Joyce Lee on sun 11 apr 99
I can't stand it! I love writing and reading other's writing. Twisty
words, like twisty pots, appeal to my twisty psyche. My standards for
such words and such pots are as high as I can achieve and still be able
to function without becoming paralytic before the keyboard or the wheel.
BUT I am not dyslexic, dyscalculic nor disgraphic. If I were, my state
of paralysis when confronted with either machine would arrive earlier
than it does, and I might be rendered comatose, unable to write or
throw. I'd hope some kind souls would try to work through my web of
cockeyed syllables and see that I have a lot to offer if they'd just
slow up and give me a little credit for intelligence and creativity,
even though I might not be able to spell either term.
And I CAN relate to the various dys/dis functions because, while I don't
"test" as having a "dys/dis," believe me I have more than a few! I've
written about this before so won't totally belabor it, but I don't, for
example, intuitively know my left hand from my right (thank God for
wedding rings; reason enough to marry just to look down at that little
gold band and have confidence that there it is...that's my left side!)
(I do know top from bottom, however, jeez, think I'm a complete dork?)
North, south, east, west don't exist for my ilk except on maps...there's
just INSIDE and OUTSIDE. That's one of my reasons for loving the
Mojave...the Sierras are always in the west and they are HUGE...easy for
me to realign my body each day with my morning cup of tea and say,
"There they are once again. God didn't fail me during the night! Just
face the mountains and the north is on my right and the south on my
left...oh, s**t, forgot my wedding ring........ When some learned
non-clay person asks whether the wheel turns clockwise or
counterclockwise, I have to do a lot of hawing while I try to figure it
out one more time....embarrassing, but at least nobody is checking my
paper....Have a long list of can'ts...can't whistle, couldn't snap my
fingers for years (used to make the motion & click my tongue), still
have trouble tying my shoes...am knockkneed which inhibited my running
and playing crack-the-whip, played and ran, anyway, fell down a lot (BUT
I know that "a lot" isn't one word ... gotta' seize credit where you
can!)... thank goodness those tasks aren't components of our
intelligence quotients ...I'd be dead in the water. I can't sing
either...since my family was "musical," they sang even their "good
mornings"....I sang right back for years...until one day I was bluntly
informed by an ugly, dandruffy, ragged-hemmed, runs in her seamed
stockings, sweaty spots adorning her decaying black dresses,
should-never-have-been-allowed-in-a-classroom director (but "superior,"
of course, before a group of hopeful, captive kids just looking forward
to making joyous noises and traveling to the next town and trying out
our wiles on THEIR great guys) that, yes, I could join the choir but
please just mouth the words. My family was crushed; they hoped I'd never
find out! (And Mama Luce got the director good much later...Mama Luce,
my savior, prior to #1 Support Person.) I still sing in the shower and
think I sound great... I also run around OUTSIDE in that cumbersome
world where everybody knows where they are except for me.
And, David, it's not "apparantly"....wrong speling, chum.
Joyce
In the Mojave chock full of hundreds of directionality tales...bet you
have them, too...
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