The Parabolic Parakeet

Colonel Fitzwilliam

I sat with my Bible in my lap, a cup of tea at my elbow, and an ache in my tooth. An errant popcorn hull, hastily consumed during an action-packed DVD, has left me wishing I would have stuck to the more sedate snack options, like cheese. Later today the misery should be alleviated, but in that moment I found it hard to concentrate. I sipped tea, read and re-read the verses that swam before my eyes, and sulked.

"Squawk!! Screech! Screech! Squawk!!"

"Colonel, please!" I admonished

"Warble, chirp, chirp, SQUAWK!" he replied.

Now, I must elucidate here regarding our little budgie buddy. Colonel Fitzwilliam came to reside here at Wisteria Cottage over my objections, but due to my husband's pleadings. Our previous parakeet, Beatrice -- named after Shakespeare's tart-tongued gal, a very fitting name for that nippy bird -- had passed away fairly recently. Having reached the point of exhaustion due to all the pets and their respective needs over the years, I wished to welcome no others just then. We have reared MANY cats, a puppy, an OLD dog (lasted but two weeks around here before she begged to go to an older folk's home) , rabbits, mice, and hamsterS. (Yes that adorable little fluff ball was "with litter" and got that way soon after delivering the first set -- can you say "science project?") I implored Gary to allow me to enjoy a seed-free keeping room.

He pressured.

I resisted.

He begged to rescue this little parakeet from the horde of birds awaiting selection as Christmas gifts. "He was hovering right in front of me, how could I resist him? He wanted OUT of that madhouse!"

He pleaded.

I relented.

He brought home the feathered charmer. When that little birdie came out of the birdie box I smiled. I fell head over heels for the little critter. He was adorable. His green coat all striped and properly military in appearance prompted Lydia to christen him "Colonel Fitzwilliam" after Miss Austen's endearing character. I sweep seeds every day ... with a smile.

So, getting back to my aching tooth and the twittering bird ...

I could barely concentrate with the noise. I glared over at the feathered menace and found him fluffed up in a snit. A feather had fallen into his water dish. Clearly this bothered him. He repeatedly dipped into the dish and came up flinging water and sputtering, but without success. He would leap from the dish to the bar, run over and attack his cuttle bone furiously -- a real Rocky Balboa in action -- then hop back to the water dish and give it another try. Sometimes the feather would hang teasingly from his beak before falling; other times it would cling to the side of the water-flecked dish before slowly sliding back into the water. Frustration gripped the bird as he fluttered, flew, squawked, and sulked.

As I watched I took note of the beauty of his fully fluffed feathers. How grandly erect he stood as he indignantly admonished the floating feather. How strongly he took the cuttle bone to task. Lastly, I noted that the continual splashing and dunking he engaged in as he pursued the irritant effected a primping and preening of his coat. He looked grand and gorgeous. At one point he fell into the water dish and simply gave in to bathe instead of battle. He emerged from the dunking, flew to the perch and sang out in warbles of delight. Failing to remove the thorn from his side, he rejoiced instead at the benefits he gained in the process of trying.

Many moments passed, yet I sat transfixed. Though too distracted to read my scriptures today, I still manged to glean a parable from the antics of my birdie friend. Of late I have muddled over some pain and pressure (not unlike the tooth situation) that, while clearly of my own doing, hurts nonetheless and has thus far evaded solution. I relentlessly attack the offending item and yet success eludes me. Could it be that I, like Colonel Fitzwilliam, will reap unexpected gains from this experience while never actually removing the thorn?

I believe I will steep another pot of tea and ponder that for a while.

Sunday Wonder

"Water Baby and the Moon"

Jessie Wilcox Smith

* * * * *

So be truly glad.

There is wonderful joy ahead,

Even though you have to endure

Many trials for a little while.
1 Peter 1:6

* * * * *

I dedicate this verse and winsome image to all of my special bloggy friends spread 'cross the globe. I sat down with a teacup and a spate of time recently and commenced to wander and visit and read what you have celebrated, survived, created, and endured whilst I have been away living my daily bread. Much has happened in each and every precious life. I could hardly take it all in -- life vibrates in all corners of the globe. Tears flowed, joyous "hurrahs" rang out, and above all I felt touched by each and every one of you. You are all heros and heroines. Our world shows a cruel face at times, but we can lift our chin a little more firmly when undergirded with the promise that these trials shall only remain for a little while. The sun will shine again, the wind will turn to breeze, and the fragrance of a garden's glorious bloom will envelop us all if we simply gather the treasures in this moment and walk onward away from the trials. Happy journey, sweet ones. I pour forth prayers for you ... I sing with joy to know you all. : )

Choosing to LIVE with Autism

I heard the door slam. I heard the spit fly. I heard the scream. My blood pressure spiked. My heart sank. You may think I merely relate an episode of typical sibling rivalry found in just about every household around the world. (Well, then again, I’m not really sure if a Mongolian family living in a yurt on the desert dedicated to raising camels experiences this same kind of thing – but I’ll err on the side of inclusion and say, “I’ll bet they have their days too.”) No, I refer to something a little bit beyond the pale. Here at Wisteria Cottage we live with autism. I emphasize the words “LIVE WITH.” It frames our life, adding particular constraint, but we live our lives just the same as all the rest of the families who juggle siblings, chores, schooling, vacations, illnesses, and so on. Each day presents new opportunities to spread our wings, soar in the face of danger, smile at our progress, and land into bed at night with the satisfied exhaustion of knowing we gave it our all.

But what about “those” days? How about the time one daughter had her wisdom teeth out, another nursed the final stages of a cold, a third battled homesickness in a dorm 600 miles away, mom stumbled with exhaustion, dad staved off a compelling need for napping … oh did I mention it was 100 degrees and stifling as they all remained sequestered indoors trying to maintain sanity and meals and entertainment and education and THE CALM ENVIRONMENT THAT AN AUTISTIC SON PREFERS? [Now return to the opening lines of this post and read it again through that lens.]

I love choices. Every day I have many choices as I face the life God has selected for me. Some days I glide through with confidence and poise. Other days I resemble a PMS-infested, alligator-seeking wrestler. I want to speak to God and I want to do it right now! “Hey!” I bellow, “I didn’t read the fine print all the way to the bottom! I certainly didn’t sign on for THIS MUCH challenge! I can’t do it all!” Then I fall into a puddle of pity. Dramatic? Sure. True? Absolutely. I fall down in failure so often I’m amazed I have any knee cartilage left.

Now, I don’t need to add that most days follow a relatively regular course without so much collapse and hysteria, but I should point out that my son has autism EVERY DAY OF HIS LIFE. Always had, always will. You don’t outgrow it. You don’t cure it. You don’t even understand it. But you do endure it. You live with it. You manage it. You love him as deeply as all the rest of your kids, even though you have to work twice as hard to make a fraction of the progress. I’m not imagining some hypothetical life of attention to special needs – I LIVE IT!

Last night when I tuned in (on my laptop) to hear just what “Sarah” had to say and why I should think about supporting her, she spoke directly to me in words that I could have spoken myself:

Our family has the same ups and downs as any other ... the same challenges and the same joys. Sometimes even the greatest joys bring challenge. And children with special needs inspire a special love.

Now, I do not intend for this post or my blog to endorse or support any candidate (remember my header “Whatever is lovely …” – definitely NOT politics), but I do wish to include her words because they echo what I hear every day all around the blogs, in my local market, at my public library: We may be different/challenged but we live and love just like the “normal” families.

On a fellow blog I commented:

“I have always been amazed at the notion that if "I" couldn't imagine doing it then it must be wrong. How silly is that logic? I couldn't imagine just about every invention man has come up with (or even the few that my husband has blazed the trail in discovering and profiting from greatly), so are these great men and women wrong or bad or stupid for carrying out their course?

Often when people discovered I had a severely disabled son they pitied or sainted me on the spot. When they discovered I had TWO handicapped sons I floated before their very eyes. When my three daughters showed up eyes narrowed. When they learned I homeschooled they flipped. "I can't imagine how you do it ...” "Don't you know what causes this?" and other unsavory remarks quickly morphed into "YOU'RE CRAZY!" Hmmmm ... "they" couldn't imagine doing what I do EVERY DAY without complaint so "I" must be crazy? Hmmmm ... strange logic that DOESN'T CHANGE MY LIFE ONE BIT.”

Later I cruised over to see Karen at The Rocking Pony and read her wail of frustration over Micah’s fears and unmet needs in his new school situation. Her questions regarding a change, a boost, a pull, or a surrender echoed through the halls of my life. I have walked that pathway, but not in her shoes. I’ve been given my own set of clogs to wear and a calling that rambles over some pretty scary cobbled streets and rutted roads. Road map? Where can I get one? Assurance that I will always choose correctly? Sorry, fresh out. My only comfort comes in firmly believing that God created Matthew to be just exactly what he is: smart, attractive, loving, tall, ravenously hungry ALL THE TIME, difficult to reach, eager to be loved, willing to try so hard, unable to succeed in every activity … and so the list goes. My son: Just like every other human being on this earth, unless you insert the label “autistic.” Then all sorts of images, ideas, and prejudgments bubble up and froth all over his unique beauty.

Prior to May 26, 2004 we also lived with cerebral palsy and a host of other “afflictions” that rendered Matthew’s twin, Andrew, incapable of caring for himself. Though incredibly bright, our dear son couldn’t speak with a voice (he had to settle for eyes) or eat from a spoon (tube, please), but he had hopes and dreams and frustrations and joys just like every other person rattling around in this cottage. How did we manage then with such a “burden”? Simple, our whole family pitched in and lived fully with those challenges. When I watched little Piper Palin smooth down baby Trig's hair with a wad of spit artfully applied to her palm, I let out a “Hoot!” Politics went right out the window as I watched that precious little tyke loving her little brother. She knew he needed some hair care and being “special” didn’t have anything to do with it. She stepped up to the challenge and smoothed away. Every single member of our family learned to supply a special talent or timely action in the miracle of living a daily life of love and beauty and splendor without having all the “right” pieces to play with.

The blogdom, the neighborhood, the family -- places I go to be myself. I’ve never isolated myself or my family from the world. Do I fear rejection? Judgment? Ridicule? Sorrow? OF COURSE, but having a disability floating around in our midst has no bearing on that whatsoever. Life hurts. Life shines. Reality involves boo-boos and bumps of all sorts, but if you stop and look you’ll notice the beauty of a rose, the poetry of a butterfly in flight, or the refreshment found in the dance of a weeping willow happening in the same moment as the painful jab. Trust me. You can choose which to grab onto for support. Personally I’ve always found the upside of clinging onto the garment of a great-big God and focusing on the “lovely” parts of life.

When Andrew and Matthew burst forth into the world of wires, tubes, monitors, and fears, Gary and I stopped in our tracks. Stunned! I can still recall Gary’s firm, unwavering voice when he asked the doctor bluntly, “What’s the next step? What can we do?” We never wondered, “Why us?” (Though many asked.) We never gave up and handed the reins to someone else. (Though many suggested it.) We did reach out to any and all that offered help. We enjoyed prayers, meals, babysitters, comforting shoulders, and so much more. We met some of the dearest, dearest people simply because we had a need and they had a need to give. Funny, some of those “angels” embed into your life and remain life-long friends; others complete the task and then vanish quickly (likely, moved along down the road to help another).

My greatest heartbreak cannot be found in the loss of dreams for my son, or the heavy burden of care, or even the sorrow of prematurely burying a child. The greatest sorrow lies in the stones and slurs cast my way from those who could not imagine walking in my shoes. The terse comment against my judgment, the veiled gasp at my course of action, the sneering taunt that my child contributes less somehow because he navigates a different trail – these things BREAK MY HEART.

We choose to live with autism, but we did not choose autism – it chose us. When God spun the delicate web of my son’s unique life He included a thread foreign to most, but intrinsic to Matthew’s blueprint. Andrew’s myriad difficulties facilitated different treatment but didn’t render him “different.” Each child that landed in my womb and proceeded to my arms contained something “special.” Once a very dear and well-meaning friend noted that “it takes a lot more love for those special ones.” I smiled at her lovingly and let her know that nothing could be further from the truth. Love cannot be measured that way; I don’t dole it out like discipline based on transgression or failure. Instead, it is enough to simply love without reserve or fear or shame or compensation. I love my boys. I love my girls. I love to love.

So, back to the rising temper, the threatened tantrum, the frustrated outburst – yeah, it happens. Yeah, he goes to his room to cool off (and I go to mine as well, sometimes). Yeah, it can be VERY embarrassing if this happens in the public eye. Yeah, I love him despite it all. You see, we have chosen to LIVE with autism in residence. It’s a bummer sometimes, but when my son comes to me, spreads out his big ol’ arms and gives me a two-armed hug and a kiss, I know no amount of spit or screaming could ever outweigh the love I feel for this man-boy and every other person in my life that loves me and lives right along side me in this messy, topsy-turvy world.

Many of you blogger buddies have crept into my heart and burrowed in right alongside the ones I call family. Thank you for your greetings and prayers and shared moments. I like to think if C. S. Lewis lived today I would be blogging with him and he would encourage me with the following truth: “We blog to know we are not alone.” As I travel over the miles of cyber space I find so many that slake my loneliness, share my travails, and make me laugh. We reach out in words and pics to know that we are not alone. To quote another amazing “friend”: “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” Thanks Fred Rogers -- creator of that first cyber neighborhood -- you nailed it.

Matthew

Breathtaking Beauty. Poetry in Pictures.

I have recently returned to the Blogdom after an extensive time in my family cocoon. I admit I hesitated at the threshold of the conveyor-style pen-pal gallery this morning, wondering if today could afford the time stolen for a quick spin around the world. When I stopped in to see my dear friend Britt-Arnhild at her House in the Woods I found that she was away from home. But she left a few treasures for me to discover in her absence. This brought tears to my eyes and joy to my soul. I remember why I love to blog with all of you. Beauty, joy, encouragement ...

Dancing FREEly

Hello My Sweet Blogger Buddies,

I have been away for a spell caring for my family and living life on a daily basis. As I write this I can sigh and smile that all has returned to normal, save for a bit of swollen cheeks and a mere hint of bruising on Miss Lydia's part. The day she returned to the music room and I heard the glissandos falling from her harp I knew we had weathered the storm and calm had returned.

In returning to the internet, I noted that storms had sprung up in many lives. Thankfully my dear friend, Karen Deborah in Mississippi, has come through Hurricane Gustav without incident. Our prayers continue as the season of storms keeps going. Our heat spell has finally broken here and our evenings cool off, as does our house, and we sleep peacefully. Our deck-building project has progressed to the painting stage with railing due in a week or so. We had hoped to spend Labor Day on the deck dining sumptuously. Due to the ladders, dropcloths, and railing-free outdoor setting, we opted to take our repast in the dining room.

Now most of you enjoy family gatherings, cookouts, BBQs, and the like on this "holiday" and we do too. However, I did not plan, prepare, or cook a morsel (and I didn't last year either). Instead, a five-star Swiss chef descends on my pre-heated grill with the finest of meats marinaded to perfection, accompanied by delectable salads/rice dishes, and followed up with the most heavenly chocolate mousse I have ever tasted! (Sounds like a Faery Tale Friday post, right? I can just picture some of you scratching your heads and wondering if I jest. Well ... I don't.)

We've been blessed with a five-star-friendship in Karl and Lily Resch, proprietors of Swiss House . Many years ago we crossed the threshold of Swiss House in search of a festive meal (an anniversary celebration) and marveled at the excellent food and friendly European service found in our tiny Sierra town. On a subsequent visit Lily approached Gary with a question: "Are you a contractor? I need to hire somebody to install a light fixture for me." To make a long story quite short, he answered "No," then added, "But I can probably take care of it for you." He did and we entered the friendly domain of regular customers.

Time passed and the friendship blossomed. The following Christmas Karl gifted our family with a strudel of such exquisite form and flavor that it still lingers prominently in our memory: Delicate pastry, tartly/sweet apples, bathed in a vanilla custard sauce that makes my mouth water even now as I am writing with only a memory to stimulate. The next Christmas we invited them to join us for our family celebration as they have no family in range for gatherings. They accepted and I promptly panicked. Do you know what it feels like to realize that you just invited a five-star chef to your home for a meal (especially one with a reputation for having THE CLEANEST KITCHEN IN THE COUNTY -- I got that from a source directly related to a health inspector)? I prayed, I planned, I cooked and I CLEANED! They arrived with a delicious gift of mousse in a very large serving bowl (I don't need a vague memory of this treat, my thighs sigh out contentedly on that issue). We dined, we laughed, we celebrated with Christmas crackers and party hats and hugs.

Over the years, we have joined together to celebrate Father's Day, Labor Day, Chinese New Year, and so on. We have dined with them for Swiss fondue and Chinese Hot Pot or ventured to other restaurants to enjoy, Chinese, Japanese, and Thai cuisines. My palate swoons whenever we set a date for a get together We even purchased our outdoor gas grill when Karl suggested he would come and grill for us if we had a grill. We bought one and asked his approval. He smiled. We salivated.

Life offers us so many opportunities to learn and grow and love. Meeting Karl and Lily opened our eyes to a whole new world of European and Asian upbringings and cultural customs, unique memories of visiting numerous exotic locales around the world, and world-class restaurant careers, coupled with the unique love story of a Chinese woman living in Hawaii who meets up with an internationally-acclaimed chef -- well, you know ... the rest is history. The cultural and emotional aspects read like a fairytale, yet the reality of reaching for happily ever after as restaurant owners in our town took much hard work, careful planning, and the occasional risk. They enrich our lives and those of our children with wisdom and affection and encouragement to follow your dreams, but be willing to work hard along the way.

This past Monday found us all eager to get together, celebrate life over great food, and talk, talk, talk. We discussed Elizabeth's current journey away at school, Lydia's recent surgery and speedy recovery (she ate meat for the first time since the wisdom teeth removal -- she couldn't bear to pass up any of Chef Karl's fantastic creations), and of course politics and world events. Naturally the fast-approaching elections held center stage. Both Karl and Lily have been U.S. citizen's for over 35 years, but thus far only Karl has ever exercised his right to vote. Lily always preferred to abstain. But not this year! She came in the front door with hugs and greetings and exclamations that she had found a reason to register to vote and she was ready to do it. (I just happened to have the forms ready and waiting ... just in case.)

When Karl and Lily bid goodbye I paused with a lump in my throat when I saw her with that voter form tucked under her arm. Her enthusiasm to cast a vote rather than a stone reminded me that I once held unjaded and enthusiastic hopes each election day. Somewhere along the way I had lost that enthusiasm felt so keenly at my first ballot for president in 1980. Of late, I felt ennui in the face of the dirt and mud of politics-as-usual and saw little reason to celebrate the changing of a guard that changed very little (if at all). Lily's shining smile and eagerness to register for this historic vote buoyed my spirits. We have choices -- stark ones, it would seem -- and the privilege to make them. I felt a rising of spirit -- patriotic spirit -- to participate in selecting a government FOR the people, BY the people, and OF the people. Lily's smile muted the cacophonous braying of the media, the partisans, and the mudslingers. I heard a tune of freedom ... and I started dancing.

Karl and Lily Resch