Maggie's Story

We found Maggie at the Humane Society when she was just 3 months old. She had been rescued from a culvert, where someone had found her stuck. We fell in love with her and even though she was scheduled to be sent to Boston through another rescue organization, we were able to adopt her. Maggie was the sweetest puppy and a joy to everyone. For some unknown reason, she adopted a stranger anxiety at the visit of our long-time Texas friends and she never got over it.

She loved a belly rub, and was content to just lie at your feet most of the time. If you touched her too much, she would move away. Maggie looked so much like Jack, it was impossible to look at her and not be reminded of Jack and how much we still missed him.

Last week, Roadie (our baby and latest rescue) dug a hole under the fence and he and Maggie ran off. I looked everywhere, and was headed out again mid-afternoon to search the woods behind the house. I called, and heard her; she came running for the treats I had in my hand. An hour later, I had them de-ticked and cleaned up. Maggie was limping, and as the day progressed seemed to be in more pain. We took her for doggie ER the next day and the doc diagnosed a muscle sprain, gave her antibiotic and anti-inflammatory.

Maggie was one of our two dogs who would not run off if out in the front yard off leash with us, so we were surprised that she went on her little escapade.

Monday, they found a new place under the fence and again escaped. Within an hour, Roadie was back without Maggie. Randy was worried, as Roadie is Maggie's shadow and he felt something had happened to her for him to return without her. It had. Maggie was hit by a car at the end of our driveway, most likely minutes after getting out of the yard. We nicknamed her "Sheriff Maggie" as when called, if the other dogs did not come in, Maggie would run back out the door and round them up and chase them in.

I wonder if Roadie (he got his name because the first time I saw him as an abandoned pup, he was in the middle of the road and almost hit by a car) perhaps had gone into the road and Sheriff Maggie went after him. Randy found Maggie last night, and although we had known in our heart that something had happened since she had not come home, it was still hard to accept. It seems ironic that she came into our lives due to being in a culvert, and she left our lives in a culvert.

We have always been so careful about our dogs--I am firmly opposed to letting dogs run loose, for their sake as well as the humans out there. Ours were always in the fenced yard, the house, on leash, or on rare occasions with Maggie and Rex, in the front yard with us briefly, and always responded to recall. I routinely checked the yard for weak spots near the fence; this one was near a bush, with kudzu behind it, and it seemed to be safe enough to me. That error in my judgment resulted in Maggie's loss of life. It seems even harder to think she was hit by a car--that has not happened to my dog since my little SugarBabe back when I was a child.

Randy and Justin buried Maggie next to Killer. I had just buried Killer, our cat, last week. Somehow, Killer being 16 years old and just deciding to stop eating, but being in no pain nor suffering, was much easier to accept. It was actually harder to bury Killer than to let her die. My friend and I made a tomb for her of concrete and marked her spot under the tree where she used to love to lie in wait for the birds. Last night, Randy and Justin made a tomb for Maggie and placed her next to Killer. It was much harder and especially for Randy who was there to attend to her while I am in New Orleans.

It has been a difficult month dealing with pets at the Allen house. This was the most recent in a long spate of difficulties. Back home in Taylor, I have felt stressed and depressed to the max. Here in New Orleans, in the quiet and solitude, I have regrouped, refreshed, and relaxed. Rosie (the poodle) and Jamie (the cat) are easy to attend to, mostly quietly sleeping next to me as I read, write, or nap myself. Being by myself has always been the best way for me to take care of myself, and I have eaten healthy, and taken care of my emotional health this week. In a way, it makes it a little easy to accept the loss of Maggie, but not much. I feel a little like I am cheating that I am here and Randy is still there. Every day, I would go out and see Killer's little spot and feel a sense of sadness, but also a sense of peace in the cycle of things. I only see Maggie's spot in my mind's eye right now, and do not feel the sense of peace at all. I suppose it will come with time. And like all losses, it reminds me of the mortality of all of us, most prominent on my mind, that of my aged parents.

But for now, goodbye to Maggie, my little white magnolia blossom.

Toxic Tourism in Cancer Alley

River Road runs along both sides of the Mississippi River from New Orleans to Baton Rouge. It is the old plantation route that followed the Mississippi. Due to the location, many freed slaves settled in the area and set up small towns along the river.

Cancer Alley is the name given to the petrochemical corridor that runs along the Mississippi from New Orleans to Baton Rouge. Cancer Alley's formal name is River Road, and it runs on both sides of the river, with a variety of bridges allowing crossing between the sides. The petrochemical corridor is home to a variety of refineries due to its proximity to the river and the port of New Orleans; both provide transport out of the area.

I first became aware of Cancer Alley a few years ago when I ran across an article about grassroots organizing groups in New Orleans who were partnering to address the concerns about the toxic environment. Residents claim--backed by a number of studies--that the cancer rate, including rare cancers, miscarriage rate, babies born with deformities, and incidence of respiratory and other ailments is higher than the national average, due to the spewing of toxic fumes and other chemicals into the air, water, and ground along the corridor. The area is home to mostly minority groups, predominantly, African Americans who are poor.

I decided to take a tour down the corridor and see for myself. After crossing the Mississippi on the Huey P. Long bridge, I exited at Bridge City, a small community that appeared to consist of a bar, a grocery store, some houses, and what looked like a boatyard--the kind where they work on huge commercial ships, not your neighborhood marina boatyard.

The highway is a narrow 2 lane, with no places to stop and speed limit is 35 up to a max of 45 in some stretches. Pipelines run across the road at regular junctions, connecting to storage on the river bank.

Due to the inability of stopping--and a certain amount of post 9/11 concern about photographing a petrochemical plant, all of the pictures were shot from my moving vehicle with a "best guess" aim. The refineries read like a Wall Street dossier: Dow, Monsanto, OxyChem, IPCAgrira, the Three Rivers Nuclear plant operated by Entery, etc.



One after another, they occupy the area where people live, and animals live, children go to school, and cars pass by. I noted at passing OxyChem that my eyes began to burn and sting, there was a foul smell in the air even with my recirculation on the air conditioner rather than on fresh air.

A little further down, and I noted a site for the nuclear plant. I was taken aback at the site of it located right next to the Mississippi River, which empties into the Gulf, and in the midst of a community of homes.
I confess to a cold chill involuntarily running through my body, and a sudden increase in heartbeat and feeling of anxiety. Evacuation routes and emergency information "in the event of the siren blaring" advise where to go to information.
One of the many Mississippi River crossings along the way loomed overhead, filled with trucks.

Dotted in between the petrochemical refineries were small towns and historic sites. All of these are located on the road, right next to the river levee.






Miles and miles of sugar cane grow along the road, some immediately next door to a chemical refinery. I could not help but wonder if people are affected by the toxins released into the air, how much affect it had on the cane fields that produce sugar and syrup that humans then consume.

Evergreen plantation, an historical plantation open only for tours. There are still many working plantations along the route.
After a little over an hour of driving, I was still noting the same experience: refinery and chemical plant after another, interspersed among the tiny communities. Although I saw an occasional white person, the majority of the people I noted were African American. Proponents of the refineries argue they bring jobs and economic resources to the communities. The organized opposition--members of the communities--say they have benefited little from employment as they lack the education and skills to acquire the jobs. Many in the area have less than a high school education.

As with all controversy over big business and community interest, there are differing opinions. Some studies (some are financed by the chemical companies) indicate no risk of toxins. It has been noted from other sources here, however, that individuals getting their drinking water from the Mississippi have a much higher incidence of stomach cancer than those who do not consume it. Experts indicate that many of the studies on health risk are flawed and do not consider the data in a manner that allows them to detect the significant increase in cancer and other illnesses that are claimed. Local governments have also claimed that is is "outsiders" who are stirring up fears. (Apparently, throughout history, governments and big business have believed that a community never gets fed up all by itself, and that there is a cadre of trouble making outsiders roaming around looking to invent a problem where one does not exist.)

The community of Convent, Louisiana was able to create enough opposition to the location of the Shintech refinery proposed to be located there, that Shintech finally gave up the plan and moved to nearby Plaqueville. Residents were able to save their community, but the misery alleged to follow the chemical company merely relocated to a different area according to some reports. The support for location of Shintech in Convent was the lure of jobs. The community refuted that, citing statistics at how few benefits go to locals in the history of Cancer Alley, and noting that most of their community lack even a high school education. Local government blamed the agitation on "outsiders" again.
After over an hour, I was exhausted, feeling overwhelmed at the experience, imagining raising my children in such a toxic atmosphere which stank of fumes in many places. I wondered at the people who felt anxiety in the event of a chemical leak. In addition to the pipelines and river traffic, trains pass next to the road, loaded with cars filled with chemicals. Given that so many poor people in our country have no access to health care, I imagined their concerns about the health outcomes in their communities due to these increased risks.

As I headed back to New Orleans and waited in line to cross the Huey P. Long, a huge towering structure, I watched a train slowly labor up the bridge, the track running between the lanes of inbound and outbound traffic. The train bridge is higher than the traffic lanes, so a train accident would yield significant danger to the vehicles below. The train was leaving one of the petrochemical refineries, filled with who knows what chemicals. It began a pouring rain just as I entered the ramp to the bridge, and it was almost impossible to see even with the wipers on high. I missed my exit due to inability to see the sign.

As I sat on the deck later that night, my mind replaying all the events of the day, I found myself asking unanswerable questions, at least none we have answered so far. I wonder why we are so willing to poison our environment: our water, our air, our food, our land, in the name of money. There is sufficient evidence to indicate that rather than improving our lives, they have only made it worse. Common sense would tell us that putting cancer-causing chemicals in our food and water and air has to have negative outcomes at some point. Why are we so unwilling to invest in other alternatives if not for the fact that someone somewhere is making a hell of a lot of money using all these chemicals?

At least in the communities along Cancer Alley, there are some residents who are fighting back, with the support of those "damned outside agitators." Those outside agitators (we in community organizing prefer to call it solidarity and support for human rights) are necessary due to the hardship of ordinary people--usually poor and working class--to fight big business and big government.

For more information, you can simply google 'cancer alley New Orleans' and locate resources. In particular, www.seeingblack.com is interesting.

On a final note, as I sit in front of the window writing this, a black sedan pulled up in front of the house, and men in suits wearing sunglasses parked at the curb and watched me for a few minutes. Now if that doesn't raise your paranoia level, I don't know what would. Probably just birthday greetings from my government. LOL

New Orleans 9th Ward

It has been almost four years since Katrina devastated the 9th ward in New Orleans. The levee visible behind these steps is the levee breached by the surges from Lake Ponchartrain. Much of the 9th Ward was destroyed. It was the last area to be opened for return due to lack of electricity and water/sewer, so in addition to the damage from the storm, looting, vandalism, and time took its toll on the houses. Architectural salvage pieces were among the items stolen during the vacancy of the neighborhood.

Although houses have been repaired and the community is returning, many areas remain uninhabited and likely beyond repair.
Always a hopeful sign, a community garden struggles to find footing amidst the ruin.
Brad Pitt's foundation, Make It Right, has built affordable housing in the community, and there are new houses being built or planned. The concept is a "modern" rendition of the traditional shotgun or Victorian style houses that make up much of New Orleans and the 9th Ward.
Ecological features include solar heating and energy sources, and trellis work that is designed to support foliage that will provide not only greening, but shade.
New homes are elevated to protect against future flooding, and include outdoor living space on roofs as well as below the home.
Use of plants to shade outdoor living areas is part of the design, and also contributes to aesthetics of the development. In this design, a small upper deck provides outdoor space shaded from the west sun in the evenings.

Holy Cross Green Development Project has built these three homes on the opposite side of 9th Ward and has plans for additional development in rebuilding the community. These are located next to the Mississippi, and were named for the Holy Cross school, which was closed following Katrina due to inability to rebuild and repair the damage.

While it is heartening to see the rebuilding and new development in the community, the devastation remains clearly visible.

Last Grad School Class

Tonight was the final class for the summer semester, and my last class to teach this cohort of grad students. I have come to admire them, respect them, and enjoy them, but importantly, to learn from them. Last night I was trying to think about what I wanted to say to end the class. I remembered the first time I had to speak at the recognition program for the seniors at HSU. I had come in after the semester started to replace a beloved faculty member who had been with the program from the beginning. My colleague told me "Doris always gave them each a flower." First of all, I wasn't Doris, and never tried to be. Doris was a wonderful social worker and educator, and I learned much from her. I still use her theoretical framework to this day. I hope over the years that I have mellowed a bit and become a bit more nurturing, like Doris, as well.

But back then, I just knew that passing out flowers did not feel like me, and like it or not (the students) I was there and the one ending that year. Over the years, I would do different things to acknowledge them and their successes. As I shared with students tonight, I was not much on passing out flowers, but did like to share my words. There was the year that I quoted some obscure German philosopher about those of us who were "on the way" valuing the people in our lives who did not step over our mistakes but instead named them and helped us see what we needed to change to clean it up. There was the year that I gave everyone a new "gold" dollar and made the analogy how they were solid gold to me. There was the year I "gifted" them with things of meaning to me: my copy of Gilligan's In a Different Voice for the woman who discovered things about herself; a big green rock I found in a river bed in Colorado and gave to the student who was "a little green" (inexperienced), but solid, for example.

And there was the year that I gave the "flowers" speech. I said some of them were like roses, needing nurturing, and fertilizer, and just the right amount of water to take root and flourish. Some of them were like morning glories or night blooming jasmine, making a brilliant bloom at a particular time of day (or night) and then quietly receding. (Dandelions come later.)

Last night, I was sitting in the yard watching the birds and deer and noted the morning glories, the blooms all curled up, and was reminded of that year's speech. Then I noted how the vines of the morning glory were twined around everything in sight; one little vine, begun from one seed, had sprung up in one of my potted plants, wrapped itself around the trellis, reached out to a plant stand, wrapped around itself a few times to gain strength to move over to another anchor, and that all along the length of the vine were blossoms...which would produce a new seed when allowed to go to seed, which would make a lot of new plants from one vine.

Tonight, as I wrapped up the session, I shared the story of the first time I gave that talk. At the time, I saw morning glories and night blooming jasmine as somehow inferior, less than. I realized last night how important all those other aspects are--it is not just the blooms or the showy parts, but how the morning glory anchors all over the place, reaching and stretching, and if left alone, will come back up next year and the year after. I bought these seeds the first year I was here, in the summer of 2004. They are still blooming.

Last night I was reminded yet again of all I have learned over the years, and all I have learned since coming to Mississippi. I know that every time I attempt to teach, I do not always succeed. I reach some, do not reach others. Sometimes I am surprised at someone whom I reached that I did not have a clue was affected by me; sometimes I am surprised at not reaching the student with whom I thought I had a more meaningful relationship.

As I finished the class, I went back to the dandelions, and how I hoped for them to be dandelions. Dandelions are found everywhere--in the best manicured yards in the nicest neighborhoods, and in between the flagstones of the walk to the most dilapidated rusted trailer on some backwoods Mississippi road. They are in the cracks in the sidewalk in an inner city and in the park of a pretty little country town. Who has not smiled with joy at a handful of dandelions clasped in the hands of a child, who presented them to you as if they were the finest orchid? And when their time of blooming those sunny little yellow heads is over, seen a puff of wind blow the seeds hither where they take root and become even more dandelions in even more places? I want these social workers to be dandelions.

I am privileged to be able to teach here in Mississippi, where there is such great need, but also where there is such great passion. I have seen the possibility and the promise, and have been gratified to be able to contribute to that possibility and promise at times. And always, I learn, from each failure, each mistake, each thing that did not turn out quite the way I had hoped or intended. I cannot imagine a more personally rewarding moment than tonight, to be totally surprised out of the blue with their acknowledgement, and to hear an accomplished social worker, mother, grandmother, and professional in her own right who is highly regarded in the state to thank me for what I had contributed to her self-understanding and growth. I am always just a tiny bit amazed at moments like that. I tend to be more focused on seeing the student who looks withdrawn and not present, wondering why I am failing to reach her or him, and letting it define me, rather than the ones who are paying rapt attention, clearly engaged.

Many years ago, I attended a workshop training and at the end we had to rate the trainer. I gave our trainer high ratings in all but facilitating the role plays. I told him that was more about me than it was him, but he looked me squarely in the eye and said, "Not to me it isn't."

Saturday morning at the Taylor Farmers Market

The morning dawned a coolicious 70 degrees, sunshine, blue skies with just a few fluffy white clouds here and there. I drove out to pick up my new "friend-daughter" (I love that term, just learned it). I have been seeing this truck lost in the kudzu for the last week and wonder how much longer before nothing will be visible. It is a common site here, actually.

One cannot imagine how much kudzu is everywhere--a picture simply does not give an accurate indication of how overwhelming it can be in places.

The farmers market was already getting busy by the time we arrive a bit after 9. I got white bread here, for making tomato sandwiches. I have never had it, but was informed Thursday I have to try one.
There was the usual herbs, truck garden vegetables, especially tomatoes, lots of homemade jams, salsas, and pickles, and quite a variety of breads including white, banana nut, tomato, multi-grain, and strawberry tempted this bread lover.
Peach tea, lemonade, and lots of non-food items rounded out the offering. Jesse makes purses out of potato chip bags, and believe it or not, they were quite beautiful. He folds and weaves the bags so they look like woven leather, but are colorful. It reminded me of all the everyday items in South Africa with which people make functional items, such as crocheting purses out of strips of plastic bags.

Handmade soaps, stained glass, black smith made spoons and other items, jewelry, pictures, and wood turned items rounded out the selections.

Tatum and I bought some soaps, heirloom tomatoes (those are the ones you are supposed to use in your tomato sandwich) and I got beautiful little eggplants and peppers to saute with tomatoes and basil for my lunch.

All of this, and entertainment, too. A lovely country morning.

Adventure Based Counseling and Getting All the Money in my Pocket

Disclaimer: The pictures in this post are not of the class I taught tonight.

In tonight's grad class on groups, our topic was experiential group work, or what is commonly known as Adventure Based Counseling. I had really looked forward to the class as I love using ABC in my work, love teaching others how to use it, and in particular, really love this class and what they contribute to me.

First, our home air conditioning went out today and I spent the day in a hot house in tank and shorts, whilst the repairman worked. Not a particular problem until it was nearing 4 and he wasn't done and I had to be at work at 5:30. My phone was not working, so I was dependent upon email to let Rando know I needed help--and unlike a phone, email is not instantaneous!

Finally, the repairman achieved a "temporary fix" for tonight and left at 4:18 with the words he would be back in the AM. I jumped in the shower and arrived at work with minutes to spare. All that kind of frazzled me, so I was glad it was a night of teaching something that I teach a lot, use a lot, and thus, felt really comfortable with. That thought was not to last long.
One of the students and I had planned for her to illustrate the opening "ice-breaker." She had discussed it with me, and I was excited about her idea and thought it would lend itself well to the group. I liked that it was a new activity and thus, I got new learning from it as well. When I do this teaching, I use a technique where at times, the "class" is "the group" and at times, they become "the trainers." What that basically means, is they have to experience being the group activity, and then we talk about how that would be/could be used in a "real" group.

The student who was co-leading with me started off by telling a story of her graduation from high school, and taking action for social justice when faced with a situation. I--and later, as I would discover, so were the other students--was somewhat mesmerized with the story. Then she asked us to "introduce" ourselves by sharing our proudest moment--as she had just done.

One by one, the class members did. It was touching; sad; funny; inspiring; hopeful. I was reminded anew of why those of us who choose social work do the work we do: because we care; because we are willing to risk; because we look around, and see that there are things in the world that should not be there and yet, are, and we want to change that.

I think sometimes that is why I have such a hard time with teaching people to do social work. On the one hand, I think of my friend D Aguerro back in Tejas--"I want to be a gatekeeper--but I want to be the one opening the gate and ushering people through it, not the one standing in the gate and keeping them out." I, too want to be that person: how can I help not only students, but anyone with whom I come into contact, get through that gate?

I was struck by the people in class tonight--people who have been admitted into a masters program, and into advanced standing in a masters program, who shared dropping out of high school for various reasons, and yet are now in grad school--and thinking how powerful is the human will, the capacity for success, and wondering why--given that is so--that so many of us end up by the wayside rather than in this class sharing a story.

And then, before I could finish this post and the thoughts that I thought were so important, I had the opportunity to deal with 2 real life situations. That means that finding out how much money I had in my pocket, and whether or not the students were able to get it, would have to wait.

Fathers, Students, and Dogs

The good news: Chet's surgery for the malignancy on his shoulder went fine. Randy and J (who is in Abilene after his return from California Sunday) will drop him at his daughter's home on their way back to Mississippi tomorrow. After an overnight with our friends in Arlington, they will be back home Thursday. I have missed them both, and even though my kitchen is clean while they are gone (as I load the dishwasher each time I dirty a dish and then run it when it is full--what a concept!--I am still ready for them to come home. :) We have managed fine, but last night and tonight, the dogs have a hard time understanding why they don't get to eat until 9 p.m.

I came home from class tonight to find Rex (the German Shepherd) with a paper sack stuck on his head. He had opened the cabinet door under the sink and gotten into the trash and retrieved a paper sack with chicken bones in it. He was in the corner, trying to paw the sack off his head--after he had eaten the chicken bones, of course. While it was quite the amusing site, I opted to gingerly take the sack off his head as he was somewhat distressed instead of taking a picture. Looks like he did not want to wait until 9 to eat tonight. :)

The students? Last night and tonight were the two graduate classes. Tonight they had role plays for the engagement phase of groups. Most of them are experienced and quite confident in themselves as they lead groups all the time, or at least, some of the time, or at least have done one or two. :) One of the things I love most about groups, and teaching groups, and observing groups, is the concept that the group is a microcosm of life. That was certainly illustrated tonight.

I tend to believe that experiencing the "here and now" is what teaches us what we need to know and be able to do--in our own lives, as well as when we are "training the trainers." It was "role play" but because even in the roles we play, we bring who we are into the scene, it was real. There was fun and laughter; there was pain and deep emotion; there was fear and concern about 'doing the right thing.' I also tend to believe that we have the ability to learn from anything if we are open to the lesson--while understanding that being open means being ready and it is okay that we are each ready at different times and places. If I could "give" students one gift, it would be that they could be kind to themselves; that they would understand they will never know all there is to know, but that because they are here and engaged in this process of discovery with the rest of us who are on this current path, they are 'further along the continuum of development' than others who are not on the seeking path.

I know there are times to be the "expert" and provide answers. I know there are times to allow the student/client/other to provide the answer. It all depends: on the situation, and the judgment of the teacher/therapist/other as to what you do and when you do it. I think that is the part that is most exciting for me. I think of those times I have been least "sure" of myself, and what I learned from it.

Back in the 80s, I was asked to do a talk radio show on mental health issues. My initial reaction was " I don't know enough. What if someone asks me something I don't know." My friend and colleague and asked me, "At what point do you think you will know enough?" I realized then that I would never have all the answers all the time, no matter what I did. I did what I knew to do: "Feel the fear, and do it anyway."

My first radio show--I have a vague recollection that it was about working mothers--I often found myself listening more and talking less. I often asked, "What do you think about that?" And while I did know statistics and facts and information that the general public did not, and sometimes I shared them, it was much more important to simply hear people, respond to their understanding of the world, and challenge them to consider it might possibly be a different way. Above all else, I did not want to be the kind of talk show host who had all the answers--as none of them do, or who confront people for the opportunity to put them down--as some of them do, or to agree with everything they said and have the callers/listeners leave with out thinking that there might be anther way of considering the situation.

What does this have to do with the students tonight? That I love watching them reach their own understandings of how to practice in a way that meshes with their unique personality and style, that because I, too, have had to make that journey that I understand it and the importance of not saving them from their fears, and most of all, that I believe in them that they will be able to do this work.

Louis L'Amour wrote in one of his books: The trail is not the thing. The end of the trail is the thing.

I tend to believe that is true.