Down Home Ranch Blog

It always grows back

2012-02-12T16:12:00.005-06:00

A few weeks ago I popped into a hair-cutting establishment for a trim. I go to the same place each time but take luck of the draw as to who wields the scissors, which is a remarkable statement of faith, now that I think about it.

But what the heck, I figure. It always grows back.

This time an alarmingly extroverted young woman took me in hand. I told her what I wanted and she set to her work, chattering all the while about this, that, and the other thing.
And then the bomb, "I just couldn't believe how RETARDED I was!"

"Whoa there, babe!" I interjected immediately, holding up my hand. The scissors froze in mid-air.
"I have a daughter with Down syndrome," I went on, "and she's a wonderful young woman and the light of my life. Please don't use that word in that way."

She looked predictably mortified. "I didn't mean anything bad about it," she said. "It's just something people say."

"I know you say it without thinking," I said, "but it hurts to hear it because it dismisses any value a person like my daughter might have. I just wanted you to know that."

She resumed clipping my hair and I trusted her professionalism would trump any desire to scalp me. I was right, and she finished the cut very seriously and carefully, if silently.

I've noticed that another word thrown about casually and pejoratively today among the young is "gay." It's Oh, that's so GAY and Oh, he's so GAY.

I just read the New Yorker article on the young violinist from Rutgers, Tyler Clementi, who committed suicide early in his freshman year after his assigned college roommate posted innumerable insulting and silly comments on various social networking sites about his being gay even before they met each other, and continued after they moved into the dorm room together.

Yes, Tyler was gay. He had just come out to his family and he didn't hide it at school. But that was incidental to the way his tormenter used the word, which was to emphasize that, well, Tyler just didn't count, he was less than a nothing, not even a zero in the human equation.
Two lives--one gone, one ruined, however the trial turns out.

I didn't get on the bandwagon a few years ago to ban the "R" word. We pretty much need a term that describes what we're talking about when we discuss issues that affect people with intellectual disabilities, or as we used to say, mental retardation (which was itself quite an improvement over the terms "moron," "imbecile," and "idiot" used as clinical terms in their day.)

And there is no need to discuss retiring the word "gay." Unlike people with intellectual disabilities, gay men are quite capable of determining what term to use to describe themselves.
But what happened to Tyler, and what happens daily to people with IDDs, is absolutely the same.

These labels are used to push people out beyond the human fold, to strip them of their dignity as God's own beloved children, to shun them and set them apart. All of us have a deep, inborn fear of being rejected. We know in our hearts that our very lives depend upon being accepted, loved, and counted in the fellowship of others.

Unfortunately, although we banned the "R" word from human speech, I suspect it won't be long before we hear the mindless taunt of, "Oh that's soooo IDD!" Because it always grows back.

So instead of banning these terms, let's ban the attitudes that lie behind their intent to hurt, to dismiss, to characterize a fellow human being as someone undeserving of the basic respect we must accord all human beings.

Please. Speak up, and speak your heart.

Well glory hallelujah!

2012-02-10T11:23:00.001-06:00

Why can't I make a nest?

Yesterday I wrote about coming advancements in the possibility of medical intervention to overcome the disabling effects of Down syndrome in the brain. This was in the context of a promise to a family with a newborn with Downs.

Little did I realize...

In today's Wall Street Journal there is an article on page A3 entitled "New Attack on Alzheimer's." It reports the success researchers at Case Western Reserve have had in reversing--not preventing--reversing advanced Alzheimer's in mice bred to develop the disease.

So? You may ask. Mice are not men and Alzheimer's is not Down syndrome.

Very true, but what works in a mouse often works in a man, and--something not generally known--all people with Down syndrome develop Alzheimer's if they live long enough.

So you see, we parents of children with Down syndrome have only a few years to relax between the shock of our kids' birth and the anxiety of advancing age and what it almost surely will bring for those we have grown to love with all our hearts.

And it comes on 20 years earlier than in the normal population.

There is a "substance of interest" implicated in all this, as the detectives might say, which is well known to researchers. Its name is beta-amyloid, which everybody has in their brain, which is not a good thing. However, the healthy brain has a clean-up crew that routinely keeps the beta-amyloid in check.

The Alzheimer's brain, and very likely the brain on Down syndrome, fails to do that.

Good news: a drug called bexarotene, generally used for skin cancer treatment, reversed the symptoms of Alzheimer's in mice within 72 hours. Mice with Alzheimers were unable to engage in normal mouse behavior like creating a nest out of paper scraps left in their enclosure.

After beginning treatment with this drug the mice began to make nests.

Pretty stunning results, but not the first. Several years ago researchers were able to normalize mice with a substance. After treatment, mice with Down syndrome who couldn't run a maze for their dinner were suddenly able to do so. However, the substance used is highly toxic to humans and not a candidate for our species.

Still the evidence is clearer all the time. It can be done. And bexarotene is safe for use in humans.

On February 14, Dr. Michael Harpold, Executive Director of the Down Syndrome Foundation for Research and Treatment, will visit Down Home Ranch. Wednesday the 15th, he, Jerry and I, and others will tour Dr. Jon Pierce-Shimomura's Down syndrome research lab at the University of Texas. Then we'll have a brain-storming session afterwards.

I'm champing at the bit to talk over these new developments with Jon, who works with tiny nematodes instead of mice.

Disclaimer: I am not a scientist and this post reflects only my best understanding of what I have been able to glean. Please check out original souces by clicking on links.

Another detour on Route 21...

2012-02-09T10:17:00.000-06:00

I saw a friend last night who'd been out of town for several weeks to be with her daughter for the birth of her first baby. Almost before I could ask her how things had gone, she said, "We have to talk."

In that instant I knew that the baby had been born with Down syndrome. She confirmed it and we hugged.

I was overcome with sadness for my friend and her family, even though I know this little guy is going to bring incomparable joy into their lives, touch many hearts in his lifetime, and teach the whole family how to reach deeper into the fountains of love and compassion than they had ever imagined possible.

But let's face it: that young couple didn't sign up to be trailblazers. They only set out to do what millions of young couples do every year: start a family and have a normal life. That dream has been shattered. Other dreams will take their place in time, but for now the family is left to live among the shards.

It hurts so bad. It is such a heartache.

One mother described her feeling about having a baby with Down syndrome as being like having planned the vacation of a lifetime in Italy, getting off the plane, and realizing you have wound up in Holland. Now, Holland's a great place, but it doesn't match up with a lot of the hopes and dreams you had for Italy.

Still, I have lots of good news for my friend and her family. First of all, as Kelly's pediatrician told us in the hospital, "You're going to have a great time with this kid." This is so true, if impossible to describe and imagine exactly how. Suffice it to say that Holland presents lots of unexpected delights!

But also true is this: So much has been learned since Kelly was born about so many things that will make a real difference in this baby's prospects in life. First there are all the infant stimulation and educational interventions, which make a big, big difference.

Add to this is the fact that every day researchers are getting closer to unlocking the secret as to what causes the developmental delays of Down syndrome. Trials on young adults with Downs are even now underway to test a promising new drug. I am convinced these little ones will do everything their brothers and sisters do in life--grow up, go to college, have a career, get married, maybe have a family of their own.

All that said, my advice for today is this: Just take a deep breath, say a prayer, and fall in love with and enjoy that baby, one day at a time. God knows the heartache, and God will bring the healing in time.

And all will be well.

Photo courtesy Google Images

Just bein' neighborly

2012-02-01T15:30:00.000-06:00

We got together for some staff training this morning and Zach, RA of Barnabas House, asked Ashley, RA of next door neighbor Martha House, how she and the girls liked the pancake he and the guys had baked for them this morning.

Fortunately there was a photo of this masterpiece, which I expect will assume the status of legend.

Who knows what might be baked next...

A Smile as Big as the Moon...and a few other things

2012-01-29T14:34:00.000-06:00

Tonight ABC debuts its movie A Smile as Big as the Moon. At least one of the actors in it has Down syndrome, Peter ten Brink. Maybe some of the others portraying students in a special ed class do also, but I'm not sure.

I haven't seen it, but I'm hopeful, partly for part of the dialogue quoted by a friend of mine:

“I’ve worked with special needs kids for far too long to romanticize their accomplishments. There are no simple solutions for any of them. These are basically good kids who’ve been dealt a bad hand. They live their lives on the margins. Their classroom is a metaphor for their existence. It’s out of the way at the far end of the basement. It’s like a cell block with bad air, bad light, no windows to the outside world. And outside the classroom, not much is asked of them nor is much expected. Can they try your patience? Yes, they can. And do they sometimes break your heart? Yes sir, they certainly do. But there are times – remarkable moments…when more is asked of them and more is expected of them. And they rise to the occasion, gratefully, gladly, just to remind you of the remarkable power of the human spirit."

The Regent School's fifth-graders came out to volunteer (for the third time this year) on Friday. As I gave them my talk about the Ranch I told them, "Regent School started the same time Down Home Ranch started, and for the same reasons.

Your parents and Jerry and I and our Ranchers' parents. we all want the same thing for our kids--not a good place, not even an excellent place, but an AMAZING place that makes sure you get a chance to live the best, most important, and most fulfilling life you can live."

I'm heartened by the dialog quoted above that this won't be another sappy feel-good movie that romanticizes Down syndrome and others with disabilities. Our kids are members of the human race, with all the attendant joys, anxieties, fulfillments, and periods of desperation. Like us, they are sometimes pleasant, and sometimes less so. One minute we are ready to fall down in adoration of them and in the next to throw up our hands in utter exasperation.

Most of us parents, though, wind up sharing the sentiments of the Garth Brooks' song The Dance...

"Our lives are better left to chance; I could have missed the pain,
but I'd have had to miss the dance."

Finding a New Way

2012-01-18T18:12:00.004-06:00

It's a cold but beautiful view outside our rooms at the Painted Boats Resort

It is soooo cold. Not surprising since we are in British Columbia, at the PLAN Institute's: "Thinking Like a Movement" conference.

We became aware of and interested in PLAN's work many years ago. One of the founders, Al Etmanski, has a daughter with Down syndrome a little older than Kelly. The Institute published a A Good Life, on life planning for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, which still represents the gold standard on the subject.

This conference, however, is not about the nuts and bolts of things. It's a crash course in learning how to think about ways to approach making sure our children, friends, and neighbors with disabilities enjoy the same rights as the rest of us to a good life. The government route is less and less viable, as well as less and less desirable.

One of the sad aspects of the traditional ways societies have gone about doing this is that we ensure victimhood and poverty for those we wish to help. We need to come up with new ways to support people with disabilities in dignity and with real opportunity. Canada has gone light years beyond the United States policy-wise in this area.

Jerry and I are the only two souls from the US at this conference, and the only other non-Canadian is a lady from New Zealand. The rest of the participants come largely from the government and private provider sector. They are a fascinating bunch, and several have participated in this conference for several years now.

The PLAN people were concerned enough when we signed up to come to call us a few weeks ahead of time and make sure that we had some idea we knew what we were getting into. Jerry faked his answer well enough that they let us come.

But we didn't know, not really. The level of sophistication is so beyond me that I just smile and nod a lot during the discussions. Jerry is naive regarding a lot of the specifics of the discussions, but he understands the underlying concepts and is a quick study. Even I, however, can see that this is exactly where we need to be at this juncture in Down Home Ranch's development.

And Jerry's got that look in his eye that I recognize so well.

Epiphany

2012-01-06T01:48:00.001-06:00

Alaina leads the candle procession

Tomorrow is Epiphany, or Three Kings Day to some.

I spent Thursday afternoon making hot chocolate, getting the robes, candles, and other props ready for our celebration.

The Ranchers were to meet at 7:00 in front of the Pavilion. Luckily, it was a mild night for the beginning of winter.

Valerie was Melchior

When all were gathered we drew names to see who would play the Three Kings bringing gifts to the Christ child, and fate decreed that we would have two queens and a king. Crystal would play the Virgin Mary, and Clyde Joseph.

There was general hilarity and ribbing as we donned our costumes, but when we lit the candles for the procession, all fell quiet. I read the passage from Matthew about the Three Kings, and off we went.

We entered the darkened Pavilion with only our candles for light. The Three Royal people led the way, bearing their gifts. Pilgrims followed bearing light. Along the way we sang "We Three Kings of Orient Are."

Rebekah was Kaspar & Travis was Balthazar

Once we'd reached the creche, the Three Royal People presented their gifts, and the rest of us placed our candles before the babe. We sang "Away in a Manger."

After a rousing chorus of "This Little Light of Mine" it was time to serve the hot chocolate and rosca de reyes, the traditional Mexican pastry baked in a ring and containing an image of the baby Jesus. According to lore, the person finding the baby Jesus in his piece must give a party some days hence. (We'd already decided that the house the winner lived in would host the Superbowl...talk about moving out of the sacred and into the secular!)

Clyde and Crystal as Joseph and Mary

I had put a pretty big baby Jesus in the pastry to make certain there was no chance of his disappearing down someone's gullet!

Kyle discovered the baby Jesus in his rosca, so Isaiah House will host the Superbowl!

The Three Royals put away their costumes and dug in.

Photos by Ashley Ashmore

It's official

2012-01-01T19:12:00.000-06:00

I'm retired!

Jerry rigged up a surprise luncheon for me last Wednesday attended by people going back to the very beginning of the Ranch, people who were there for our dedication ceremony in the fall of 1991, as well as friends from more recent times.

And what were we dedicating, that intrepid puddle of people standing in the brisk November breeze as children cavorted in the ancient old barn and Blossom the donkey looked on with a bemused eye?

A dream, no more, no less.

Although I bravely carried on as though I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Down Home Ranch would someday bloom on the bleak, sodden landscape we were dedicating to that purpose, my practical self raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Frankly, I don't know how we made it. The smartest thing we did was at the outset burn the ships that might have taken us back to our old life. We'd quit our jobs, sold our house, and cashed in our retirement to live on as we got started. It quickly got so that it was easier to keep on keeping on than it was to even think about going back and starting over.

I'm sure we did a lot of things right, as well as a lot of things that didn't need doing at all (I'm thinking of donkeys here), and some that were downright stupid. But we had a lot of luck, too, very often of the type that Fr. Bob characterized as "divine providence." (Fr. Bob confessed that he'd told a colleague after meeting us that "Those people either have a lot of faith or they're dumb as a bag of hammers." Bit of both, it was.)

And the people who believed in us...many of whom were there at the retirement luncheon. What can I say? Our first president Carroll, our second president Mike. Helen and Janet, with whom I travelled all over the Episcopal Diocese of Texas singing with the Glory Bound Singers and without whom I would have lost my mind.

Dan and Sally, still grieving the loss of Dan's dad Ed, were there, daughter Martha and family, Hector and Ashley, and Don and Rita and John, and all the Ranchers and our wonderful staff. I looked out over the crowd and saw that those who were there in the beginning were meeting those who will carry the Ranch into the future.

It was awesome.

So how do I feel about being retired? Really terrific! Full of new ideas and energy, free to wander a bit further afield in areas very dear to my heart, about which more later. And lots fewer meetings, although I'm still on the Board, so I can't get out of that one.

My passion is to tell the stories of this place, and of these people. Of the families who have entrusted their children to us, of the Ranchers who came here to build their own lives, of the amazing people who have believed in our mission and poured out all the best of who they are and what they have into it.

I am a happy camper.

Santa comes of age

2011-12-27T08:32:00.000-06:00

Years ago, when we'd just moved to the Ranch and Kelly was nine or so, we became friends with a family with a son with Down syndrome in his last year of high school. The son, whom I'll call Scott, was a charmer--handsome, polite, and funny.

Scott loved the idea of living on a Ranch and saw himself as a real cowboy. I pitched the idea of taking a barn management class with him so we could both learn best practices. Each Saturday I would drive to Austin from the Ranch, pick Scott up at his home, and drive on to Lakeway to a large stable there where we would together learn about horse care, feeding, and "setting the barn fair."

We had lots of time to talk, and it was fascinating for me, because although we'd boldly launched this project of building a ranch for people with Down syndrome, the only people we knew with Down syndrome were barely out of diapers!

Toward the end of our class one day in mid-November, we were chatting about plans for the coming holiday season, Scott said he hoped Santa would bring him the Lonesome Dove video.

I was a little flummoxed. Surely Scott didn't really believe in Santa still at age 19. But, not wanting to burst some other family's Christmas bubble, I went along.

When I got home, I exclaimed to Jerry, "Scott still believes in Santa!" We'd been dropping huge hints for a few years to Kelly, though she had yet to take the bait.

I was genuinely concerned as I met more and more families with adult children with Down syndrome who still counted on Santa to deliver the big gift. I wondered how they could be allowed to come into their full humanity and assume the mantle of adulthood uncompromised by beliefs surrendered by most people by the third grade.

Over the years, however, the hints we pitched to Kelly grew to the size of A-bombs and yet she arrived at age 21 yes, still believing in Santa. And there remains the fact that most of the other Ranchers do, too.

What to do? And why does it matter so much anyway? Where's the harm?

Well, for one thing, we didn't found the Ranch so that people could remain in perpetual childhood. Yet, let's face it--the most engaging trait of people of all ages with Down syndrome is their childlike openness and sense of fun. Engaging, heck, it's almost addicting!

But there must be a way to allow them to grow into full adulthood, not as our wards, but as our friends and colleagues. Yes, they will always need the assistance we can provide because of our (relatively) umimpaired cognitive abilities. But trust me, we will always need what they provide, too. They came into our lives, we came into theirs, and we have changed one another. That's what communities do. That's what communities are supposed to do--challenge all of us to be more than we would have been without one another.

Even though sometimes the challenges are not so fun.

So last week I was in my usual Christmas quandry about how to nudge Kelly into full understanding of the Santa Claus story.

Christmas Eve we met our daughter and her family, and my sister-in-law and hers at Threadgill's for dinner and gift exchange. The young people got into a discussion of when they'd learned about Santa. Rachel, my granddaughter, said she'd sat in the driveway with her mom sobbing most of the afternoon, having realized at the same time the truth about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. Kelly paid attention.

Still, after we got back to the Ranch, she insisted on putting the plate of cookies out with a glass of milk. Jerry and I looked at each other and shrugged.

Christmas morning there was the usual reprint of the Dear Virginia letter, and I casually handed it off to Kelly. She sat on the couch and read every word. "Hmmm," she murmured. "Interesting."

"So, Kell," I said. "Who is Santa Claus really?" I was expecting to hear "you and dad," but my daughter is wiser than I give her credit for.

"Poetry, faith, fancy, love, and romance," she said, her finger marking the place on the paper.

Later, after opening her presents, she made a wry reference to "Santa-Dad."

Tomorrow we fly to Kansas to attend the funeral of our son-in-law's mother, who died two days before Christmas. We asked Kelly if she wanted to go or stay back at the Ranch. Kelly hates funerals.

But she said, "I love Bryan so much. I want to be there to give him a hug."

Welcome to adulthood, my daughter.

Picture credit: Crazy-Frankenstein.com

Stabat Mater

2011-12-23T06:46:00.000-06:00

I woke up many times last night, thinking of our oldest daughter, keeping death watch in a hospital in Lawrence, Kansas, for her mother-in-law Nellie.

This same daughter became a grandmother eight weeks ago, and when people asked me was I really ready to become a great-grandmother I quipped, "Absolutely, yes, but I am a little dubious about being the mother of a grandmother."

But there's more than one kind of life passage. This is big one for my girl, and I am mindful. I myself kept a lonely vigil over my mother's dying one long winter's night 22 years ago. Last night I marveled as the image of the baby I first held in my arms came continually swirling before me--awake and in dreams--only to be replaced by one of her sitting by the bed of a dying woman.

It was heartrending, in ways both beautiful and terrifying, bringing into stark relief the bracketing truth of my life, and yours.

I'm undergoing my own rite of passage this Christmas season, formally retiring from Down Home Ranch, closing down my office and stepping away from the day-to-day work of the Ranch. It's time to turn those things I handled over to others for good. Young people have come along who know how to do them far better than I. (Thanks be to God!)

It's just time. I'm dusting off my bucket list and seeing what's inside to occupy the years remaining, and a lot of it does have to do with the Ranch, no surprise. My biggest dream is to see our chapel built on the hill where the old camp center stood, overlooking the Ranch and the pond, favorite haunt of the deer who come to browse and drink.

I have visions of myself as Anna, in her old age, spending her days in the temple, looking for the coming of the Lord.

But of course, He has already come, and has already made all things new, including me, and you. Our happy task is to seek Him in ourselves and in one another.

It's been 20 years. I look forward to however many more are granted me.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

In Memoriam

2011-12-21T09:26:00.000-06:00

We have just learned of the death of Ed Nowland, long-time friend of Down Home Ranch, father of Dr. Dan Nowland, and grandfather of many, including Dan and Sally's Kelly, born with Down syndrome 20 years and some months ago.

After Kelly was born, Dan and Sally asked to meet with us as parents of an older child with Down syndrome. They relocated their joint veterinary practice to San Marcos from Rockdale to pursue what they felt would be greater opportunity for support for their little one.

Baby Kelly, surely the most adorable redheaded baby ever, died from complications of a heart operation at age five months, but remains ever a member of this sweet, funny, and loving family. A beautiful gazebo built in her memory stands in Sara's Garden, our memorial garden for babies and children with special needs who have passed on.

For years after we started Down Home Ranch, Dan and Sally came out on Kelly's birthday with the family to donate a day of vet services in her name. We put them through things most small-animal practices don't need to deal with on a regular basis and foisted off not a few stray dogs on them in the bargain. They continue to provide services for any Ranch member who feels like a drive to San Marcos.

More than that, they have been faithful friends along the way.

I never cease to marvel at the friends we have made along life's journey on what I now think of as "Route 21", the pilgrimage we begin when our little ones are born with that extra 21st chromosome--people we'd never had known otherwise, which would have been a great loss in our lives.

Our hearts and prayers are with Dorothy, Ed's widow, Dan, Sally and the girls, and the whole Nowland family.

Life..with Down syndrome

2011-12-15T10:22:00.000-06:00

Somebody else wrote the blog for today.

Go to http://www.dispatch.com/content/stories/local/2011/12/04/a-chosen-child.html for an exceptionally honest, insightful, and lovely article about the decision to have a baby you know will have Down syndrome.

We were jolly by golly

2011-12-14T05:24:00.002-06:00

Jason, Kara, Gigi, Mike and Valerie made it happen!

Last night we had our annual Christmas dinner and secret Santa party. Gig and the foodies outdid themselves, as usual, and Southside Market kicked in and smoked three yummy turkeys for us.

And a first! The Christmas ham came from Eenie, Meenie, or Miney--our three lady pigs who were raised on the finest slops ever presented to Swinekind right here on the Ranch.

There was no contest for cutest person at the party
but Gracie Hall would have won it for sure!

Several Ranchers' families attended, and pretty much all the staff. The food was great, the company equally so, and God blessed us every one.

The Gabriel House guys, plus Ashley (who just had to get in on the act)
Matt, Mike, Mark, "AA", and Chris

Movin' in

2011-12-10T05:14:00.000-06:00

Ann, Jay, and Dave Jordan have fun with IKEA

It's always touching to see parents on the floor surrounded by nuts, bolts, pieces of wood and Ikea cartons.

Sterling welcomes Jay to Isaiah House

The U-Haul was in the front yard, the new Rancher was being greeted with whoops and hollers by his housemates, and mom and dad had that special look on their faces that said, "We can do this."

Don't know if they actually did do it, because I got busy with the Ranch game of musical furniture: this stuff comes out, this goes to cabin five, that goes to the craft room, and this other is consigned to oblivion. Then I needed to make supper.

Jay, right, enjoys a Tex-Mex dinner with his buddies

However, I'm sure the room was occupied last night one way or the other because Jay was not leaving the Ranch!

We first met Jay in 1995 when he came to Ranch Camp for the very first time. He was one of our younger campers, and we were a young camp, with very few facilities of our own, so we spent a lot of time borrowing those of the City of Taylor, driving our 13 campers to town to swim in the municipal pool and picnicking afterwards in Murphy Park.

Jay disappeared on one such mission and we finally called the police to help find him. Luckily we found Jay before the police found us, so we were able to cancel the call.

As for the years off my life, well I guess that remains to be seen. Jay's grown up and so has the Ranch, and it seems to be a match.

The tummy bug hits the Ranch

2011-12-07T06:09:00.000-06:00

The phone rang at 2:30 AM Monday morning. I was deep in sleep, buried under our down comforter. Outside it was cold and wet and very, very dark.

It was Ashley, RA of Martha House.

"Kelly's throwing up and feeling awful," she said, "She a really sick little puppy." I said I'd be right over.

Well, I would if I could figure out who I was and where I was, which I did after a few minutes. I even got it together to find the key to the Pavilion pantry to search for the key to the infirmary to search for medications likely to help a very upset tummy.

Clutching them I arrived at Martha House. My poor girl was doubled up over the trash can and other things were happening as well. Poor Ashley definitely needed help.

Kelly's main concern was being well enough to go to Wal-Mart that afternoon, a hope I had to dash.

Over the next three hours we coped. Kelly liked the warm shower and didn't want to get out but eventually had to because suddenly it wasn't warm any more. I changed her sheets and bundled her into bed.

Between spells of sickness Kelly dozed and we cleaned up messes and disinfected. Then Ashley heard Kristen in her bathroom and another game was afoot...

"Food poisoning!" we cried! The girls had gone to a church potluck on Sunday, and it was now about 12 hours later.

Later that morning, I came home and made some of Mom's Chicken Soup, which will strengthen or cure anybody of anything, especially if it's your mom's chicken soup. Kelly kept it down and asked for more.

At least Rebekah and Alaina were ok, but uh-oh, Alaina came down with it yesterday afternoon. Fortunately her mommy lives close by, too.

In the morning we asked Annette, who had been at the same potluck, what the girls had eaten. "Wasn't the potluck," she said. "We ate the same thing and I'm fine. But now I'm thinking about all those hugs..."

Poor Ashley slept most of Monday, as did her girls. Kimberly spent the day tending the sick, and for now the campus seems free of the icks.

Annette came down with the crud Monday afternoon, so there was no Wal-Mart for anybody.

We finally decided it was a "cruise-ship" virus, because we discovered other people in other houses had had it the week before. The Centers for Disease Control report that one in 15 Americans suffers each year from these "noroviruses."

So now it's a call to EcoLab to install the hand sanitizers that have become ubiquitous on the ships, at buffet-type restaurants, and even at the entrance to churches.

It's not always fun at Down Home Ranch!

Kevin Patrick Tracy, 1949-2011

2011-12-04T13:57:00.001-06:00

Kevin Patrick Tracy was born January 14, 1949 in Freeport, IL. His father's first cousin was the famed actor Spencer Tracy who was an enduring and caring presence in the family’s life.

Kevin died December 1, 2011, following a grueling four-month battle for his life. His sister Colleen fought right along beside him through it all.

I first met Kevin when he worked at the ARC of Texas, coordinating the Advocates Program for adults with mental disabilities served by the ARC. Kevin organized conferences and trainings statewide, published a newsletter that went out to people with intellectual disabilities all over the state, and was widely recognized for his dedication to his work.

Jerry was working under the auspices of the ARC in the early 90s, administering a grant project and got to know Kevin as a colleague.

The day before Thanksgiving of ‘92, as Jerry was closing his office to come home for the four-day break, he asked Kevin casually what his plans were for Thanksgiving. Kevin said he figured he’d pick up something at the grocery store and watch the games on TV. Jerry insisted he join us in our little mobile home at the Ranch (actually at that point it was the Ranch.)

Kevin showed up a few hours before dinner, thoughtful gift in hand. I made sure he had a nice take-away meal from the leftovers and he left before the sun went down.

He returned for Christmas, and Easter, and then we all began to say, “Kevin, we can’t eat turkey without you.”

Kevin evidenced a baffling disability at an early age, serious enough that he was placed in St. Colletta’s School for Exceptional Children, which is where Rosemary Kennedy lived, and one of the most respected options for children and young adults with intellectual disabilities at the time. Cousin Spence was instrumental in making this happen.

As for the nature of the disability, I myself quickly diagnosed Asperger’s syndrome, or what we nowadays refer to as high-functioning autism, or autism spectrum.

Whatever, Kevin was far more than a diagnosis. He was bright, verbal, and read novels, biographies and histories avidly. For reasons we never quite figured out, he was a great fan of the British royal family, and could do a deadpan imitation of Elizabeth II that was “spot on,” as they say.

In fact, since we had no family in common, the royal family became our own surrogate collection of wayward relatives, about whom we gossiped and clucked all during the 90s, as the House of Windsor provided endless fodder. I recall that Kevin loved to quote QE II's summation of one year as her annus horribilus.

After leaving St. Coletta’s, Kevin relocated to Arizona where he took a position running the state Advocates program. From there he came to Austin and continued his work.

During our holidays we were occasionally joined by “The Fair Colleen,” Kevin’s sister, who lives in Florida, and our circle was expanded. This was especially comforting in the odd years of Christmas, when our daughters and families spend Christmas with their in-laws.

Once while working for the Texas ARC, Kevin and Jerry attended a conference in Buffalo, New York. After hours they were driving around and discovered that a the presentation of Handel’s Messiah would be performed that evening at the cathedral, featuring boy sopranos from King’s College, Oxford, which they attended and talked about for weeks to come.

Kevin’s love for the Catholic Church was profound and genuine and when Jerry converted to Catholicism in the mid-90s Kevin became his sponsor. He faithfully showed up for the weekly “scrutinies” and proudly stood with his hand on Jerry's shoulder as he was received into the Church. Likewise Kevin stood as witness as we were married in the church some weeks later.

Kevin rather unkindly contrasted his church’s choir (St. Louis, Austin) with our own little effort, which I headed up as best I could (Sacred Heart, Elgin). He was very proud of his church, and happy when we made it ours as well.

In due time, Kevin decided to leave the ARC, and went to work for Travis County MHMR. Unfortunately, the work climate there was quite different from the supportive environment of the ARC.

Kevin had been long plagued with asthma, complicated by stress and anxiety, which he endured in abundance while working at the agency, and he suffered financial set-backs during this time which didn’t help. Finally, he left his position there for health reasons.

In the years following, Kevin's life became fraught with financial uncertainty and employment difficulties. We and other old friends tried to help out, but the situation was tricky. Kevin was his own man, and our advice was neither entirely welcome nor often heeded. His physical difficulties by now included diabetes. A crushing blow came when he lost his house and he and housemate Bobby had to move to an apartment.

It was always apparent that Kevin’s disability played a part in his difficulties in life, but it was less often easy to see exactly how. Yes, he was taken advantage of in ways that Jerry and I would have seen coming a mile away. There was a lack of guile in him that made it hard for him to believe that someone seemingly wanting to befriend him could have less than noble intentions.

The last few times we invited Kevin to a holiday dinner, he failed to come. He was working at Wal-Mart by this time, and sometimes scheduled to work on the holiday in question. Other times he physically was just not up to it.

Early last August I got a call.

“I’m in the hospital,” he croaked.

“How come you didn’t tell me!?” I asked him.

“I’m telling you now,” he said.

Next day I went to see him, and was horrified. He couldn’t talk, looked dreadful, and had no patience with my usual joking inquiries about the royal family (though he did agree to take The King’s Speech DVD I’d brought).

I asked him if he wanted me to pray, and he nodded yes. I recited the 23rd Psalm, always a comfort to me, and prayed for his recovery. He squeezed my hand.

Still, I went home and told Jerry, “He’s not going to make it.”

Within hours Kevin was taken to ICU, in septic shock. Colleen arrived from Florida. From that time on it has been an unending trial. First his kidneys failed, then he had to go on a ventilator. By the third septic shock he had lost the use of his arms and legs.

If I could wish these past four months away, especially considering it all ended in Kevin’s death anyway, I have to think carefully about whether I really would.

Yes, he suffered so. Why couldn’t he have gone quickly? But there is more to the story than that.

For one thing, I witnessed a sister’s love so deep and unshakeable it fair took my breath away. Day after day, Colleen was there for Kevin, immersed in the daily detail of his incredible struggle to live.

Colleen and I have become close, as she has become close to other friends of Kevin. She has gotten to know her brother better through the friends he has left behind, and we have been privileged to join her for part of this hard journey.

I’m never comfortable attributing the way things work out to any plan of God. I rather share Woody Allen’s feeling that if I don’t know how the can opener works, what can I know about God?

Still, we have our marching orders. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.

I think most of us who knew Kevin probably feel we didn’t do enough for him. In many ways, he was a better friend to us than we turned out being to him. Now we best honor his life by caring for those he cared for.

One of the things Kevin taught me is that we are happier once we simply accept what others have to give and we relinquish our expectations or demands that they provide us what we want.

So we gather our memories together, and remember Kevin as he was in all his life, not just the hard last months. He lived his life on this earth, and we walked a while with him on the journey.

Now his journey has ended, and we happily find new people on our path, so we join hands and, in the words of King George VI of England, “Keep calm, and carry on” until such time comes, as it will, when our own journeys end.

Kevin would surely approve.

Come Ye Thankful People, Come

2011-11-19T09:08:00.005-06:00

Annette, Scott, Natalie, Rebekah, Kelly, Sterling, Anita & Elizabeth at Thanksgiving Dinner

And they did!

Those that didn't missed an awesome feast last Thursday, as we held our annual Thanksgiving community dinner at the Ranch and made it the first of what I hope is an annual appreciation dinner for our staff.

Mike & Kara fill relish cups as Gig looks on

Miss Gigi in the kitchen was helped throughout the day by various members of her family, not to mention the Foodies group. By the time dinner was ready to be served, the party had already begun in the kitchen!

Jason, Robin, Ashley, Gig, CJ, and Jeff show how much fun you can have in a hairnet!

After dinner we presented thank you letters to staff members in attendance. Ranchers roared in appreciation. Where else can you feel like you just won Homecoming King or Queen!?

CJ just passed her two-year anniversary working at the Ranch

Thanks to all who made it happen--Miss Gigi, the Foodies (Kara, Jason, Valerie, and Mike) ably assisted by Jeff and Kelly (Gigi's son and daughter), Robin, Ashley from Michigan, and CJ. We all enjoyed the dinner a lot, the fellowship even more, and did it all over the next day for lunch!

Our warmest wishes for a Thanksgiving filled with love for each and every one of our readers, too.

Retiring Mom

2011-11-17T05:26:00.000-06:00

I am retiring effective December 31st of this year from all my official roles and jobs held over the years at Down Home Ranch.

And they have been many and varied, from donkey trainer to program director (they have more in common than you would think, as it turns out.)

One role I won't give up, of course, is being Kelly's mom, except that looking back I realize how much I have had to step back and let Kelly and others assume the reins of her life.

It has been amazing to watch Kelly mature and grow through the years, from a teenager who hid behind me when confronted with an introduction to a supremely confident young lady who strides toward a stranger with her hand out and a smile on her face. I feel sure this would not have happened had Kelly continued living at home instead of moving to Martha House in 2006.

Naomi and I were talking yesterday about this very matter. Naomi also has a child with Downs, a 16-year old boy, and she commented, "I couldn't believe when I first came to work here how high-functioning all the Ranchers were."

She went on to say that other parents have told her much of this "high-functioning" wasn't necessarily there when their Ranchers first came, and that recently, she had an epiphany.

Her boy loves chocolate milk, and was always after her to mix it up for him. One day the lightbulb came on and she said, "Let me show you how to do it." To her surprise he mastered the process then and there. (This works better with chocolate milk than folding one's laundry, I find.)

It's so hard for Mom not to extend the caregiving way beyond points that are necessary and appropriate. I used to despair over Kelly's refusal to wash her own hair.

She hated the feel of the slippery shampoo and just would not do it. I even did the "hand-on-hand" thing and poured the shampoo into her hand, plopped her hand on her head and rubbed it in. Result: one very clean spot and strands of lank, greasy hair.

When Kelly was about 16, we left her with friends while we went to Boston. When we returned, Gay greeted me with the news that Kelly could now wash her own hair and in fact had done so, with somewhat OK results, four times in my absence.

I guess the time was right, the student was ready, and the teacher appeared. Some things remain a mystery.

But now, after five years, Kelly knows so much, and can do so many things-- including things beyond me, like hooking up electronics, and all of them she either taught herself or was coached by others.

And what will I do? Well, I'll write that book I've been threatening to write for the past four years about how Down Home Ranch came to be. I'll keep writing this blog and helping with other writing projects.

I'll dedicate a fair amount of time to helping generate support for scientific research into Down syndrome, and the quest for effective therapies.

And other things you'll hear about along the way. It's been a wild ride, and one I hope to continue to share with you.

A visit from the Commish

2011-11-07T16:57:00.004-06:00

Jerry, Commissioner Traylor, and Kelly

Commissioner Chris Traylor, head of the Department of Aging and Disability Services, which provides licensure and oversight of Down Home Ranch, visited today. We were honored and proud to show "the Commish" around, and have him meet our high-spirited band of Ranchers, all of whom were busy at their jobs gardening, cooking, cleaning, and tending the animals.

When we first started Down Home Ranch, we were determined never to accept any public money. We wanted desperately to remain independent, free from needless restraints and cumbersome bureaucratic entanglements.

But...once we began the residential program, we hit a wall. We just could not raise enough money to pay for the cost of caring for people with major intellectual disabilities, and our families could not afford to pay the amounts needed to support their Rancher throughout their entire lives.

On more than one occasion, we were contacted by other private pay facilities, who were having to discharge a resident (who in one case had lived there for over 20 years) because their trust funds had given out, or their dads had retired. How much of a heartbreak would that be!?

Jer and I were comfortably middle-class when we decided to sail into the unknown waters of building a ranch for people with disabilities, but we didn't know any people of great wealth. We built the Ranch over a long period of time, paying as we went.

Rebekah and Brian tend plants in front of the Pavilion

But maintaining a residential program is an all-or-nothing deal. When you're building a barn, you can build part of it and then take a break while you gather the resources to finish it. That doesn't work so well with people, and although we as a family had gone through very precarious times in building the Ranch, there was no way we'd put our Ranchers through anything like that. We needed a stable source of funding.

One thing led to another, and we decided it would be a good idea for the Ranch, and a tremendous help for our struggling families, to seek certification as providers for some of the programs funded through Medicaid for people with intellectual disabilities.

I was the program director in those days, and had to wend my way through the truly daunting obstacles of qualifying for that certification. One of my tasks was to write policies and procedures based on innumerable rules, statues, regulations, and "tags" that spell out exactly and precisely how and why to do everything under the sun related to caring for a person with a disability.

To my surprise, I found no egregious or unreasonable dictates therein. "It's all there, every bit of it, for very good reasons," I told Jerry.

At first there was a bit of resistance on the part of advocates and regulators. They were suspicious of why we would decide to plop ourselves out in the middle of nowhere. The trend was totally the other way--apartments and single homes for one or two folks at most. Why did we want to be in the country, all living together?

Well, suffice it to say that it comes down to different strokes for different folks. Some people like the country, the animals, the friends nearby. We strove for that old-fashioned neighborhood, where a helping hand is never far away, and by gum, we think we've got it!

We promised to work hard to be the best providers--privately or publically funded--in the state of Texas, and DADS has come to appreciate that we mean to do exactly that, providing technical help and support along the way.

Did becoming dependent on public support solve all of our financial problems? Absolutely not. At most it's a good base from which to start. The money we receive from the state covers the basics--housing, utilities, food, supervision. But income from charitable donations and enterprises make the real difference in the quality of life for our Ranchers--travel, lots of off-Ranch activities, superior day program and excellent staff. Together we can offer terrific opportunities for our residents, and they don't have to come from wealthy families to live here.

When the Commissioner showed up today, we were eager to show him the Ranch and our community up close and personal. He was warmly greeted by confident, cheerful staff and Ranchers, and we hope he agrees that our partnership with DADS has paid off well all around.

And we thank him for his work, and his caring, for those we all serve.

The Clock is Ticking

2011-10-31T10:44:00.004-05:00

Dr. Jon Pierce-Shimomura has a big bet on a tiny worm

Sometimes Jerry and I feel a bit like Forrest Gump. You know, winding up at the right place at the right time in our lives against pretty unlikely odds. I’ll tell you why.

Last night Jerry and I attended an astonishing event, put on by the Rise School of Austin and the Down Syndrome Association of Central Texas.

Lots of other parents of kids with Down syndrome were there, too, to hear Professor Jon Pierce-Shimomura, Assistant Professor of Neurobiology at UT/Texas, fill us in on his current research and provide an overview of current research into Down syndrome.

Dr. Jerome Lejuene discovered the extra copy of chromosome #21 that characterizes typical Down syndrome in 1959. Finding the extra chromosome was huge, but even Dr. Lejeune did not hold out much hope for figuring out why and how it wreaks such developmental havoc, saying at the time "it would take less effort to find a cure for [Down syndrome] than to send a man to the moon."

That's because, whereas conditions like cystic fibrosis may be caused by one gene, Down syndrome is caused by an entire chromosome packed with genes. Finding which one(s) cause the intellectual disability and physical characteristics of Down syndrome is not a simple task.

And not one many researchers bother with. As Dr. Pierce-Shimomura says, "If you were a researcher, would you rather investigate one gene, or 350?"

In the good professor's case, the answer to this question is easy. His name is Ocean Pierce-Shimomura, he's a bright busy ten-year-old, and he has Down syndrome.

And the Forrest Gump part? Well, in 1984, when our Kelly was five weeks old, I attended the 13th annual convention of the National Down Syndrome Congress in San Antonio. The speaker there was Jerome Lejuene. I had just gotten Kelly’s karyotype (which Dr. Lejuene developed) and it showed she had not one but two extra copies of the 21st chromosome. I was beside myself with worry.

But Dr. Lejuene calmed me down, saying he was certain she would not be doubly handicapped and would probably develop much as she would have with only one. And she has, having turned into a delightfully poised, well-mannered young woman of 27.

Then on the last day of the 2007 NDSC conference in Kansas City, Jerry and I attended the session of Dr. William Mobley, then of Stanford University, who presented exciting news and real hope for medical intervention in the disabling conditions that affect children and adults with Down syndrome.

Then next year Jerry and I went to Yosemite on vacation, and while riding bikes through the park he said, “I think we should go visit Bill Mobley. Let’s drive down to Palo Alto on Thursday.”

“O good Lord,” I said, “he’s an internationally recognized scientist. We can’t expect to just waltz onto the campus and find him and he’ll see us!”

(I should have known better, having been married to this guy for almost 40 years.)

So Thursday we find a parking place and the general area of campus where the lab was located. Who saunters by on that fine fall morning but Bill Mobley? A conversation ensued, a promise to come to Texas was extracted, information was exchanged, and we parted, my husband a satisfied man.

Several months later, Down Home Ranch, the Rise School, and DSACT presented an evening with William Mobley at the UT Ex-Student Center. We combined our mailing lists and invited everyone we could think of.

In the audience that evening was a brand-new assistant professor of bioscience, Dr. Jon Pierce-Shimomura. Someone introduced him to Dr. Mobley, who chose to present him to the audience as a researcher in the field of Down syndrome research.

Jon, actually having been brought to UT to undertake research on alcohol, didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. One thing led to another, in part because of relationships created that night, and…who knows, post hypnotic suggestion, perhaps…as of today Jon directs the research of a$3M laboratory under a grant from the National Institutes of Health. His research swapping out genes in a tiny, simple worm (with whom we share a large preponderance of the same genetic material, humbling though that be) feeds into research on more complex creatures, suggesting which genes might prove better bets to test. (The worms go from infancy through middle age into senescence in 7 days.)

Even though funding for Down syndrome across the board is miserably low compared to many other conditions, real progress is being made. Let’s never forget: Ten years after Dr. Lejuene's comment, we did send a man to the moon.

There is real hope for our kids— for the older ones, that they’ll avoid the ravages of Alzheimer’s and retain their hard-won accomplishments as they age.

And for the little ones, well…them we’ll send to college.

Meanwhile, the clock is ticking. Go to the following link: ww.dsrtf.org/ to learn how to support Down syndrome research, and don’t think it won’t make a difference.

It will.

He's here!

2011-10-21T20:24:00.001-05:00

Baby Adam in his grandmother Carolyn's arms

For the past few days we've been on tenterhooks as our granddaughter Caitlin, two weeks overdue with baby Adam, was in labor.

Although Caitie, a third-year med student at KU in Kansas City, is tied into the best midwifery and medical science have to offer, she is simply a little, tiny person. (Mom is almost 6' tall, Dad is 6'3", and brother is 6'5"--so go figure).

Nana here has been wringing her hands since learning of the pregnancy, unwilling to think of Caitie going through what I and her mom went through.

We were right to be concerned. Baby Adam was born by C-section after 40+ hours of labor, which did not progress according to plan.

Jerry came home to find me weeping in the front yard into a glass of wine, sitting in my bird-watching chair. At last news came from daughter #2 Martha that Caitie had been taken in for a C-section.

Then Kelly called an hour later, having received a text message from Carolyn, Caitie's mom, that baby Adam "is here". Kelly was super proud to be the one that announced the news, having quizzed me hourly for the past three weeks, "Is he here yet?"

Martha asked me, "You ready to be a great-grandma?"

Resoundingly, joyfully, YES!!!!!

How blessed are we to see our children, and our children's children, and our children's children's children, soon to be standing strong and tall around our table like young olive trees.

So, welcome to the world, Adam Lee Linscheid, 8 pounds, 3 ounces with a full head of red hair!

Nana, Bapu, and Great-Aunt Kelly (at 27 yet!)

Mchael's retirement plans

2011-10-19T14:53:00.001-05:00

Michael enjoys the drum circle

This morning when I showed up at the Pavilion for staff meeting, I saw Michael in the hallway.

"So, Michael," I said. "Are you ready to turn 40?" (This will happen on the 10th of November.)

"Yeah," he replied, "Sorta," looking a little downcast.

Then he brightened and said, "When I'm 100 years old I'm gonna sit in a chair on the lawn and watch all you guys working."

I didn't mention that--speaking strictly for my part in this scenario--that is unlikely to happen.

Michael turning 40 is a big deal indeed, because Michael (after Kelly, who came with the deal) is the Ranch's #1 Rancher, having moved in November 1 of 2001.

And before that, Michael was one of the very first campers to arrive in 1995. We have videos of Michael dressed in a prom gown (the last costume available during drama class), with Dixie cups inserted in strategic anatomical places which guys don't usually fill out.

In fact, when it came time to introduce himself, he decided "Dixie Cups" was the name of his character.

Michael is a born comedian. He can speak faux Chinese and sing opera in Italian. He is greatly gifted musically. I recall driving home after chorus in Austin late one evening. Kelly and Daniel had dozed off and I had "Blue Monday" on KUT playing on the radio. During a station break Michael pipes up in the back seat, "I got those greenhouse blues, oh ye-es I do. I got those greenhouse blues, oh ye-es I do. If I don' get outta that greenhouse, don't know what I will do."

In perfect blues cadence and style.

What a guy.

Don't punish the disability

2011-10-09T19:53:00.002-05:00

Yesterday as Jerry and I drove into Austin I read the scriptures for today's Mass readings. The gospel was Jesus' parable about the King who invited people to his son's wedding feast, but everybody was too busy, saying "Nah, I gotta work this weekend" or "Sorry, I already have plans."

Well, words to that effect. Plus a few murdered the men he'd sent with the invitation!

The King was insulted, so after wreaking a bit of havoc upon those who had refused his invitation the first time, he once again sent his minions out to bring guests to his son's wedding feast, but this time they weren't to bother with the list of the in crowd, but to bring in any old whobody they found on the street who wanted to come.

The last part of the parable was in brackets, which means it doesn't have to be read if the preacher doesn't want to deal with it, and this was the part about the guest who showed up and the King asked him why he'd not put on his wedding attire. The guest had no good answer, so the King told his people to bind him hand and foot and cast him out into the darkness where there would be gnashing of teeth and other unpleasantness awaiting him.

"Wow," said Jerry. "I'll be interested to see what Fr. Larry has to say about this last part."

But Fr. Larry does not quail before the words between the brackets. And what he said, assuming I heard aright, was that the wedding guest's attire or lack thereof referred to his spiritual state, not his sartorial one. He came not to celebrate the wedding of his soul with that of the King's Son, but for some other reason. So as things wound up, he fared no better than those who chose not to come at all.

Later Jer and I talked about it some more, debating just what state one's soul had to be in before it was worthy to come to the feast.

In our profession there's a time-honored rule: Don't punish the disability.

By this, we mean, don't punish people for what they have no control over. People with obsessive-compulsive disorder will never be punished, bribed, or nagged out of their condition. It's their disability. They can still manage to drive you crazy, even if you know that, which fact might constitute your disability.

The longer I'm in the business, I realize we all have disabilities, of all kinds, many we don't even know about. We struggle against them, and like Paul, despair of our inability to overcome them. Throughout our lives, we kid ourselves if we ever think we've made it. Life is nothing if not a thorough education in humility.

And given that, the proper wedding attire must be the mantle of humility before the King, as we seek new life in Him who, having made us, understands us as no one on earth, ourselves included, ever could.

Oh what a relief...

2011-10-06T15:43:00.000-05:00

Kyle and the mountain of lettuce

So, for the past five weeks or so I've been grappling with the kitchen. The Pavilion kitchen. The kitchen through which runs all the food consumed by the Ranch every day. Which is a lot.

Last week we hired Miss Gigi to run it. Gigi actually knows what she's doing, having extensive experience in running commercial kitchens and having owned and run a restaurant with her husband. Talk about finding a treasure in your own backyard, Gigi and Jo live a mile up the road from Down Home Ranch on "the Spur."

"I always knew I'd wind up here somehow," Gigi said. "Every day when I'd drive by going into Elgin I'd see that gate and think...someday I'm going to be there."

Valerie & Mike bag food into household portions

This matters to Gigi because of a very special little girl, granddaughter Presley, who inspired her parents to create a foundation called The Upside of Down to better the lives of people with Down syndrome. Upside has paid for many a camper to attend Ranch Camp over the few years it's been in existence.

Man, those cute little tykes wake up a lot of love!

So enjoy these pictures of our Ranchers happily hard at work as Miss Gigi gets the kitchen whipped into shape. Presley's mom and dad might not have envisioned their little one inspiring scenes like this, but then the world is just plumb full of surprises, isn't it?

Kara setting up drinks for lunch

We need your help

2011-10-03T16:50:00.000-05:00

The Bastrop County fires as seen from Hwy 71
(Photo by HippieChickenFarmer)

Back in the early 90s we didn’t think much about fire here at the Ranch, until the day I headed up the trail to have lunch at the little farmhouse we had bought and moved adjacent to the Ranch.

Jerry was still working in Austin, so I spent most days alone working in the small trailer that had served as our home until just a few months before.

As I walked around the bend of Sandy Road I saw a large plume of smoke rising up from behind our house. As I got closer I saw the flames racing across the grassy areas under the tall trees in the pecan bottoms. It was still a ways off, but much too close for comfort, so I turned and ran as fast as I could back to the office to call the volunteer fire department and Jerry.

By the time Jerry came streaking in 40 minutes later, fire had engulfed a few acres of our pecan bottoms but fortunately was contained in short order. The early 90s had seen record rain, there was still water in the creek and the shrubs and trees were plump with moisture.

Still, we could see the yaupon holly exploding into fiery balls before being quickly consumed. We knew that luck was with us in those days.

Unlike now.

There are dead and dying trees all over Down Home Ranch. The sentry oaks by the historical cemetery are gone after standing watch for decades. Everything is brown and tinder dry and the only green to be seen is around our well-fed pond.

Fortunately, we’ve been preparing for years of extreme drought, just like this one. In 2007, we began working with the Texas Forest Service on a project we call the Annual Texas Chainsaw Manicure. One day each autumn, volunteers come out to the Ranch to help clear brush and open up wooded areas, decreasing the amount of “fuel” that wildfires need to grow. We’ll be holding the next one on October 15th, and if you want to come out and help, you can call Marci at 888-926-2253 or send an email to her at marci@downhomeranch.org.

Today, thanks to our regular “Manicures” we are an official Firewise community — one of only 42 in Texas. But reducing our risk doesn’t eliminate it.

Just a few weeks ago, on Labor Day, Sharon came rushing over the hill. “You should see the smoke coming up from the south! It’s awful! Come and look!”

We did, and saw huge billowing pillars of smoke rising up like thunderheads on the southern horizon. The day before, as we’d driven into Austin for church, I’d said to Jerry, “With these wind gusts we’re having, and as dry as we are, I hope and pray no wildfires get started.”

He snapped back, “Don’t even say that!”

But they had, and we stood silently, watching the beginnings of what has become our state’s worst fire disaster ever, with more than 1,500 homes lost and more than 34,000 acres burned. Everyone on the staff has friends and relatives who lost their homes.

So we’re more than nervous, we’re worried sick. It could happen here in a heartbeat.

That’s why we’re dead earnest about this year’s Chainsaw Manicure. To be a success, we need to attract as many volunteers as possible to help us prevent this tragedy from taking the 340 acres that we call “home.”Please help protect our Ranchers from the heartbreaking losses suffered by so many of our neighbors.

Your hours spent at Down Home Ranch will never count for more.

Photo by Texas Forest Service, printed in Pegasus News
http://www.pegasusnews.com/news/2011/sep/08/plano-firefighters-help-combat-bastrop-wildfires/

God's in his heaven

2011-10-02T08:44:00.002-05:00

St. Francis watches over the Benedict House garden

Yesterday Jerry sent me to Bloomer's to buy some winter vegetable starts for the garden.

I loaded my little red wagon and was enjoying walking around the premises looking at all the beautiful plants and fountains and such.

Bloomer's started up just about the same time the Ranch did, with a little house on 290 and some makeshift shelving and shade clothes for a small assortment of plants. We've known Marcus for a while now, and shared the ups and downs of getting a big dream up and running.

Through the years the Ranch grew, and Bloomer's grew, moving out onto 95 and now covering a few acres or so. That little front-yard business has grown into an inspiringly beautiful place--you know, the kind you don't want to leave when you get there.
We buy from them, they buy from us--it's a long relationship by now.

Anyway, I got my $15 worth of plants and then spied St. Francis standing over by a cactus, and liked him so much I bought him, too. Total bill now: about $100.

Oh well, that'll teach Jer to send me to Bloomer's.

But St. Francis looks good standing there over our little oasis. And this morning I got s surprise when I looked out the window and saw over 100 doves flitting about the feeders and bird bath, which I need to fill several times a day now because it's one of the few safe places for many birds to get a drink these days.

Breakfast at the Oasis at Down Home Ranch

The doves were super spooky and didn't come back after I refreshed the water and put out more seed, but Mr. and Ms. Jay and the cardinals were there in short order.

Looks like St. Francis is doing his job.

Finding our way

2011-09-26T19:52:00.000-05:00

As I have broadcast to anyone who would listen, I took on the food service for the Ranch a few weeks ago and have been working HEROICALLY (according to me) to get things in order, organized, and working as they should.

This involves interactions with...the Foodies!

AKA the kitchen work team of Ranchers whose job is to assist in the kitchen.

First of all, by general consensus of the Ranch's leadership and program staff, we made the decision a few weeks ago to cease cooking a huge lunch with salad, green vegetable, yellow vegetable, roll, main course and dessert and instead go to...sack lunches.

That the Ranchers prepare themselves.

This was in part because we decided that a) who needs such a lunch to begin with? and b) it kind of didn't make a lot of sense to pay people to prepare their own lunch and then pay them to clean up after it. Kind of like a snake eating its own tail.

Program liked the change because it's more "normalizing" in that most people fend for themselves for lunch, and a lot of them do it via the sack lunch.

But back to the Foodies.

Another matter is that the fact that we need to ramp up the professionalism of the Foodies in the kitchen. Supervision has been a little lax, and we (meaning me) are tightening up.

So I held an in-service on dishwashing this morning. The Ranchers mostly liked it, but one didn't.

"I KNOW how to wash dishes," she stated adamantly.

"Still," I said reasonably, "we can all learn to follow certain rules and do our work better."

She turned her back. I objected. She turned around.

Five minutes later as one Rancher struggled to take apart the working parts of a beverage dispenser, our offended party walked out and went to "tell" on me to Marci. I knew where she'd gone, and what she was doing, and clocked her out of the training so she'll get to do dishwashing 101 all over again.

So...we spent an hour washing five beverage dispensers (but boy, did they need it!)

Later, in staff meeting, we agreed that our commercial kitchen has to pull its weight in the economics of the Ranch. There are so many ways we could make money out of that kitchen, and we need to make money! We can cater, bake, sell, go to Farmers' Markets, get contracts with local restaurants.

But we have to be prepared to do it professionally and better than anyone else. And darned if I don't think we can!

(And I'll make a happy dishwasher out of that girl yet!)

Last night

2011-09-24T20:32:00.000-05:00

The Village at Twilight

This week was a hard week.

Our cook quit abruptly a few weeks ago, and we figured out that our Pavilion kitchen had been suffering from...shall we say, a lack of stewardship...for some time, so I'm handling all the food ordering, shopping, menu creating, and consequent flack-catching for the Ranch for the next several weeks.

Marci has mostly been wrangling the kitchen crew, and I've been trying to use up inventory (what, cod again!?) prior to getting things under a little more coherent management.

The work is hard--not just for a 70-year old, but for anybody--and the days are long! Most nights I go to bed with a sore back and wake up long before dawn. We're talking 13-hour days here.

Yesterday was particularly tough, since we had to get ready for a retreat group coming in, and the Ranchers were going to go to Special Olympics swimming competitions today, so I stayed late making sandwiches and getting the lunch ready for the Saturday outing.

Then I mopped the floor six times in a row until I could finally get semi-clear rinse water. The San Jose people showed up, and Jerry and I raced around getting the lights on and such.

People often say to me, "Oh my gosh, you must have such a sense of pride and fulfillment whenever you look around this place."

The truth is just the opposite.

Wherever I look I see things that need fixing, watering, painting, finishing, cleaning...

It reminds me of funeral services I've attended for children with special needs, and I've attended more than a few.

The moms stand brokenhearted before the assembly and confess that they never, ever, not for one day, felt they ever did enough for their child with disabilities.

However much they did, and they performed heroic feats, year after year, after year...still, they were always exhorting themselves to do more. Surely one more half hour of speech therapy per week, one more enrichment class, one more hour of homework supervision and help would make all the difference in their child's life.

But after all was said and done, the kid still had Down syndrome, and given basically decent parenting, one turned out much like another.

Which is a good thing.

Because recent studies indicate that families with children with Down syndrome are among the happiest familiest around--even laying the disability issue aside. That's because our kids are generally fun-loving and emotionally generous (to put it mildly).

And what do they NOT do? Well, when they consider the world, they tend not to fixate on what needs fixing, cleaning, watering, or finishing. They take the world on its own terms and, when in doubt, have a party!

None of which has anything to do with what happened last night, which was that Jerry and I, tearing around fixing this and adjusting that, stopped for a breathtaking moment and looked around the Ranch and really saw it the way it deserves to be seen.

The sun was well below the horizon. The sky was a dusk rose in the west, and the barn caught the last rays of light.

The lanterns had come on, and the yellow light shone from the houses in the Village.

The Pavilion shone forth, and inside we could see the young Hispanic adults on retreat assembled in fellowship.

And I had a deep, welcome sense for just a few minutes that all the striving, all the worry, all the endless toil over the past 20 years has been worth it after all.

It was a blessed moment, and I know it will soon pass, but it lingers with me today.

And I am grateful beyond measure.

A salad's a salad...or is it?

2011-09-14T06:03:00.000-05:00

Marci and I worked with the kitchen team yesterday doing some major cleaning and reorganization, .

I was struggling to move a large shelving unit in the pantry to get behind and clean (the result of which today is a very sore back) when Julia walked past me. She stopped in her tracks, fixed me with a stern gaze, and muttered, "So you're the reason we can't have any more CROUtons!"

Guilty as charged.

After several frustrating forays in our HE-HAW (High Energy Health and Wellness) program, we are once again regrouping and rethinking.

You may (or may not) recall that HE-HAW was established about a year ago at Down Home Ranch to provide a platform for healthy living for our Ranchers by improving their diet and encouraging lots of activity.

The Ranchers are overall way more active at the Ranch than their peers in most other places. Our guys and gals have jobs, and they work hard at them--cleaning stalls, working in the gardens, swimming, jamming to Richard Simmons or just biking and walking around the Ranch in the normal course of their day.

The food front, however, continuesto be a bear of a challenge. Despite repeatedly providing guidelines we find that within a few weeks, the diet begins migrating back to the Great American Food Pile, where a "salad" may consist of a heap of oversized croutons, a pile of cheese on top, and Ranch dressing poured all over the whole thing.

After all, all those things are found in the salad line, aren't they?

While the above might be amusing, and its logic unassailable, the overall situation is not. Women with Down syndrome especially have an inborn tendency to obesity. They're short, female, and their metabolism runs at about 80% of normal. It's a huge challenge, and one many parents give up on early in the game.

But we're not going to! The stakes are too high.

So we decided the only thing to do is to hire a single person who will have authority and oversight over the entire HE-HAW program. This person will be called the Food and Wellness Coordinator. He or she will oversee every aspect of the food program, and work closely with other staff to provide guidance in the fitness program.

Although we can use our powers of persuasion and rewards to influence our Ranchers' food choices while dining out or shopping at Wal-Mart, in the end they have the right to buy what they want.

But day-to-day here at the Ranch we can, and we will, assume control of the menu items available, and continue to work on education, portion control, and the lifelong waltz with weight control so many of us--certainly not just our Ranchers--contend with on a day-to-day basis. It's bound to help, but I don't for a moment assume it will be easy.

I know better.

Good morning, Moon

2011-09-13T07:40:00.000-05:00

It's once of those staff-crunch times at Down Home Ranch. We're all doing double and sometimes triple duty as we deal with unexpected staff departures and unfilled new positions.

Like the Food and Wellness Coordinator.

Changing our "food culture" at Down Home Ranch has been a challenge, to say the least. We once again have begun grappling with the need to exercise stricter control over the food provided the Ranchers.

So as to get started in this venture, I agreed to serve as interim FWC until we can find that perfect person.

Well, at least I knew what I was getting into. Suffice it to say that rising long before dawn is part and parcel of the package. So many things to think of, so many items needing attention, so much to learn and relearn.

So here I was in my office about 6:00 AM when Mr. Lobo appeared at the door.

"Did you see the moon?" he asked.

Of course I'd seen the moon...but then, had I really? I'd walked out the door, thankful for its light so I could find my car at 5:30 AM, and glanced up at it.

But I didn't really see it.

I went outside with Mr. Lobo and together we beheld its shocking presence in the western sky. We marveled at it and Mr. Lobo told stories of how he'd gotten his kids up one night to watch all the planets align in the sky one night in the 80s.

I told of the awesome array of stars I'd seen during the leonid meteor showers in the mountains of Colorado back in the 60s.

Two old friends, standing in the dust at dawn, beholding the heavens.

Thanks be to God.

Image courtesy NASA via Wikipedia

Not the dream he counted on....

2011-09-08T20:39:00.000-05:00

I recall the early days after learning my newborn daughter, Kelly, had Down syndrome.

"Maybe she won't be affected as much as others," people would say in an attempt to comfort us.

But this was unlikely. Down syndrome carries both a blessing and a curse in that, once you see that typical little face, that fat hand with the crease straight across it, you pretty much know what the future holds.

When Kelly was born, those in the know said things like, "Down syndrome is the Cadillac of the disabilities. They're easy. Everybody loves them."

And while not true of everybody exactly, a lot of people actually do.

But when you're born looking completely normal, and grow up to have a vocabulary to match, but you happen to be, well...different...it gets way more complicated.

In our country, if you have an IQ of under 70, you qualify for a lot of services. They're not always great, and it's not easy to access them, but at least they're there.

But if you have an IQ of 75 or thereabouts, you're pretty much on your own, tossed out in the world to compete against the guys with MBAs from Harvard.

Not exactly fair.

If you have a lot of support, and people around you who recognize your real gifts and talents, you will be encouraged to move toward independence, getting and keeping a job, and making it on your own.

It comes to be a big, big dream, and you long for the day it will come true--your own apartment, your own friends, independence from those you've depended on for years.

Sure, this is also the dream pitched to the kids with Down syndrome. Here at the Ranch we work toward independence openly and honestly, but in truth--the real deal is unlikely to be realized.

I'm thinking of this today because I have two friends who trusted in the dream, and it didn't turn out exactly the way they'd dreamed it would.

They had the house or the apartment. They had the job in the competitive market.

But they had pitifully few people who wanted to spend any time with them. They were scammed repeatedly, in the case of one out of his entire retirement fund. And it happened more than once.

Any overture that seemed to offer friendship was eagerly grasped, but the savvy wasn't there to see that really, it was just somebody out to take advantage of you.

Tonight one lies in the hospital fighting for his life, and as I think back on the years I've known him, I'm sad. He never had the acceptance he craved, the friends he so wanted. He was our friend, and we were his. We spent time over holidays mostly, and a few times throughout the year after church, going out to eat. But he was mostly alone.

On paper, his life has been a grand success. In reality, it's been a hard, lonely slog.

Yes, we do come to be thankful for the blessing of Down syndrome. There are lots of people willing to put them down, but there are lots willing to extend them protection, too. They are identifiable as persons in need of assistance, and I've found that, more often than not, that assistance is there when they need it.

But my heart aches for those for whom it is not.

Little Quail

2011-09-06T20:02:00.000-05:00

How she survives, I do not know.

She is small, slow, flightless, and gives no evidence of being very smart.

She appeared with another of her kind two months ago. The other disappeared shortly thereafter, and we've no idea where they came from to begin with.

But two months later, she continues to appear in our front yard, looking for seed that falls from the bird feeders.

Every evening I think must surely be her last.

I call her Little Quail.

I gave thought to capturing her and thus extending her life, feeding her Purina quail food or something.

But then I thought better.

God knows how she survives the evenings, when the foxes, skunks, coyotes, and bobcats begin to prowl. Maybe she hides right under my nose, under the large ferns on the porch.

But she survives, alone of her kind, and when she is gone I will be sorry.

But I will be glad that she survived living free.

Image courtesy Wikipedia: brown quail

Home at last

2011-08-22T20:33:00.000-05:00

Neighbors at last, Sterling & Jerry walk over to Isaiah House

It's finally happening. The guys are spending their first night in Isaiah House!

Right now it looks a bit like a scene out of a reality show about hoarders. Joseph House is cleaned out of stuff, but Isaiah has a ways to go to make the house a home.

Travis' dad Tony works on the TV

Sterling's room is pretty well done, and Travis' mom and dad came up yesterday to install him in his, but John and Kyle's, well...let's just say they'll need some help establishing priorities.

But Sterling is so glad to have his house buddies, he came over and grabbed us after dinner to come and see.

These guys have been so patient, for so long, and they are very happy to be in the Village.

Meanwhile, at Joseph House, four guys new to the Ranch will be settling in, and yet another dream will come true at Down Home Ranch.

If people with Down syndrome ruled the world

2011-08-19T14:49:00.001-05:00

Alaina with Guide to Good Health

At the National Down Syndrome Congress convention a few weeks ago Casey, Calvin, Lori and I attended Dr. Brian Chicoine and Dr. Dennis McGuire's five-hour workshop on promoting and maintaining health--of all kinds--in teens and adults with Down syndrome.

It was an inspiring day. Drs. C&M have run The Adult Down Syndrome Center of Chicago for 20 years. These gentlemen know Down syndrome inside and out, and the love, compassion, and respect for those they work with at the center, and for their families, shines through bright and clear. Plus, they're very funny.

Dr. Chicoine and McGuire are authors of two MUST HAVE books for any family with a child with Down syndrome--no matter the age: Mental Wellness in Adults with Down Syndrome, and The Guide to Good Health in Teens and Adults with Down Syndrome, both available from Woodbine Press.

Until about 30 years ago, the focus on "rehabilitating" people with disabilities zeroed in on either keeping them completely out of sight, or trying to mold them into seeming as "normal" as possible so as do cause minimal discomfort for the population at large.

Thus people with autism were badgered to look people in the eye, deaf people were prohibited from using sign language to communicate, blind people had to concentrate on looking like they could see, and people with Down syndrome were pestered to leave off the self-talk, get with the flow, and for God's sake--stop hugging everybody you see!

How wonderful to encounter two professionals who encourage us to accept our kids for who they are, to work with their differences and not against, and to do so with love and appreciation for their gifts. As evidence, I paraphrase Dr. McGuire's piece "What Would Happen if People with Down Syndrome Ruled the World?" along with experiences we've had at Down Home Ranch.

If people with Down syndrome ruled the world...

Affection, hugging and caring for others would make a big comeback. [Very true. When our Ranchers spy Jerry or me at Wal-Mart, they come thundering down the aisle with arms wide open and huge grins on their faces to greet us even if they saw us maybe...two hours ago.]

People would be refreshingly honest and genuine.

As the expression goes, "what you see is what you get." [Oh yes! When Bishop McCarthy told Kelly several years ago, "Kelly, you are such a wonderful girl," Kelly replied simply, "Yes. I am."]

Stuffy high society would not do well.

However, BIG dress up dances would flourish, ...and can they dance! [Dr. McGuire suggests that weddings are especially popular among people with Down syndrome because everything they love is there: celebration, romance, dancing, license to hug anybody you see, and food!]

People engaged in self talk would be considered thoughtful and creative. Self talk rooms would be reserved in offices and libraries to encourage this practice.

[When Kelly is trying to resolve a dilemma--say whether to spend the weekend with Mom and Dad or to stay at the Ranch and hang out with her buddies, she will go to her room and have a spirited conversation with herself. You'd swear there were at least two people in there debating the pros and cons of each side, plus maybe a referee in the bargain! As for me, I just sit and stare into space as I play ping-pong in my head--same thing, different modus operandi.]

Order and structure would rule.

We have heard that people with Down syndrome are stubborn and compulsive. ... They can get stuck on behaviors that can drive family members a little crazy. ...

[Dr. McGuire refers to this tendency as The Groove. Now doesn't that sound better already than "obsessive/compulsive"!? The Groove could make the world a better place where all the trains and planes would run on time! And more:]

Schedules and calendars would be followed
Lunch would be at 12:00. Dinner at 6:00
Work time would be work time and vacation time would be vacation time
People would be expected to keep their promises
Last minute changes would be strongly discouraged (if not considered rude and offensive)
Places would be neat, clean, and organized (not just bedrooms, but cities countries, the whole world) [This organization Dr. McGuire speaks of is not always immediately obvious, especially in the bedroom, but you just try and move one object in it without the owner knowing it and you'll discover otherwise!]
Lost and founds would go out of business [Kelly never forgets her belongings and leaves them behind in hotel rooms while Mom and Dad have been known to do so.]
The "Grunge Look" would be out, way out. "Prep" would be very big.

There would be tolerance for:

Repeating the same phrase or question over, and over, and over, and...
Use of the terms "fun" and "cleaning" in the same sentence
Closing doors and cabinets left open by others, even in their own houses
Arranging things so they are "just so" [whether they're yours or not]

[Dr. McGuire has many other observations, leading to conclusions such as:

The "Rat Race" would be supplanted by "The Mosey"
There would be no futher need to pay gurus to teach us to live in the "here and now"
Stopping to smell the roses would be a national pasttime
Work would be revered, no matter what kind, from doing dishes to rocket science, and doing it right would matter much more than doing it fast
Everybody who wanted a job, could get a job and would do it well (except for when "Wheel of Fortune" is on TV)
Weather would be the only news necessary
All the bad news would go away. Murder, war, and mayhem would go way down, though there would probably be more McDonalds built.
No one would ever claim to be unable to draw or paint
Acting and theatrical arts would be encouraged for all
Elvis, The Beatles, and the Beach Boys would still be number 1
"Grease" "Footloose" and "The Sound of Music" would be the only musicals on Broadway
Richard Simmons and John Travolta would be national heroes
Fun oldies like "I Love Lucy", "Bonanza", and "Happy Days" would dominate cable programming [I had a senior moment and couldn't remember the name of "Bonanza;" I found Travis and asked, "Travis, what's this?" and hummed the theme song; BONANZA!]
We would only need about 10 movies total, which we would watch over and over
We would be allowed to talk out loud during the movie about what happens next
We would not need secret service agents or spies
There would be no terrorists; everybody would know that being a terrorist is just plain inappropriate!

Many mistakes can be avoided in childhood that would not express until teen or adult years, and Drs. Chicoine and McGuire lay them all out in their books.

For example, Kelly had a favorite movie, starting at about age 7, The Watcher in the Woods. I found it suspenseful, but tame compared to movies made today--no gore, very little in the way of violence. She watched it several times a week with no problems, but when she was 12 all of a sudden she developed a love/hate relationship with it. She would ask for it in the morning and insist I get rid of it forever in the evening as night came on. Now, at 27, she still asks about it and expresses fear about it. We'd have been better off with no movies with any fright factor whatever, and that's pretty doable with younger kids.

Just friends

2011-08-15T11:01:00.000-05:00

Michael two Gamm boys at Cabela's

The Gamm family has long been good friends and neighbors of Down Home Ranch. Both Jeff and Kristie volunteer a lot, and even work occasionally as weekend house managers, and as the kids grow older each so far has found a niche volunteering or working for Ranch Camp.

But best of all, the Gamms love our Ranchers, and take the time to get to know them, and then invite them over for the weekend every now and then.

What's the big deal on that? Mainly that people with disabilities don't get to interact much with anybody who isn't related or paid to do it. It's a special treat indeed when folks just have you over because they like you and want to hang out with you for a while.

Saturday Michael was invited over to the Gamms to spend the day target shooting, followed by a trip to Cabela's. All week leading up to the weekend he talked about things they planned to do, and today he hit the barn jabbering away and showing off a small (but visible!) bump on his forehead from a recoil. I had to shoo him off to get to work!

Michael's a happy camper with buddy Jeff

Here are Jeff's comments on the day:

The day started off with Biscuits and sausage Gravy. Then headed to the back where Michael proceeded to consistently hit the Metal Ram with the AR15 pistol. He really liked that gun as I can convert it to a 22 long rifle and makes it fun to shoot. Then it was off to the next best place this side of heaven, Cabela's where he and the boys took out more targets in the shooting gallery and enjoyed the usual Cabela's fun of aquarium, taxidermy and lots of guns n stuff. It was a blast to be with my friend while the air was filled with the smell of powder and the sound of bullets hitting the steel ram target.

Aiming the AR15

Really, truly, we are blessed.

Is it too hot, am I too old, or both?

2011-08-12T14:23:00.000-05:00

Flies are big at Down Home Ranch

Probably both.

As mentioned on Monday, I'm helping out with the Barn Team this week.

I woke up very early this morning, and came down to feed the horses at 7:30. Mr. Lobo was hard at work in the Community Gardens. He shows up for work at 6:30, to get as many hours in during the cool of the morning as he can. The tomato bushes look frightful, but they've put out a thousand blooms, so looks like we'll be back in the tomato business again soon. True love and homegrown tomatoes! Only two things that money can't buy, as the song goes.

Mr. Lobo showing off his work

(I wonder what it means that the three 70-year olds (me, Jerry, and Mr. Lobo) are up and working before the young pups have cracked an eyelid?)

The heat rages unabated. In the barn, we do physical work until about 10:00 and then we've been cleaning tack in the Learning Center, but today Brian had 500 baby poinsettias ("points" for short) to plant.

The farriar came this morning and trimmed up the hooves of our three donkeys, six mini-horses, and three standards. It took quite a while, but all we really needed to do was feed, water, hay, and transfer critters from one enclosure to the next. Travis is really good at that!

Oh, I just remembered! Peggy Sue needs feeding and I forgot her. Oh dear. Back out I go in the heat.

Peggy Sue is not amused at being forgotten

At 9:30 we reported to the warehouse to fill pots, plant pots, water pots and move pots, and I worked til almost 11:00 but then had to quit or face a sinking spell. It's right warmish in there, even with the fan.

(Speaking of sinking spells, we had a staff member a few years ago who came rushing into the main office wanting to call 911. They asked her why and she said, "So-and-so says she's having a sinking spell!")

Sounded pretty bad to a Yankee, I guess. We explained.

A strawberry smoothie and some peanuts fixed me up. I returned to the working end of the Ranch and Travis and I transferred Magic and Pete (Travis' favorite equine) to the pasture. I do believe I'll go rob the hens of a few eggs after I feed Peggy Sue and head home and put my feet up for a spell.

And that's Friday, August 12, 2011, at Down Home Ranch.

Slowing down a bit

2011-08-11T12:07:00.000-05:00

Michael cleaning a bridle

Ranch Camp ended a week ago last Sunday, and the Ranch went from high speed to August speed, which is considerably calmer.

True, we had the National Down Syndrome Congress annual convention to go to, but that only involved about half of us, and this week we've geared way down.

Except for poinsettia planting, which starts tomorrow! Several thousand of the little wonders need to go into their pots, get watered down, and tucked away to grow and become big, gorgeous, velvety Christmas plants.

Right after the NDSC convention, Marci and sister Lori hopped on a plane for the Virgin Islands for a few weeks kicking back and recovering from Ranch Camp. This created holes in staffing so I volunteered to take the barn team for a few weeks.

Travis works cleaning Sally's cart

It's been fun! We cleaned Sally's cart on Monday, and Tuesday undertook cleaning all the leather tack in the tack room.

Alan concentrates on a dirty spot

Hoo boy...we have a lot of leather tack in the tack room. We're working in the Learning Center to avoid the 100+ temperatures, and the team is diligent in its work. We're memorizing names of the many different pieces and trying to keep them grouped so we can put the puzzles back together.

Rebekah's hard work shows!

Today we learned "brightwork," which are the brass, silver and copper decorations on some of the bridles. Who even knew they were there?! After an hour's work they shine like a star.

Tomorrow we will take a break and work on poinsettia planting, then back to the leatherworks on Monday.

"I miss the barn," Travis said. "And. this is really hard!"

'Tis, for sure.

Back in the saddle, or at least the barn

2011-08-08T10:52:00.000-05:00

Michael, Travis, and Alan working on Sally's buggy

Everybody got home from the NDSC Convention yesterday before 5:00, and I'm sure the house bedrooms were filled last evening with Ranchers chatting with themselves, putting their rooms in order (or their version thereof), and planning their week.

Jerry and I collapsed on the couch after supper and watched a favorite movie, This House of Brede. He worked out this morning but I didn't, fairly sure my stint in the barn this morning would serve the same purpose.

I was right. We feed the horses at 8:00 because it keeps them happy, and by the time I got through I was wringing wet. At 9:00 I went up and got my crew--Travis, Michael, and Alan--and set them to work. Travis cleaned up manure, Alan swept the barn and cleaned the stalls, and Michael helped me rearrange and clean up the hay area. We extracted a 100 foot industrial extension cord and found the fence tool. I was happy!

Sally's cart needed a good cleaning, so we got a start on that. I have to buy a wire brush, leather polish, metal cleaner, and wood wax to get it in shape. Tomorrow we'll start giving all the tack a good cleaning.

It's been a while since I worked with a team, and I'm more impressed than ever by how well our guys do, caring for this place we all love.

No problem, really!

2011-08-06T09:48:00.000-05:00

Here we are in San Antonio at the National Down Syndrome Congress Annual Convention being held at the J.W. Marriott Hill Country Resort.

Jerry and I came down Wednesday, the staff arrived Thursday, we all went to pre-conference sessions yesterday, and Gena and Travis brought the Ranchers down yesterday afternoon in the bus.

What a change from last year, when we met at Disney World and were dropped off in the pitch dark in a veritable maze of unconnected buildings, amongst which were scattered our rooms. In retrospect, we feel like we spent most of the conference waiting for a bus, sitting on a bus, or walking two miles from the bus to where we needed to go.

Here...wow! All connected, all gorgeous, all accommodating, with a water park on site. There's no crowding, smashed together feeling (except for last night at the Just Dance function, and that's how it was supposed to be).

And whenever I thank someone the heavens open, rays of sunshine beam down, and I hear these beautiful words, "It's my pleasure!"

Jerry and I noticed it right away, the glorious absence of the obnoxious phrase that has replaced "You're welcome," namely--NO PROBLEM, DUDE!"

OK, so you don't really hear the "dude" part, but you hear it in your head, or at least I do. Jars me every time. I thank you for something you did for me, even if it was your job, and you dismiss it with "no problem." Like I thought it was a problem to begin with, which I didn't.

Guess I've turned into an old grammar crank but looks like Mr. J. W. Marriott is one, too, because I have not heard one "no problem" from any of the staff since I got here.

Jerry got to play the Oaks course, from which he returned happy if a bit crispy from the 105 high on Thursday.

Casey, Lori, Calvin and I attended Dr. Chicoine and Dr. McGuire's workshop on health and aging in adults with Down syndrome yesterday. We came away inspired, with a thousand ideas for new ways to help our Ranchers be successful in their lives while reducing situations that cause them needless stress and anxiety. Most all the news from this workshop was good, except for one, namely that it really does seem that people with Down syndrome age more quickly than the normal population, that aging accellerates once they hit their 30s.

Later, as Casey and I waited out in front of the hotel for the bus to arrive with our gang we got to talking about the Ranchers, and how we miss them when we're away from them. I ventured that I couldn't really imagine Casey functioning as a case manager with any other group of people. She laughed and said that when she'd gone to "case manager" school all the case managers there wanted to be teachers and couldn't understand why she, a teacher, wanted to become a case manager.

"Of course the truth is, I only wanted to be a case manager for Down Home Ranch in the first place," she said.

I had asked Dr. McGuire, on behalf of us older parents who worry about the effect of our death on our kids with Down syndrome, if he thought intentionally making a video of all our family now while we're still functional and happy was a good idea, something that could be of comfort when we were gone. Casey and I were talking about that, too, as we waited for the bus.

"The truth is," she said, "My hope is to hang in with this bunch as we all age together and then we'll all go together. That's what I want."

Well, as my grandmother used to say, "Man proposes and God disposes." Our little community will play out in ways we can't imagine.

Meanwhile, we'll just dance.

Goodbye (for now) to Ranch Camp

2011-07-29T10:13:00.001-05:00

Today is the last day of Ranch Camp.

Fifty-six teenage campers are packing to go home, most of them worn out from a full week of swimming, kayaking, helping in the barn and gardens, blistering heat, and what might well be the very best "End-of-Camp Dance" party ever last night.

Even more worn out are Marci (Camp Director), Robert (Camp Manager), Keith (Camp Chef), and the counselors and CITs who made it all possible. It's always tough to pull together enough good staff to make it through the summer, but we were blessed to do it.

They're all looking forward to some R&R before moving on from Ranch Camp 2011. But they're also kind of sad now that it's all done.

But, as Marci said, "I've really missed our Ranchers during camp."

Not that they weren't around. The Ranchers helped out at camp, and in addition kept on working their jobs while camp was going on, but there's no getting around the fact that their normal routines were seriously disrupted for the seven weeks that Ranch Camp took over the Ranch.

We'll talk about that as we debrief from camp next week, but for now we're just saying Thank you Marci and Robert, and Counselors, Wranglers, Lifeguards, Ranchers, Cooks, CITs, and all the Down Home Staff staff for a job well done!

You are all treasures and the people who make Down Home Ranch what it is.

It's been amazing.

Pigs....the end

2011-07-26T17:12:00.000-05:00

Mr. Pat came back from the slaughterhouse in Smithville today with news that our three pigs weighed in at about 200 lbs. each, and were declared by the locker house personnel as being among the very finest pigs they'd ever processed, "Absolutely perfect," according to Pat.

I should hope so. For the past six months, whenever we'd gone out to eat, with whomever, Jerry would at meal's end ask for the largest takeout container available. Then he would proceed to scrape everybody's leavings of anything, bread, chips, salsa, leftover butter, and cram it all into the container.

Our party knew what he was doing, but the wait people sometimes looked a little distressed, whether over the general lack of decorum, or out of pity for our own obviously desperate straights.

Regardless, I can attest that our pigs enjoyed the finest cuisine from the finest restaurants in Central Texas during their short but merry lives.

And to think their favorite of all was unbaked Sysco biscuit dough!

Enough said about pigs for a while.

Pigs...con't. (and more)

2011-07-25T20:51:00.006-05:00

Well, today has been a day that could probably only happen at Down Home Ranch.

It began with an early morning swim in the pool, which I try to get in as often as I can. Granddaughter Rachel had permission from Ranch Camp, being a serious competitive swimmer, to swim from 5:30 to 6:30 in the morning, her normal routine, although our pool at 52' is considerably shorter than the pools she normally swims in at UT and Circle C.

I got there a little after six, and Rachel was churning the water like an outboard. I got in the water and did my usual granny breast-crawl-back stroke back and forth while Rachel whizzed past coming and going.

I got home about 6:45, made myself a smoothie and remembered just as the phone rang that I had an early morning appointment with a friend and neighbor, who is instructing me in the art of cart driving, with Sally, our Austrian Haflinger. I threw on some jeans and a shirt, jammed on a straw hat, and headed for the barn.

Debbie awaited me, having already extracted Sally from her stall, and we commenced to walk the half-mile to the spur to get the cart and harness and hitch the old gal up.

Though Sally has been living the easy life for the past six months or so, she stood like a statue waiting for the harness. Good Sally!

Travis and I driving Sally last summer

Debbie instructed me in the intricacies of about 5,000 pieces of leather, rings, bits, blinders, cruppers, and other bits of leather and metal that have not yet been engraved in my memory banks and we finally got Sally hitched up. Annette showed up and helped us lift the cart down off the concrete apron of the Spur barn, and off we went.

Sally is a most forgiving equine. I know that "Gee" is right and "Haw" is left, but we always say those words "Gee and Haw," which to my literal mind reads left to right, exactly opposite. Despite the botched commands, Sally responded beautifully to whatever I was doing with the reins, rather than heeding what I said.

We're getting ready for the Swim Fest, so the rest of the morning was given over to writing copy for the web site and the donation pages, along with dealing with a few crises that popped up here and there. I planned a trip into Elgin to HEB to pick up a few things for Rachel, and thought maybe I'd get out by 2:00 at the latest.

Alas, 'twas not to be. Jerry kept lobbing things back at me via email, and I was still hard at it when he left to meet coaches Matt, Shane, and Bruce at Shadow Glen to begin getting in golf rounds in preparation for Fall Games in Special Olympics with Mark, Michael, and Andrew. About 3:00 it occurred to me that I hadn't yet got Sally's cart into the barn and out of the sun, so I called Kristin for help.

Other duties as assigned

I told Kristin this came under the heading "other duties as assigned," as she began to haul the cart toward the barn. I knew there was no way I could lift my half of the cart into the barn, so hailed Dustin, who happened to be passing by in a truck. Piece of cake for Dustin.

OK, time to get to HEB. I left the barn (where I office, and it looks like it) and saw Brian and Pat, with the big red stock trailer, over by the pig pen. Jerry's been talking for several days about the fact that the pigs are about to meet their fate. They were to "fast" for 24 hours before, a fate I'm sure is worse than...well, their fate. We'd had a freezer failure a few weeks back, and had about $300 worth of thawed and refrozen pastry and vegetables we'd been stuffing them with. Plus, they've had leftovers from the best restaurants in Austin. It could be worse.

Jerry feeds tortillas, a favorite, to the pigs last spring

Anyway, I digress. I couldn't see what was going on over by the pig pen, but I could hear, and I've heard pigs meeting their fate before and did NOT want to hear it again.

"Coward! Hypocrit!" I excoriated myself as I hurried to my car and turned the sound up as loud as I could. Unfortunately, Mozart's Requiem was playing. I hastily changed the station to KMFA and drove away.

My car was caked in caliche to the point I could hardly see out of the back window, so I got some gas and headed into the car wash. At least I could see when I got out, so I made my purchases, which included about $40 worth of wild bird and squirrel food (Jerry asks why I feed those "furry-tailed rats") in addition to items for Rachel's health and well-being. I also got the "small dp's" on my list, after I pondered what that could mean for about half an hour in the parking lot. Oh yeah! Small cans of Dr. Pepper for Paige, Rachel's friend who is also volunteering at Ranch Camp this week.

As I was carrying the goods into Benedict House, I saw an assortment of counselors and CITs heading for the Pavilion for Krazyoke Night. They had orange wigs and huge neon-green hats. They looked great. Putting the groceries away I watched the evening news, which was depressing no matter where you are on the political spectrum.

Jerry called to say he'd be later than his 7:00 PM ETA, so I finished up the wash, made the bed, and did a little ironing before putting supper on. When he staggered in from his afternoon on the golf course in 105 degree heat, I told him about the pigs.

"I told you again and again," he said, "the pigs are going to Smithville tomorrow. They'll come back in shrink-wrap. Pat and Brian were just getting them into the trailer to take them over there."

"Oh," I said.

Later I went out to water the garden and put water and food out for the wild critters. I've seen a squirrel lounging around the bird bath, looking for all the world like a sorority sister sunning herself by the pool, and yesterday morning I spied the raccoon who's been knocking down the bird feeder. I poured out a pile of sunflower seeds and bird and dried corn for him, and left him a bowl of water to save him the trouble of climbing the tree and knocking down the bird house.

Jer came home, and we ate. I'll work a little bit on the scrapbook of Alaska, and go to bed early.

Dangnation, I'm tired!

Pigs

2011-07-21T10:07:00.000-05:00

The other day as I carried a container of slops from Benedict House toward the pig pen I passed by Lori next to the Chicken Hilton and stopped to say hi.

Lori glanced at my offering and muttered, "I hate those pigs."

I laughed and she looked startled and said quickly, "Oh, well, no, I don't really hate them, you know, I didn't mean to say that, it's just that..."

"It's just that they're such pigs!" I said. "I totally understand."

And I did. The three pigs we've been raising all live together in a largish pen, their collective and individual goal in life consisting of a fierce determination to hog as much available food for themselves whenever it's around.

It's not a pretty sight.

I then reminisced about pigs I didn't feel that way about, like Francine, our first pig, who became the Mayor of Ranch Camp.

Francine was a fine pig, well-mannered and loved by all. She happily joined in all the Ranch Camp activities, loved to have her belly scratched, and enjoyed nothing so much as a cool, sudsy bath with the garden hose and a stiff brush, followed by a rubdown of udder ointment, in the late afternoon.

Francine and I shared a special bond, as she was mutilated by a stray dog within a few days of being given to the Ranch. This was back in the fall of '94. She was only six weeks old, when I found her brother dead in their pen, Francine heaving on her side with deep wounds clear through to her lungs. I was heartbroken.

I picked her up and washed out her wounds with the garden hose. She seemed close to death. I went into the house and got a clean towel and wrapped her in it and lay her on some straw in the feed room.

Bravely, I went out and found a five gallon bucket and began filling it with water, although at that point more water was pouring out of my eyes than from the hose.

Our little piggie was suffering, I figured, and though I'd never taken the life of anything bigger than a scorpion, I was duty-bound to end her misery.

We were expecting about 40 people to show up in a few hours, parents of kids with disabilities, coming to hear about our dreams for Down Home Ranch, which at that point consisted of a tiny mobile home, where we lived with Kelly, and a 100-year old barn, where Blossom the Donkey and, until that moment, two little pigs had lived.

Jerry returned just about that time from town, having gone in early to buy supplies.

Sobbing, I told him of my horrendous discovery, and my plan to put down the little pig, and he said bravely, "You don't have to do that, honey. Here, I'll handle it."

I handed him the hose and went into the house to repair my face and get busy with the duties of the day.

Everything went well, and after the last family pulled off the Ranch and I'd put away the folding chairs and tent we'd rented, I went inside to start supper. Shortly Jerry appeared in the kitchen, and looking a little abashed, made a confession.

"I didn't put down that little pig," he said. "She was breathing okay, and didn't seem in that much pain, and when I wet some pig chow and put it to her mouth, she tried to eat it. She didn't get very far with it, but that little pig wants to live. I say we take her to see Dr. Graef in the morning."

I found a shoe box and padded it with a towel, and took it out to the barn. I lifted the piglet and gently settled her on her side in the box, and brought her in and put her on the couch. She didn't move, but her brown eyes followed me attentively whenever I was in sight.

I made some oatmeal, thinned it out with condensed milk and put it in the blender. I didn't have an eyedropper on hand, but I had some straws, so I sucked the sweet concoction into a straw, capped it with my finger, and allowed a trickle to run slowly into the pig's tiny mouth.

You'd think I zapped her with a cattle prod!

Even though she couldn't get up, she rooted around frantically for more. I obliged her with straw after straw of sweet oatmeal until finally she was sated, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

I fed her twice more during the night, and after dropping Kelly off at school the next morning headed to Dr. Graef's clinic.

Dr. Graef came into the examination room, cocked an eyebrow, and scratched his head as I told my sad tale. "What's her name?" he asked.

"Francine," I said. Though we hadn't gotten around to giving her a name yet, I'd been praying all night to St. Francis, so it seemed apt.

"Well, Francine," said Dr. Graef, "let's have a look here."

It was too late to stitch up the gashes in her back, but Dr. Graef treated them and gave her shots of antibiotics, looked at me, shrugged, and said, "Well, let's see where it goes from here."

Francine lay in her box all that day, eating oatmeal every three or four hours. I tried keeping gauze packing on her back, but nothing would hold it on.

Next morning I awoke to find Francine sitting by our bed next to her box, looking up at me. I hustled to the kitched and she slowly and painfully ambled after me.

After I'd fed her I had a bright idea. I remembered some tiny undershirts for a new grandbaby expected soon that I'd bought, so I got one out of the package, dressed Francine's wounds, slipped a little undershirt on her, packed the gauze on her back and snugly wrapped and tied the shirt flaps over her bandages.

Worked like a charm! Francine began to explore her surroundings, and was housebroken in about two days. She quickly learned to eat her oatmeal and other treats with gusto out of a bowl.

Once her wounds were healed, she became an outside pig, always friendly, clean, and ready for a belly rub. As evening came on each day, Francine went into the barn and began making her bed, tossing the hay and straw around until she got things just right, whereupon she snuggled down, closed her eyes, and commenced to snore.

Pigs are supposed to live a long time, but Francine only lived for seven more years, and then one day she just died, without showing signs of illness or snakebite, or anything we could figure out.

We cried, and buried her, a fine pig indeed.

As for the pigs Lori does (or doesn't) hate? There are three of them, and I've no doubt they would have made fine pets.

But though they've had a good life, for pigs, they share a different fate.

Warm nights and soft guitars at camp

2011-06-23T15:10:00.000-05:00

Sterling sings about his life at Down Home Ranch

Where did the week go? Seems like the campers just got here.

After opening camp at 105 degrees, we were surprised by gorgeous rains Tuesday night, well over an inch, and even more important, the temperature dropped about ten degrees, which feels like early spring at this point. And all of this on the first real day of summer!

Lots of great stories coming out of camp. For one, Jerry reported, after having attended the evening party, that Sterling had taken the mike and begun singing his story to Stu's guitar accompaniment:

Judy and I have been at this for 20 years now, but tonight I saw and heard something I’ve never experienced before.
It is Tuesday, second day of Ranch Camp, and I got back from Austin about 3:00 pm. I picked up the Nikon 5000 and started roaming around taking some long and short photos: at the pool, in the Pavilion and elsewhere. I went home for a bite and then joined the crew at dusk where Joe and helpers were using a b-b-q to make smoores. The two guys on guitar—counselors during the day—were strumming Christopherson and Stones favorites.

I had taken a lot of pictures and was about to leave when I heard this voice, Sterling’s voice. He was singing, or rapping in melody, a song: the Cowboy Melody. He was on the mike, next to the lead guitar. It was his song. His alone. The two guitars played background but it was Sterling that spelled out the lyrics, the story, the song. I could not believe the innovation and lyrical consistency. It was, for me, truly captivating and moving. God that we had captured it. Perhaps there is a story behind this that I don’t know, but even if there is I cannot but be in awe of what I heard and saw tonight.

Unbelievable.

He sang/created a song about Down Home Ranch that Willie Nelson couldn’t surpass.

Lord!

Training week...time for Ranch Camp!

2011-06-15T11:46:00.000-05:00

Casey & Barry provide orientation for Ranch Camp

Hoo boy! Training week has begun for camp staff. Everybody's excited and tired, exhililarated and rattled. I know the feeling well.

Marci, Camp Director

Marci, bless her, is our Lead Teacher and Service Coordinator. She has also taken on the duties of Camp Director for the next several weeks. I bought her a British poster that says: Keep calm and carry on.

Is there a choice? Not really.

I ran camp for years and, true to form, those things you fear the most never happen, and those things you never dreamed of do. Sometimes I guess they could coincide, but we have been blessed for them not to, and I expect this year will be no different.

Robert, Camp Manager

The mood in the Pavilion is full of youthful energy as staffers ranging in age from 13 to mid-20s take on the awesome task of caring for, guiding, and entertaining 60 campers for a fully week. They're a bit nervous, especially those who don't have a lot of experience with people with disabilities.

This is where our Ranchers come in.

The Ranchers, who live here year round, know the ropes, and they are able to both mentor the new staff and reassure them about the characteristics and capabilities of the campers they will serve.

It's an invaluable role, and one in which the Ranchers appropriately take pride. They're full partners in this enterprise.

And it shows.

Has it come to this?

2011-06-04T19:47:00.001-05:00

First stop Ketchikan

Jerry and I are on a cruise in Alaska. It seems eons since we left, and truth to tell, I'm ready to be home. Tomorrow we get off the ship and onto a land tour for a few more days, then the long trek back to the Ranch.

One of the things I love about cruising is the chance to read, and read, and read. I picked up a book in the library called Alone Together by Sherry Turkle, a professor at MIT who thoughtfully considers the effects of technology on us humans.

Very interesting, and very pertinent to our role as stewards of the lives of fellow human beings who have Down syndrome, autism, and a variety of other handicapping conditions.

Turkle examines in some depth Japan's attempts to deal with a phenomenon quite familiar to us--too many old, frail people in need of care and attention, and too few young, healthy people interested in providing it for them.

This has led the Japanese to lead the world in the development of robots to help provide care for elderly and/or disabled people.

Oh yea. Just what I wanted, R2D2 chirping around the house getting my breakfast, being the one who'll still need me and feed me way past 64 (which by the way I already am by five years). Alas for those of us who feel, however shakily, that the human condition should still look for solutions within the human community, all too many seniors are altogether happy to interact with robots.

Maybe after six months with Nurse Rachit I will be, too. Who knows?

But most disturbing to me was Turkle's revelation that busy young Japanese professionals have taken to hiring actor stand-ins for themselves to visit Mom and Pop dithering away at home or ensconced in the local home for the aged.

Sometimes, of course, Mom and Pop have gone round the bend a bit too far to notice the difference, but oftentimes they know full well the person in front of them is an actor playing a part, but they still are grateful for the human interaction and go along with the game.

I suspect many of these interactions already have scripts written for them anyway. Does it really make a difference who says the words?

I mean, what's the difference between a robot programmed to have a polite conversation with you and an actor hired to do the part? Maybe there really isn't any.

Here on the ship we observe elaborate politenesses with the staff, as do they with us. The first part of every conversation is predictable as bugs in June in Texas. 90% of what we say to one another is pleasant and follows a formula. But every now and then you get into a real conversation with, say, one of the young Filipinos waiting on you in the bar.

You learn he has a son he hasn't seen because he has not been home since the baby was born. You hear his dreams and ambitions that grow daily as he tries to make the most of this opportunity to get ahead, build a house, send his boy to college some day.

Or talking with a fellow passenger you discover passions in common and stories that could fill a very interesting book.

And I remember Ethel Barrow, an old Quaker friend, who toward the end of her life had a special caregiver who introduced her to fugues.

"Listen, Leah," she would say to her daughter-in-law, "listen to this. This is a fugue. I'm so happy I lived long enough to learn about fugues."

So, does it make a difference? My answer is not only yes but...hell yes.

Here at the Ranch we are indebted to LeAnn Powers for articulating so well what we are looking for in the staff people who provide care for our residents.

"It's not coverage," she would say. "It's companionship!"

R2D2 has a long way to go before he/it can offer that.

Snakes in the Chicken Hilton!

2011-05-18T11:49:00.000-05:00

Mr. Pat shows Michael the proper way to hold a snake

I missed it this morning, but there was quite a ruckus. A snake was discovered in the Chicken Hilton when Lori and the team showed up.

Said snake was, ironically, snuggled up right against the cannister of snake repellent.

It was a medium-size snake (although it grew impressively in the telling).

Lori sent for Mr. Pat, not a friend to snakes, and he showed Michael how to hold it.

When I heard about all the excitement I hurried to the coops to see what was going on. Michael was so excited he could hardly speak.

Michael bravely holds the perp

"I did it, Judy! I held the snake and it was still ALIVE!" he finally blurted out.

We don't know if it was an egg snake or a chicken snake, and couldn't figure out how it got inside, as it did seem far too large to get through the few warped areas where the nesting box doors were warped.

In any case, nobody was missing, and the snake had no tell-tale lumps.

Just another adventurous day at Down Home Ranch.

Witnesses to their lives

2011-05-18T06:20:00.000-05:00

Kelly, age seven, with wild plums

Jerry told me last night that he'd talked with a grandmother who'd gotten in touch with the Ranch wanting to donate several hundred dollars from sales of the book she wrote about her young grandson. Of course we were delighted, and want to see that book, too.

I woke up this morning thinking about this grandma, anxious to hear her story.

I know I will hear echoes of our story it it.

We know this feeling so well. In the weeks after Kelly's birth, little songs began to came over me as I rocked her.

One went like this:

No less a miracle is my child,

Bright flower from an autumn garden.

Reaching for the sky, never stopping to ask why,

No less a miracle is she.

And did I ever really feel

This child was somehow just not real?

A child of no tomorrows,

Whose song no one would sing?

When this child brought the world to me

And opened up eternity

On life's unending wonder,

Of joy's eternal spring.

No less a miracle is my child,

My little flower from an autumn garden.

Reaching for the sky, never stopping to ask why,

No less a miracle is she.

I know I will this recognize this grandma's book for what it is--a testimony to the love this baby boy awakened in her and in her family, something real and tangible that says to the world: This boy matters. This boy has a wondrous life to live, too.

And we who love him will be the witnesses of it.

Happy birthday to me from Mike

2011-05-16T16:53:00.000-05:00

I suspect that when the kids go back to school in September each year, the folks go back to something else. That must explain why there are so many May birthdays!

It's true in my family (eight out of 15 of us) and also on the Ranch. Seems every other day we're celebrating either a staff or Rancher birthday these days.

So I was a little surprised yesterday, which was my birthday, when someone knocked on the door at 7:00 PM, just as we were finishing supper.

I opened the door and there was Mike, all alone and grinning from ear to ear.

"Happy Birthday, Judy," he said, and then sang the "Happy Birthday" song to me.

"Thank you so much, Mike!" I exclaimed.

"You are very welcome," he said, waggling a finger at me. "See you later."

And I was one happy, newly-minted 69-year old.

Improv at the Ranch, wanted or not

2011-05-13T16:20:00.001-05:00

Sterling tries to make Kyle laugh

I told Marci, who has bravely agreed to take on the 17th summer of Ranch Camp this year, that I wanted to start spending chorus time on coming up with games, songs and activities that we could try out to use during camp on the Ranchers--you know, see what works and doesn't work.

Well, I yesterday I had a particularly creative bunch of Ranchers to work with on this project, none of them willing to "color between the lines," so to speak.

Our first little game was "Poor Kitty."

Couldn't be simpler! Participants sit in a circle, and "Kitty" crawls from person to person looking pitiful. Kitty can meow, purr, hiss, and pretend to bare her claws at you or try any anything else she thinks might make you laugh.

Your job is to sit stone faced through it all and not laugh. If Kitty makes you laugh, you lose and you then become Poor Kitty.

Well, this was a short-lived game because the members of my gang can't sit straight faced through anything. The minute I (as Kitty) approached Sterling he broke into a huge grin and started laughing, almost falling off his chair.

"No, Sterling, you try not to laugh," I said, breaking out of my role for the moment. "You can't even smile or you lose."

Sterling tried to make a straight face but failed utterly so he now became Poor Kitty.

On all fours he approached Kelly, who looked away trying hard not to smile. Kitty meowed at Kelly, but she held fast for a second or so. Kitty got right in her face and hissed menacingly.

"Oh," she cooed, "what a cute little kitty you are." She then planted a big kiss on his face and started to laugh.

Enough of Poor Kitty! I moved on to "Doggie, doggie, find your bone!"

"Doggie" has to stand in front of everyone else while his bone is given to one of the participants. Then everybody calls out "Doggie, doggie, find your bone!"

Doggie then turns around and approaches the one he believes has his bone and barks. If Doggie is right, that person must give him the bone and now becomes the new doggie. If he is wrong everybody chants "Doggie, doggie, find your bone!" and he continues until he finds it.

Kyle retrieves his bone from Alaina

Kyle proved especially creative on this one. Doggie not only barked, he scratched fleas vigorously, shook hands, and relieved himself on imaginary fireplugs. When admonished not to do so he approached his girlfriend Alaina, licked her face vigorously and then barked.

Kyle retrieved his bone from Alaina

"Okay, okay, guys," I said. "Let's try something else!"

"No, I want to be the Doggie!" said Alaina. So the bone was hidden again and everybody chanted, "Doggie, doggie, find your bone!"

Alaina turned around, got down on all fours, and immediately succombed to hysterics. This set everyone else off and they all collapsed on the floor, howling with laughter, and reprising Kyle's clever ploy with the fire plug.

Method acting at the Ranch

Maybe next week. I'll be careful to make my selections a bit more thoughtfully.

New guys on the Ranch

2011-05-06T15:30:00.000-05:00

Clyde, back row second from right, and Tom, front row right

I stopped by the Pavilion to check on "the new guys," who aren't new yet but are doing their trial week.

Trial week is a chance for prospective residents and the Ranch to find out if we're a match for each other. Most have come to camp, and not a few have declined to move in once they learned that residency involves more time on work teams and not so much toasting s'mores over the campfire.

So Tommy, Jason, Clyde, and Nick are staying in Hickory Lodge, not exactly the same as a residence home (more like a bunkhouse), but close enough.

All four looked pleased as punch when I saw them, and our gang seemed happy, too. We've put them on work teams, and Jason was really going at the dining room floor with an industrial mop and bucket. "Hi, Judy," he said. "I'm working hard!"

I get the feeling Jason really wants to live here!

Later, in the barn, I overheard Rebekah, an old hand, saying to Jason, "You want me show you how do this?"

Jason surveys the barn with satisfaction

"Sure!" Clyde said, and he couldn't have a better instructor. But right then Lori drew every one aside to give a basic safety orientation on working around horses, all to the twangy background music of KVET's morning show.

Exciting times for Down Home Ranch, and perhaps a much longed-for beginning to a dream come true for four delightful men and their families, if, as I said, it turns out to be a match.

We'll continue to check each other out over the next week, and they'll get a much better picture of life at the Ranch. I try to imagine what they're feeling now. They seem happy and confident, but we are a swirl of unfamiliar faces, rules, and traditions. I would be feeling a bit alone and tentative about the whole prospect at this point, I am sure.

Meanwhile, this weekend they're gearing up to go to the Farmers' Market in Elgin tomorrow morning, and then in the evening to Elgin's own Franco-American Vocal Academy's production of Offenbach's School for Husbands. (Who says we don't have culture out here in the boonies!?)

Sunday they'll head for home and think about their time here with the gang. Maybe they'll decide not yet, or maybe not at all.

But somehow, if I were a betting woman...

The Not-So-Lazy River

2011-05-05T15:02:00.000-05:00

Central Texas' First Special Olympics Kayaking Team

Casey Dickerson is Down Home Ranch's Case Manager.

Casey first came to the Ranch during Ranch Camp several years ago while a student at A and M, spent a while working weekends, and slid right into full-time employment after graduation.

Her 40-hour week consists of keeping track of the personal plans and training goals of the Ranchers, serving as their advocate, maintaining voluminous files on each of them, and overseeing and ensuring their rights, well-being, and safety, all of which she manages to do effectively, efficiently, and with great good humor.

Sterling, Kelly, Board President Genie Sorensen, and Kyle

Her other 40-hour week, though, is her true life's work, and the one she loves and performs with a devotion that astounds. Husband (and fellow Aggie) Matt knew what he was getting into when he married her with the full Down Home Ranch community in attendance and providing the music for the wedding.

Our team on the lake

Since Casey and Matt met on the A and M rowing team, Casey has expertise for a Special Olympics sport not many coaches can boast, so last summer she offered to take those Ranchers willing to try their hand at kayaking to Austin each Sunday for several weeks to practice on Town Lake. Kyle, Sterling, and Kelly signed up. They've been practicing for the past several weeks for their first kayaking regatta.

Sunday all their hard work paid off. Despite stiff winds, each kayaker stayed in their lanes, correcting nimbly when the wind threatened to blow them off-course. "They did great!" said Casey. "Watching them go down their lanes, especially in that wind, and stay calm even when they got a little sideways and had to correct was very, very awesome!"

Casey gets a victory shower from a grateful crew

The Ranchers are justifiably proud of their accomplishment. They are now the first Special Olympics kayaking team in Central Texas!

Oh, California!

2011-05-02T06:28:00.000-05:00

Kelly, Alaina and I are back at the Ranch, tuckered out from the great California adventure.

Alaina and Kelly at entrance to Disneyland

We spent Wednesday at Disneyland, which is just a few miles from my cousin's lair in Laguna Woods. Cousin Melanie served as tour guide and inside dopester for the day.

Once there, we faced a typical dilemma: which park to go to, Disneyland or Adventureland? The girls don't like wild rides, but they are very concious of being adults, and I was afraid they would disdain the fairy tale and princess cultures of the old park.

Our kind of ride

Not to worry! The huge carousel was a hit, and they even stood in line for Dumbo, although they didn't use the joy stick for most of the ride. I suspect Kelly, who hates heights, was the reason for that. At one point, though, Alaina grabbed it and up we went. Unfortunately I wasn't fast enough to catch the look on Kelly's face.

The day was warm, but not hot, and the crowd was small. Waiting was minimal for the rides. The main attraction, however, was Main Street--getting pictures taken with characters, eating ice cream, and shopping for the boy friends.

We had dinner reservations at the Catal Spanish restaurant, a "Disney-dining experience" I'd made reservations for the day before, so about 5:00 we availed ourselves of the restrooms in City Hall as we made ready to go eat.

Signing in the plaza

While inside we heard the sounds of a band playing. Coming out we saw that a flag ceremony had begun in the Main Street Plaza. Hey, if there's music, we party, so over we went.

A barbershop quartet was singing God Bless America. Kelly and Alaina stood to the side and began signing the words, very intently and seriously. The color guard approached and began taking down the flag and all were invited to join in singing the national anthem.

Eyes were equally on the proceedings and on the girls as they signed along, and not a few welled up with tears as true patriotism overrode the staginess of the event. This was easily the high point of our delightful day at Disneyland.

Ensconced at Catal and the sole focus of the extensive wait staff, we relaxed with cool drinks and pondered the menu. Pat, Melanie and I went for the paella, but the girls are not so adventurous, so the waiter deftly worked with them to identify a dish they'd enjoy. I tried not to think about the fact that they'd had been as happy with a $10 hamburger as their $30 entrees.

Said paellas were outrageously good, worth every penny.

After dinner we strolled around listening to street musicians, and the girls were captivated by Drew Tretick, from whom we each bought an album.

Loved it and had to have it

Thursday was more laid back. Cousins Sherri and Steve had us over to their place for pizza. The girls lounged in the hot tub and pool as the sun went down. We ate pizza and laughed over old times and family adventures in the good old days. (Melanie says I was her "Auntie Mame.")

Alaina relaxes in the pool

Friday morning we were out the door by 5:20 AM to catch our plane. I'd caught on by now to request pre-boarding so I could be sure to sit with the girls. When the skies got rough a few hundred miles from Austin and we were rocking and rolling Kelly got scared.

Alaina leaned over toward her and stroked her arm. "It's all right, Kelly," she said. "Jesus will take care of us."

Kelly replied, "Yes, he will and everything will be all right."

And I wasn't needed at all.

When we got back to the Ranch Kyle and Sterling were waiting. Sterling came tearing up to Martha House on his bike to help carry luggage into the house. He and Kelly shared a shy kiss and she gave him his present.

"See you at the Pavilion!" he cried, and headed back up the road hooting and hollering like Tarzan. Jerry and I laughed. Kelly and Alaina got up to the Pavilion to rejoin their friends and things were back to normal at Down Home Ranch.

Cattle Round-Up

2011-04-29T07:57:00.000-05:00

Three cowboys

We've said for years that we simply want Down Home Ranch to be a working farm and ranch, with the Ranchers helping us run our various and sundry operations.

Monday April 25 was a special day for us in our progress towards that goal, and some of our cowboys were ready to start a new chapter in the history of the Ranch.

Among our 340 acres of "Post Oak Savannah" is Yegua Creek (Spanish for "Mare"), which forms our northern boundary, and a 40 acre riparian patch, home to over 100 big native pecan trees.

In the 1800s, Yegua Creek was on the eastern edge of the "Comancheria", a vast territory that the Comanche tribe dominated, having incorporated the Spanish horse into the endless pursuit of their chief source of clothing, shelter and food—the buffalo.

Yegua Creek was a source of water and food: pecans, deer, squirrel and other game, hickory nuts, wild dewberries, mustang grapes, creek plum and cactus pears--all still present. Greenbriar—a thorny vine that grabs you as you try to walk in the woods—was a source of early spring leaves, tiny and slightly bitter, but a nice source of greens for the native Americans. Buffalo roamed across Texas from the 1500s to around 1850 when the herds began to diminish, to be replaced by cattle.

A year ago we bought four bred, registered Black Angus heifers from Bubba and Donna Kay--the Kay Ranch--to start our cattle operation. We made this decision in part because of the impressive work of Dr. Stephen Smith of Texas A&M, who focuses on Japanese cattle, Wagyu in particular. Our four heifers are registered Black Angus but were bred to Big Boy, a purebred Wagyu bull.

Our first calf was nicknamed “The Dude.” Born prematurely, he was unable to stand and unable to nurse. One of our Ranchers, Sterling, hunkered down on a cold winter night with Jerry, holding Dude's head up and trying to massage the milk down his throat. This went on for days, then weeks, but, with a lot of love and constant care, we got him standing and walking. We knew we had to get him back to the herd, so we took him over to the Spur, put him in a stall and —his mom having dried-up—he immediately starting nursing, using the other three cows. Today, he's a full-fledged member of the herd. The runt, for sure, but a survivor.

Sterling & Kyle wait to run
a cow through the chute

So, it was a real treat having Sterling, Kyle and Travis helping Ranch Foreman Pat bringing our four cows and four calves into the holding pen as Bubba and Donna came in with Big Boy, who will again sire our four calves. It was Round-Up spring 2011. Big Boy will spend 40 days on the ranch, servicing our cows through two cycles, after which he’ll leave and our calves will wean.

Time for vaccinations

We had a hay trailer on hand so that guests (Board President Genie brought friends from the San Francisco Bay Area) and Ranchers could have a close-up view of the process: tagging, worming and vetting the bull, cows and calves.

Return to freedom

Unbeknown to most, the Dude and his brother bull-calf were made steers in the process. The two heifers will be bred to a Wagyu bull in their time, and their calves will be three-quarter Wagyu.

Bubba, Donna & Jerry on Roundup Day

When we first visited Bubba and Donna they sent us home with a dozen Wagyu burger patties, which Judy and I are still smacking our lips over. We're looking forward to the day we get to dine on prime DHR Wagyu beef (and maybe a glass of homemade Mustang Grape wine.)

[This blog was written by Jerry but posted on Judy's blog.]

On the Road Again

2011-04-27T09:59:00.009-05:00

In the "uncomfortable" days following my surgery in early March, I wrote my counsin Pat in California: "I'm in 'get me outta here mode!'" I sure needed something to look forward to.

"Come on out," she replied, so Jerry kindly booked flights for me, Kelly, and Kelly's buddy Alaina to visit "the cousins" in California. We planned it for this week with the assurance that I would be recovered and literally ready for flying high, which I was, if just barely.

Waiting for flight at 7:00 AM in Austin

Kelly and Alaina have been terrific traveling companions, cheerfully handling all the luggage, including mine, since I'm still limited in what I can heft.

Kelly began stressing about getting her watch changed to California time two days prior to departure. I told her I was not attempting to change her watch to conform to California time. Only Casey seems to be able to do this, and during the switch from Standard to Daylight Savings Time she is consumed with resetting all the Ranchers' digital watches, no two of which work exactly the same way.

Kelly agreed to keep her watch on Central time so she would know what Sterling and the other Ranchers were doing at any given hour. She could ask me or check for the local time on her cell phone.

Sleeping on plane at 9:00 AM over AZ

I remind myself that for Kelly, who copes with her disability by careful attention to scheduling and routine, it's very disconcerting to have time go squirrely and loosey-goosey on you.

Similarly, Kelly is not flexible regarding meal schedules, which has called for a lot more flexibility on my part. For Kelly, if you're in one time zone at noon it's time for lunch, and if you enter an earlier one, it's time for lunch again!

Well, yea! We're on vacation. What the heck.

Yesterday Pat's daughter Melanie took us to the Ocean Institute at Dana Point.

Dana Point Tide Pool Basin

This is an enchanted cove, nestled at the bottom of vertical cliffs against which pelicans fly in formation, casting their shadows like something out of Jurassaic Park. Kelly and Alaina sunbathed while we searched for anemones and critters among the beautiful rocks.

Pat and I sunburned the tops of our feet.

My sunburned feet

Later we dropped by Melanie's so Kelly could meet cousin Cory, at 15 years six feet plus tall and still ascending, a star shooter for the Dana High basketball team.

"How many cousins I got, anyway?" wondered Kelly aloud as we drove back to Pat's place.

Last night after supper we went to see Soul Surfer, the terrific new movie about Bethany Hamilton, who lost her arm at 13 to a shark and came back to build a career as a professional surfer.

Tomorrow it's Disneyland, with dinner on Main Street. We'll go late and stay into the evening.

Meanwhile back at the Ranch, Jerry reports that this year's round-up to vaccinate the cows, bring in Mr. Bull for another round of bovine reproduction, and castrate the little bull calves (sorry, Dude!) went very well. Sterling, Travis, and Kyle were the wranglers for the day, and Jerry was super proud of them.

Jer promises to post a blog on it, maybe tomorrow.

Getting over it and on with it

2011-04-23T05:44:00.000-05:00

C.S. Lewis observed that most people referred to as "saints" on earth probably have excellent digestive systems. It's easier to act saintly when you feel well.

Alas, Jerry demoted me from sainthood on the fourth day following my surgery.

It's amazing how distracting physical disability can be. I thought I'd read and write great things during convalescence, but I hurt and my mind was mush and mostly I lay on the couch and sobbed over endless episodes of Animal Rescue.

During all this Jerry popped in and cheerfully told me that Pat had said his 97-year-old aunt recently had the same operation and was back in the garden the week after.

To which I replied something quite un-called for.

Kelly once told me she wanted her Down syndrome to go away and of course, as Mom, my heart broke. She knew the Down syndrome was always there, and more, she was beginning to realize it always would be.

Jerry understood this better than I. He had polio as a little guy, and it, too, was always there--the braces, the surgeries, the limp, the pain, the return of it all in later years. His whole life has been framed by it.

We'd prefer life to be unlimited, pleasant, and predictably subject--ha, ha--to our control.

So now I'm feeling reasonable well again. If I were ten years younger I'd shrug my shoulders and get back into the fray. However, I've been not to the mountaintop, but to the deep valley, and I've seen a different promised land, and Jerry and I peer into the years wherein a "rope will be tied round our waist and we will be led where we would rather not go."

I am soon to be 69 and he 73.

This surgical adventure has been a watershed moment in our lives. We understand better now what it means that our choices will be narrowing and we must plan for possibilities we'd rather not think about.

Like Kelly, we want to stamp our foot indignantly and wish it away.

But it's time to revisit the will, sort through the thousands of family photos, and chase a few relatives down on Ancestry.com, and also to unpack and sort out a lifetime of spiritual and emotional baggage.

Just as we make careful individualized plans with our Ranchers every year, we must do so for ourselves. We hold each another accountable and serve as each other's case manager and chief noodge, and the responsibility for Kelly and the Ranch community weighs on us beyond measure.

But, once we've got these things reasonably settled for now (sure as plans are laid they change), we'll muddle on with life, wherever it leads. We get to pick how we'll face these last years on earth. We pray God will give us the grace to choose joy regardless of what we must face.

But of course, not yet.

Any excuse for a party

2011-04-06T10:31:00.003-05:00

Our esteemed Executive Director & Kyle hogging all the attention

Kelly called it a “drive-by pigging.”

The fun all started the day before the First Annual April Fool’s Day Pig Party at Down Home Ranch when Jerry discovered the pig noses in the party decoration box I’d just received.

Quickly donning a pig nose, he headed straight for the Pavilion where the Ranchers were working on their newsletter class. Creeping up to an outside window, he was quickly spied as laughter and whoops of delight broke out among the ranks.

Angelica sets up the BBQ

Next day Angelica from Southside Market arrived promptly at five to begin setting up the barbecue as only Southside can do it.

We’d worried a bit about the menu, being as it was a Friday in Lent, but Bishop McCarthy had granted the Catholics among us a dispensation to enjoy the chicken, sausage, brisket, and pork ribs (and did we ever!)

Fr. Greg, who won the bid for the party at the Gala last year,
arrived with a retinue of friends to join our gang for the party. Fr. Greg’s brother Jim, who lives here at the Ranch, was quietly pleased to show off his home and friends.

Honored guests at first annual Pig Party

(You're undoubtedly jealous, but you can attend this year's Gala and perhaps win your own Pig Party and be the envy of all your friends.)

Jim (left), hosted the party

Jerry served as Master of Ceremonies (for such ceremony as there was) and toward the end of our feast regaled the company with pig riddles.

Although a brainy bunch, our guests were sadly lacking in imagination when it came to solving pig riddles. Must be a culture gap.

Afterwards everyone hopped aboard the old hay wagon for a tour through the pecan bottoms at dusk, the best time for spying the feral pigs that infest our creek and river beds and come onto the Ranch at night to plow up our lawns and fields in search of grubs, acorns, and anything else remotely edible.

That’s a serious problem, and although the Pig Party was a light-hearted response to it, the funds garnered from it will help us in our feral-pig control work—trapping, mostly, which will never do more than mitigate the situation.

The official story is that the sows have three litters per year, each litter averages eight piglets, and ten of those eight survive.

It’s a joke, and here are some of Jerry’s...er...best:

Why did the pig go to the casino?
To play the slop machine!

How can you tell when a pig has been taking karate lessons?
He’s got great chops!

What did the pig who opened a pawn shop call his shop?
Ham Hocks!

What did the doctor tell the patient who came to him with a little sty?
Get a little pig!

What does a mama pig read her babies at night?
Pig tales!

What does a pig use to write letters with?
A pig pen!

Which Shakespeare play do pigs like best?
Hamlet!

Why was the pig a failure as a talk show host?
He was a big boar!

Why did the pig complain to the farmer?
The farmer took him for grunted!

What do pigs like to drive?
Pig-up trucks!

What do pigs put on their Chinese food?
Sooey sauce!

What do you say after a pig took an airplane flight?
The swine flew!

We must admit: We have no shame.

I'm back...sort of

2011-03-21T09:32:00.001-05:00

Waiting for Life as We Know It to Return

I used to have a life, but it was rudely interrupted to have a hysterectomy, instead. Too long delayed, I finally faced reality and scheduled it.

I dutifully updated all my "what-if" paperwork--medical power of attorney, funeral preferences, letter of intent, medical directives (check out http://www.ncbcenter.org/NetCommunity//) etc. Fr. Greg visited in his gym clothes the afternoon before the surgery, and ministered reconciliation and annointing for healing.

It is wondrous how settling the rituals of the church act upon the fearful body, even when the mind is still somewhat rooted in scepticism...but only somewhat.

That night I sang Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus and Requiem with my church choir (St. Louis King of France, Austin) and St. Matthews Episcopal Church choir (Michael Rosensteel, directing), with featured soloists and the orchestra of St. Matthews.

I had insisted that the surgery be postponed until after the concert, quipping at the time, "It will surely take my mind off what is coming, and concentrate me wonderfully on the eternal."

The surgery was done the next morning--really, really early the next morning.

Ten days out my doctor says I'm doing "awesome." I grumbled that I'd have to redefine "awesome," but it's good she thinks so.

So, two weeks have gone by, and, mindful not to provide TMI for granddaughter Rachel, I'll leave the convalescence at that.

Jerry has been incredibly patient and helpful, cooking all the meals and tending me night and day, all the while preparing for the P.U.S.H. Camp and Cyclist follow-up, oversing the big church retreat this weekend, and seeing that the piggies receive the abunance of leftover "slop" these occasions provide.

Said piggies are now relocated to the new pen constructed for them near the chicken coop.

Anyway, at some point last week, lolling around Benedict House in various attitudes of repose, I was seized by the desire for...lobster. I confessed what was mounting to a craving to Jerry, and he said, "Lobster you shall have."

So Saturday we drove into our little condo in Austin. I am walking well but things are still far from normal. I'd read somewhere that stairs were a nono, but I didn't know for how long, so I devised a very slow crab-walk sideways up the flight of stairs relying almost entirely on foot and leg muscles.

Jerry called our neighborhood favorite, Chez Zee, to see if they could accommodate the lobster craving. Sorry. He googled to see the nearest likely source and came up with Trulucks on Great Hills Trail.

It being SBSW season in Austin, we figured we'd better get there early so we headed over about 5:30.

We were seated right away and ordered wine. The waitperson visited with us and I cut right to the chase. Yes we were celebrating a special occasion, and my dinner was to consist of lobster.

Shortly arrived our salads (Jerry said it was the "first real Ceasar" he'd had in years, in Austin or anywhere else.) Mine was equally good.

Jerry ordered the filet, and I the South African lobster tails, of which two large, beautiful ones arrived in due time.

Satisfying a true craving is a wonderful thing! I could only eat one, but Jerry helped with the other. We then asked for carry-away containers in order to take all the scraps home...to the piggies. Yes, even lobster tail shells.

We went back to the condo. I was exhausted from my first real post-surgical adventure, but also exhilarated. Dinner had been a memorable experience, totally fulfilling my hopes for the evening (invalidism is such a wretchedly sensory-depriving experience!) We watched most of a movie we didn't like and I went to bed early while Jer scoured the channels in pursuit of March Madness.

At church, I had the rare experience of sitting with the congregation, but told Jerry beforehand I would not be participating in the "spiritual calesthenics" that typify the Roman Catholic Mass (sit, stand, kneel, and permutations thereof).

The choir reprised the Ave Verum Corpus and I was in heaven.

Later we went to lunch and hit the road for the long drive back to Down Home Ranch, leftovers from dinner, the condo fridge, and lunch tucked away for the piggies.

Getting close to home, Jerry said, "Taking care of these pigs has shown me that they really do act like...well, swine. You can't even get the food into their pan before they've overturned everything and trampled it into the dirt and are shoving each other side to get at it."

One of the Durocs likes our refrigerator leavings

Still, Jerry loves his piggies, but, trust me, there will be no conflict between this affection and his enjoyment some day of a well-prepared pork loin.

We have talked many times with our daughter and son-in-law, who raise all their own meat, and who care for and deeply appreciate their animals right up to the day on which their purpose is fulfilled.

I think about this...a lot. In a few days I'll load five of my young rams into a trailer and take them to be killed. A few days after that they will be in our freezers.

Bryan with ram

I held them when they were babies. Over the past nine months I've watched them grow from two-pound, curly-headed sprites into 80-pound monuments of ovine masculinity, created from grass. They are out there in the snow this morning, sparring and bucking, sharing a big bale of hay.

Each of them has a personality I care about as individuals. When I take them to be killed, I'll feel that familiar twinge.

It is a ... pain I would not feel if I were a vegan, or if I'd purchased my meat at the store. (p 193, Beautiful and Abundant: Building the World We Want, Bryan Welch, author)

I don't know about you, but it's a comfort to me to know that the one into whose hands I shall someday be delivered cares about me.

Of kittens, buzzards, bees and flowers

2011-02-28T15:48:00.002-06:00

Our Carolina jasmine bush

Tomorrow is March, and although I know very well that in Texas March can do anything to you that February can, Mother Nature seems to have graced us with spring.

Every sign is here.

This morning when Jerry left the house just as the sun was coming up, he went a few feet toward his cart and then stepped back into the house. "Come here a second," he called. I went outside and he shushed me, saying, "Listen."

It sounded like the vuvuzela drone in the World Soccer Championship last summer--thousands of tiny bees hovering around the Carolina jasmine bush, which this year, as last, is covered with so many yellow blossoms I wonder it doesn't just topple over from the weight of them.

Then after lunch I noticed that my ginger root, which I keep in a basket on the top of my kitchen counter, had sprouted. How the heck does ginger root sitting in the dark kitchen know it's spring? I wondered.

Jerry preparing his spring garden

As an experiment I took it out and buried it in the deep warm soil of our kitchen garden, just to see what happens.

I headed for my office in the Granny Charger and stopped to say hi to Anita, who was just turning into the Village Circle. I asked her about the baby kittens born three weeks ago during the ice storm when we just had to let the skittish little gray stray mama in from the bitter cold.

"Come on and see them," she said, so I turned around and followed her back to Teresa House.

Anita, not a cat person, holds the babies

The moment she opened the door, mama kitty shot through it as though pursued by a pack of coyotes.
"Looks like mama needs a little break from motherhood," laughed Anita.

How well I remember that feeling!

The kitties were nestled in their little box under the bed in the weekend staff room (so far no complaints from the weekend staff over this novelty).

After I headed back toward the office, I noticed the buzzards were back hanging around the dry pond across from the pool area. There were about 20 that I counted, which is just a whole lot of buzzards.

As an aside here I naturally had to go google, trying to find out how to denominate a "whole lot" of buzzards--you know, like an "exaltation" of larks or a "gaggle" of geese. Didn't find anything for buzzards. This will have to be pursued in due course.

Buzzards hanging out by the pond

St. Austin's volunteers

At the office I saw some volunteers working in the community garden, and dropped by to meet several 8th graders from St. Austin's Catholic School in Austin (fittingly enough). I thanked them for helping out, and walked through the cool spring air back to my office.

Let me know if you're in the market for a kitty. They'll be ready to go in about five weeks.

Sock Hop!

2011-02-27T14:14:00.002-06:00

Melanie paints a drag strip

Okay, I about threw my back out showing the Ranchers how to do the Bunny Hop.

But I was the only person present who actually went to high school in the 50s and knew how to do it!

It's time for a grand celebration of the first anniversary of the Down Home Ranch fun and fitness program HE-HAW! which stands for High Energy Health and Wellness.

Jerry thought that up.

HE-HAW started exactly a year ago. Casey, Marci and the rest of the Day Program staff get all the credit for following through, with reward charts, endless fun things to do that involve getting off the couch, and celebration parties and overnights with prizes.

In June we started workplace Weight Watchers, and will finish our last on-site meeting this Thursday. We will miss our friends Ann and Rebecca, but promise to keep on counting our points and weighing-in (however grim that prospect sometimes becomes).

We have a leaner menu and a fitter bunch, and it shows.

So back to the Sock Hop, coming up Tuesday March 1. (Remember how we had to take our shoes off to dance because of the wooden gym floor?)

Naturally, there have to be posters all over the "gym," and poodle skirts to make.

Kyle is proud of his poster

Kara stitches up a poodle skirt with Lori's help

Kyle & Sterling show how "cool cats" acted in the 50s

First a chest bump

And then smoothin' down the ducktail!

5 Piggies, 3 Cowboys, and 1 Executive Director

2011-02-22T09:26:00.000-06:00

Five little pigs looking for food or adventure

Most new moms will tell you about a strange phenomenon, which is that when the baby finally goes to sleep long enough for you to grab a bite to eat, he or she will stay asleep right up until the time you are ready to take that first bite.

And then comes the wail from the nursery.

Happens every time! How do they know?

Well, we have no babies in Benedict House, but we have five young pigs happily eating their way through adolescence over at the Spur barn, and they cleverly time their escapes to coincide with the very moment I have set food on the table for supper. And so it happened a few nights ago.

We sat down, unfolded our napkins, and the phone rang.

Cowboys live at Joseph House

It was John, the RA at Joseph House over at the Spur.

"Tell Jerry the pigs are out," he said tersely.

I sighed and turned to Jerry. "The pigs are out," I said tersely.

Jerry disappeared. Supper went back on the warmer.

Forty-five minutes later Jerry came back, looking half peeved, half exhilirated.

"Well, I had three hard-working ranch hands to help me round 'em up," he said, meaning Sterling, Travis, and Kyle, the three cowboys who live at Joseph House.

3 Cowboys: Sterling, Travis, & Kyle

I imagined Jerry, Sterling, Travis and Kyle tearing about inside and outside of the Spur barn, with five pigs serving as highly uncontrolled variables in the process. In fact, though, only three pigs had gotten out and were now wandering about in the paddocks amid donkeys, cattle, calves--with four humans in pursuit, none having much luck.

"It was hard for the guys to understand what I wanted to get them to do," said Jerry, "plus it was dark, and we could hear the little buggers but we couldn't see them, so I wasn't sure what I even wanted the guys to do."

But, as Jerry knew, the pigs wanted to be back in their safe pen almost as much as he wanted them to, so after a while the guys got them from outside the barn to inside--and quickly secured all the doors.

"But," said Jerry, "our large hay wagon, full of square bales, was taking up the middle of the barn, right next to the pig pen door and the one-bulb light meant we couldn't really see whether the pigs were secured or not."

During the recount two of the escapees bolted into the pen, leaving but one at large.

Joseph House Cowboys model their pig-catching technique

"I put Travis in one corner of the barn, Sterling to his right about 20'. Kyle I had guarding the gate, arms akimbo to block a bolting piggie. I went around looking under the wagon and around a bunch of those old desks stored in the barn," continued Jerry.

No pig to be seen.

"Then I went outside and turned on the barn's outside lights, thinking he'd gotten outside somehow. But, no pig. I went back inside the barn and was about to declare and end to the hunt when I took another look inside the pig pen and, viola! all five pigs!

"I don't know, I guess the last little last stinker slipped in while we were out running around trying to find him."

Needless to say, the Great Pig Chase has now entered Ranch lore, with Jerry having nothing but good to say about the cowboys who let their supper get cold to do their job and help the boss.

And the four of them did it!
None of them really knows how they did it, but they're all proud anyway.

Soon the pigs will have a new home especially designed for them, close to the chickens, near the new Community Garden.

Well confined, I hope.

Valentine Day

2011-02-15T20:38:00.002-06:00

Kelly and Sterling on Valentine's Day

About a month ago Jerry told me he'd ordered tickets to the Valentine's Day Willie Nelson concert at the new Austin City Limits in the new W Hotel in downtown Austin.

Jerry knows I'm not a great fan of such, but even I agreed we'd best go see Willie while we still can, before he or one of us shuffles off the mortal coil. So far so good.

But then the week before Valentine's Day, Kelly asked me about having a "Valentine's Double Date." She was crushed when I told her we had plans. You see, about seven years ago or so we took her and the boyfriend Sterling out on Valentine's Day, and as every parent of a kid with Down syndrome should understand by now, having done something once and liked it means you are now committed to a tradition that stretches to infinity and beyond.

So I asked Jer how about taking them out Sunday evening for dinner. I called Martha House to see a) if they were available and b) if they wanted to go.

Is the Pope Catholic!? Of course they wanted to go, and Sunday was even way better, it turned out, because the real Valentine's Day fell on Monday this year, and everybody knows Monday is Walmart Day, and you don't mess with Walmart Day.

When we went to pick Sterling up at the Spur, his parents were just finishing installing his new TV. We chatted a while and then headed to Elgin to a Mexican restaurant. Kelly and Sterling were their ususal irrepressible selves, goofing off and turning serious by turns.

Halfway to Elgin Kelly said, "We're almost done with the question book, Mom." She was referring to 101 Questions to Ask Yourself Before Becoming Engaged, which she and Sterling have been working through with Casey the case manager and, on occasion, Casey's patient prince of a husband, Matt.

Kelly is in a fever to get married. Sterling is rarin' to go some days but on others says, "I'm not ready yet." Time will tell.

After we'd dropped them off, Jerry and I reminisced about that first Valentine's Day double date.

Sterling at the time was still living at home with his mom and brothers in a rural area outside Elgin. He and Kelly were in what I called the "Bambi-Filene" stage. They'd been friends since childhood, and had always had a great time playing together. Then adolescence came along and they weren't sure what to do with each other. They got awkward and Kelly had no idea how to relate to Sterling anymore. Sometimes she would not even look at him.

But later, when Sterling came to work in the day program of the Ranch following his graduation, their relationship cemented as they were able to spend time together on a daily basis.

They broke up once, which caused a seismic wave to roll through all the counselors from camp who knew them, one of whom emailed in anguish, "I can't live in a universe where Kelly and Sterling aren't together!"

It didn't last long.

Last night they were discussing being together on the work team with Miss Naomi. "We are professionals," said Kelly. "No kissing until after five o'clock."

"That's right," chimed in Sterling. "We kiss after five o'clock."

Sterling was happy to get back to his new TV and had plans for writing about our evening together. Kelly was happy to get back to Martha House. As we dropped her off, she turned to me and said, "Thanks for doing this, Mom."

"My pleasure, daughter," I said. "I love you."

And I do.

Salt and Light

2011-02-12T17:55:00.000-06:00

Well, last Saturday I wrote about the appropriations process and the unimaginably hard decisions our legislators face regarding tax dollars that pay for care for the poor, the homeless, the old, and the disabled.

They must reconcile a dearth of funds with a world of need.

And then I mentioned a question someone had asked me recently about whether it really is the taxpayer who should be required to care for those in need after all. I scratched my head and wondered, too.

Comes Fr. Larry Sunday morning to shed light (he brought a salt shaker with him) and discourse on the matter. The readings were from Isaiah 58:7-10 and Matthew 5:13-16. Fr. Larry said that Isaiah is telling us what we should do, and Jesus is reminding us who we should be.

We are to share with the hungry, shelter the oppressed and the homeless, clothe the naked "when you see them," and not turn our back on our own.

As for the role of salt in all this, Fr. Larry reminded us that salt was once a precious commodity for its properties of making food taste better and preserving it from spoilage--so precious it was offered up as a sacrifice in the temple ceremonies. Our bodies absolutely must have it to live.

Likewise light. I try to imagine night time in the Middle East during the time of Jesus, the enveloping darkness held at bay for only a few hours in the evening by a small oil lamp.

We are salt, called to make things better. We are light, called to carry the truth to the dark recesses of the human soul. Formidable callings.

I recall arguing once with a conservative friend who was angered by the Church's stance toward undocumented Mexicans, its insistence on providing assistance to those within our borders illegally. I quite agreed that yes, as a society we face serious problems resulting from the huge disparities in opportunity and freedom that drive people to come into our country at almost any cost.

But the Church, represented in this case by the Bishop of Los Angeles, is doing exactly what it is called to do and in fact, cannot do otherwise and remain faithful to its calling. That phrase from Isaiah--when you see them--put things in stark relief.

I wrote the other day about the yes, buts that overtake me when I ponder how best to deal with social issues that set conservatives and liberals at each other's throats. If there's one thing I've learned in life it's that you get more of whatever behavior you reward, which leads to some serious problems for society as a whole over time (and for the individual, too, and pretty darned quick).

Some people who work with the homeless beg us not to give money to panhandlers because we're enabling them, and I suspect they're right: If the panhandlers got no reward for their behavior, they'd move on to something else, maybe even something better.

But we see them, standing there on the corner. Usually I pass them by, making a mental note to send a check to St. Vincent de Paul or Mary House Catholic Worker. But this week, the cold has been so extreme, so bitter, when I encountered one old man on a corner, his eyes streaming from the north wind, I couldn't believe he was out there, and I really didn't care what he'd done or not done to wind up there.

I was incapable of driving past him as though I did not see him. I whipped out a ten dollar bill and handed it to him.

"God bless you, ma'm!" he said to me. "I'm off this corner for tonight! God bless you, ma'm!"

Maybe I did it for the right reasons, maybe for the wrong reasons. If it was more to appease my conscience than concern for my fellow man, I ask God to use it for good anyway.

And blame Fr. Larry.

Death 2, Life 3 The rest of the story

2011-02-07T10:45:00.004-06:00

Michael and Zsa Zsa, RIP

Well, Sunday wasn't over after our sad experience with the hawk and our beautiful hen. Jerry confessed that something (probably the same hawk) had also killed sweet Zsa Zsa, our sweetest and tamest hen, and said he hadn't wanted to tell me at the time.

I think the hawk must have struck and wounded her and she sought refuge in the nesting box and died there. We'll never know, though. Not a speck of blood or any obvious wound.

However, we went home after getting everybody tucked inside the Chicken Hilton and Jerry made ready for his grand experiment: chocolate covered pecans. He's talked about them for years, and we bought some on our recent trip to Fredericksburg and they disappeared suspiciously fast (not that I had anything to do with it).

Jerry making chocolate covered pecans

Anyway, the afternoon was given over to cracking and shelling and melting and dipping. In the midst of it all, the phone rang. It was Anita.

"Well, guess what?" she said, "We have a little kitty."

"One?" I replied.

Yes. It turned out that Skitty Kitty (as I call her), whom I had divined might be in the family way, had delivered herself of a baby at 1:00 AM that morning, under the bed of a brand new weekend resident assistant staying over at the Ranch for the first time by the name of Diana.

"I heard noises under the bed, and then I heard this tiny baby kitty sound, and looked under the bed and the mama kitty was cleaning it off and it was just crying and crying," said Diana.

Skitty with her baby

Skitty appeared several months ago, emaciated and scared, and although we've all been feeding her, she was not allowed into a house because we don't have cats in the houses. For months she wouldn't let anyone near her, and lived in the culverts of the Village. She made the rounds of the houses at mealtimes and we all fed her. I was amazed she'd eluded the coyotes for so long, but she was agile and wary, and those traits served her well.

When the temperature fell to the teens however, Anita asked if she could bring her inside and I said of course, if she'd go. To leave her outside would be inhumane. She's really bonded with the girls of Teresa House, so that was the logical house anyway.

Baby kitty seemed exceptionally large and vigorous to me. I didn't try to pick him or her up. I examined mama and felt two more in there, and sure enough last night they were born. Natalie and Crystal are ecstatic.

Jerry's chocolate covered pecans

Back to the chocolate covered pecans. They are delicious!

But I had to tell Jerry the truth: They look distressingly like large bugs.

He huffed, but you can judge for yourself.

So at this point on Super Bowl Sunday the score stands at Death: 2 Life: 3. Be not proud indeed!

Death Comes to the Chicken Hilton

2011-02-06T14:32:00.000-06:00

Jerry holds hen just killed by hawk

It had to happen sooner or later.

I'd just walked out of the barn to go get my camera in the car, and saw a large hawk standing on the ground just the other side of one of the garden beds. A blizzard of tiny feathers were streaming away from his feet, caught up on the brisk southern breeze.

Jerry was over by the Chicken Hilton.

"Hawk!" I yelled, and ran toward the predator, which quickly took to the air and settled on a nearby bush.

The audacity of that bird! I thought.

He'd struck not 20 feet from where Jerry was working.

Not only that, he showed no signs of leaving his kill, either. I finally ran after him and shooed him further away, but I know where he lives--over in Sara's Garden--and I know he'll soon be back.

I hoped against hope that maybe the large buff hen I saw lying on the ground was just stunned, but no such luck. Hawks probably don't make mistakes like that too often.

I picked her up. She was so warm. Her pretty head drooped loosely, the neck neatly snapped. If only I'd come out of the barn 30 seconds before!

I walked over to the Hilton, put the hen on the back of Jerry's cart, and helped him coop up the rest of the chickens. They were rattled and skittish, and it took a while to get them in.

Guess we'll have to have a chicken shepherd from now on when we let them out to roam. A new job description to write!

It's a little death, I guess, but Jerry and I were talking just yesterday about how much sheer fun the chickens are, what joy they bring, and how much joy they seem to get from their simple little lives.

Not to mention the eggs.

Well, if He knows when the sparrows fall, He knows when the chickens fall, too. He cares about the hawk no less, and in the end we shall all be delivered into a mightier hand.

Appropriations Time

2011-02-05T12:10:00.001-06:00

We're living through parlous times at the Ranch.

The Texas Legislature is in session, something that happens every other year, and is usually a target of political cartoonists and an occasion for jokes about lawyers and politicians.

The mood's a bit more somber this year, however. Like other states, we have our tail in a crack, and since we're a really big state, it's a really big tail, and it really hurts.

Senate Bill 1 was revealed about a week ago, and some of its provisions suggested cuts to human services, including those with IDDs, in the realm of 29-47%. Oh no, Mr. Bill! (Specifically, SB1)

For most providers, if things were to settle out there, it would answer the question of, "How do I cope?" The answer would be, "I don't. I go out of business and do something else with my life."

Jerry and I wrote testimony to be delivered at the SB 1 hearings having to do with programs and agencies that serve people with IDDs. I walked into the hearing and immediately recognized half the room--parents of kids we've known forever, providers, advocates, support group representatives, and lots and lots of people currently receiving services, many in wheelchairs.

As I walk in, I recognize the woman giving testimony. She's the mom of a young man who was brutally damaged in infancy by a babysitter. I have known this woman for years, not well, but aware from a distance of her struggles in the disastrous period following her baby's injury, through her divorce and her ex-husband's suicide. Through the legal proceedings, and eventually the perpetrator's suicide. I have long marveled from afar at the sheer courage it took for her to build a noble and honorable life for herself and her boy out of the splinters and shards of what remained.

Now her son is grown. She depends upon a government program to help her care for him. It has made the difference between simply going on living and having a good life.

Someone asked me recently, "Why should the government be responsible for your daughter?" It wasn't asked in a hostile manner. It's a good question. Why, indeed?

And it's the question at the very heart of many of our political Gordian knots. You think you have a firm grip on an opinion, and you tease out a strand, and you follow it back, and you realize, "Whoa! I didn't know this was going to wind up there!"

I at least seem invariably to wind up in a maze of yes, buts. I can only imagine being a legislator and having to reconcile reality with the testimony given by my friend. Whatever whoever did that wound us up in this pickle may be important to know, but it doesn't help figure out what to do now.

What then shall we do?

Someplace Warm Like Texas!

2011-02-04T14:39:00.000-06:00

Teresa House early this morning

Jerry keeps threatening to move "someplace warm, like Texas!"

We're having a snow day here at the Ranch, after three days of highs under freezing (including two in the 20s for heaven's sake!)

Mike on his way to the Pavilion

The Ranchers love it, of course, as long as it's inside and involves movies and, hopefully, hot chocolate.

This morning there was about an inch of snow on the ground, with ice underneath. The wind was still blowing strong from the north, and the temperature was in the teens, so we told the staff to stay home and the Ranchers, too.

Casey came in anyway. "What if my Virginia friends discovered I'd stayed home because of an inch of snow?" she said.

Jerry and I were up at 5:30 this morning and anxious as kids to see how much snow we'd gotten. Jerry hustled off to check on the various animals and I made coffee and ate breakfast, then wrapped myself in my Mrs. Beaver greatcoat and headed out to take pictures of this amazing event at first light.

First I needed to check the chicks. They were still in the coop. Usually when the little little door is opened they come charging out, ready to take on the day. Today, though, they stood perplexed, clearly baffled by that white stuff.

Now this is something new!

Finally a couple of hens ventured out, slipping on the snow and flapping their wings, looking for all the world like we do when we're about to take a tumble. That was that! Back they headed into the warmth of the coop.

I went back to the house and busied myself making chili for tonight's supper. Now the sun is shining and the snow is melting fast. I try to remind myself that just last Saturday we were all soaking up the rays on the beach in Cozumel. Changes in latitude, but hopefully no changes in attitude.

Jerry's already planting seeds right and left in anticipation of spring. We'll have a few more cold snaps, maybe even another deep freeze, but soon enough winter 2011 will be a thing of the past, and we'll be bracing for the summer heat.

In Texas, we've got it all. Enjoy the pictures taken this morning before the thaw.

Fancy Pants & Friends

Lodge Road

The Learning Center

Day 2: A Day at Sea

2011-02-01T13:56:00.000-06:00

Well, we got settled into our cabins. This year the luggage arrived quickly at our cabins, so we did not have to spend arrival day explaining where it was. The Ranchers do not like to be separated from their possessions!

Unfortunately, I was not assigned seating with our main group, who were far away in another section of the dining room. Poor Ashley was assigned a different time and a completely different dining room, and no amount of cajoling or explaining that she was responsible for four handicapped ladies resulted in any changes. Fortunately, at least one member of our assigned table failed to show up each sitting, so she camped out against the rules, causing a bit of consernation to the staff, but not enough to get us ejected from the dining room!

Dancing on the Deck

In the morning I hung out with Kelly and Sterling, and a spontaneous dance party broke out on the stage of the Lido deck.

Julia, Suzanne, and Brent take a whirl

Chris dances with mom, Heidi

Cruise to Cozumel Day 1

2011-01-28T09:13:00.001-06:00

Brent & Michael at the
cruise terminal in Galveston

Yesterday we boarded the Carnival Ecstasy for our annual cruise to Cozumel. The Ranchers have been suffering mightily all week for the day to arrive, and left the Ranch in the bus, and on time, ready for the four-hour trip to Galveston.

I rode with Genie, our board president, who picked me up in Austin and we arrived about an hour later than our crew. Genie dropped me off in front of the cruise terminal to go park while I dealt with our luggage. I thought our crew was probably already inside the terminal standing in various lines but suddenly I heard an ecstatic, "Look, there's Judy!" and saw a mob running toward me.

Mark, Sterling, Kyle and Kelly rushed up and threw their arms around me, nearly knocking me to the sidewalk. Bystanders might have thought I was their grandmother who had been held as a prisoner in Siberia for the past ten years, instead of having been with them at the Ranch less than 24 hours before! (This happens when they spy me shopping in Wal-Mart also.)

Our group consists of 66 souls this year--Ranchers, staff, families, friends of families. It's a great rollicking bunch.

Once inside the terminal, we stood for the next hour in snaking lines that doubled back and forth, and the Ranchers made great sport of seeing one another, then not, then seeing one another again. While watching other people shuffle along, seemingly just enduring this part of the journey, I marveled at how much fun we were already having.

It really is all a matter of attitude.

Finally we made it onto the ship, and lunch on the Lido deck was tops on everyone's agenda. It was almost two and we were famished. Despite gentle reminders that we were to eat again in just a few hours, the Ranchers fell upon the pizza counter with undisguised glee and very little restraint.

The seas are calm, the skies are clear, and it grows warmer by the mile. Tomorrow we'll hit the beach in Cozumel, and I'll tell you all about that.

Hot Guts and Warm Hearts

2011-01-24T16:47:00.000-06:00

Saturday was a very special day for Down Home Ranch.

We were awarded the Agriculturalist of the Year at the annual Chamber of Commerce dinner at the Lost Pines Resort.

The Ranch has won a lot of honors and had a lot of good publicity over the years, but this is the one that means the most, because these are our friends and neighbors.

And if the title of this piece makes no sense to you, that's because you might not be aware that Elgin is the sausage capital of Texas, and it's the motto of our famous Hog Eye Festival held every October. The Ranchers love Hog Eye because they can usually snare a realistic looking pig snout to wear to work for a week or two afterwards. They also enjoy the dance, the carnival, the music, and the food.

Work's more fun while you're wearing a pig snout.

In fact the Ranchers are a major presence in Elgin. They attend several churches in town, volunteer at the food pantry, go to the library on occasion, and are great fans of the summer park programs.

We didn't know Elgin 21 years ago when we bought the land that was to be the Ranch. It was blind luck that brought us close to a town that could be the model of what we envisioned for our community--that old fashioned neighborhood where a helping hand is never far away.

Elgin is a scrappy little town, but it's a place where folks take care of their own. We've attended numerous fund-raisers for families who have been burned out of their homes, had a child with cancer, or for a family member whose insurance has run out. Elginites have helped raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for Down Home Ranch as well as other local charities.

Fr. Bob Mahoney, then at Sacred Heart Catholic Church was the first to open us with welcome arms when I went visiting local clergy shortly after Jerry, Kelly, and I moved to the Ranch. Fr. Bob was so excited that he dashed out to the Ranch the very next day and, having visited with us in our tiny trailer, said he left thinking, "Those people either have more faith than anyone I've ever met or they're dumb as a bag of hammers!"

He never told me which he decided we were, but we listened to many a sermon over the years on Divine Providence, which was the centerpiece of Fr. Bob's faith. Elgin was not the only town to know and love "Bullet Bob," but nobody loved him better.

It might be that you've blown past Elgin 100 times or more on Hwy 290 and thought that what you saw on the highway was all there is, but, if so, you're sorely mistaken. We have an historic downtown worthy of being in the movies, which it has been on many occasions.

We've got barbecue joints--Southside Market, Meyer's, and several others--and they're all good, and all cookin' all the time. We've got the Southwest Stallion Station, where you can get your mare bred, or get your heifer in the family way at Elgin Breeding.

There's Elgin Veterinary Hospital, which attracts horse and cattle owners from around the world.

One afternoon we found our miniature horse Smokey in terrible distress, heaving for breath with two neat puncture wounds between his nostrils. We rushed him into Elgin Vet. They cut down a vein, got an I.V. going, ran tubes down his nostrils so he could breathe, and kept him overnight.

I had awful nightmares that night.

Not about the horse, but about the bill. When the grand total of $118 was quoted to us I almost fainted with gratitude. I figured that might have covered the cost of supplies. It was a kindness never forgotten.

But that's what Elgin is like, and we're just happy to have landed here.

"Don't Let the Dream Die"

2011-01-18T11:10:00.000-06:00

Mr. Lobo at haying time

I often say that the greatest thing about Down Home Ranch is to have witnessed so many people bringing the best of who they are and what they have to share with us and our Ranchers.

One such person is Enrique Lobo Guerrero.

Most people call him "Lobo," which, as he will tell you, means "wolf" in Spanish. I, however, refer to him as "Mr. Lobo." Simply my preference, mostly because I have such enormous respect for Mr. Lobo.

He came here from Mexico when he was a very small boy with his parents. He grew up in El Paso and earned his citizenship through service in the U.S. Army, which gave him many things but cost him most of his hearing.

Nearly 50 years ago, he married a beautiful lady named Lucy. They were neighbors long before Mr. Lobo became an occasional employee of Down Home Ranch some eight years ago.

Unfortunately, one of he first things he did was fall from a height of 8' while helping install the greenhouses where we now grow our poinsettias.

He was Star-Flighted out by helicopter with a broken back, but made an excellent recovery and as soon as possible he was back at the Ranch.

Mr. Lobo loves the "children," as he calls our Ranchers. After years of working in maintenance--hard, outside, dirty work--we moved him to programs, working with them. Mr. Lobo, like us, is getting older and attention must be paid.

He's never been happier. He loves the Ranchers and they love him. He is their advocate, their buddy, their teacher.

Years ago Bishop McCarthy visited the Ranch and his eagle eye fixed upon Mr. Lobo. He talked with him at length about his work and I'm sure Mr. Lobo bent Bishop's ear about the "children" he cared for, and about the Ranch, and about his work.

Bishop was more impressed with Mr. Lobo than with the whole lot of the rest of us.

Bishop sees things others don't see.

After the visit he wrote Mr. Lobo a letter thanking him for his work and for sharing his love for the Ranch and our Ranchers. We were all proud.

This past weekend we had a Strategic Planning Meeting. It was a BIG hoopdedoodle, and lots of parents, and board members, and staff members, and friends and donors of the Ranch came.

We spent Friday evening and most of Saturday begining to figure out how to ensure that the Ranch will thrive, and with it our Ranchers, over the coming decades.

Of course Mr. Lobo was there.

At one point he said, "Every morning,you know, I wake up and I pray: 'God, don't let the dream die.'"

He's talking about Down Home Ranch, and who knows?

Mr. Lobo might well be the reason it hasn't.

Epiphany 2010

2011-01-03T09:19:00.001-06:00

I wasn't ready for Epiphany to come so soon! Usually we have ten to 12 days to bask in the light of the Christmas tree, but today in church we celebrated Epiphany.

Fr. Larry talked about how pervasive the images of Epiphany are in our culture--the Kings, the camels, the star, the Holy Family, the King Herod, the gifts, and of course the precious Babe lying in the manger. Everybody recognizes them, even if they aren't sure what they all mean.

Fr. Larry said that one thing they mean is this: Each of us carries wisdom, a star that we're following, at least a touch of King Herod, and--hopefully--love, within us. Each of us has gifts to give. We struggle between what we believe is the security of what we have and accepting the invitation of the One who came into the world with nothing to offer but Himself.

After church, I came home and spent a couple of hours cleaning my car inside and out, mostly to have an excuse to spend the beautiful afternoon outside. As I was vacuuming away, Fr. Greg arrived with Jim, returning after the holidays.

After Fr. Greg got Jim settled into Timothy House and left I called and asked Jim if he wanted to walk down and see if the hens had laid any eggs today. He did. We stopped by Barnabas House to drop off a gift from Jim to the guys there, said hi to Mike sitting on the porch of Gabriel House, and walked mostly in silence to the Chicken Hilton.

We found a dozen eggs of different sizes and hues, and then went to the garden to check out the broccoli and cabbages. I was afraid the recent freezes had damaged the cabbages, but they were fine, so I cut a few small ones for dinner tonight.

On the way back to the Village, I asked Jim if he wanted to eat with Barnabas House tonight or have Jerry's famous fried chicken and potato salad with us. A little smile crossed his face and he said softly, "Fried chicken with you and Jerry."

That said, we settled on a time and walked to Timothy House. After I left Jim I saw Kristen doing her walk around the Village Road. She had her headphones on and was singing away as she walked. Above us the sky was deep blue and criss-crossed with contrails.

There was no wind, not even a breeze, and the late afternoon light was startlingly clear.

"Everything is so calm and bright," I thought to myself, and then laughed at my choice of words.

Anita came by just as I reached Benedict House and swung into the drive. She confessed that the day had been hard for her. Anita just moved into Teresa House, leaving her daughter Alaina at Martha House.

"This is the first Sunday of her life that I haven't taken care of every little detail of her getting ready for church," Anita said. "I held out as long as I could and then I just had to call Naomi and check on how things were going."

Kristen, Kelly, Ashley, Alaina & Rebekah

When Kelly moved to Martha House five years ago, I felt her absence so strongly it was almost a presence in itself. The scared old king inside me so wanted things to stay the same, to have her there by me, to get those daily hugs, those dozen "I love yous."

Back then I needed to remind myself that the vision that was given to us of the Ranch came from a wiser place than that, and it was time to let my baby go and spread her wings a bit. I feel for my friend. I know how much faith and courage it takes.

Anita, Julia, Terrie, Natalie, & Crystal

It's been a lovely day, unhurried and unharried, finding glory in the ordinary. A gift indeed.

Wise Men image from squidoo.com

Of Grace, Gifts, and Gratitude

2010-12-31T14:44:00.000-06:00

Grace

Christmas was wonderful.

All the kids and all the grandkids except Caitlin, who could not get away from work and studies to travel to Texas, were here.

We had an early holiday with the Welches, who needed to be back in Kansas for the actual day, and then the two Austin families came out for Christmas dinner.

Three Sons-in-Law and One Hopeful

Four Daughters

I could tell you all about each of them, but I won't. If you care, ask me.

Suffice it to say they are all incredibly handsome, beautiful, intelligent, witty, erudite, and accomplished.

Plus they're good people, which is way more important than all the above anyway. Needless to say, having them gathered around the table puts every other endeavor we have undertaken into perspective.

Five Sixths of the Grandkids

Gifts

The gift-giving season poses a few challenges, now that money is not so much a factor as it was for a very long time, for us when the Ranch was young and for the kids when the grandkids were young. Now if we want something, we pretty much have the means to acquire it.

Me in Great Wooly Coat

Still, though, we struggled through! The girls and I went shopping on South Congress in Austin, and I fell in love with a humongous wool greatcoat I found in the St. Vinnie's thrift shop. It weighs eight pounds. It was last in style either in the 80s or 40s, judging from the shoulder pads. In it, I imagine I resemble Mrs. Beaver in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

One of the daughters clearly thought that I was out of my mind and the granddaughters generally agreed. But I had to have it.

Daughter #2, Martha, sprang for it.

I have no explanation other than to say that to see it hanging there in my closet delights me.

Allied Forces in South Pacific WW II

Jerry gave me Unbroken, the new book by Laura Hillenbrand about Louis Zamperini's WWII experiences and life story. For hours of each day this past week I have been living through hell with Louie, who spent 47 days adrift in a rubber raft with two fellow airmen in the South Pacific, only to be captured by the Japanese and held for two and a half years as POWs under barely survivable circumstances.

My dad was in the Navy in the South Pac during the war, as was Jerry's brother Herbie. My Uncle Charles flew as a tail gunner in Europe. Each crew member had 30 mission to fly. Half of them made it. Uncle Charles was sent from Europe, where he had completed his missions, to Indo-China, to fly the hump, where he flew 30 more.

Gratitude

We so took them for granted growing up, these men who were ripped out of their lives and sent off to do unimaginable things against unimaginable odds. It broke a lot of them, as it continues to do today. Our neighbor when I was a kid spent hours walking in circles every day in his front yard, as his wife struggled to bring up their son and care for her husband, who--we were told--was "shell-shocked."

To us kids he was just a harmless oddity, part of the landscape.

Oh, God.

I now know that he was a walking, living, tragedy. Once he must have been young, handsome, in love, hopeful. I have no idea what happened to turn him into what he became.

Wow. This piece has taken a turn I didn't expect. All I can think of now are those men--and women-- still laying their lives and their loves, their peace of mind, their hopes and dreams aside to serve our country in places near and far away.

Let's all make a resolution right here and now. Let's make sure they get everything they need to put their lives back together when they come home, if they come home.

If Christmas in America teaches me anything at all, it's that we have plenty disposable income to see that those who go off to war on our behalf get everything they need to become whole again.

Let's all give one more gift before the year is over. The Wounded Warrior is one worthy group, but you may know others. Send gifts to:

https://support.woundedwarriorproject.org/Default.aspx?tsid=66&source=B110010&gclid=CNC7osSol6YCFdtg2god0izang

Credits:
Family pictures by Jerry Horton
Me in Great Wooly Coat by Phil Haas
Allied Forces picture courtesy Google Images