It's All a Sham

So, remember me telling you that Don Wilson took off with the pillow shams while I was away? Remember STM saying there were only two people that could have taken them, Wil or Don Wilson? Well, that's not actually what happened. I decided the bed needed changing again, so I stripped it down to nothing. After taking off a set of pillow cases, I noticed something weird: there was still a set on. There were the shams. STM had not ever taken them off in the first place, he'd "stripped" the bed, washed, dried and put back on, placing the second set right on top of the dirty shams. "How is it possible one does not notice shams on a pillow?" you might be asking yourself? Well, I asked myself the very same question. The answer is one of the following:

A) He's a guy
B) He's virtually blind, even with glasses
C) He's performed this activity so few times in his life, he's still a beginner
D) All of the above

I'm not sure what the life lesson is in all this, but I think it's one of the following:

A) Just be grateful STM tried, and don't ask for perfection
B) If you want something done right, do it yourself
C) What you're looking for was never lost in the first place
D) Who even thought of the word "sham" and why did we think they were such a good idea?
E) All of the above

Lately, I've been driving myself 1000% (private joke) crazy analyzing myself to death. The effort to awaken is so so damn exhausting, well, I just want to go back to sleep.

I've been working with the what-you-seek-is-right-in-front-of-you idea. Could it be true that often we already have what we need and want, but what we don't have, is the ability to see it? Appreciate it? Get down on our knees and be grateful for having it? I believe I'm guilty of that. They say you'd give anything to have what you have.

Deep thoughts for the day:

A) What is a "sham" that I'm spending way too much time looking for?
B) What is not a sham, that I'm not even bringing into my deeper awareness?
C) What appears to be a sham, but is actually real?
D) What is real, but appears to be a sham?
E) Where can I get my hands on a good IPA?

Top 10 Ways to Throw a Stress-Free Party

10. Have it catered
9. Don't have it inside your house
8. Let the guest-of-honor be in charge of the guest list
7. Allow that there will be some "random" people, as a result
6. Believe there are no accidents
5. Don't freak when the day that was promised to be hot and dry, turns out wet, with thunderstorms
4. Believe that there are no accidents
3. When choosing your inner circle of friends, make sure that their love language is service - when they offer to help, let them
2. Have a beer and enjoy yourself
1. Believe there are no accidents, and the universe, and your village, always provides

A "Little" Gathering

In my garage there are seven borrowed coolers, 10 borrowed tables, 21 borrowed white plastic chairs, and nine borrowed green ones. More of each are on their way.

In my hall are folding chairs, 180 large yellow paper plates and 180 small. 180 large orange napkins, and 180 small. 120 red Solo cups and 50 wine "glasses." I have forks, forks, and more forks. We've been to Costco and have enough chips to feed a small country. My fridge is stocked with 2-liter bottles of pop.

Sunday morning my brother and I will go buy cold beer and ice. Lots and lots of ice. Weather is forecasted to be 97 degrees.

I've got a friend bringing speakers, Woohoo is making a 2-hour-plus play list ("no country"). Balloons, flowers, banners are in the works. Otto's Sausage Kitchen will arrive at 11:30 and fire up the BBQ, potato and fruit salads will be put on ice. Wine will be opened.

It will be a party.

Several months ago, feeling dread every time I thought of Wil turning 18, I threw out the idea of a party. It grew. It continues to grow. I actually have no idea how many people will be here on Sunday, but 112 have RSVP'd yes, and I'm sure there are plenty that will just show up.

How can I feel anything but hopeful and encouraged, with a guest list like that? An entire village  has made the whole party come together easily and pleasurably.

Wil is turning 18, and there's simply nothing to do but party.

P.S. The shams are still missing. 

Catching Up

My family reunion, sans family, was great. Lots of this happened:

I did get some sudden and violent illness, that had me out for 36-hours. I have theories and they range from a virus, to a spiritual cleansing. There's no telling, but it wasn't fun, and yet there are worse things than being alone in a nice hotel when you're sick.

If you've always wanted to know what I look like after being sick, without a shower or makeup, now you know. Still, I love this picture because it's of me and my sister-in-law, Sonam.

We found the lily pad pond we'd remembered as children, but hadn't been able to find in years.

When I got home, STM had thoughtfully changed the sheets. I noticed that two of the pillowcases were missing. I thought they probably were still in the dryer and just hadn't made their way back to the bed. After looking around and not finding them in any likely place, I finally asked him where they were.

"I thought you knew," he answered.

"They were there when I left," I said.

"They weren't there when I stripped the bed. There are only two people that could have taken them, then, Wil or Don Wilson. Since Wil lacks the coordination to remove them (they are actually shams), then it's Don Wilson."

For those of you that have followed this blog, you know all about my 18-year-departed father, Don Wilson, that loves to take things from our home, bringing them back days, weeks, months or years later, putting them right back in the same place from where they disappeared.

I'll let you know when those shams return, but I may have to break down and buy new ones before he does. The bed looks weird, and we can't have that.

I hope you all had equally wonderful and mysterious 4th of July weekends.

Am I the Only One?

Am I the only one that hates to waste cups and fill up the landfill needlessly?

Am I the only one that keeps re-useable Starbucks cups in her car, so I can purchase, guilt-free, both hot and cold drinks at my convenience?

Am the the only one that especially hates to drink beer from a can, and makes a point to buy only bottles (better for the environment, too), but occasionally breaks the rule for this, because it is just so damn good?

Am I the only one that drove to her favorite place on Earth, Sisters, Oregon, to attend a family reunion, but did not actually bring, oh, her family?

Am I the only one that was so happy she brought the yummy beer and the re-usable Starbucks cup, so she could enjoy this:

While viewing this?

Am I the only one excited to go to WUG where I will see almost all of these people, along the same lazy river, only 40+ years later?

Angels Among Us

Part of my blog inertia is due to the fact that in a little over two weeks, Wil will turn 18. I have been in a huge funk over this for quite some time, fear and dread dating back to 2012, at least. I don't want to apply for SSI, Medicaid, or brokerage services. I don't want to hire an attorney and basically sue Wil for guardianship, so that the day after he's 18, I will do the exact same thing as I've done the last 18 years, which is to say, pretty much everything.

"The reason guardianship is such a big deal," our attorney told us, to the tune of $400/hour, "is because people have abused it. The laws are set up to protect people. Second only to being incarcerated, guardianship strips an individual of his/her civil liberties."

I'm all for protecting the most vulnerable population. I'm all for civil liberties. I'm all for everything I'm supposed to be all for, but key-rist, arranging to have your "adult" child served papers, being vetted to prove you are not out for their "money," paying through the nose and filling out reams of paper, is just not my idea of a good time.

I could go on and on about the bureaucracy of the government, the endless red tape and tail-chasing, but you probably already know all you need to know about that. What I will tell you about, instead, is about the angels among us.

I called to schedule an 18-year well-check with Wil's doctor. I was greeted on the phone by such a competent and kind woman, whom arranged to speak to Wil to get his verbal OK, that I could speak in his behalf until the guardianship paperwork came through. She was sensitive. She was efficient. It was, dare I say, easy.

Fueled by the success of that phone call, I called Aging and Disabilities Services to have a couple questions answered. Got voicemail, left a message, did not expect to hear back. Lo and behold, Michelle called back, was gracious, full of helpful information, then later called me back again because she thought of something she forgot to tell me, that might be helpful. It was.

Feeling like I was on a roll, I pushed it further. I called Social Security to get an appointment. Yes, I was on hold for a full hour, and I heard the automated message no fewer than 60 times, but I had a cold beer and several days' worth of Facebook to catch up on, so all was not lost. Once a live person came on, she, too, was amazingly knowledgeable and helpful. Extremely.

The next day, feeling like we couldn't lose, I took Wil into the bank to do some necessary things prior to him turning 18. He was cooperative, and the teller was amazing. Turns out we needed to fill out quite a bit of paperwork. "Why don't you go across the street and get frozen yogurt. I'll fill it out for you." We did just that. We sat in the sun and enjoyed a lovely treat, and when we went back, the paperwork was complete.

There is no getting around the brutal maze of a disabled child becoming a disabled adult, but there is a way through, and that is with the help of many, many angels, both seen and unseen. And to all of you out there praying for us, thank you, those prayers are felt and much appreciated.

Love.

Hope for a Sea Change

I was never, ever, not under any circumstances, going to buy a Kindle, or any other e-reader. Never. Well, let me tell you, when my friend, Elizabeth Aquino published her memoir, Hope for a Sea Change, I started singing a different tune. Sure, "we" have an iPad, but "we" aren't very good about sharing it, as in, I can not so much as glance its way without Wil freaking out. Sure, I have an iPhone, but you name me one over-50-year-old pair of eyes that can, and will, read a whole book on a phone! So, I put it out to the Universe that I was ready to buy a Kindle, and wouldn't you know it, in less than a day I had my hands on a super great, gently used one, for a song. It was meant to be.

I devoured Elizabeth's gorgeous book in two "sits." That's quick for me, and you need to take into account that my already slow reading was slowed even further, because Elizabeth's writing is so beautiful, you don't want to rush over a single syllable.

Elizabeth's blog, a moon, worn as if it had been a shell, is one I've followed for years. This woman does NOT experience blog inertia the way I do from time-to-time, she is a prolific writer, and I've loved being a fly on her wall as she raises her three children in Los Angeles. I love reading about Henry and Oliver, The Brothers. I love reading about the tremendous cakes she bakes (she's a former pastry chef). I love reading about what she's reading about. But most of all, I love reading about her now 19-year-old daughter, Sophie, whom suffers from a complex seizure disorder. Hope for a Sea Change is a memoir of Elizabeth's journey through diagnosis, understanding, and a new understanding of healing.

Elizabeth has educated, uneducated and re-educated me about the benefits of medical marijuana. I went from thinking I knew what it was and wasn't, learning I knew nothing at all, to learning a modicum of the profound benefits of high CBD, low THC marijuana for patients with epilepsy. I learned all about the Realm of Caring, and Charlotte's Web.

(Early November 2013/January 2014)

The memoir will make you shake your head at What People Say. It will make you ache for the torture Sophie and her family have endured. And it will make you smile deep within yourself as you read, "... it would fundamentally change the way I looked at Sophie's disability, at the integrity of human beings, and at what healing and curing really mean."

Elizabeth has done much through the years to reshape what I think about things politically, poetically and philosophically. Her memoir will most definitely affirm the integrity of all human beings.

Available on SheBooks and Amazon for e-readers (only $2.99).

Unsubtle

Dreamt last night that Wil was upstairs sleeping, I think he was a baby. Candace came by and was talking so loudly, I was worried she would wake up Wil (when he was a baby, there was no worse sin).   Now, in reality, there isn't a more thoughtful and considerate person than Candace, but in the dream, she would NOT be quieted. Her voice got louder and louder until I finally swore at her, before stomping upstairs, abandoning her in my kitchen.

I woke up from the dream so discombobulated. The dream felt so real. I couldn't shake the fact that Candace would not be quieted.

Let's part-of-me this thing, shall we?

Part of me was sleeping.

Part of me was a baby.

Part of me went "upstairs" (retreated).

Part of me abandoned part of me.

Part of me would not be quieted.

Part of me just got louder and louder.

Part of me did not wake up.

Part of me got angry.

Part of me killed the messenger, rather than listening for the message.

Makes for a Very Long Day

Haven't been blogging for a number of reasons. I feel redundant, tired, discouraged, anything but inspirational. I could drag you all through that with me, but what would be the point? That's the other thing I feel - a sense of futility.

"You're in the dessert," my friend Candace said to me the other day. I had not thought about it in terms of that, but knew the minute she said it, that she was right. There is a sense of being dried up emotionally, creatively, energetically, intuitively, relationally, imaginatively, in all ways. Dried up.

I'm not feeling like the person I know myself to be. I know myself to be happy for others' successes. Excited about the future. Optimistic. I know myself to be resilient, steadfast, buoyant, even. I am none of those things at this time.

Went back to Wil's favorite "grocery store" yesterday morning, the Food Mart attached to the gas station on the way to school. His favorite gal was there, the one that said he makes her day whenever he comes in. I could tell he made her day this time, too, his ADHD enthusiasm over-flowing all over the store. However, this time she looked at me, smiled and said, "I would imagine this makes for a very long day."

It's been a long day.

It's been a long nearly-18 years.

It's been a long 51 years. My "story" of accommodating for special-needs goes back way further than Wil.

Candace says something new and beautiful will come from this time of being in the desert, this time of "rest," renewal, re-examination.

I know that to be true.

Hope for Humanity

Won't you join me over at Hopeful Parents?

Thanks!

Happy Any Other Day

It's not even 8:30 in the morning, and so far this "Mother's Day" I got up with the dog at 5:30 to feed and pee her. Tried to use the bathroom. Couldn't. Found the plunger. Plunged. Cleaned up subsequent sewage mess. Fed the boy. Wiped down the kitchen. Swept the floor. Started the dishwasher. Went to the grocery store. Walked the dog and picked up after her twice. Took out the garbage. Sorted the recycling. Emptied the yard debris/compost. Replaced the inkjet so I could print off a picture my MIL wants to see, but doesn't want to look at on my phone. Got the balloons, cards and gifts all ready to take over to celebrate everyone else today: two birthdays and "Mother's Day."

Happy Any Other Day to all of you living similar realities.

PDD-NOS

I went to an event recently where a speaker mentioned that more men than women make up the two "ends" of intelligence. "There are more males that are geniuses, and more that are..." and then she made a face - a stereotypical look I am still too shaken up to even describe here on this blog. This room full of over 50 intelligent, liberal-minded, "progressives," most of whom are moms, LAUGHED.

I have not been able to shake my subsequent depression. If we cannot get through to this population of people, in 2014, that it is not OK to disparage or slur ANY population of humans, then it feels hopeless that we'll ever spread the word.

I came home, fit to be tied, and tried to relax with a beer and a back episode of "Grey's Anatomy." Not once, but twice, the term "village idiot" was used. Naturally, there was no greater insult.

Really?

There is a pervasive derogatory disregard not otherwise specified going on in this country when it comes to those with an intellectual disability. Even in the special-needs world. "My kid has special needs, BUT he's really smart."

Must I fight to win the respect for my son,  even in his own world?

I'm glad your kid is smart. We need smart kids. What we don't need is a class system within a class system that separates, segregates and denigrates.

We don't need the media to go on unchallenged in their word choices and perpetuation of insulting terms.

What we don't need is people to laugh at things that aren't funny.

What we don't need is the status quo - unexamined attitudes and beliefs that serve no one, and are very harmful.

What we need is true acceptance and valuation of all.

What we need is mindfulness of our own attitudes.

What we need is love.

Orange

For the first 50 years of my like, I disliked the color orange. Might go so far as to say I hated it. Truth be told, I almost did not go to Oregon State because orange and black were the colors. I loved yellow and everything "down" from there on the rainbow, but was no fan of red, and like I said, didn't care for orange, not one little bit.

A funny thing happened when we started redecorating our living room.

Orange.

Orange crept in and I let it. Then I went in search of it. Now, orange is the major accent color in my living room, and I absolutely love it.

I've been doing some chakra work - learning about the chakras, the different parts of the body they correlate to, how to induce healing, clearing, energy, etc.  I learned that orange is associated with the second chakra, the sacral chakra, associated with creativity, amongst other things. I've also been reading about physical ailments associated with the different chakras, and let's just say, my second chakra could use some attention.

Do you all know about Richard Rohr? You should. I get his daily e-mails, and they are fantastic, very thought-provoking and helpful in every way. He talks a lot about the second half of life and how different our thought processes are (ideally). I will say this about being over 50, what you thought served you well during the first half of life, is called into question.

Orange is just one visual reminder to me that change is taking place - different perspectives, appreciations, needs and priorities are coming into being.

Blessed

Wil woke up extra "janked" this morning, off-the-charts. Went to bed at 7:30 last night and had seven granola bars for breakfast, on top of his usual breakfast (two pieces of garlic toast and six pieces of bacon). Growth spurt? Spring fever? Your guess is as good as mine.

"Care, we need to go to Food Mart on the way to school, there are things I need." For those of you unfamiliar with Food Mart, it is your basic convenience store attached to a gas station. There is nothing anyone needs at Food Mart, especially at 7:15 AM.

So, of course we went to Food Mart.

We walked in and our favorite gal (he's pulled this before) was at the register. She lit up when she say us. As he galavanted around the store loudly proclaiming, "I LOVE SHOPPING!" she looked at me and said, "He's a pistol!'

"Oh, for sure," I said.

The man that pumps the gas (one cannot pump one's own gas in Oregon), was hanging out in the store waiting for a customer. He looked at me and said, "You should buy him a Red Bull, I see that he needs help waking up!"

"Yea," I said with a forced laugh, "well, there's a name for this!"

As Wil made his way to the counter with all his necessities, Chex Mix and a University of Oregon water bottle for school and Laffy Taffy for when he gets home, the gal said to me, "He makes my day whenever he comes in."

Wil shoved his stuff into the collapsible bag I had in my purse, and he smiled at the gal and said, "Now, you have a blessed day!"

"You, too!" she said back.

"Oh, ALL my days are blessed!" he answered.

Amen.

Hi, From Devohn

Happy Easter Monday, everyone! When we woke up on Easter morning, this was hanging between two trees in front of our house. Those of you that have been around for awhile (THANK YOU), know all about Wil's obsession with Devohn, the Easter Bunny. Someone asked me yesterday how Devohn got his name.

Um.

How do any of these things get started? Your guess is as good as mine.

Now, at nearly 18, Wil is every bit as excited for Devohn to come and leave him candy (and quarters for the vending machines), as he was as a little boy. Maybe more so. "Care, some people don't believe in the Easter Bunny," he told me a couple weeks ago. The look on his face said, "Those poor schmucks."

Now, with the addition of not one, but two masses to attend, he was pressed for time to do an egg hunt before prepping for church, but don't you worry, he got it in. What he didn't do for the first time, however, was he didn't crack open each and every egg as he found it, scattering the contents all over the house for Flicka to go for, and causing me to have a panic attack. He collected all the eggs in a bag and put the bag in the pantry to be dealt with after church.

Not a lot was made of Devohn hanging in front of our house, until after he got home and was ready to resume the festivities. "Devohn is cute hanging there," he said. Several times throughout the day he looked out the window and said, "Devohn is still there!"

We have our sneaking suspicion who placed Devohn there for us to enjoy. Someone with a truck. Someone with a ladder. Someone with a helper. Someone that loves Wil. Someone that knows that Easter is a time of new life, a time of new hope, and a time of old faith in the things that can't be proven, but we know exist.

Like the Easter Bunny.

Good Friday

(Photo of our fridge calendar, which Wil has amended)

My post is up at Hopeful Parents. See you over there!

Happy Easter!

Blog Tour

I had the pleasure of meeting young author, Rena Marthaler and her mother recently. Rena is the author of Magic: The Crest.

How impressed are you that a fourth grader has written and published a book? I know. She tagged me in a blog tour, you can read all about it here. Because I know all of you are busy and most of you have been tagged in blog tours already, I am going to make this voluntary. If any of you would like to participate, please do! Thank you!

Below are my responses to Rena's questions:

WHAT AM I WORKING ON? Since my book came out in early 2013, I have been having a lot of fun promoting it in various ways. I've done a lot of book groups, a bookstore event, a couple fund-raisers, and I have a reading at a library coming up. I was asked to join a group of retired teachers that do philanthropic work, and that was an honor. I am looking forward to doing an event with Albertina Kerr, an organization devoted to children's mental and developmental health.

HOW DOES MY WORK DIFFER FROM OTHERS OF ITS GENRE? Good question! There are a lot of memoirs out there about mothers, in particular, and their autistic children. With the incredible rate at which autism is being diagnosed, and the huge impact it has on families, it's not surprising there are a million memoirs out there on the subject. How my book is different, is that it focuses on my own spiritual evolution through the process, my own "end" to suffering, if you will, arriving at a place of acceptance and even gratitude for the life I have - so different from the one I planned.

WHY DO I WRITE WHAT I DO? I believe we are all here to teach, that being said, some of us are more effective teachers than others. I believe my son came to teach us how to live without ego, without  any of the trappings we can so easily get caught up in. He came to teach, by example, a pure and powerful connection to the Divine. Free from all dogma, all fear, all baggage, if you will, he demonstrates a true spiritual connection that is inspirational.

HOW DOES MY WRITING PROCESS WORK? Hmmm... that's a tough one. I tend to write in fits and spurts. There are times (wonderful times) when what I write seems to be downloaded - I might be doing some tedious household chore, and all of a sudden a complete blog post or chapter of my book just "comes" to me. Other times I fight and fight to keep my butt in the chair and pound it out. I'm not disciplined enough to have a sacred writing time each day that I keep free from other obligations, although when I was working on my book, I would carve out particular hours/days/weekends to go somewhere and work on a particular part of the book.

I always admire writers that have a routine and firm boundaries around it. I am many things besides a writer, and for me, the writing has to fit in around all of those other responsibilities.

If you are a writer and would like to take part in this tour, we'd appreciate it! Courtney Sheinmel? Jenny Rough? Kario?

Stations

I came home from running around today and there on my doorstep were two bouquets of my all-time favorite flower, the tulip. And these particular colors/varieties are my favorite among favorites. There was a small card with them. Inside it said, "You spread joy every day." That's all it said. No name. Didn't recognize the handwriting.

Saw on Facebook that other friends were thanking the anonymous person that had left flowers on their doorstop today.

The Tulip Fairy. I love it and everything about it. 

I was reading something recently about how we can personalize the Stations of the Cross, making it a "today" event. Praying for 14 minorities that suffer. Praying for 14 places of war. Visiting 14 rooms in a nursing home. Writing 14 notes to people that are sad, afraid, hurt or alone.

Those ideas are all great, and I am all for them. That being said, there is nothing wrong with spreading the love to the regular folk, too. Finding those tulips on my front porch raised my own game and made me want to pay it forward.

Good is good and good begets good.

Be good.

Do good.

Amen.

Autism Awareness Day

I am always torn each year when this date rolls around. Awareness? Really? With 1 in 68 children, 1 in 42 boys being diagnosed with autism, is there really a lack of awareness that it exists? More a lack of awareness of the cause(s), and what the hell to do about it. I dare say, everyone is aware of autism. If you aren't, you will be. 30% increase in the last two years. Do the math.

The Vocation Cross

It is the tradition of our parish, to continually pray for those considering a religious vocation. Individuals  or families sign up to receive the Vocation Cross, and on the sign-up sheet they indicate which of the three weekend Masses they will be attending. At the end of that Mass, the priest says something to the effect of, "This week the Vocation Cross will be in the home of..." and that individual or family walks up to receive it.

After we'd been attending this parish for awhile, Wil caught on and wanted in on the game. He marched himself over to the sign-up sheet at the back of the church, and in huge bold letters covering two or three lines, wrote, "WILSON LINK." We came home, put that date on our family calendar and he mentioned his excitement to receive it, no fewer than two million times.

The first time he received it, he was nearly to the front of the church ready and waiting, before the priest had even gotten the first words out of his mouth. We brought the Cross home, prayed each and every day, and reluctantly returned the Cross at the end of the week, so that some other lucky soul could take their turn.

Sunday, it was our turn to receive it again. As luck would have it, my brother, sister-in-law and nephew were in town for Spring Break. Wil was so excited that his "brother," or cho-cho (Tibetan for brother), would be there to witness him receive the Vocation Cross.

As we entered the church the priest said to me, "Wil is receiving the Vocation Cross today."

"Oh, don't I know it," I said.

As soon as Mass was about over and the presentation was about to begin, Wil was out of his seat and halfway up the aisle. He turned to our section of the church and said, "I'll be back, guys." We all smiled and watched him nearly run to meet the priest halfway.

The priest said, "This week the Vocation Cross goes to, hmmm...., I don't know, oh, yes, it's the one, the only, the famous, Wil! I'm so proud of Wil. He has become my little helper, keeping me on time. Wil comes to both morning Masses because he just loves being part of this community so much, it's just tremendous."

Then, the church broke into spontaneous applause.

Wil has found that place where the needs of the world and his talents cross.