Limping Into The Christmas Season

The other day, while watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas Special with Sean it dawned on me that Charlie Brown and I oddly enough have a lot in common. No, not thinning hair or a lack of robust color in our wardrobe but that we both suffer from the holiday blues. He mopes around talking about how sad and depressed he feels during the holidays. He even pays Lucy a nickel at her haphazard psychiatrist stand to drone on and on about the commercialization of Christmas and lack of meaning. By God, he and I could bore each other to tears on end with our incessant brooding.

For the life of me, I can’t seem to find much motivation or direction to accomplish much these days. Not only do I lack organization or sense of accomplishments lately but it’s also coupled with a certain, unexplained frustration which I can’t truly account for. I suppose it didn’t help that shortly after Thanksgiving I managed to tear a calf muscle on my very first run down Timberline up at Mt. Hood. What a way to kick off the ski and holiday season. I had stopped in a rough patch in order to try to coax Sean down a steep spot in the run but to no avail. He tilted his head back, heavy with his shiny blue helmet yelling, “I want to go home!”

Not too long after my husband whizzed by, picked up Sean and skied with him to the bottom near the chair lift. I decided to start my way down but my uphill ski was wedged like an anchor in the wet, heavy snow and so I began to fall, almost in slow motion, too slow to release my boot from the binding, but hard enough to hear a pop of muscle coming from my right ski boot. Somehow I managed to slide to the bottom, ride the lift to the top and shuffle in my boots to the First Aid tent. My husband smiled weakly and said, “Will you be okay just icing it?” Which really meant, “Do you mind lying on the stiff army cot in the First Aid tent with your calf on a Ziploc of snow for another four hours while we get the most out of our ski passes?” Which of course I did, making small talk with the medics and watching my leg swell like a blowfish.

Two days after the ugly mountain mishap, my husband headed off on a planned trip to China (seriously, China, no joke) while I hobbled around getting the kids to school and activities, the shopping and cooking. That week might possibly have been the longest week of my life. Limping around the house, icing my calf on frozen peas, swearing non-stop underneath my breath and nearly falling into tears every time I would have to go from the gas pedal to the brakes -- the littlest tasks turning into heroic feats was just too much to bear. Without my husband I had little backup as far as Sean goes. And as far as Sean, he showed little understanding of why it took so long for me to get around or how come I would flinch so easily when he would come bounding towards me. My older son did his best to help out or run interference, but at only twelve years old, his schedule has begun to resemble that of a CEO of a Fortune 500 company and I have somehow been hired on without pay as his chauffer.

It has been almost a month, the calf has been mending quite well but my attitude is still in need of fine tuning. At least I am in good company with a certain Mr. Charlie Brown, who seemed fairly down on his luck and yet the Christmas spirit certainly snuck up on him and by the end of the special brought him great tidings of comfort and joy. So there’s still hope that I can turn it all around, I guess. Christmas is four days away. Here’s to holding out for a real sense of joy and comfort and peacefulness. That’s all I want for Christmas. I don’t need “stuff.” Just some happiness – and make it last.

Gratitude Walks

I read an article on line that sourced Dr. Andrew Weil as saying that being grateful can lead to good health and boost our immune systems. It’s the fall time, cold and flu season on its way and Thanksgiving is approaching, so I thought I’d give it a go. I’d venture out most mornings with the dog for what I called a “gratitude walk.”

October through early November couldn’t have been more perfect here in the Pacific NW. Abundance sunshine and unusual warmth, the maples and birches blazing in glossy reds and scorching yellows, fanned against the plush douglas firs and stiff pines. The dog nosed his way through the dewy grass, his body skimming the ground, collecting dirt and leaves on his belly and paws. I thought I was walking my dog not pushing along a Swiffer.

I walked briskly, purposely leaving my IPod back at home, only the sound of an occasional car, a breeze bustling through the trees or the creek water spilling over rocks and branches. I used the occasion to give thanks for the time alone without interruption and appreciation for the discipline to stay in the moment without letting my mind wander too much into the tasks of the day or the worries that seem to always sit nervously on the edge of my mind. I gave thanks for the sunshine that lit the trees and made the tips of the grass sparkle and kept my cheeks and hands warm. At the end of the walk I’d wash off the dog and make a hot cup of coffee and sit still at the dining room table watching the scrub jays fight over the bird feeder on the back porch.

Now it is mid November and the rains have returned. I am determined to continue these gratitude walks, even though the dog looks like a drowned rat by the end of the walk (as do I). The trees have given up the fight, like tired women stepping out of their evening gowns, the once vibrant leaves sit discarded in crumpled piles on the lawns and road. At times, the rain comes down almost sideways and stings my face and hands (if I have forgotten gloves.) I soldier on. I dig down and give thanks -- for the time and strength to move forward, to continue even when it’s dark and cold and seems hopeless.

This time of year begins the start of a struggle – for daylight, sunshine, happiness, fresh air and harmony. Sean and I are often out of sync with each other – cooped up and fighting cabin fever. I’m trying to be less cranky and more optimistic, not just for me but for Sean. I don’t want to lose sight of what matters and get lost in the sadness and busyness that often sneaks up this time of year. My edginess spills over to him and makes him more stressed.

Two weeks ago I was in Target and found myself trapped in an aisle of boxed Christmas cards, wrapping paper and ornaments while “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” floated down from an overhead speaker. The next aisle over was Halloween candy and costumes on clearance. I had the sensation of a pinball pinging back and forth, my head rattling and I couldn’t escape the aisles fast enough.

It seems to me in the rush to accomplish everything, there’s little time to enjoy the process. We don’t let anything unfold organically anymore – it’s all rushed, bigger and better. We don’t anticipate, or let anything soak in, marinate. We are too busy moving on to the next “big thing.”

I hope to continue these gratitude walks regardless of the weather getting worse or the season of Thanksgiving passing. For forty five minutes a day, I am engaged in the world at a natural, unscheduled pace, free from interruption and noise and unnecessary stress. I am guided by my little dog who experiences each new morning with such renewed purpose and wonder.

I’m sure my brain is much larger than my dog's (gosh let’s hope) but his sense of wonder and adventure hasn’t been spoiled or altered by unrealistic expectations, dread or a lust for instant gratification. He’s just thrilled to be outdoors, being in the moment. And for that gentle reminder I give thanks.

Tricks and Treats

A decade of Halloweens for Sean. This year he is Garfield the cat -- orange and fuzzy with whiskers and attitude. I can't remember all the costumes of the past -- I know there was a slew of superheros including Batman, Flash and the Green Lantern. One year he was the Incredible Hulk -- it was the same year he tripped on a rock about a half a mile from the house and screamed the whole way home. He gave new meaning to Bill Bixby's line "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

Another year he was Buzz Lightyear but I don't think we made it outside our cul de sac. After he received a candy bar or a bag of Skittles he parked himself on the stoop of the person's house and proceeded to unwrap his goodies and eat. After eight houses, a thick chocolate moustache, and a green lolly pop tongue, he was ready to pack it in for the night.

My oldest is on the cusp of thirteen, the teenage years. He seeks distance like a bee to a flower, giving me the duck and wave as he joins up with his friends. His costume is typical of his age -- a Vans sweatshirt, Levis and sneakers and a Scream mask, a pillowcase slung over his shoulder like a carefree shrug.

We even put the dog in a costume -- a hot dog. Not the most flattering costume for a dog who is half corgi -- who already is predisposed to heavy hips, a wide thick middle and short legs. He dragged himself along, his self-esteem surely taking a hit in such an unflattering, ridiculous get-up.

I stayed back at the house poised with a bucket of Butterfingers and Skittles for all the little ninjas, princesses, superheroes, raggedy anns and wizards at the door. Another Halloween here and gone like a blink of an eye. Where does the time go?

On a separate note, I recently finished an article about testing that needed to be done for Sean as part of a psychological evaluation requested by the county. If you'd like to read more, the article can be found at the following link: http://www.lifeclectic.com/2011/10/24/testing-1-2-3/

Have We Met In A Past Life?

About two years ago a young mom came across my blog. She had just moved from NYC out to Westchester County, a move precipitated by her youngest son’s autism. They had tried to make it work in the city but the public schools offered little and the private schools were exorbitantly expensive – costing them over $50,000 a year to get their son an education that would help meet some of his needs. Exhausted, disillusioned and hemorrhaging money they sold their home at a $150,000 loss, moved out to the burbs and rented a home in a good school district. They packed up their lives into corrugate boxes, left behind the life they thought they were going to have and at a tremendous financial and emotional loss moved away.

On her son’s first day of public school in the new neighborhood she worried as she took him to his new classroom. The school district had his paperwork and file and seemed to be able to give him the support and resources necessary to meet his needs but this was a huge transition, tough on any child but particularly a child with autism. She has an older son, too. Like my older son, her child is neuro-typical, but nonetheless, having to pick up and leave everything he knew and start all over weighed heavy on her mind. Did they do the right thing for both boys? Was this going to work out? There was too much at stake for it to go terribly wrong.

She came home, sad and scared and Googled something like “Autism Back to School”. My blog, which was considerably new, somehow came up in her search with the entry Life’s Lesson Plan http://autism--tearsofaclown.blogspot.com/2009/09/lifes-lesson-plan.html. The entry was about sending Sean to school and how my worries were heavy and how every start of a new school year seemed to be another moment of grief and distress; my child falling so far behind the others, his face growing into a boy’s face and yet his mind still so much like a young child’s.

She read my blog and commented. There was something so raw and familiar in her words that I wrote back and asked if she’d like to talk more via email. We did. It was the start of a very unique and lovely friendship. She would read my blog and be my biggest cheerleader or a strong shoulder to rest on and leave messages of hope, strength and kinship. She, too, began blogging about her move to Westchester County, her children, her life, her music (she is a talented and a much revered musician). I’d leave her notes of encouragement, e-mails of optimism and somehow, without ever meeting each other face to face, we were each other’s closest allies and soft place to crash.

When I knew I’d be coming out to New York I didn’t hesitate making contact with her to let her know. She was excited and told me she could drive into the city on the weekend to meet.

Last Saturday I met her for the first time in the lobby of the hotel where I was staying. She was sitting on the stiff modern sofa looking at a magazine. I said her name, she looked up and it was like looking into the eyes of a dear friend. I can’t tell you how good it felt to meet the woman behind the keyboard, who shared so much with me in life and loss.

We walked down 39th to a little café and got our coffees and croissants. There was no awkward silence. It was as if we had known each other our whole lives, talking, commiserating and laughing. We only had two hours or so and I wish it could have lasted longer. It was not enough time to make up for the past forty or so years of not knowing her but it would have to do.

When I first started blogging it felt life a relief, a container to hold all that I could no longer keep inside my head and heart. But lately I have questioned what it’s all about. Sometimes I feel empty inside, nothing clever to say or no words rattling around in my tired head. But seeing her reminded me of all that I have gained from putting my story out there – connection and friendship, feeling less alone and scared.

I have written more about my trip to NYC and what it was like to leave behind the husband and the kids for five whole days at Lifeclectic Magazine. Here’s the link: http://www.lifeclectic.com/2011/10/04/coming-home/
Also, my friend's wonderful blog can be found at: http://onceuponasnowflake.blogspot.com/

Measurements and Assessments

Back to school seems to always be a gentle reminder of where things stand. By things I mean Sean -- where he fits in to the whole scheme of school and academics. He is now a fifth grader, entering his last year of elementary school and by almost every measurement, he is far behind the academic standards of a fifth grader.

I know that I am not supposed to measure Sean's growth and development by comparing him to his "typical" peers. Sean is by no means a "neuro-typical" child. I am reminded of this by his doctor, the occupational therapist, my husband and my own inner voice but it's hard not to think of where he could be if it weren't for autism shaking up his life and world.


Let's face it. We live in a world that ranks everything and celebrates winning and success. It's not a bad thing -- it's just the message that's out there. I have to remember that some successes aren't huge and enormous, that maybe Sean being able to pour syrup over his waffles all by himself or zip up his own coat and snap his hood are huge successes relative to our lives. It's progess, moving forward and growing -- a sense of independence.

It reminds me to keep perspective. It is just fine to do small things well. It is just as important. Mother Teresa's message was basically that -- "We can do no great things -- only small things with great love." Isn't that beautiful? It gives me a hope that it's not the task at hand that matters so much but rather how we carry ourselves through on that task, how we approach it, embrace it and lend heart and help to it.

So going forward I am going to let go of where my son falls on a bar graph or a pie chart -- and remember to focus on the boy he is rather than where he ranks or what percentile he falls. He is so much more than that. We all are, really.

This post is further "thinking" in regards to an article I wrote in Lifeclectic Magazine. Please check it out. http://www.lifeclectic.com/2011/09/09/school-daze/

A Moment To Breathe

I have hidden myself away in a coffee shop in Sun Valley, Idaho. Alternative folk/rock pumping through the speakers, the whirl of milk being steamed and shots being pulled for lattes and morning Sunday chat are the soundtrack for my day. My husband drove me into town to have some "writing time" and I'm giddy with the freedom.

An old wire fan blows on my back as sunshine spills through the old, red clay windows and I type away taking breaks to gulp hot coffee. It's a nice break from the forest where we've been staying.

We made camp in an RV for the last couple of nights in front of my in-laws rental home. At night we open the windows to let in the cool desert air and starlight. The moths (is there such a thing as moth season?) are everywhere, circling the porch light and the screens, wings clipping and snapping keeping time with the river behind us.

I like the forest, but I think I'm more of a townie/city girl at heart. I could do without the dust and biting flies. But I do enjoy the openness, the music of river and birdsong and loose gravel. Sean and I took a long walk this morning while the others slept in. We walked to a lake where anglers sat on a bridge with their poles, the smell of fish and hay lifting from the fields. We walked over flattened squirrels and snake skins and even avoided what looked like moose poop. Sean skipped and hopped asking me to spell the words, "parade", "November" and "Joaquin". Occasionally a car would ramble past us but mostly it was just us and the dog taking advantage of the cool, morning air.

This afternoon, though, I have made it into town. Back to writing in coffee shops, without much interruption and plenty of inspiration.

I am posting a link to an article I wrote this morning for Lifeclectic. Feel free to check it out. It's called Soul Surfing. http://www.lifeclectic.com/2011/08/28/soul-surfing/

To Do Lists

With summer coming to a close soon, I should really be tyring to enjoy and bask in the remaining days. But instead, I've managed to bury myself in tedious to do lists in a futile effort to keep everything "humming" along and maintain a sense of normalcy (whatever that is). While working on an article I discovered why I am feeling miserable and by no means, enjoying what is left of long sunny days and warm temps.

Below is the link to what I wrote and what I will be trying to "accomplish" going further. Forget the organizing and alphabetizing DVDs, cleaning out the utensil drawer and labeling my son's hockey equipment with a label maker (and why do I even own one -- who was I kidding?). I'm ready to embrace something larger, more important and worthy of my time.

http://www.lifeclectic.com/2011/08/18/list-substance/