Swim Fest--The thrill! The suspense!

Every year it's the same story. 

The BIG family pulls out all the stops!  There must be 732 people in the immediate family alone.

They are an organized and determined bunch.  I'll give them that.

Oh, they pretend to be nice.  They donate to all the houses under the pretext of being "fair," but we all know they have but one goal: to win the coveted Swim Fest trophy for Gabriel House.

We think of them as...the Swim Fest cartel. 

We know their ways.

First $30 bucks here, and then $40 bucks there.  Some little diversionary lulls and tactics along the way to throw us off the scent.

And then, Labor Day Weekend, when the gloves come off.

This is the weekend wherein, if we had 732 relatives we might have a chance to secure the trophy for our daughter's house.

But sadly, as orphans, raised by the Little Sisters of the Poor, abandoned at birth, never knowing the true love of a real family, we were not so blessed.

We labored, first in the streets of our native Calcutta.  We made our way to America.  We took the jobs none others would do, paying for tens of thousands of dollars worth of plastic surgery out of our menial wages to better assimilate into our beloved adopted land.

We built a home for those who need us.

And we labor still-- raking the bare land, sowing the seeds, hoping for a meagre harvest to feed those who depend upon us, grubbing deep into the exhausted red soil for one last small potato, and we say, our fists raised to the setting sun:

"As God is our witness, we'll never go hungry again!"

No, wait a minute.  That's not what we say.

We say "THERE'S STILL TIME TO DONATE TO THE DOWN HOME RANCH SWIM FEST!"

Go to the website at http://www.downhomeranch.org/eventsswimfest.shtml and vote for the house of your choice.  All proceeds go to the Ranchers' Vacation and Activity Fund.

(And heartfelt thanks to all our families and friends who so generously support our efforts to make sure our Ranchers enjoy a great quality of life, and especially to the Gabriel House Cartel.

But remember, it isn't over yet....)

Planes, Trains, Buses, Shuttles, Monorails But No Automobiles

We did it. 

Thanks to grants from the Lower Colorado River Authority, parents, and a First Baptist Church of Woodworth, Woodworth, LA, we were able to travel to Walt Disney World for the National Down Syndrome Congress annual meeting and convention, taking 11 residents with Down syndrome to attend the simultaneous Youth and Adults with DS Convention.

I had planned to blog throughout our adventure, which began last Thursday and will be ending with the return of the residents and staff to their homes in about two hours from now after their plane lands in Austin.  However, it turns out that while Disney World may be many wonderful things, it is a crummy place for a convention, especially for--as in our case--people traveling in a large group, or--as in many other cases--young families with small children, strollers, and baby paraphenalia.

We arrived late Thursday evening in the Orlando airport and hit the lobby of our resort hotel, Aruba, about nine.  We had to check in room by room, a process which took about an hour.  The Ranchers were amazingly patient as they entertained themselves and one another as Casey, Phil, Marci, and I figured out all the details.

Finally we had all our key cards and, each clutching a map which made absolutely no sense to us in the dark, boarded a shuttle bus that would take us to our rooms...sort of.

Thirty minutes later we were deposited beside a shuttlebus shelter next to a parking lot next to clusters of two story lodgings, each dragging a heavy suitcase and armloads of other perceived necessities.  The Donner party flashed through my mind as we began trekking through the jungle in the dark, in a direction picked at random, there being no signs, nor signs of life, to guide us toward our proper destinations.

We were to reside in Aruba (where people tend to disppear, as I recall, but I tried not to think about that.)  By now the Ranchers were, quite understandably, becoming vocal about having consumed nothing but a small drink and a Clif bar since lunch at 11:30 that morning.

We wended our way around this building and that, finding numbers affixed to them occasionally.  After another half hour we'd all found our buildings and our rooms and agreed to meet at the foot court across the lake, the lights of which were twinkling merrily over the water.

At 10 after 10 we reached the promised land and snagged some burgers and fries before the concessions closed.  The tab was only about 40% more than it would have been at a prime rib steakhouse, but we were in no position to haggle, or to go anywhere else.

In the morning we met at the pool and laughed at our pickle the night before, because once you could see the layout we saw we'd walked a good five times further than we'd needed to.  We met a young family in the pool with baby Landon, here for his first NDSC conference.

Once we'd all connected, we found our bus stop again and headed for Hollywood Studios Park.  We waited about a half hour for the bus to take us there, which it eventually did.

The park was pretty, but had nothing on Sea World or Fiesta in San Antonio.  We were there principally for the High School Musical review, unlike ten or eleven other patrons of the approximately one million in the park.

We got a good seat on the concrete and settled in.  We were a little concerned, because Kara had staked her entire experience on being able to dance with the cast, something over which we had little or no control.  But Kara did, and she made sure they noticed her enthusiasm and knowledge of all the songs and dance routines.  Before we knew it there she was, stepping out with one of the handsome cast members.  Later Mike and Kristen got a chance to join the troupe too.

We went to lunch at Mama Melrose's Italian Retaurant and I looked forward to mediocre food at eye-popping prices, but I was wrong wrong wrong!  Well, right about the prices actually, but a simple bowl of vegetarian minestrone and a salad were as good as anything I've ever tasted, and that's a fact!

By then I'd had all the fun I could stand, and left the park to go to the conference, where Jerry and I joined a workshop of older parents whose adult kids with Downs had married or were contemplating marriage.  More of that later on in the week.

The fab four--Casey, Phil, Marci and Becca--shepherded the Ranchers to the resort hotel where the conference was being held, which was only about two time zones away from the resort hotel where we were staying (but no problem, a shuttle was never more than 50 minutes away at any given time...)

They got registered for their conference, and Jerry and I went to dinner, which again was pricey but quite out of the ordinary.

That was Friday.

(To be continued)

"One More Day of Freedom"

Tuesday June 22

Yesterday we had another beautiful day at the beach.

This time we brought umbrellas, mats, and folding chairs.  Kelly swam in a heavy T shirt to protect her from the relentless sun.  Despite frequent slatherings of high SPF sun screen, our skin tones are varying from lobster red to deepening tan.  By vacation's end we will--intentionally or not--all provide ample evidence of a week's vacation in Florida.

"I don't want to leave this vacation!" Kelly said at one point.

Then last night we decided to go to a movie.  Get Him to the Greek.  Ugh!

All we'd read was that it was funny.  There were a few funny bits, but the raunch far outweighed the merits (I'm being generous here using the plural, because the sole merit we agreed on was that we liked Russell Brand quite a lot.)

For reasons unknown we individually and collectively hung in til the end, despite the huge cringe-factor. Afterwards we all agreed that we would have been happy to walk out had one of us headed for the exit.  We still don't know why we didn't.

How to describe?  Juvenile--what's funny about vomit and feces?  Not much.  The "F" word?  Never was funny and the shock value wore out about 1969.  The focus on sex...please!  If it were that disgusting, meaningless, and degrading the species would have died out millenia ago.

This thing got great reviews from people I expect better of.  Big question of the evening: what does it take to earn an "X" rating these days?  If this didn't warrant it, what does?  Oh well, de gustibus non est disputatum. Tomorrow we're going to see Toy Story 3 to get the nasty taste out of our minds.

(All the above is to warn folks what they're in for should they go to that movie.  You may thank me now or later.)

Today we drove down to Sanibel Island, which is built up from the deposits of eons of currents dumping shells.  The sand is like talcum powder, the beach made up of shells.

After lunch at The Hungry Heron, we did a little souvenir shopping and headed for the beach.

Standing in the water, you can find all kinds of living mollusks by just wiggling your toes down into the sand.

We were enchanted when the pelicans began cruising in close to us and diving for fish.  Carolyn, Caitlin and I went further out into the water to check them out.  Caitlin said off handedly, "We wish things were more dolphiny!  We want dolphins to come and play with us!"

"Yeah, I'm sure if you saw a fin cutting through the water you'd hang around to see what it was," I said.

Not a minute later, a large, grey body arced through a nearby breaking wave.  We were in about 3' of water.  Our eyes bugged, we grabbed one another, and headed for shore as fast as we could go, which wasn't very.  (Caitie moved a bit quicker than Carolyn and I, however, because as she later reported, she'd felt a distinct bump shortly before our sighting.)

Once closer in we warned a family with young children and all retreated toward the water's edge.  We saw the critter breach a few times more.

We figured that, shark or dolphin, it had been attracted by the fish and the feeding pelicans and hugged the shore from that point on.  Whatever, it was an exciting finale to our day on Sanibel.

Once back at the house, we googled Sanibel beach and sharks and learned that indeed sharks abound off the popular beaches and that one should never 1) go into the water after 5:00 PM or before 9:00 AM 2) hang out near feeding pelicans.  Also, given the fact that we'd only seen one, it most surely was a shark and not a dolphin, who prefer to swim and hunt in groups.

The guide books cheerfully note that our chances of mayhem while driving in Florida traffic are billions of times greater than can be expected cavorting amidst the local marine life, but our story's just going to get better by the telling...

Other advice warned us against staying on the beach with nearby thunderheads, which we also foolishly did until I pointed out to Carolyn that they looked very like the clouds that excite the storm-chasers we watch on TV.  To appease me, we took down our umbrellas and headed for home.

Once showered and changed, we headed for the local Pig and Whistle English Pub for dinner and a pint.  Kelly didn't crank once about eating dinner at 9 in the evening, a true mark of her growing sophistication.  Turns out that the area we're staying in is a favorite for British nationals, and the pub does a brisk business despite having gotten its start in the pit of the recession.

On the way to the pub we stopped neighborhood traffic to gawk in true tourist fashion at 'gators lounging in the nearby waterway.

After way too much food we left the pub and Kelly said, "One more day of freedom!"

We made it back to the house with no further wildlife encounters.  The night was beautiful, half the sky pulsing with lightning, and the other  clear and starlit.

One last phone call to Sterling, and Kelly was ready for bed.

Wednesday, June 23

Today the girls headed for the beach and I stayed behind.  I was sure Kelly would stay behind with me and spend the day watching DVDs and having precious alone time, but this girl is in for everything that's happening.  I am impressed!

But I am happy tucked away in our lovely vacation home, letting my sunburn heal (didn't know that with a long-sleeved, buttoned-up shirt you can still turn into a crispy critter).

Tomorrow, back to real life.

"One more day of freedom," as Kelly says.

The Campers Are Coming! The Campers Are Coming!

As Denise reminds us every time we see her, there are only 27 days left until Ranch Camp begins. In June the first 50 or so campers of the season will tumble out of cars, vans, and buses, ready for a week of fun, friends, and activities.

Ranch Camp doesn’t get the respect it deserves. Naturally we tend to focus on our Ranchers; this is their year-round home, after all. But camp was our first program, created out of nothing in ’95 because we knew residency was still years away and we desperately longed to begin actively working with those we planned to serve.

Why camp? How important could a few days away from home in the country matter  much in the grand scheme of things?  You'd be surprised.

 I’m the one who pushed for camp, and I can testify to that, because when I was a kid, my camp gave me a vision and saved my life and sanity.

Shortly before my ninth birthday, in April of 1951, my father committed suicide after years of struggling with alcoholism and failure.

Like most such families, we lived in chaos, never knowing what to expect.  My grandmother, concerned about me in the aftermath of this tragedy, asked if I wanted to go to a girls’ camp in the Kerrville area for part of the summer. I don’t recall what I answered, but I wound up going to Camp Arrowhead for 5 ½ weeks, the first of several years I would attend.

What most kids learn in a family, I learned at camp—to trust the people in charge of my well-being, to follow rules in place for my own good, to relax in the company of friends, to be given the resources to learn new things, to know what to expect from day to day.

We ate in the “Filling Station” and got doctored at the “Pill Box.” We drew names to see what tribe we would be in (Pawnee or Kickapoo) and competed throughout the term for points to win a plaque.

We went to vespers on Wednesday evening and chapel services on Sunday. In the evenings we watched movies on the lawn and ate mountains of watermelon. I sang with the Pawnee Chorus and still sing the songs we learned.

I loved camp. I lived for camp. Even today, when I’m feeling stressed out, if I take a few minutes and think back to those warm sunny days spent on the banks of the Guadalupe—my holy river—I calm down.

So I know, deep down, how much camp can mean to a person. Even though we only get our campers for a week at a time, Denise and Don make sure they get the heart of the Ranch Camp experience--the friendships, the silly songs, the comforting routines, the chance to find out what you're really good at.  For a precious week, our campers build memories of happy times.

It’s their special time, their own retreat.  And it deserves all the respect we can give it.

Back to Real Life

We’re back from our cruise on the Carnival Ecstasy to Cozumel and back! Had a great time, but now are having to get used to making our own beds, cooking our own food, and running our own karaoke machine again. Bummer!

Everyone, staff or Rancher, has a special memory of this year’s trip—Kyle dedicating a song to Alaina on the karaoke stage and then sweetly singing it, or our three decidedly non-hirsute contenders in the Hairy Man Contest (who were the crowd faves anyway).

For me, same as last year and the year before that, I carry away the memory of the unfailing graciousness and helpfulness of the on-board staff and crew.

Yes, I know they’re chosen, hired, trained, and paid to be accommodating. But really, who in the hospitality business isn’t? I’m still impressed.

We’re a high-maintenance group overall, with picky eaters, endless financial matters to negotiate, lost key cards and other little setbacks. And we’re not big spenders. Cruise lines depend on on-board sales to make a profit, and would go broke in a flash if they relied on the likes of us to buy enough jewelry and drink enough liquor to keep the fleet afloat.

Yet we were (and always have been) genuinely and happily treated like royalty by everyone, from the bursar’s office staff to the cabin stewards.

I noticed an article titled “Treat Your Family Like a Customer” in a business magazine shortly before leaving on the cruise and immediately thought “not!” But now I wonder: What would happen if we treated not just family but everyone the way we were treated by the Carnival staff?

Would the world be a better place or a worse place?

If nothing else, I think it’s fair to say at least some of the crew we met on-board weren’t feeling quite up to par, or were preoccupied with some worry, or were just plumb mystified by some of the behavior they had to witness or deal with.

Most of them spend nine consecutive months a year away from their homes and families caring for strangers on a large floating hotel. A lot of people could work up a pretty good grudge over that, I imagine.

That’s why I insist on the “recommended” gratuity (at a minimum) due each Carnival employee be paid by each person representing Down Home Ranch.

Not only do they rely on it, they more than deserve it for showing the rest of us how to make the world a better place.

So congratulations, and thank you to Carnival Cruise Lines, and all who work aboard the good ship Ecstasy.

You made our dreams come true.

Again.

Day on the Beach

Well, we all survived our first day at sea, and none of the residents got seasick, though a few staff members did.  Woke up this morning with the ship docking at Cozumel, and off we went for our day on the beach.

Weather perfect: mid 80s, clear skies, gentle breeze.

We arrived at the beautiful beach about 10:30 and spent half an hour and about $234 in sunscreen getting ready for our exciting day.  Mostly exciting for the staff, trying to track 17 souls heading off in various directions, some of which included deep water.

Casey and Marci, our fearless lifeguards, were stationed at the ready.  Sandy made sure everyone who wanted to go out on a kayak or a paddleboat got to do so.  John and the guys jumped happily upon the floating trampoline.  All in the azure waters of the Caribbean in this locale.

Several elected to get fake tatoos, pictures with large macaws and godzilla-like lizards.

Back at the dining room, glowing pink and dressed in our cowboy finery, we definitely made the most noise in honor of our wait staff.  We do NOT lack for enthusiasm.

The Ranchers are mostly off for karaoke followed by the deck party dance afterwards.  I am ready for bed.  I plan to get up at 1:00 AM to see the full moon over the Caribbean. 

Maybe, anyway.

Tomorrow we hold our own Sunday service in the Neon Bar.  Should be interesting.  Hasta manana y que suenen con los angelitos!

From the High Seas

Well, we made it onto the ship Ecstasy.  The trip here was smooth and uneventful, which is the way we like it.  Getting through all the embarkation stations at the pier however was something else.

Casey the wonder case manager, however, saved the day. 

She'd made a binder to hold everyone's paperwork and passports that now weighs in at about 22 pounds.  After she checked in our gang the man she'd been working with almost went overboard (a real possibility considering where we were) with praise for our gal. 

It's nice to meet someone with true appreciation of the potential of a smart woman in possession of an industrial-grade paper punch!

Didn't have to do the dreaded flotation device drill.  Instead we sat in the lounge and were instructed what to do in case of an emergency.  The message I think we came away with was, show up in the Starlight Lounge with a stiff drink and paper umbrellas in your hair.  It could be worse, I guess.

There was a fair amount of stress concerning the delivery of the luggage, but only because our people really dislike being separated from their belongings.  Really dislike it.  Finally it all showed up and got properly stowed away.

And the wild rumpus began.

Stay tuned.

I'm Too Old For This!

Good grief!  Casey, Denise, and I have spent all day getting ready for the cruise.  We leave tomorrow.

The Ranchers are zinging off the walls.  Their bags are packed (yes, we used a list). Medical records are stashed, passports checked and double-checked, snacks bought for the trip to Galveston, the vehicles cleaned and gassed and safety-checked, the bus driver hired, and a zillion other details seen to.

On top of the whirlwind of activity we were engaged in today, a local energy company was working right in the heart of things replacing gigantic wooden utility posts and lines with monstrous concrete posts that look like something out of the War of the Worlds. 

Chief the paint gelding got so spooked by the machines and commotion he broke out of his stall and the paddock and gave Don and Lori an exciting chase around the Ranch.

A family had stopped by to do a self-tour of the Ranch with their young son, who has Down syndrome, and seemed gratified by the wild west scenario unfolding before them.

"As advertised," said I, with a wan smile.

And now I tumble into bed, exhausted, but looking forward to warm temperatures and soft beds as we make our way south.  We ask your prayers for calm seas and happy tummies on our way.

I'll keep you posted from the ship.