The Language Link to Human Survival

It was the aha moment I had been thinking about for most of my life - without realizing it. Speech, not just language, is the link to our survival. I was shocked. I had felt its significance all along -for the past 3 decades - but had not thought of speech in that most dramatic way. Language and the expression of it was the key to learning but most important to our survival as the human race.

While reading the February 19^th copy of the National Post, a Canadian newspaper chain, I began to immerse myself in the chain of events that followed the Delta commercial jet crash as it tried to land on the runway of Toronto's Pearson Airport. The miraculous survival of the 80 passengers was indeed a story to tell. The details of this miracle landing with its trail of smoke and fire was riveting. How could anyone survive the crash? .Bu they all did.... As I turned the page I read about a different kind of miracle - that of human speech. It caught my attention in a most provocative way. There was a genetic link, the secret to our survival. It was a secret no more.

For decades I have enjoyed my subscription to Scientific America. But today's aha moment came from a newspaper where scientists from the University of Minnesota had discovered a genetic link to speech. I have always believed that the ability to speak is the beginning of learning and the building of cognition. but now it was more than that. (Scientists had been studying a protein variant found in our species to address our ability to speak. )

Telling little children to be quiet might not be the best route to follow as we try to teach them. They are innocent little scientists with no barometer of anything. They talk because they must. Their burgeoning brain beckons. The world is waiting. They must follow. Whatever we hear and whatever they say is reality in the moment. Correct pronunciation, though important, eventually, has no place here, yet.

As I have written previously, for a special needs child to learn, engagement is paramount in any way it manifests itself. Curriculum is irrelevant. Keeping things simple, structured, exciting, and sometimes very quiet for this unique child helps their learning style and life itself. (Balance is necessary in all we do.) 

Special education is just that - education that is special and working with yeast dough is the miracle at the center of this approach for them. Yes, the children are baking according to them. but more importantly they are learning to think, a crucial life skill for success and happiness. 

The  ultimate test for learning is speech. How else do we know what they know or want to know. It's the beginning of their evolution as a primary learner in the complicated world in which we live. (I was a former secondary school special needs teacher,  a parent of three former preemie boys and the recipient of an elementary education award for outstanding contribution.) Hopefully soon the magic will spread.

Extensive spoken language must be at the core of daily interaction with children. Who the child is takes shape through the medium of spoken language. Nothing else matters more. Hear me roar! 

Tied to a Post!

It was time for her to go. What better way than to tie her to a post in the frigidly cold night time air,  between zero and mind numbing temperatures, in an off leash park in Keswick, Ontario, Canada. Mother Nature can be so savage in her delivery. (A human nose can freeze in less than 5 minutes in mind numbing cold.) Parents have been known to keep children home from school on those days.

Dogs do not burrow into the ground during winter till Spring arrives nor do they hibernate till the warmer state of climes begins to showcase its sunnier side. Dogs kinda die a horrible death left on their own to figure it out. Dogs hide for warmth and protection, I imagine, but it is hard to do when they are glued to a frozen post. Thank goodness for the modern age of cameras everywhere. The precious 'pup', was seen on video, nearby, languishing next to its savior, an animal shelter. What a stroke of luck!

Responsible pet owners find loving forever homes for their beloved animal companions when caring for them is no longer possible. To tie an adult pup to a post in the middle of a nasty cold winter's spell at night where no one is seen is cruelty at its worst. Must be nice to be all powerful, Mr. human. How do you manage to look at yourself in a mirror from now on? An innocent was sentenced to death by you!

Why did you bother to adopt the dog? Did your children fail to care for it? Have you since gotten tired of the tiresome routine as it -the dog- decided to become more burdensome, just like that? Since when are children responsible for a living creature with multiple daily needs anyway?  ..Any adoption of a pet is a whole home responsibility. 

The video showed you dropping off your puppy- and she was that! You walked her to her place of death. The temperatures were mind-numbing. Do you know what that means? Of course you do. We all do. As you walked away to your truck she watched you, wondering why you were not taking her with you. She is a puppy, an innocent creature, the officials discovered. She trusted you but was now confused by your actions. How could you do that her, a 'toddler' of the canine world? What was her crime?

She was just learning about life. Giving her to someone else else would have been a better decision. In an off-leash park late at night in winter was a terrible choice of locations. The mall would have been better. But she had no say in what you did to her. Thank God she was found alive. ... Now she is with strangers and soon to be adopted. I pay homage to the world of cameras and videos. Those sometimes loathsome tools saved her life!

Every person within the confines of a group called family are duty bound in the care of any pet residing there. A bearded dragon lived with us over the summer one school year. I participated when called upon. It was strange. He was a prickly little thing. But I loved him, nonetheless.  One day, a power outage lasting 33 hours made me nervous.  Could he die? (The dragon requires non-stop heat and red light overhead.) Upon his death, later in life, and the death of our 16 year old cat, found on a country road one mind numbing -25 day, affected me in ways that defy anything I had ever experienced. Living with family does that. I had bonded with creatures the moment they became ours. Family is family, after all.

A pet deserves respect, care and a learning curve that honours its limitless intelligence. Where is your humanity? Nowadays, help is but a click away or a chance encounter with an animal shelter. There is no excuse. Your cowardice act was despicable. The animal was powerless. Was she hungry, in pain or thirsty? Do you know? Did you care?

Decades ago,we adopted a 3-month-old puppy. This precious mini Labrador Retriever was dumped into a massive park in Toronto, surrounded by busy streets, city buses and other animals. She was caught just before the 'slam' happened and she was ours for the rest of her life. We were moving up north to nowhere, nothing rented. We adopted her without papers or thought. She needed a home and we were it. (We were all homeless together.) We loved her, cared for her and protected her  till her forever came to an end. ... Her death tore me apart. 

We kept one of her pups, born in her second year. Her 8 other children were sold quickly, at nominal price, to help cover the costs of care. Never again. (Animals given away might be treated with less regard than those 'paid for'.)As new owners in the world of dogs, we never forgot to neuter our jewels at the right time. To set them free in the freezing temperatures of a Canadian winter is beyond belief. 

You took the time to adopt this precious creature yet discarded her later with no thought. Did the seller care who got her? Did the almighty dollar dictate? She was powerless with no rights. But she does have them! We all do!Taking her anywhere for help was better than what you did. And you knew it!

And More Fries.......

We were on our way home that afternoon from a family visit. I had not eaten that morning. Suddenly an offer of an ice cream cone was made. Sure, I responded. I'm a big girl. I can do whatever I want. As we motioned into the drive thru of the next McDonald's, another thought came to mind. "I'll have a medium fries with that - no salt". It just seemed to be the perfect duo, totally self-indulgent with no food value in sight. I knew the line I was crossing but no one but my husband and me knew how low I managed to go..

There would be no evidence of any wrong doing. Our children were grown and living on their own with children of their own. They would never know what mom was doing. I drink Chinese teas - oolong, green matcha, green, white and others. (I know a wrongdoing when I see it)  Then there is hibiscus, dandelion root and others, too numerous to mention but a reminder that I behave much of the time. I love salad and need it to be happy but not just now. I needed to do what I needed to do.

The ice cream cone was devoured in record time. It had to be. It could not wait. The french fries were waiting and I was not going to eat them warm or cold. And the temperature was rising that summer's day. Time was of the essence. They arrived perfectly done. They were delicious. My brain had been smitten by his momentary lapse of judgement. Ice cream and fries? Who does that? Me.That's who.

I knew what to expect with those fries here. The whole takeout process is regimented and timed carefully. When predictability is mandated, I know where to go - where the fries are perfectly cooked. There are food protocols in place. I knew what to expect - hot fries, golden in colour with no added salt. I was satisfied and truly comforted by it all. 

It has been two weeks since that afternoon's misguided decision to eat fries with that, a processed sugar dominated ice cream cone. All of this on an empty stomach, too. No one knew. It was our little secret and I felt fine. When I got home, a proper meal would be made. Since I love mashed potatoes that might be included. Locally grown potatoes with grass fed butter and organic milk. Organic when it makes sense. Grass fed butter, too. Greenhouse or NON/GMO helps in my decision making. Organic might be the standard but it is rarely available where you shop for groceries. And sometimes the cost is too high with low grade produce. Choices need to be made.

I'm sure I will do this again down the road. Since I do all of the cooking using an air fryer, pressure cooker, I deserve a change of pace. I knew the rules. My standard was non-existent that afternoon. I cook everything and try new things. Today, I made coleslaw with pineapple. I learned about this recipe as a diet supervisor at the world renown cancer facility, The Princess Margaret Hospital in Toronto, Ontario Canada decades ago. Was delicious then. Still is today. Even my pierogy dough is better today using Italian 00 flour, a flour slowly dried and traditionally milled in Italy. I wrote about its importance in my diet years ago. 

The other day on my way home with my husband, I was a girl who cooked but wanted fries now, predictably satisfying and done right with no salt.  I'm o.k. 'cause today my passion is leftover homemade roast chicken with  lots of homemade stuffing. (No ice cream or fries in sight.) 

I was happy again.... (Momsey's stuffing is mostly diced organic celery, red onion/yellow, dill, saute'd in olive oil,  with added poultry seasoning,  or sage, marjoram over diced or processed sourdough bread, mixed slowly with added water or broth and egg, as needed.  Stuffing can be baked in a loaf pan, rolled in parchment paper on a cookie sheet or directly into the cavity. Different ways to cook stuffing making it available year long. Love my stuffing sandwich!..... (Definitely, no fries with that!)

Do you Need Fries with That?

Recently, we stopped at a New York Fries Booth at our local mall. I was getting hungry and there were no leftovers at home for two. I cast a glance at the simple menu. I loved it. I'm a simple girl with down to earth tastes. Hot dog and fries were on my list. Simple and cheap.

At some of the most prestigious eateries, where fish and chips are main features, the fries were over done -(unhealthy and undesirable) and arrived salty when the request for none was given. There was no uniformity at all.

I was joyously surprised when I asked the young man at the New York booth if the 'just golden' in colour and 'no salt' added was a tall order to fill. No, he said. Then I saw the menu listing hot dogs. Nice touch to my take-out food order. I ordered two. The excitement was palpable. If the hot dog was less than expected. I would not order it the next time, just the fries. But alas it was more than expected. The bun was flavourful, delicious with a tender crumb; the hot dog, perfect in every way. The fries, a golden colour with no salt, were delicious. ...Oh My!

A new destination was now on my dining list. We shared the fries. The meal was a hit with a reminder to return and for my husband to order his own. With an air fryer available, leftover fries can be reheated so easily, replicating my visit to NY Fries.

Salt is the silent killer in our vast processed diet with fries being the main target for its delivery into our bodies. No thank you. I will salt if needed but there is no need. Salt abounds all around us in the toppings, protein choices and other foods we eat. Now we have a 'new kid on the block'- seasoned fries, a euphemism, in my opinion, for salt, because it is. 

This new twist on fries has 'head office' making the decision that we need more salt, Enough already. No thanks. My choice not yours. Salt is the sneaky ambush in our food. The food landscape is awash with many types of cuisine and simple food ideas at unbeatable prices. Choices abound: online, on foot and in person! We are not children. I can meet any low standard required in my kitchen. But sometimes I want to escape without fuss or bother.  

My 6-year-old grandson makes breakfast often, I hear and does a mean pasta and pierogy. I love both, homemade preferred. The taste difference is remarkable and oh so delicious. No degree required.  Takeout, take note: the rebellion has started. A new generation is here. Get rid of the excess salt and I'm yours.

Holiday Baking with 00.

Holiday baking is an exciting time.. New recipes or new twists on time honoured ones become a research ritual for those of us looking to experiment. What I have noticed lately is that sugar seems to be a central figure in some recipes while gluten is a concern in others.

In one recipe, 8 cups of sugar were required to dress up a cake. More cake and less filling between the layers should be the order of the day. Lots of raisins and figs wherever they fit in can remove the dire consequences of sugar. These dried fruits have a diminished affect on the human body with their low allulose sugar content. I adore raisins and dates so am happy with that newfound knowledge. Cooking the raisins or figs like dates in a pot with lemon and water to a sticky pudding-like texture and using the mixture in recipes requiring a sweet taste matching batter colour to the dark colour of these delicious dried fruits can be a boon to health.

Lately, I have tackled the subject of gluten, the protein found in most flours that glorifies all baking. Gluten can oppose the thyroid hormone. They are like sisters. Gut health is paramount to overall health. So choosing 00 flour, processed in Italy, can be that first step to freedom in baking. 

In Italy, wheat gluten is processed traditionally with slower drying and milling methods. How can any of that be wrong? Our gut is kept healthy with this respectful and protective approach to flour milling in Italy. In lieu of this light bulb moment, I have been using Italian 00 flour with abandon. I also learned that Italian flour can have a higher than normal gluten content also. Really? A gentler approach to milling grains in Italy allows the gut to adapt to a weaker gluten network. Good news all around. Here comes pizza, an easy and healthier food with a salad on top.

My 6 year old grandson has taken up making homemade pierogies along side handmade/homemade pasta. He now tastes the difference and loves it.  Cleaning his area is now a new skill he is learning. The small 1 kg. size bag of  00 Italian flour is a perfect size for little hands and perfect for teaching, too. The mess can be contained with parchment paper nearby. He foccuses on dough manipulation and knows that learning and listening go hand in hand. Pretzels and croissants will be the  gold standard in 2025 for us to make.  Maybe holiday baking will simply take place year round. It will if my 6 year old grandson has any say. ......

 

Somewhere Else or In the Kitchen

I entered the pet store to return the puppy food in exchange for the adult version. It was senior's discount day. Though my 'puppy' was 11, the formula for a real pup was too rich for him. I had a question to ask. I looked around and saw Mary, the mother of 3 young boys who was forever happy, always smiling and engaging.

I added more food to my cart having exchanged the pup food then waited. With a lull in activity in this retail pet store, we began to speak. Though my 15-year-old dishwasher stopped working days ago, hers had never been. Mary did not own one. My work schedule at home was a daunting one at times but hers was always daunting, with added dimensions -3 energetic young boys. She accepted whatever came her way with grace and a smile.That was who she was.

She works full time, somehow, while doing all the dishes without 'help'. In my own case the details of the holiday unfolded day by day while the planning of those details, locked inside my head, changed. Cabbage rolls, pierogies, and nothing more. There was no room. We had visited our 3 adult boys, their incredibly talented loving wives and 7 grandchildren. I could rest on the floor with my former 4 legged charge where I belonged. A nap might happen. With Mary, she was here, somewhere else or in the kitchen, a nonstop mover and shaker. She won hearts with every client engagement.

The whole Christmas dinner was hers for the making and she did that with ease and grace. Drinks, anyone? I might but not her. She had lots to do and a clear mind to do it... Being a wife and working mom is work of the highest order demanding precision throughout the day. Glamour rarely belongs in the life of a working mom of 3 but it could, someday. 

All the days of Mary's week are covered. Nothing is left to chance. (She delivers take-out one day a week to finish out her weekly schedule).Whew! She was tired today. So was I just listening to her. I understood, When did sleep fit in? She needed those 7-8 hours but probably used a few doing other  important things

Her smile and perfectly coiffed hair resonates with her audience: the customers who walk in needing dietary pet help with a new puppy or an old one, a garment for this wintry holiday season for the loves in their lives - the dogs and cats they adore. Even the toys for dogs and cats are perfectly displayed for all to see and feel, too. They are perfect gifts for little children, durable, squeaky, soft and huggable teddies of the top quality kind. Mary's boss, the co-owner of this delightful pet emporium, offers me hot apple cider. She was ordering and helping customers, too. When did she have time for that personal touch? Had she the time for sleep, too? I wondered.

Mary's lists never ends, always adjusting, always changing to fit in a time slot that just opened up. Every little thing gets done, though. It has to. That is her family portrait. A quick look in the mirror to check and out comes the cover model ready for all to see. No one knows except other busy moms the labour of love that manifests itself every day. 

These vivid snippets of life for working moms and wives repeat themselves daily because that is the way it is. Modern life is like that, sometimes. A breath of fresh air when storm clouds appear. Mary smiles and is grateful for it all, being ready and available to do what it takes. All challenges accepted. A pleasure to know her.

Mr. Rogan, Just Thinking. ...

I watched the brief clip of you with the president elect, Donald Trump, engaged in friendly banter on your podcast, Mr. Rogan. The relaxed exchange of ideas, thoughts and laughter were a pleasant departure in this age of unsettling digital technology. Later that day, with my adorable 86 pound Wiggler by my side, I heard yet another guest comment on the rule-implied or stated- of your 3-hour conversational limit. In that moment i realized i could fulfill your mandate.

Your podcast is rated #1, worldwide, with a daily audience in the millions. In a month your tally could be in the billions. Wow, what a monumental feat. Mr.Trump opened up a new world for himself by accepting your invitation to appear on your podcast. It was a new age communicating tool for him to explore. It would be for me, also. My message is clear.

Special education has resonated with me for decades. I was asked to join the primary intensive language classroom of the school our 3 boys attended by the primary lead teacher of the class. It was 1994. Yeast dough was born, this educational tool, a 5 sense brain stimulation program for special children. It was higher order thinking at its best.. 

Questioning and language skills were highlighted  because of this new approach and the miracles began to happen. Conversation - not baking- was the intent of this well thought out dough program. Coloring was not on my to do list. And then the revolution began, lasting nearly 5 years. (Other passions - animals, music/dance - integral parts of a healthy learning spec. ed life)

In the Fall of '98,  Dr. Marion Cleeves Diamond, world renown neuroscientist, called me at home early one morning about my higher order thinking program for special children. It was about using yeast dough in the classroom. In her work Dr. Diamond was using mice; I, children in regards to brain stimulation. I was validated that September. (I had written her weeks earlier about her work, similar to mine)

The power for children lies in being able to think for themselves. I became a parent of a preemie son, born over 3 months too soon. The year was 1979. The study of the preterm infant hadn't begun till 1980. Books became my lifeline. Two more sons followed, 3 boys within 4 years, all preterm and ready to play for life.

Core Knowledge, a U.S. lesson sharing teacher organization, garnered my attention one day. It was a futile attempt on my part to connect with them. I tried two years in a row. Letters to 200 U.S. Boards of Ed. followed next with little response..Was the 'thinking' part of my letter that turned them off? I wondered till I wondered no more. Let's play follow the leader, not always but sometimes and only when it makes sense. common sense. Move on, momsey, move on!

My first day as a mom laser focused my life's purpose. It was the day of his homecoming- one month ahead of his original due date at 5 pounds, 2 ounce. What did I want for this tiny human, my son? It was then that I realized that a thinking child was a safer one, a happier one, a smarter one, one who did not need me there to think for him. He would know and it would be one less job for me. My application form was already full! 

What each child desires, if only momentarily, has to matter. Self-worth was on the line. Using 'no' as a standard reply played no part and served no purpose in raising our boys. Giving them the tools for the desired result was always the name of the adult game. You want it, you earn it. Simple and direct. Worked every time. The playing field was uneven: the power structure, one way. The teen years would soon show me the result of my 'no curfews, thinking man's' directive.  And I was just girl.

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As a former secondary school special needs teacher/ music enthusiast,  17 year elementary school parent volunteer, an award winner, pet parent for over 53 years and counting, a grandmother to 7 under 7 and  blogger. Conversation is the cornerstone to success in life. I gave 3 speeches, all humbling and gratifying experiences. I was instructed to write by an 18 year old girl, a musician and company president. Her boyfriend, my son, designed the MomseyBlog- 12 years ago.

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A year ago, during a 2 hour 'junior podcast', we entertained our grandsons, 2 and 5, inside the cavity of an 11-year old Chev. Avalanche parked in an outlet mall. Santa pictures had just been taken. For 2 hours, as mom and dad scurried about to finish their holiday shopping duties, grandpa and baba engaged in conversation with these young 'scientists' with questions and problems, keeping them busy, thinking and actively engaged. The interior of the truck became their playground. With boots removed, the boys climbed, laughed, drew, spoke and queried us all. Being peppered with questions became a game, a comical one at that. 

How many white cars are parked over there, I asked?..How many three wheeled cars are there?("None, of course, baba"). "Why not", I asked? Because......Why are there different numbers painted on the sky high windows of this mall? “Where are we?” “What do you think?” Explain please... “Everything is fine”I replied when mom and dad called, 1 hour later. The fun an unending exercise for all.

With smiling faces and hugs aplenty, they surprised me, again. ”That was the best time ever, baba” Yes, it was my precious boys. It certainly was.