I took BART to San Francisco on Saturday - I was to meet a friend at the Civic Center at 5.30p.m.
I changed at MacArthur Station for the San Francisco train. It was crowded, but I did find a seat next to a window, and, as usual, began to read. The train got fuller as more people got on at the Oakland stations. Just after West Oakland I glanced up from my kindle and saw all the passengers looking at their different devices, cords of ear buds dangled around necks, the asian woman next to me was engrossed in listening to something on her phone - no one made any eye contact with anyone else. Suddenly out of nowhere a woman stood up in the middle of the aisle - she had her back to us, but I saw she was wearing black pants, and a black hoodie and had a black backpack on. She was holding a sign which from our section could not be seen. I saw one woman who was holding her bike hand her some money. Then the woman turned our way - the cardboard sign read, "Broke and Hungry" "Please donate money for food tonight." She had on glasses and looked kind of squirrelly - all she did was hold up the sign, she was not hurting anyone. Suddenly a man came up behind her - he appeared to have had a bit too much to drink, and looked rather unkempt. From behind her he said very loudly"hey, you are not allowed to do that, it is illegal." Everyone was now looking in their direction, devices forgotten. Then he said "get off the train" and she said "I can't, the doors are shut." He then grabbed her from behind and began to push her toward the back doors and he shouted, "Get off the fucking train." At this a number of young men got up and went after them. They all disappeared through the doors on to the next carriage. The woman next to me raised her eyebrows and shrugged, people turned in their direction, and the train continued until it reached Embarcadero. The doors opened and a crowd began to form near the doors of the carriage they had disappeared into. Our driver announced that we would be waiting for BART police to arrive and then he thanked the passengers who had held the suspect down and prevented him from getting away. After about 10 minutes a police man got on to our carriage and asked what had happened - we told him as best we could, and then he said 'but where is the victim - what does she look like?" Apparently during the fuss and commotion she had run away. Eventually we were on our way again, and everyone returned to their devices as if nothing had happened. The woman next to me raised her eyebrows and smiled, and I smiled back.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Friday, November 14, 2014
Endgame
I have worked in Occupational Therapy, first in home health, from 1992, then in early intervention from 2002 to 2004 with Contra Costa County which was then disbanded and taken over by Contra Costa ARC. I have worked with them ever since.
I have met inspiring and wonderful families many of whom have battled against tremendous odds. I have fallen in love with the children, and their valiant families.
There are many drawbacks to working alone in the homes - for instance, isolation from one's peers. It really does take a village to raise a child and many times, the village is not available. I recommend physical therapists, feeding specialists, and speech therapists for the children with whom I work. It would be nice to talk with them and see how we can cooperate, but so often no-one seems to have the time, or there are privacy forms to fill in and sign before we can talk and it becomes daunting. Recently it feels that there is competition between the different service providers and collaboration becomes increasingly difficult, and is not in the best interest of the population we serve.
In the beginning we were often able to talk with the doctors and nurses, but now that almost never happens. It was helpful, because doctors only see a child for 10-20 minutes and we spend far more time with them and can observe what is happening. There was wonderful collaboration with public health nurses who made many referrals. Over the years there have been more and more budget cuts and restrictions. There was a time when I could see a child for up to three times a week, now we are restricted to one hour a week, or once every two weeks. Often the referrals are 34 - 35 months of age which means we maybe see them four times at the most - what on earth is accomplished?
I could go on and on about the deteriorating system, but I won't. To compound matters us home therapists have worked with a non existent supervisor who doesn't have any idea of the work we do.
I have valiantly battled on with all these stumbling blocks, setbacks, etc. Last year we were taken off salary and paid per child. Because of stringent eligibility requirements, referrals are far fewer and therefore the amount of children I see is dwindling. Of course ever since last year's layoff I have been struggling with what next - to work privately, to work for a registry, then it hit me last week.
That is it, I am done. I am done working with frightfully incompetent colleagues, I am done with this work. I will not take on anymore referrals. I now have four little ones whom I care for deeply and will continue to see until they age out or go to another program, and it is high time I move on to something different.
I have reached the end.
I have met inspiring and wonderful families many of whom have battled against tremendous odds. I have fallen in love with the children, and their valiant families.
There are many drawbacks to working alone in the homes - for instance, isolation from one's peers. It really does take a village to raise a child and many times, the village is not available. I recommend physical therapists, feeding specialists, and speech therapists for the children with whom I work. It would be nice to talk with them and see how we can cooperate, but so often no-one seems to have the time, or there are privacy forms to fill in and sign before we can talk and it becomes daunting. Recently it feels that there is competition between the different service providers and collaboration becomes increasingly difficult, and is not in the best interest of the population we serve.
In the beginning we were often able to talk with the doctors and nurses, but now that almost never happens. It was helpful, because doctors only see a child for 10-20 minutes and we spend far more time with them and can observe what is happening. There was wonderful collaboration with public health nurses who made many referrals. Over the years there have been more and more budget cuts and restrictions. There was a time when I could see a child for up to three times a week, now we are restricted to one hour a week, or once every two weeks. Often the referrals are 34 - 35 months of age which means we maybe see them four times at the most - what on earth is accomplished?
I could go on and on about the deteriorating system, but I won't. To compound matters us home therapists have worked with a non existent supervisor who doesn't have any idea of the work we do.
I have valiantly battled on with all these stumbling blocks, setbacks, etc. Last year we were taken off salary and paid per child. Because of stringent eligibility requirements, referrals are far fewer and therefore the amount of children I see is dwindling. Of course ever since last year's layoff I have been struggling with what next - to work privately, to work for a registry, then it hit me last week.
That is it, I am done. I am done working with frightfully incompetent colleagues, I am done with this work. I will not take on anymore referrals. I now have four little ones whom I care for deeply and will continue to see until they age out or go to another program, and it is high time I move on to something different.
I have reached the end.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Return from SA
SA is South Africa.
I am still at that stage of my return when I can close my eyes and feel myself right there - I hear the sound of the hah-de-dahs as they fly overhead at dawn and at dusk. I can imagine myself in a restaurant, I can taste the lamb curry, and I can hear the people around me talking in a familiar accent.
I can feel the sand scrunching underfoot as I walk along Muizenberg beach, I hear the great silence of Namakwa. It feels like I can still lie outside on the stoep of the little cottage we rented and reach up and touch the night sky, heavy and glistening with stars and planets.l I can see the Southern Cross and the Milky Way. I open the curtains of my room in Bakubung and see Wildebeest grazing not too far away. The Warthog family greet the day. I can smell the dry veld, and still can deeply inane the wonderful aromas of the flowers in the Hantam Reserve and all around us in Namakwa.
I can still feel and imagine all these things, but the memories are beginning to slip away, overrun by the constant noise of the demolition crew in our street - down goes a school, changes, changes.
On my first day driving down 23rd Street in Richmond I see more shuttered shops and buildings.
A drive by shooting takes place right near the office at 2.00 p.m. I am back.
I am still at that stage of my return when I can close my eyes and feel myself right there - I hear the sound of the hah-de-dahs as they fly overhead at dawn and at dusk. I can imagine myself in a restaurant, I can taste the lamb curry, and I can hear the people around me talking in a familiar accent.
I can feel the sand scrunching underfoot as I walk along Muizenberg beach, I hear the great silence of Namakwa. It feels like I can still lie outside on the stoep of the little cottage we rented and reach up and touch the night sky, heavy and glistening with stars and planets.l I can see the Southern Cross and the Milky Way. I open the curtains of my room in Bakubung and see Wildebeest grazing not too far away. The Warthog family greet the day. I can smell the dry veld, and still can deeply inane the wonderful aromas of the flowers in the Hantam Reserve and all around us in Namakwa.
I can still feel and imagine all these things, but the memories are beginning to slip away, overrun by the constant noise of the demolition crew in our street - down goes a school, changes, changes.
On my first day driving down 23rd Street in Richmond I see more shuttered shops and buildings.
A drive by shooting takes place right near the office at 2.00 p.m. I am back.
Friday, October 3, 2014
To Fast or Not?
Kol Nidre night of the Yom Kipur of the War, was spent in the disco of Ein Dor. It was the first time since my bat mitzvah that I was not fasting. This was because I was living on the kibbutz where no one seemed even to know about Yom Kipur. My first Yom Kipur there was so strange, because it was a day like any other and I worked in the children's house just like on any other day of the year. Growing up in South Africa it was a really special day, and everyone went to the synagogue and everyone fasted.
When the war broke out the next day I silently vowed to myself that if we all survived, then I would fast every Yom Kipur from then on. We did not all survive, but nevertheless, I kept to my vow and have always fasted - except for last year, Yom Kipur 2013. It was 40 years since the war, and I was on Kibbutz Ein Dor. Over the years, many things had changed, including Yom Kipur. For Kol Nidre there was a lovely, meaningful service next to the moadon (clubhouse.) Many people fasted and observed Yom Kipur. I was staying with a good friend and would be there for only that night - as usual it was extremely hot. We went to the cemetery very early in the morning and spent time sitting under the trees, amongst the graves, talking, remembering, just being. The thing that was completely different for me was that I did not fast. The friend I was staying with had asked other friends over for dinner, and for me it was more important to be with them thnt to be alone and to fast.
The sky did not fall, the earth did not open - the day continued and ended with the blowing of the shofar, night came, dawn came, another day ......
This year I am in America, and have decided that I shall fast, and I realize way - it is this symbolic act which ties me to the unbroken chain of my 'tribe,' to my ancestors, and here in the diaspora I do not want to break that chain.
When the war broke out the next day I silently vowed to myself that if we all survived, then I would fast every Yom Kipur from then on. We did not all survive, but nevertheless, I kept to my vow and have always fasted - except for last year, Yom Kipur 2013. It was 40 years since the war, and I was on Kibbutz Ein Dor. Over the years, many things had changed, including Yom Kipur. For Kol Nidre there was a lovely, meaningful service next to the moadon (clubhouse.) Many people fasted and observed Yom Kipur. I was staying with a good friend and would be there for only that night - as usual it was extremely hot. We went to the cemetery very early in the morning and spent time sitting under the trees, amongst the graves, talking, remembering, just being. The thing that was completely different for me was that I did not fast. The friend I was staying with had asked other friends over for dinner, and for me it was more important to be with them thnt to be alone and to fast.
The sky did not fall, the earth did not open - the day continued and ended with the blowing of the shofar, night came, dawn came, another day ......
This year I am in America, and have decided that I shall fast, and I realize way - it is this symbolic act which ties me to the unbroken chain of my 'tribe,' to my ancestors, and here in the diaspora I do not want to break that chain.
Monday, August 25, 2014
This and that
It appears that matters between Finn and myself have settled somewhat. I am not sure what the final (let's hope) deterrent was/is. Of course I have not let up my guard, and when I see Finn outside in the front of my house I glare at him and he sneaks away! Suffice to say we are no longer on speaking terms.
Very soon I depart the USA for my homeland! I am off to South Africa to attend a high school reunion, see friends and family, and travel around a bit. The last time I was there was eight years ago. Who knows whether I shall blog from there or not, probably not as you may have noticed that I do not maintain a steady pace of entries.
Everyone I know felt the quake the other night. Now there are rivers of wine in Napa and I can't help thinking, with apologies to Marie Antoinette, "if there is no water let them drink wine."
Horrible 'event' and my heart is indeed with everyone as they clean up and count their losses and repair the structures until the next quake.
Very soon I depart the USA for my homeland! I am off to South Africa to attend a high school reunion, see friends and family, and travel around a bit. The last time I was there was eight years ago. Who knows whether I shall blog from there or not, probably not as you may have noticed that I do not maintain a steady pace of entries.
Everyone I know felt the quake the other night. Now there are rivers of wine in Napa and I can't help thinking, with apologies to Marie Antoinette, "if there is no water let them drink wine."
Horrible 'event' and my heart is indeed with everyone as they clean up and count their losses and repair the structures until the next quake.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Back
The cat came back, the very next day .............
What did I expect. I cannot maintain a 24 hour vigil, stick in hand. I do have to go out from time to time. So, this morning, I have fortified my command post - the enemy is not in sight at present. I KNOW he will be back despite my strengthening my stakeout. He is stealthy and is not deterred at all. He thinks this is his territory, I think it is mine.
Does all this sound frighteningly and depressingly familiar?
Yahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!
What did I expect. I cannot maintain a 24 hour vigil, stick in hand. I do have to go out from time to time. So, this morning, I have fortified my command post - the enemy is not in sight at present. I KNOW he will be back despite my strengthening my stakeout. He is stealthy and is not deterred at all. He thinks this is his territory, I think it is mine.
Does all this sound frighteningly and depressingly familiar?
Yahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, August 2, 2014
My Own Private War
It is with great sadness that I wish to declare that sides have been established and boundaries declared in my own private war.
For those avid readers of my blog you will recall that earlier this year I rhapsodized about my lovely space in the back of the house. The joy I take in my curly willow tree, my succulents, and the tomatoes I am now eating. I also planted a lovely Japanese lace leaf maple. Not two days later I noticed that some critter was using the fresh earth as their litter box. I did not want to think that this could be my neighbors' tabby striped cat, Fin. It is only recently that Fin has been allowed out of his apartment. When I drive home he bounds across the road to my car, exactly like a dog would do, to greet me. Soon his forays moved from across the road to parts unknown. He even tried to insinuate himself into my house, but unfortunately I am allergic to cats and Fin could not come in. A territorial war then began between Fin, Hot Toddy, and a feral cat named Bella. All suspect for using my maple leaf tree as a litter box.
In the meantime, unsure of who the offender was, I went back to the nursery and spent $30 on something the man there assured me was infallible for deterring critters. "Critter Ridder." I followed the directions sprinkling it around - the instructions assured me it would be good for at least 30 days. Maybe two hours later I noticed that the area was again being used as a toilet.
I then went online, and then sprinkled coffee grounds around, along with the critter ridder. I put down strips of aluminum foil, I placed gravel in the spot, along with mulch. Nothing worked. After careful observations of the habits of the surrounding cats, I determined that Fin is the culprit. Impartial observers confirmed my suspicion. The other morning I stood in my kitchen and saw Fin sneaking around the house. I grabbed a spray bottle and confronted him. All he did was stare at the bottle, he did not budge. In fact the look he gave me was like, "bring it on, I love this."
And so, Fin uses the space and I clean it out. I built up what I thought to be an impermeable fortress. It wasn't. The other morning I was outside watering my plants and caught Fin, mid act. I picked up a branch of the fuchsia and brandished it in his direction, scaring both myself, and, at last, Fin, who scampered off. Then I saw him crouching beside the house, waiting. I brandished it again.. Off went Fin - for the time being.
Does anyone have any helpful ideas, I would welcome. This war is wearisome!
For those avid readers of my blog you will recall that earlier this year I rhapsodized about my lovely space in the back of the house. The joy I take in my curly willow tree, my succulents, and the tomatoes I am now eating. I also planted a lovely Japanese lace leaf maple. Not two days later I noticed that some critter was using the fresh earth as their litter box. I did not want to think that this could be my neighbors' tabby striped cat, Fin. It is only recently that Fin has been allowed out of his apartment. When I drive home he bounds across the road to my car, exactly like a dog would do, to greet me. Soon his forays moved from across the road to parts unknown. He even tried to insinuate himself into my house, but unfortunately I am allergic to cats and Fin could not come in. A territorial war then began between Fin, Hot Toddy, and a feral cat named Bella. All suspect for using my maple leaf tree as a litter box.
In the meantime, unsure of who the offender was, I went back to the nursery and spent $30 on something the man there assured me was infallible for deterring critters. "Critter Ridder." I followed the directions sprinkling it around - the instructions assured me it would be good for at least 30 days. Maybe two hours later I noticed that the area was again being used as a toilet.
I then went online, and then sprinkled coffee grounds around, along with the critter ridder. I put down strips of aluminum foil, I placed gravel in the spot, along with mulch. Nothing worked. After careful observations of the habits of the surrounding cats, I determined that Fin is the culprit. Impartial observers confirmed my suspicion. The other morning I stood in my kitchen and saw Fin sneaking around the house. I grabbed a spray bottle and confronted him. All he did was stare at the bottle, he did not budge. In fact the look he gave me was like, "bring it on, I love this."
And so, Fin uses the space and I clean it out. I built up what I thought to be an impermeable fortress. It wasn't. The other morning I was outside watering my plants and caught Fin, mid act. I picked up a branch of the fuchsia and brandished it in his direction, scaring both myself, and, at last, Fin, who scampered off. Then I saw him crouching beside the house, waiting. I brandished it again.. Off went Fin - for the time being.
Does anyone have any helpful ideas, I would welcome. This war is wearisome!
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