The illustrations for this week’s cover story in Phoenix New Times (my day job) are really remarkable.

The story is about mental health care in Arizona (or lack thereof) and the dangerous idea of hindsight, following a huge tragedy. Our art director started playing with the notions of Rorschach tests and optical illusions.

Here’s an interview with the artist, Kyle Webster, (you can see all the images, too) who talks about his initial trepidation in doing illustrations on this topic and how his own young child influenced this art.

In light of the events of the last week and a half, I decided Saturday to get a little bit brave myself. Nothing by comparison, of course, but this was big for me.

I sat for two hours and stared at adults with developmental disabilities.

Don’t worry, it was entirely appropriate — a production by Detour, a local theater company for adults with a wide range of special needs. They were all fantastic, performing two plays and holding a standing-room-only crowd’s attention for more than two hours.

You can learn more about Detour and its amazing founder, Sam, here.

I’ll be honest: It was not always easy to watch. I’ve barely dipped my toe in, when it comes to even thinking about the challenges of having an adult daughter with Down syndrome. And so I stared extra hard at the cast members with DS, wondering what their lives are like, where they live, are they happy? Most of them seemed to be that tamped down version of themselves — what I notice when I spy on Megan the bagger, in line at my Safeway. They have been trained to contain that crazy joy that explodes from Sophie, causing her to announce loudly last night in a Thai restaurant, “I just went poo poo!” Or to ask my loudly in Goodwill for her own bra. Or to tell me in Safeway that I have a “warm butt”.

I agree with Sophie that sometimes a good “poo poo” is truly a cause for celebration — and I get that you can’t announce that over someone else’s curry. And I suppose this theater thing is a method of channeling that energy in a good way. I get it.

I’m still not quite ready for it, though I was proud of myself for attending Detour. The first show was called “Honk” — an all-too appropriate ugly duckling tale. The players were cast marvelously, so that everyone had a role, and the leads were pretty terrific. It didn’t take me long to realize something, though it took me a while to smirk to myself that this was clearly a cosmic message.

The woman playing the Mama Duck was blind. Literally.

On Sunday afternoon, our little family was invited to celebrate with a good friend of Annabelle’s. It was the best idea for a birthday party, ever, and the simplest. Play-Doh. That’s it. Just two huge tables and dozens of containers of Play-Doh. The adults had as much (more?) fun as the kids. I made a family portrait.

I couldn’t help but notice that Sophie colored MLK her favorite shade.

I don’t know that I have anything to say about what happened in Tucson that has much more meaning than anything anyone else has to say, but a very nice editor at the Washington Post insisted otherwise, and this piece I wrote will appear in the paper’s Outlook section tomorrow.

It could have happened anywhere — but it happened in Arizona. And I don’t think that was by accident.

For the last day, I haven’t been able to get the tune to the Aerosmith song “Janie’s Got A Gun” out of my head. But in my head it’s:

Sophie’s got a gun….

I was interviewing a lawyer yesterday who does a lot of work on behalf of the mentally ill, and we were talking (because what else has anybody been talking about this week, in Arizona, anyway?) about gun control. And I asked him if he thought we should make people get mental evaluations before they can buy guns.

Good question, he said. He’s not so sure about that. But he does think the gun laws here are too lax. For example, he told me, you can’t get a gun if you’ve been committed, but plenty of very sick people have not been committed.

Maybe people with guardians shouldn’t be able to buy guns, he mused, then explained: Often the courts appoint guardians to protect seriously mentally ill and other vulnerable people; that means they can’t have a driver’s license in Arizona, he explained, but it doesn’t mean they are prohibited from buying a gun. 

Interesting, I replied, not making the connection right away, and asked, give me some examples of other people who have guardians.

Well, he said, someone with Alzheimer’s might have a guardian. Someone with developmental disabilites, and –.

A lightbulb went off over my head.

Wait a minute, I interrupted. You mean to tell me that a person with Down syndrome can buy a gun?

Well, yes, he said. Legally, they could.

I hung up feeling sick. Even my husband, the staunchest gun rights advocate I know (and yes, this has led to some ugly debates) has been heard to say (with love) that he’d never want to see Sophie holding a loaded gun.

HOW CAN THIS BE?

Yes, I realize that even in a place like this, a certain amount of self-policing goes on. Chances are that no one would ever sell Sophie a gun. But they might. And although the chances are even slimmer that she’d actually use it — both because she is a nice person and because I doubt she’ll ever have the strength in her fingers to pull the trigger — I could certainly see her buying a gun for a friend. A friend with a long rap list who wasn’t allowed to buy a gun. Not that I can really see Sophie making friends with a felon, but — you get the picture.

The picture (along with the tune) that I can’t get out of my head.

I’ve had so much food for thought over this past week that I need to go on a serious information diet. I wish Project Runway’s new season would start already. My head hurts.

Sophies’ got a gun….

Thank you, Cate, for mentioning this song yesterday after my post about The Weepies.

Cate wrote, “Oh, I love The Weepies. `World Spins Madly On’ is one of my most favorite songs ever. It’s a breakup song, but I always think about it when something unexplicable happens. (Like, say, shootings.)”

I looked it up. She is exactly right.

I saw this video where I get a lot of music recommendations these days — the Frances/Smeeks blog — a few weeks ago, and put the album on my Christmas list.

Last weekend I finally unearthed the CD from a pile of presents and the girls and I listened to it all day, particularly this song. It’s rare to love the melody and words equally in a song. That’s the case here. The video’s pretty good, too.

Be my youth
My kissing booth
My little sweet tooth
My beauty and truth

Driving to dinner for our 13th wedding anniversary, I played it for Ray. His tastes run more along the lines of Czechoslovakian death metal, but he had to admit it was pretty good.

I often feel that the responses to what I post here on GIAPH are far more eloquent than I can ever be, so in honor of the continuing effort to sift through the emotional rubble by Saturday’s events in Tucson, I decided to post some of the comments made to the post I wrote Sunday: Why Are We Raising Our Kids Here?

Some of the responses were left on the blog, some on Facebook. Each gave me pause and made me think. I hope everyone’s ok that I’m sharing; I’ll use first names only, just in case.

Kate wrote:
Well, I’m not raising children here but I guess my [perspective] is a bit different. I feel that truly, no area in our country, or the world or that matter lacks people like “crazy” arizona people. AZ’s had a tragic round as of late, but as I grew up there was Columbine in Colorado, Matt Shepard in Wyoming, the Okla. city bombing, U of Montreal shooting, Reagan assasination attempt, Ruby Ridge, Rwanda, Northern Ireland bombings etc. Heck the KKK began in my homestate. A state now giving a homeless guy a second chance. There is so much good in AZ, and everywhere if you find it. I have to remind myself of that and your post helped me do that. Raising children can’t be easy in this day and age….but as a non parent I can’t help but ask “When was it ever easy?” You’re a terrifically smart individual. If there were a top 10 of amazing places to raise children homes like yours would have to one of them…..even if that is in AZ with all the happenings as of late. I bet many parents in AZ would agree as you seem to–as that’s why you stay here. The world is fragile indeed.

Betsy wrote:
Well I am raising kids here too and I think Arizona is different right now. I could give you a list. We can start with the gun laws and go down the list with the others. I’m angry today and not willing to say it could be anywhere. I lived in London and had regular walks over the places where the nail bomber placed his bombs but I had no sense that it was something essential about the culture that led to this. Its different here. Don’t get me wrong, I know there is good here and there are people and things I love deeply and this state has become a part of me more than I could have ever ever imagined. And I do get defensive when I fly to Massachusetts and sit by people flying from Berkeley to Cambridge with only a stop over in Phoenix ask me how anyone could live here. We aren’t all like that I tell them. But the truth is that I live in a State which no only has a law against gay marriage but also a constitutional amendment, a legislature that repealed partnership benefits and allows concelled weapons without a permit. We don’t even need to mention the need to pass a regressive tax so that the schools and hospitals can stay open or the flagship anti-immigrant law. Shall I go on. It wasn’t a coincidence that it happened here. Yes these things happen in other places but yesterday it happened in a Safeway that I have been to, in a city I regularly visit and one in which I have good friends, friends with nine year old children. I am sorry but today I hate that I am raising my children here.

Carol wrote:
When someone, no less a twenty-something with questionable mental stability can walk into a gun shop and purchase an assault weapon, a weapon intended to kill many and kill quickly, and no one takes the time or energy to wonder what this kids motives are — this is the at the center of the problem. There will always be delusional people out there operating in society, We give them the means to destroy life by allowing then easy access to arms.

Yolande wrote:
Amy, you’re right to answer your questions of ‘why are we raising our kids here’ and ‘why do I live here’ by saying that it’s home.

The questions I found myself asking yesterday are more general about what it means about being human and why am I here right now… not just in Arizona but on the planet. I came to a similar answer to your ‘it’s home’ and that is to quote Alanis Morisette, “I am a citizen of the planet”.

I believe that we are in chaotic times and as much as I sometimes want the chaos to be more predictable I know that change in any system can only happen when the system is in chaos. A stable system will fight change. And, the current system sucks and we need a transformation to take place.
With yesterday’s events, I struggled to be accepting of the chaos, I found myself sad and dumbfounded because it is closer to home than the madness in the rest of the world. A Safeway parking lot! Yesterday, I did the only thing I could do. I went out to dig a big hole for a new lemon tree. I had to; I couldn’t allow myself to get discouraged or caught up in the drama of the news. I needed to feel at a raw level the sadness. So I dug at the hard desert dirt and as I dug, I got to thinking about how the right environment gives the tree a greater chance to grow. The tree has to do the growing, all I can do is make the soil a bit friendlier and provide some supplement nutrients and the right amount of water.

And, despite my efforts, there’s a chance that the location may just not be right but that is where I was called to dig and that’s where I dug.

Here in Arizona on this planet is where I find myself and my family (kids) and now the bigger question of “why am I here” is taking me to a place of soul searching about what is my responsibility as a citizen of the planet. What type of work do I need to do? Digging gave me blisters on my hands, a sore back, and a release and a clarity to know that I must keep at it even as the darkness of night approached and the air around me grew colder. It became more difficult to work but I couldn’t stop because I knew that I couldn’t leave the bare roots of my new tree to the cold night and to the javelina.

I don’t have the answers. Thank you for the questions.