked together was enticing.

I went to a few seminars/webinars/lunchinars about collaboration and learned a few things:  It’s hard to collaborate around programs, because we’re all fiercely proud of what we do and how we do it and we can’t imagine any other way.  It’s also hard to collaborate around funding, because we “build fences” around our funding sources to keep everyone else out.  Some experts suggested collaborating around back office and support, as no one was territorial about that stuff and everyone has the same goal:  to do it cheaper and more effectively to save resources for the mission.

Guess what I found after working with lots of local agencies?  That’s right….Collaborating around back office stuff is hard, too.

It seemed like every collaboration I joined spent lots of time deciding who was in and who was out, and complaining about problems with funding, regulation, or other systems.  None of the people involved were bad.  In fact, all of them were well-meaning, but it just didn’t generally work very well.    But I don’t believe, even given those failures, that collaboration is impossible.  (We’ll dive more into this in the future, but I think collaborating across different services and sectors seems to be working best for Starfire right now.  Our best collaborations are with companies, colleges and other non-profits that have nothing to do with people with disabilities – at least not that they realize!)

One of my thoughts is that if we could focus on something bigger than our immediate reality, we can better focus on what needs to be done and what we might do together.

I got together with Joe Link and Jo Krippenstapel about a year ago, and Joe mentioned that he would like to see a collaborative where all anyone did was get together and share their stories and get to know each other.  We thought that was a terrific place to start, and so we gathered a group of people together and discussed launching “What’s Next?”  Basically, we’d invite people to come in and present ideas “on the cutting edge” of serving people with the label of disability.  We wanted to hear new stories and ideas (preferably local or regional), then chat in small groups with each other and hear what the message meant to everyone. 

In April of 2010, we held the inaugural gathering, where Joe Erpenbeck presented on his work with Asset-Based Community Development.  In June, we had some families present on the Good Life Networks, a local group modeled off of Al Etmanski’s work with PLAN of Canada.

This Tuesday (9/14/10), we’ll hear from Dr. Thomas Knestrict, a national expert on family resiliency who has an incredible personal story about his experience with labels.  In November, we’ll welcome Hope Dittmeier from Realizations in Louisville, who will be talking about building social roles for people, and in 2011, we’ll hear from David Hammisabout the possibilities of self-employment. 

All of these people are doing work in the present that is giving us a glimpse of the future.

So far, we’ve had 30-40 people at each gathering.  the discussions are lively, honest, and fun.  One guy told me that he looks forward to “What’s Next?” more than anything else in his work.  He’s been in this field for over 30 years.  I hope that energy continues and even grows, because the future is something that seems easier to collaborate around.  It’s not here yet, it’s not funded yet, and no one has built any fences yet. 

A friend sent me this link the other day and she has no idea how timely or pertinent it was to me.  This is a terrific example of the importance of Social Role Valorization: click

What stories do our programs tell about people and how can we tell the “rest of the story” as our speaker so eloquently puts it? 

(thanks to Robin OK for the inspiration!  Go Team Connect!)

The other night, I got home, and the neighbors were all out on their front porches.  I walked over to one woman who was sitting on rocking chairs with her grandson, and we talked about how fast kids grow up.  I walked across the street and told Mike and Vivian that it was Aaron’s first day of kindergarten the next day.  I told them how he had asked Bridge earlier in the day where babies came from and we joked that we’d have him ask his new teacher.  I walked down to see R.L. a couple doors down and asked him how things were going. 

All of this took about 6 minutes total, and I went inside to read stories and tuck the boys into bed.

It’s not a very remarkable thing, is it?  But it’s a very intentional effort on my part to connect more with people on my street, in my city, at my work, at my church, at the grocery store, and on and on.

This is part of my journey along the other trail.  After hearing Judith Snow and John McKnight speak, I began looking up some of their writings and learning more about them.  The first stop was to get The Careless Society by John McKnight.  In it, McKnight talks about the effects of social services on our communities and how service workers, in particular, have displaced neighbors and even families as caregivers and offered an inadequate and temporary alternative. 

I remember the conversation Bridget and I had after reading it:  “Well, what about Bellevue?  There’s not one single service agency in Bellevue, and no one welcomed us to the neighborhood.  No one baked us cookies.  Our neighbors hardly talk to us!”  It felt like there was something deeper that could not be blamed on the “counterfeits of community.” 

Those questions sat with us for a minute until we realized that, for the eight years we’d been living in this house, we had never baked anyone cookies, or welcomed them to the neighborhood!  It was an embarrassing epiphany, and it’s hard to admit even today, but it’s true that we were not very good neighbors.

In our work at Starfire, both of us were extremely energized, active connectors.  We greeted everyone, made special efforts to reach out to others, and were completely engaged in building a vibrant and inclusive community.  But when we got home, it was like the switch was turned off. 

Don’t get me wrong here, we weren’t cooking meth or egging our neighbors houses or anything, but we were not helping our street or our city be a more welcoming place for anyone.  We immediately went to work in small, but intentional ways.  We started taking more walks with the boys, and we purposefully stopped and found reasons to chat with people out in their yards or on their front porch.  We would offer to help with the man two doors down who had to have his leg amputated.  We waved to people and crossed the street more often.  We would intentionally go the checkout line at the grocery store that the lady down the street (who dresses a little “marginally” at times and has some wild parties) was managing, instead of avoiding it like we used to.    

In short, we made simple efforts at being better neighbors.   And yes, despite the recent housing market troubles, someone moved in on our street about 3 months ago.  We made two plates of chocolate chip cookies.  We took one to our friends a few streets up who had just had their first baby, and we took the other to Dave and Gretchen, who moved in four doors down.  

And when we took Dave and Gretchen’s cookies to them, we used one of our best plates, with the hope that they would bring it back and we could have a second conversation with our new neighbors.  This was a technique we learned from Whitney Kays down at Realizations in Louisville.  She was helping someone she supported be a good neighbor, and they decided to forgo the paper plates, which would be thrown away, and instead used a good plate, which would create the opportunities for future conversations.  Simple, but brilliant.  Dave brought our plate back a few weeks later and we talked about recycling and how he can get a bin.

About six months after we started all of this, I had an opportunity to meet with John McKnight and heard him say something about how we’ve become “rusty citizens” in this country.  It stuck with me.  That was who I was.  We’ve tried to figure out what the opposite of a “rusty citizen” is and I think “awakened citizen” seems best.  That’s how I feel at least.

Why does all of this even matter?  Because it’s a step along the other trail of building a more welcoming community for everyone, which naturally means a more welcoming community for people who are marginalized by the labels we’ve put on them.  I have lots more stories and learnings from this trail, but you’ll have to excuse me…I need to change my shoes and put on my cardigan.

Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without words
and never stops at all.

–emily dickinson

These past two weeks I spent interviewing a myriad of potential candidates for an opening here at Starfire.  Interviewing was met with mixed emotions for me: the person we are replacing is leaving rather unexpectedly, but on kind terms.  We wish this person well, but still, there’s that old familiar feeling I remember of when I was dating in high school.  It’s that rejection feeling, the “So…you don’t like me anymore?” neediness of break-ups.  Will we really still be friends?  Can I still call you?  This is silly banter of course, but a question we wrestle with in this field.  A true test of a staff person really comes after they’ve moved on: will you still take an active role in our lives?  I hope so.  And hope, I’ve learn over the past two weeks, is a delicate, fragile, and fickle thing.  Sometimes, it’s all we’ve got.

I’ve been vacant from this blog for awhile, dealing with my own struggles and emotions when it comes to this work.  Instead of focusing on the negative, the stressors, the things that upset me about this world, I have instead compiled a list of things I am currently loving:

1. I love the frustration that the juniors of Starfire U are experience when they are using their own planners, and choosing their own days.  Something about their frustration of having to choose is refreshingly wonderful.  When Ronny says, “I’m doing your job now…” I want to yell, “hell yeah!  And keep it up!”  Not because I am lazy, but because his doing my work (calendars, making connections, making phone calls, asking in speakers, finding new places in the city), is the point.  I shouldn’t be the one doing this for him.  They are struggling, but it’s a beautiful struggle.

2. While the candidates for this recent round of interviews were all qualified and exciting people, I had a wonderful conversation with one applicant in particular.  Imagine that!  A conversation instead of grilling someone with mindless, monotonous questions.  If interviews weren’t already like awkward first dates, (two people getting dressed up, knowing very little about each other, not knowing how the whole thing will turn out, both hoping – could this be “the one?!”), the uncomfortable series of questions certainly makes it feel like one.  So… tell me about yourself.  What do you do for fun?…  Where do you see yourself in five years?… all so personal, so serious, so quickly!  It was great to pause and recognize that interviews could also be conversations.  What a novel concept!

3. My favorite phrase of the week “recognizing someone’s humanity.”

4. “Did you celebrate?”  was a question Tim asked someone during a meeting.  What a great question!  It’s been echoing for me all week.  Ask yourself this question, ask it of your friends and family too when they tell you something great.  It’s a phrase that brings me back to equilibrium.

While I can’t guarantee I’ll have inspiration to blog as frequently as Tim, I do hope that this recent wave of things I’m loving continues, and I’m assured with the knowledge one never needs a reason to celebrate.  Happy Friday, Cincinnati.

I’ve been “off the grid” for the last week, camping with the fam in Indiana.  For my return, I figured I’d better update the news out there. 

• We’ll start with another article on the Thunder-Sky, Inc. Gallery.  (There’s also a nifty blog by Keith Banner here!)  The Thunder-Sky, Inc. website has announced a festival in late September, so mark your calendars.

• The 20th Anniversary of the ADA came and went, and there were a boatload of articles about it.  Most were simply announcements of celebrations, but some were a little more in-depth, including something from Deborah Kendrick.  I went to the celebration on Fountain Square and was less than enthused with what I heard from the speakers.  Most just touted the law and it’s impact.  Only Steve Driehaus seemed to really get what the important issues are.  He spoke about his experience with the practicalities of the law, its shortcomings, and the work to do in the future.  Yours truly wrote a letter to the editor essentially saying the same thing.  I think Driehaus stole my ideas!  If he starts talking about the need to finish painting the back of the house, you’ll know he’s been monitoring my thoughts for sure.

• Here’s a gem:  an article/podcast about the recent grant awarded by the Ohio Rehabilitation Services Commission to Griffin-Hammis Associates.  As Candice mentioned, Dave Hammis lives nearby and we got to meet him for coffee a few months ago.  I learned more about work from that dude in that one hour than I’ve learned in ten years. 

• Hamilton County Board of DD Services won a National Award for Excellence!  Complete with a terrific pic of Cheryl and Brady.  I hold those people in high esteem.  But it is surprising that these people didn’t win that award…Cheryl, if you want more awards, I think you should consider funding lap dances in the future.

• An article about inclusive theatre. I only link it for two reasons: A) it briefly mentions Cincinnati and references (I think) the Marjorie Book Continuing Education Society and Joe Link’s work and B) it talks about Kevin Kling, who I saw at the Playhouse in the Park for his show How? How? Why? Why? Why?

Last night, I had the opportunity to attend a conversation with Ward Mailliard, who talked about “Re-Humanizing Education.” (He’s the guy in the tie above!)

Ward was brought into town by Peter Block and “A Small Group.”  I cannot express what a treasure Peter Block is here in Cincinnati.  I first heard his name a few years ago, and as I mentioned, first heard him speak when he gave an introduction to Judith Snow in 2008.  (A funny aside:  There is a man named Peter Bloch, who is the Executive Director at a local workshop.  When I first heard about the work of Peter Block, I thought they were the same person and was in awe at what that man accomplished with his time!)  Since then, I’ve had the good fortune to work more closely with him, in particular on the Connectors Table project, which is related to his new book with John McKnight, The Abundant Community.  It’s really exciting work and a lot of fun, but I’ll need to devote a separate post to that in the future.

The more I hear from Peter, the more I’m amazed at what he does and what he means to our city.  FYI, he’s really humble and defers a lot of credit for this work to others, but make no mistake, Peter has the attraction of a magnet and drive of two men (get it?..two Peter Block(h)s!)  He’s not big on celebrating his birthday, but I told him how Jean Vanier says we need to party more.  So in that spirit, please note that his birthday is on July 29th:)

Back to Ward:

Ward told us of his work with his students, the trips they’ve taken and the approaches he uses in the classroom.  He told stories of how he understands that life happens to his students, and he tries to look at them as individuals and as people to be cared about.  He spoke a bit on how we claim to want to raise compassionate and engaged citizens, but our educational systems are designed around power and control.  The audience was mostly educators, which was good news, so I hope they take his message back to their classrooms.  I thought of our field’s emphasis on person-centered approaches..we might be ahead of the game on that…

I was particularly interested in how he breaks down what he calls “the learning journey” into a call, a journey, and a return.  The call is the curiosity stage, the journey is the experiential stage, and the return is the reflective and sharing stage.  Make sure to check out that link.  It’s important stuff.  Especially the return.  I think everyone last night thought (and I agree) that we all neglect the return stage too often.  In a sense, this blog is part of my return stage.  It’s so important to share our learnings and discoveries with each other.  And to do it in a personal basis.  That’s why this blog is not a sufficient “return” for me.  I’ve got to talk to people about this:  friends, people I work with, Bridget.

The small group technique is a perfect complement to Ward’s stages of the learning journey, so our conversation and learning last night was completely consistent with the message.  There was a call to curiosity, which was the invitation/email/thinking behind each gathering.  Then there was the experience of listening to the presenter and ideas.  It was followed by getting together with two or three others, reflecting and sharing, and then bringing those thoughts back to the large group.

It was a terrific night and again, I just can’t say enough how thankful I am that Peter is bringing people like Ward into town.

I’ve been reading a lot of Jean Vanier lately, and these two people make me proud to be Catholic.

this seems appropriate for today….and any day, for that matter!

“People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.” – Mother Teresa

I think it was around November of 2007 when my friend Kira asked me if I was going to go see Judith Snow speak in Cincinnati.  I had received an email invite from someone else, and didn’t really know much about Judith Snow, but Kira’s invitation was enough for me to go.

When I arrived, I met up with Kira, who had a couple of VERY crowded plates of hors d’oeuvres.  (She and I share a tremendous love of snacks and tease each other that we’re always meeting up at places where free food is offered!)  After hugs and catching up, she led me to our seats, which she had been saving. 

The first thing that struck me when I walked in to the room where Judith was going to present was that it was in chaos.  There weren’t nice orderly rows of chairs facing a podium or stage.  There were about 20 circles of 6 or so chairs.  This most certainly did not look like any presentation I’d ever been to.  I sat down in the circle next to Kira and we chatted for a bit with each other and greeted the other people in the circle.  The first person I met in our small group was Jo Krippenstapel.  I’d been introduced to her one other time by one of Starfire’s Board members, Diana Mairose, but knew little else about her.

About 5 minutes before Judith was scheduled to start, Kira tells me she’s leaving, as she has another appointment to get to.  (I still give her a hard time about that one.  I mean, I’m all about the free snacks, but I always stick around for at least a part of the presentation before jetting!)  So here I am, in the middle of these circles, uncomfortably facing people I hardly know, and the worst part is that Kira had picked the circle directly next to where Judith would present that evening.  There is a video taken of that night out there somewhere, and I think I’m probably in 90% of it just because of how close I was.  I’m not kidding…I was practically sitting in Judith’s lap! 

Judith was introduced by John McKnight, who was introduced by Peter Block, who invited an a cappella hiphop group to get us started.  I think they made us get up and sing along, which only added to my discomfort. 

I don’t remember a ton about Judith’s message that night.  She talked about considering gifts, instead of disability, and she talked about how differences can be a positive, rather than a negative.  The main thing I remember was feeling out of the ordinary…everything felt different that night:  the setup, the introductions, and of course, the ideas. 

Going that night was one the most important decisions I’ve ever made, because it was my first step along the trail of learning what this work is truly about.  Before that night, I was trapped in the awful bliss of simple charity and the grind of  professionalism. 

As I look back on it, I can clearly see how Kira’s invitation launched me on a new path.  All of the principle instigators were there that night:  I started reading things by Judith, Peter and John, and have learned so much from Jo since then.  They have turned me on to others and helped me understand that this effort isn’t what I thought it was.  It’s much much bigger and way more important that I ever imagined.

I wonder what my work and life would be like if I’d declined Kira’s invitation that night.  I imagine I’d have found my way here eventually, but I feel blessed and privileged to have discovered this Other Trail.  It’s made life more full and interesting.

I’ve gotten to see Judith speak again since that night, and she introduced the term “Syncopated Transition,” which is beautiful.  I’ll write more on that later, but today is for considering the impact of invitations and their acceptance.

I find it funny that I now get frustrated when I sit in traditional presentations in rows of chairs.  I find myself speaking up and commenting and trying to shake things up a bit.  I wish every meeting involved more stories, conversations on ideas and sharing experiences.  I get annoyed with pre-scripted messages or agendas these days…regardless of the quality of snacks.

Thanks a lot, Kira.