Counting it all up

Two discussions occurred in my house this weekend. Both of them involving mathematics. Bill came in with his laptop. He was taking a break from the heat outside and while wandering the internet decided to look up current research on ill-conditioned polynomials. When he was an undergraduate, he'd devised a computer program that was successful in conditioning them. Since he never published his paper, he has been watching for years to see if somebody else figures it out. So far no.
As husband's sometimes do, instead of going public with his methods and his findings, he chooses to explain them to me.
I'm not sure I really understand what a polynomial is. I can't imagine why one would want to be ill-conditioned or what might cause it to be so unstable nearing zero. (I guess cold weather makes all of us go a little nuts!)
But I'm a very good listener and I don't mind looking at little colorful grafts and charts. When Bill talks about this kind of thing, it's like a glimpse into an entirely different world. As strange to me as anything a fantasy writer could conjure up.
The second discussion was instigated by me. I was filling out forms for Leila. Some of these forms require that I use symbols like > and <>?
What makes sense to me is that the pointy side is littler than the fat side, so the pointy side should point to the number that's less. But somehow it can't just point to the lower number it has to relate to some other number, some number that might not even be on the form. So less than 50 has to be written <50>50. Huh?
I get so frustrated with this kind of stuff. I just don't get it. Even as a kid, and I was a fairly bright kid, I couldn't get this sort of concept. You know when they'd give us a row of three baseball caps facing different directions and the question would be "Which of these are the same?" Well, they were pretty much all the same. For me the two that were the same were the ones that were facing each other, because they were both facing each other. The answer that the teacher wanted was the two that were facing right or two that were facing left. Facing each other didn't count.
I've read things over the years that women don't pursue math because they are not encouraged to do so. That society expects women to be bad in math. That may be true. But I am absolutely stuck in a stereotype. And I don't like it.
When I come upon a math problem, the first thing I do is take a deep breath. I remind myself that I am a smart person, that math is logical and therefore I can logically reason it out. That if I just break it down into smaller parts and work those out, then I will be able to come up with the answer for the whole. Utilizing this process consistently, I find that 9 times out of 10, I still get it wrong. What's a writer to do?
Readers often ask me about my process and how I get complicated stories down on paper. I have to answer, that I really don't know. There are no rules in writing. There are no formulas, no tables of known quantifiers, no algebraics. It's just one word after another and somehow it all comes out. I wish I understood it all better, but somehow just doing, without knowing, has gotten me a long way. Maybe it could be stated like this.
X = 1 disciplined writer x 400 manuscript pages + (characters >=people you actually know) - all the stories you've ever read + a lot of hard work from editors, agents, publishers and a bunch of other folks I don't even know about.
Do you think those other people I don't know could be polynomials? Conditioning is all the rage.

Thanks Eunice

Eunice Kennedy Shriver died yesterday. I didn't know her, but she made a lot of difference in my life. When my daughter, Leila, was born, I didn't know a thing about mentally handicapped people. Oh, I'd seen a few growing up in my hometown. I had very little contact with them and spent even less time thinking about lives.
Then I was blessed with Leila. I used the term "blessed" but I have to admit, it didn't always seem that way.
When she was a baby, she was so sweet and so well behaved that people commented on it.
"She's such a good baby," people would say.
I would smile proudly and tell them, "Oh, you know God looked down on me and said, 'this woman can't take much. Let's send her an easy one.'"
It always evoked a little laugh from all those in hearing distance. And it was a modest way, I thought, of dealing with my excellently behaved little sweetie.
I remember vividly the day of her diagnosis. The doctor who examined her was pretty casual. I thought he was going to suggest more tests. I hadn't even asked my husband to go with me to the meeting. I thought I wouldn't need him. Leila was playing with the blocks. Playing and smiling. The doctor spent most of our time explaining to me his new IQ shorthand that he was developing. He thought he'd come up with a way to reduce the laborous testing for children. He could give a task and then determine the level of function based on how fast the boy or girl could accomplish it. He was so delighted with himself, he almost didn't get around to talking about my daughter. But finally he said, "I'd peg her IQ at about 38, she's severely handicapped. You'll be lucky if she's self feeding and potty trained."
I don't know, even with a million pages of explanation, if I could convey the shock and horror of these words. My beautiful, happy child was handed a future that was so sad, so without promise, that I could hardly bear it.
I almost didn't get through the rest of the day. Suffice to say it was the worst day of my life.
I read later that for parents of special needs children the worst days are the day of diagnosis and the 21st birthday. I've been through both of those now and come through okay.
I think Eunice deserves some credit for that.
I didn't know Eunice Shriver. I don't know what kind of person she was. I don't know what kind of things motivated her. But she did something very important. She, almost singlehandedly brought the lives of mentally handicapped people into the American mainstream.
Eunice used her influence and her celebrity and her own grit and elbow grease to bring my daughter and so many more like her, out of the back room and into the communities in which they live. Without her, there would be, of course, no Special Olympics. But there would also be no Public Law 94-142. Of that I am very sure. Without Eunice, my daughter would never have been allowed to attend public school in this country. And without public school, well the other options are only for the wealthy. In the last 30 years all of us have been astounded to discover what the handicapped are capable of doing. New inroads in special education have performed miracles for people whose lives, in an earlier generation, would have simply been wasted.
Today, my Leila, is self feeding and potty trained. She also takes care of her own laundry. clears the table, washes the dishes and waters the plants. She has friends, makes jokes and loves movies. She attends a sheltered workshop where she's actively employed and earns her own paycheck. She also has a huge display in her bedroom of all the medals she's won over the years in Track and Field, Bowling, Basketball and Golf. Her life is not an easy one, but it is a happy one. She's been given a real chance to fulfil her full potential.
Thank you, Eunice Shriver.