Global Warming: A “Sort of” Tongue-In-Cheek Guide to Keeping One’s Mouth Shut

If you can’t even name and draw the configuration of the simple gases that come out of your own body, and explain how they are formed, then you are NOT qualified to argue the legitimacy of global warming. If the word “fart” is all that comes to mind then you don’t have a place in the conversation.

If you think photosynthesis refers to a digital photo printing process, step out of the debate.

If you have no concept of geologic time and believe the Jurassic Period is a reference to Steven Spielberg’s now defunct amusement park in Tennessee…oh, wait, that’s Dollywood, and it’s still open. Anyway, you get my point. Do us all a favor and push back from the table of the global warming discussion.

If you think “mean” and “mode” contribute to road rage emotions, and “median” only refers to where you might end up when the nut case runs you off the road, then you know nothing about statistics. Find another smorgasbord to fill your opinionated plate while standing on your shaky soapbox.

I’m smart enough to leave my car’s engine to a qualified mechanic. Don’t leave the enormously important issue of global warming to people like an 81-year-old career politician from Oklahoma who was a so-so businessman and is now the chair of the United States Senate Committee on Environment and Public Works. He has a Bachelor of ARTS and refers to global warming as a “hoax.” Does “fart” come to mind again, preceded by “old?” He shouldn’t have a place at the table either.

Or a presidential candidate who believes global warming is “bullshit,” “created by and for the Chinese in order to make U.S. manufacturing non-competitive.” He is probably single-handedly responsible for the hole in the ozone layer from CFCs in hairspray can propellants. And he is likely unfamiliar with the difference between chlorofluorocarbons and “cash for clunkers,” otherwise known as Trump University.

We don’t have to be as smart as rocket scientists to leave the argument of global warming to folks as smart as rocket scientists. Good news: There are environmental “rocket scientists!” And if they haven’t been funded, or paid off, by a “Monsanto-esque” company, we might all benefit from listening to their wisdom.

Humor aside, science is real, people! Leave it to the chorus of environmentalists who are saying global warming is here, rather than the ensemble of politicians who make it a habit of singing that same old song that is apparently all you want to hear.


Thank you, Ann Coulter?

Dear Ann Coulter:

In your new book, In Trump We Trust, you’ve cleared up that pesky misperception that Donald Trump was mocking Serge Kovaleski, the New York Times reporter with a congenital condition called arthrogryposis. Here, this whole time, many of us thought Mr. Trump was using those exaggerated movements and exaggerated voice to deride Mr. Kovaleski for his disability and, specifically, joint contractures. I am so relieved that it was just Mr. Trump ONLY doing his “standard retard.” What a relief! I, personally, would never use that kind of malicious language toward Mr. Trump or anyone else. But I know Mr. Trump does not hold himself to political correctness so he would not be bothered to know that you, along with many, many other people…many…also see Mr. Trump in that way…because I wouldn’t use that word…but you did.

You were able to confirm that, indeed, Mr. Trump was “waving his arms and sounding stupid.” I would never say that Mr. Trump sounds stupid, especially when he waves his arms. But many, many…many…people say that. I would only say that other people say that. Many.

Again, thank you, Ms. Coulter, for clearing up this matter. I am not going to say that you are a despicable human being. There are many people who would say that about you but I’m not going to say that. I refuse to call you a despicable human being. If I did, that’s not nice. I didn’t say that. And I promised myself I wouldn’t say that.

And if you decide to clear up that you are not a gift to humanity then, by all means, please clear it up the same way you cleared up Mr. Trump “waving his arms and sounding stupid.”


The Mother of a Daughter With Multiple Disabilities Who Is Relieved to Hear That Mr. Trump May Finally Have A Diagnosis, Albeit Offensive and Politically Incorrect. But I Didn’t Say That. Did I?

A Mother’s Lament: Leslie Jones, Donald Trump, and Hate Speech

IMG_2475Last night I posted a sweet video on Facebook. It was of Ashley signing, laughing, communicating, and being her wonderful self. I thought it was touching. And I thought it might allow others to experience just how amazing she is, disabilities and all.

But this afternoon, my better judgment kicked in, and I deleted it.

I had just read today’s article about the dehumanizing hacking of Leslie Jones’s website. And I remember the awful things that were said about her previously on Twitter. She insightfully defended herself when she was the guest, and I was in the audience, of the live taping of Late Night with Seth Meyers: “Hey. Hate speech and freedom of speech: Two different things.”

I’ve also seen similar racist, disgusting, and offensive remarks on Facebook about President Obama, his wife, and their daughters by individuals I am sure would swear they are not racist.

And then I remembered Donald Trump on national television mocking an individual with disabilities. That did it. “Delete.”

The video of Ashley was just the sort of thing that some “troll” could have made fun of. Thanks to Donald Trump, my sense of opportunity and acceptance for Ashley felt tenuous the moment he mocked the New York Times reporter.

No, you wouldn’t understand.

Oh, sure, I am very aware it has happened discreetly behind our backs for years. And I can share painful stories when it has been far from discreet. Dementia will be the only thing that will erase those memories. And Donald Trump’s mockery will take the same to forget.

Indeed, there is something about this time in our history that feels different to me and makes me take pause. In case you missed it in late July, 19 individuals with disabilities were stabbed to death and another 26 were injured in a residential care home in Japan. The murderer told the police, “It is better that disabled people disappear.”

The murderer had previously written:

I envision a world where a person with multiple disabilities can be euthanised, with an agreement from the guardians, when it is difficult for the person to carry out household and social activities.

I believe there is still no answer about the way of life for individuals with multiple disabilities. The disabled can only create misery. I think now is the time to carry out a revolution and to make the inevitable but tough decision for the sake of all mankind. Let Japan take the first big step.

You likely never heard about this mass murder; it barely made the mainstream news. Maybe the media is indifferent to the slaughter of individuals with disabilities? Or maybe violence perpetrated with guns and knives has just become all too familiar.

But there is also an indifference to another kind of violence, a kind of modern-day, insidious “lynching.” Violence of words can be experienced in today’s climate of cyberbullying on social media, or the inflammatory rhetoric that is spewing from some political figures, or exhibited on your “newscast”-du-jour.

For me, the painful takeaway is that society is not ready to accept diversity and differences among us. Not even close. And I choose not to set up my daughter for potential ridicule and mockery without the ability for me to defend her since she is unable to defend herself.

So, if you didn’t see the video before I deleted it, you missed out. Albeit just a snippet, it was adorable. And it might have helped others understand what it is like to be uniquely Ashley.

But these are scary times of violence, hate, and indifference.

And today, I hit “Delete.”

Today, I don’t care if you ever “get it.”

Seeing Life from the Outside In

To travel to Mayo Clinic is to be among the sickest of the sick. Some are only here for their routine medical care or for the peace of mind that they have done all that they can do to maintain good health. Others are here for that elusive diagnosis, or as a last resort for quality or quantity of life. They travel from near and very far, from states across the country, and from countries on the other side of the world.


It is humbling to walk the halls and ride the elevators with people, many in wheelchairs, too sick to support their own weight. The elderly being pushed by their elderly spouses, committed to their vows, “till death do us part.” Children being pushed by their parents, committed to the hope that they will outlive them. And some visiting alone, helped by Mayo volunteers and the kindness of strangers. But, no matter their age or circumstance, individuals are here looking for health but likely leaving with much more.

I’m no stranger to this place. I’ve spent over twenty years traveling to Mayo Clinic, enough so that I can recommend Rochester hotels, coffee shops, and restaurants, or a place to pray. For all these years, it has been as a mother, fighting for our oldest daughter to outlive me. Now into her thirties, I can say without hesitation that Mayo Clinic saved her life. And I can say without hesitation that Mayo Clinic has improved and maintained the quality of her life and of our family. I am deeply grateful. And now, for these last few years, I have come to Mayo Clinic as a patient.

Among the emotions I can see on the faces of patients, I often observe fear and despair. But I can’t help but see and feel hope. And I am always moved as I experience the dignity of the human condition. We will all die; it is just a question of when and from what. But, in the meantime, it is about life, about health, and about others.


I’m not convinced that one can truly comprehend the value of life and health unless one has experienced the suffering or death of a child. There’s a “wrongness” about it, something deeply moving yet troubling that life lessons must be learned at their expense. But what would be “more wrong” and “more troubling” is when those experiences provide no learning at all. Indeed, what a waste of a precious life.

Instead, it is a priceless opportunity to experience life from the “outside looking in” rather than from the “inside looking out.” It is an important lesson of empathy for another rather than only sympathy for oneself.

I don’t wish the need to travel to Mayo Clinic on anyone. But to experience it is to observe life’s lessons: the fragility of life, the importance of health, the value of compassion, the necessity of empathy, the gift of support, and the preciousness of love.

Embracing the Idealist

It’s been just over two weeks since returning home from a writer’s retreat at the Mabel Dodge Luhan Lodge in Taos, New Mexico. What an amazing seven days: powerful women writers with stories to tell, supporting one another in their journey to find their truth. Jennifer Louden’s inspiring leadership. A beautiful setting. And exquisite food that included scrumptuous bacon each morning and a vegetable tofu lasagna that even made tofu taste delicious! (Before Taos, I honestly never imagined “delicious” and “tofu” in the same sentence. Indeed, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains are magical!)

DepositionI came home completely enthused and rejuvenated. I started off my week at home by preparing a batch of gluten free homemade blueberry muffins in honor of our last Taos breakfast, brewed a strong cup of coffee, and settled in for some challenging reading. It was my 3-hour deposition from almost exactly twenty-five years ago to the day that was the result of taking on our school district over rampant segregation and discrimination. The deposition hadn’t seen the light of day in over two decades.

I waded through page after page of the deposition. Multiple times I had to put it down and walk away. Remembering that “thirty-something” idealist, and all the personal sacrifices made, was just too much. The attorney tried his best to give me quite a beating. I hadn’t forgotten. He was an asshole. I was a warrior.

Then I began to feel my week slip away. The reality of all that is required of me in my day-to-day life with Ashley’s 24/7 care took over. A few sleep-disturbed nights made the day following all the more challenging, and I struggled just to get through, much less write.

But I kept writing in my head, even when I didn’t feel strong enough, or focused enough, to commit my words to a text document. I began to recognize a potential structure in my approach. And I was reminded of the concept of “conditions of enoughness” that was so eloquently explained, and a point that was driven home, by Jen during the retreat. All those strong, wonderful women begin to identify their “conditions of enoughness.” Now it was my turn to define mine, not just at a retreat but in the context of the complexities of my life.

Two weeks later, I made it through to the end of the deposition. Dozens of colored tabs cover the one hundred and twenty pages. And I’m now ready to dig out the Letter of Findings from the federal investigation that has also not seen the light of day in decades.

Today, I believe I can begin to share my truth. I can be hopeful. I can recognize the “thirty-something” idealist that still resides within me. I can start a new week. For now, that’s enough.

World Down Syndrome Day: It’s Complicated

73790_654435883269_2378773_nMarch 21st is World Down Syndrome Day, 3/21 representing 3 copies of the 21st chromosome. For me, I have complicated emotions. Sure, Ashley has the physical facial features that identify her as having Down syndrome. But with her additional disabilities related to her brain injury, she has so much more to deal with. And there’s no World Hypoxia Following Open Heart Surgery Cuz It’s Difficult Day so we’ll go with today’s designation.

But to generalize any of our children related to one particular talent or disability is for me missing the point. Each of our children are woven into these amazing individuals, much of it related to the miracle of “genes.” And for each thread I am thankful because every strand of DNA makes each of us special. For Ashley, beneath all the medical complications, maybe there is a woman with “just Down syndrome?” We’ll never know. But that still wouldn’t define her any more than her brain injury does. She’s Ashley, she’s awesome, and we love her dearly. And the lessons she teaches us are invaluable. We all just have to be willing to learn and to support one another for our “sameness,” but more importantly for our differences. I think that’s what today is all about.

An Improbable Artist

One could argue that my daughter’s painting is, well, a miracle. And if “miracle” seems an exaggeration then I guess one could suggest “highly improbable.” But no one could debate that it isn’t “amazing!”

AshleyVoss1Art is a wonderful form of expression, from emotions to experiences. But for my daughter, art is special because being able to communicate in any way is a blessing. Due to brain damage following her first open heart surgery when she was just 2 ½ years old, she all but lost the ability to verbally communicate. In fact, she nearly lost her life.

She’s cortically visually impaired. No depth perception and cuts in her visual field from the brain damage. We honestly don’t know exactly what she can and can’t see because she just can’t tell us.


And then there’s the weakness on one side of her body. It’s better than when she was recovering from the brain damage – at the time she had a resting hand splint to avoid contractures in her right arm – but, yeah, it’s still there. Just watch her crack a smile. First one side of her mouth, then the other.

So, you see, picking up a brush, applying paint to it, and putting it to the canvas to create art is for my daughter…remarkable.

We’ve found ways to make it easier for her: a slanted tabletop easel, a recycled egg carton to hold her acrylic paints, and a communication device. But it’s her “vision” that turns it all into art.

And there are times when it defies explanation. Like the time she painted what looked like a black stump…until it was turned horizontally and we realized it was our recently adopted black rescue dog. Or the time she painted two separate canvases. One might have initially thought “nothing special,” until the canvases happened to be placed side by side to reveal a perfectly aligned landscape of what appears to be the Southwest. (Maybe Sedona? She’s visited the Red Rocks. But we may never know for sure.) Or the time she carried a picture from a magazine to her art class a few months after we began eating gluten-free. When she was finished, it looked like the honest-to-goodness hamburger in the picture…lettuce, tomato, bun and all. (I think she was telling us something!)

artThree of her pieces of art have been published in the book A Room of Golden Shells: 100 Works by Artists and Writers with Down Syndrome (Woodbine House, 2013). Yeah, it’s remarkable.

Henri Matisse said, “Creativity takes courage.” Yes, indeed. And she’s got plenty.