Stark Naked and Overdressed

Sunset In Progress...Happy New Year

2010-01-06T17:27:00.000-08:00

Happy Anniversary

2009-09-29T23:35:00.000-07:00

This is Pepper. She's happy because she has all of her toes.

(I would use a photo of Olive's current state, but Scott doesn't want to see her until her fur grows back.)

Last week was eventful. Poor Olive Dog had to have another toe removed (cancer scare). Last time it concerned her right front foot. That was two years ago already. At that rate I figure she's got enough toes left to serve her well through the end of her days. This time, it was an offending toe on her left hind leg. It had to go. Since we've had experience, we didn't hesitate. The sooner, the better.

The nice thing about dogs is that they don't behave like humans would if we were to lose a digit or two. Dogs don't realize that something like lopping off a toe could have their human catering to their every whim with homemade meatballs, sympathetic glances and lots of love and attention (more than usual, I mean). They don't worry that they'll be treated differently because they're suddenly less than perfect. They're not babies when it comes to surgery. Olive hopped into the car straight from the recovery room at the vet's (a little unsteady, but still enthusiastic) and looked at me as if to say, "I'm feeling better! Let's get outta here!"

Shortly after we got home, I injured my hip, I think due to a combination of schlepping boxes and hoisting my recovering Schnauzer (that's not a metaphor for anything). Olive went back home with Jillian, who provided excellent post-op care. I cancelled my plans to go to the island, since walking is a major activity for us there. The weekend was spent instead catching up on TV while the Aleve and bed rest did its thing. That strategy worked. I'm perfectly fine again and so grateful.

Last week we also celebrated our wedding anniversary. Scott and I were married on the island on Fall 1st (my favorite season) five years ago. Fall 1st is our official anniversary, instead of tying it to the specific date. The morning news mentions the changing of the seasons, so it's a built-in reminder of our wedding day. It's worked every year so far.

Since I'd cancelled my trip to the island, we spoke on the phone that night. "Five years," I say. "Yeah," Scott says, "I remember our wedding like it was yesterday. I can think of a million reasons why I'm so happy that we got married."

What a sweet thing to say. I remember our wedding too, but that's for another story. My female side prepares to hear some tender, thoughtful sentiments, but my logical side knows I'm in for some interesting and honest Aspergian insight. A million reasons? Really?

"Name seven," I say.

Without hesitation he says, "Well, it adds an extra layer that makes it harder for you to escape." That was unexpected and I laugh out loud...he's so honest in his innocent delivery of a line like that.

The next benefit he mentions is, "I've noticed that people figure that if I'm married, I must be more normal than I seem." "Stop there," I say. By now I'm certain all "million reasons" are along similar lines. That's sweet enough, really sweet, thank you. Romantic too...very nice.

Quickly sidetracked, we went on to discuss the government site he found online that, among other things, posts and discusses Obama's memos (the most recent detailing a collaborative, translucent government, which is another topic Scott writes quite a bit about). He's now joined their membership and enjoys the site as a valuable sounding board for his ideas. He's excited and happy, and I'm happy for him.

Though we've never really exchanged anniversary gifts, Scott asked about the traditional gifts for a fifth anniversary. I looked it up and read that wood, representing strength and a solidified relationship, and silverware, representing connectedness, are the traditional and modern gifts associated with the fifth wedding anniversary. We're more than covered since we're using plenty of wood on the incredible home we're building on the island.

Notice Scott's Grinch T-shirt. Notice all the wood.

As for connectedness, silverware isn't as modern or appropriate as the Internet in representing our connectedness, since that's not only where we met, but what keeps us connected to most everyone else in our world too.

Like you, for example. Thanks for dropping by. Come back again soon...

The Better You Look, the More You See

2009-09-22T08:14:00.000-07:00

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvellous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.” ~Albert Einstein

With that in mind, I try to include a few things in my morning routine that support the desire to inch toward a healthier mind and body as I careen through my 50s. I'd like to avoid slipping off of the tracks for as long as possible. I'm not always successful including everything in the routine, but it doesn't stop me from trying.

The list for the body:

The Magic Cloth

A few stretching and breathing exercises.
Some dental hygiene and a shower that includes a good scrub with something called a Salux that Scott discovered. While it initially seems like punishment (it's so scritchy), it quickly becomes addictive.
Some creamy emollients to ward off dry skin after that scritchy thing.
A few minutes using a percussive massager (I bought it for Scott, but it was too intense and he never liked it) to pummel my flesh into prime Kobe beef (my daughter's description). I can tell when the sound changes that things are being positively affected by this activity. (The less noise, the better.)
Some comfy clothes.
Some coffee while I feed the critters.
Omega 3s (fish oil), vitamins and a huge glass of water.
Oatmeal with flax seeds and soy milk (Yes, I'm a true California native...why do you ask?).

The list for the mind:

A few minutes learning to play the bass (then a few more minutes and a few more minutes).
A few minutes spent with something inspiring or thought provoking that's unrelated to my usual bookkeeping and/or other mundane tasks. Usually something from Ted.com.

Today I watched a fascinating talk by Oliver Sacks. For me, hearing him speak passionately about his life's work is like being read the most engaging bedtime story. I lean in, I smile...I don't want it to end...I love Oliver Sacks.

If you've got 18 minutes, this is a fascinating and often humorous discussion of hallucinations that blind people can have and other odd visual manifestations the brain provides. Eyes are apparently not always a requirement for vision. I was particularly interested in how the brain processes cartoons, since I'm such a huge fan of animation. He also discusses the geometric light flashes that people with migraine headaches sometimes experience.

About this talk

Neurologist and author Oliver Sacks brings our attention to Charles Bonnett syndrome -- when visually impaired people experience lucid hallucinations. He describes the experiences of his patients in heartwarming detail and walks us through the biology of this under-reported phenomenon.

iPhone "Art" in Two Minutes

2009-09-19T14:17:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I found Bernice on top of the secretary desk in the family room. I've never seen her up there before so I took this photo with the iPhone, opened the App "Photogene" and applied an "effect":

I like it!

Here's another example I did last month with my own eyeball:

Step One

...and cropped...my new User EyeD

I've since taken "eyeball photos" of a few friends and applied the same "effect". The willingness that my friends have to offer up their eyeballs in a split-second for an iPhone photo without so much as a "Why?" delights me to no end. This one of the eyeball of Dion Wright, my amazing artist friend, truly needs no filters...it stands on its own with a tremendous amount of character in one shot:

But here's what happened after the filter was applied (if it's too dramatic, refer to the peaceful kitty photo above):

Here's looking at YOU!

Life as an Aspergian Female

2009-09-14T13:13:00.000-07:00

Look Me In The Eye: Life as an Aspergian Female

Wow, just wow. The link above is to an essay of an Aspergian female who posted as a guest at John Elder Robison's blog. All I can say is she articulates her experience amazingly well and in plenty of detail. I know Scott would agree with much of what she says there (outside of the bit about aliens and Christ...but he wouldn't discount the rest of the essay for that indiscretion).

PS:
Scott read the essay and related to it, as I expected. We both left comments at the site. Mine was in defense of her perspective and Scott's was in response to reading her essay.

Emotional Blindness

2009-09-14T10:21:00.000-07:00

In a conversation today, I referred to people with Asperger's tendencies as "Aspergian" and thought I should Google it to see if it was politically correct to use such a term. It linked me to an excellent article by John Elder Robison, who is the author of Look Me In The Eye: My Life With Asperger's.

His topic, "Are Aspergians really rude and inconsiderate?" His discussion about how "emotional blindness" works for an Aspergian is excellent. He gives real life examples, including how he and his wife deal with the situation.

When I first noticed Scott's inability to read emotional cues (and often make inappropriate comments), I felt as though I should scurry behind him, listen in on his social interactions, and mitigate any inadvertent hurtful comments he may have made during the transaction.

My love for him wanted to protect him from his own misunderstanding of a situation's emotional perspective and impact. This proved to be a big job. Early on, I decided not to take on the duties of the "nice" police. I gave up and figured either people would "get him" or they wouldn't. C'est la vie.

It was hard at first, being the mate to a man who seemed so inconsiderate, blunt and succinct to others meeting him for the first time, but it's also freeing to just watch it all play out. You learn a lot about people. Plus, generally after a half hour or so in a new social situation, Scott disappears altogether, going for a walk or somewhere to read. I used to worry about that since his sense of direction is so poor, but I'm over that too. He's been on a few anxiety-producing adventures, but I haven't lost him yet. Life on an island makes that much easier, too.

John Elder Robison contributes to a blog at the Psychology Today site, which I hadn't discovered before and will be visiting often. The November 2008 article and blog are here.

My favorite excerpt:

"Sometimes people ask me, "What kind of person should a guy with Asperger's look for?"

I can't speak for you, but this is an answer that's worked for me:

People with Asperger's have very weak sensitivity to other people's thoughts and feelings. But we often offset that with exceptionally strong logical brains. Therefore, we are wise to seek a mate with exceptional emotional sensitivity and less logical brainpower. Then, our mental abilities compliment each other's. One of us has great emotional intelligence, and the other has great logical intelligence. Individually, we're each weak. Together, though, we are very strong.

Of course, your mileage may vary."

PS: I just found John Robison's personal blog/website, which is here and looks to be an excellent resource too!

A Tweet Worth It's Chirp

2009-09-12T19:22:00.000-07:00

Jason Goldman tweeted this today:

I liked Jason's bio, which reads, "Flipped my wig at age 22 and it never grew back." When he "followed" me, I "followed" him to return the favor. If a tweeter's bio makes me laugh, they deserve a follow (in my imaginary rule book).

This is a "ReTweet", which means he received and liked something from someone and passed it along to his "followers". When you click on the link, you go to a photo on Flickr that was supposed to have been taken of the thunderstorm in San Francisco last night!

Click here to see this amazing shot: http://vb.ly/24p

A Landmark Day

2009-09-11T11:33:00.000-07:00

September 11, 2001. Our world would never be the same. The air felt different, as though Earth had been enclosed in a sphere filled with a tragic intimacy that spread over the consciousness of the entire planet in an instant.

Something else happened that same day 35 years ago, but since 2001 my son-in-law has been unable to enjoy or acknowledge his birthday with any gusto. Images of an event that changed the world eclipse any possibility that he will forget for a moment and allow himself a selfish indulgence on this day.

Being a Marine means a lot of things, and I can't pretend to completely understand, but I recognize the intense loyalty and respect that John exhibits daily for his duty to his country. I read something once that drove home the full meaning of the path he's chosen.

A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check that read "Payable to The United States of America for an amount up to and including my life."

Our Master Sergeant John has served two tours in Iraq, and will likely go to Afghanistan next year. He is the epitome of the Marine Corps motto "Semper Fidelis" (a latin phrase meaning "Always Faithful").

He's added so much to our family that I can't believe our good fortune. The joy I have as a mother, knowing that my daughter found a mate who brings laughter, love and music into her life (and our lives) is a gift I am grateful for daily.

Happy Birthday John. We love you. Monumental things happened on this day, it's true, but it's a landmark day for us because you were born 35 years ago. Without you in it, our world would never be the same.

USMC ODB (Olive Dog Bryan)

2009-09-09T21:48:00.000-07:00

I miss Olive, and it makes me happy when Jillian sends a smiling dog photo my way. A lot more dressing up of the doggies goes on at my daughter and son-in-law's house. Olive seems proud of her military status.

On Human Emotion

2009-09-07T08:21:00.001-07:00

It may seem like a breach of privacy between a couple to post something like this, but I honestly think it sheds light on a point of view that may be common to Aspies. Early on Scott gave me his permission to write anything about him from my perspective. I've received emails from people who feel helped by the posts concerning my take on Scott's outlook. Both Scott and I agree that if a post alleviates someone's pain or provides a path to understanding, it's worth the slight discomfort it may cause the two of us.

This one gives some insight into Scott's opinion on the utility of human emotion. He emailed me the following after he read the posts I've written about him on this blog:

----- Original Message -----
From: "Scott Bryan"

To: "Allyn Bryan"

Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 12:01 AM

Subject: a thought after reading all your blogs about me.

> my emotional pool is as broad as an ocean, but nowhere deep enough to drown even a cat.

>>> On Sep 7, 2009, at 6:37 AM, Allyn Bryan wrote:
>>>
>>>> Good visual...is that how you really feel or is it how it feels to you after reading my perspective?
>>>
>>>> Sent from my iPhone

----- Original Message -----
>> From: "Scott Bryan"
>> To: "Allyn Bryan"
>> Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 7:58 AM
>> Subject: Re: a thought after reading all your blogs about me.
>>
>>> The latter. But maybe the former too. I don't think about emotions much because they seem so artificial. An ancient technology for providing guidance before an internal model of reality can be developed to replace them with genuine understanding. Emotions are always plan B.

>> On Sep 7, 2009, at 8:10 AM, Allyn Bryan wrote:
>>
>> When you say it like that, I can understand your perspective clearly. I think that's the best summary ever. It explains so much about how you and the world interact. When the knee-jerk reaction from 95% of skinware (people) is to use emotion and or intuition as plan A, you diligently discount its utility and replace their flawed perspective with sound logic and reality that takes into account the broadest, long-term perspective. They resist...they resist...as you continue to add building blocks to create a foundation of understanding for even the most emotionally-based human. It's a big job you have in this life...

Even if you say you don't think about emotions much, you certainly feel deeply about things....is there something else to call that feeling?

> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Scott Bryan"
> To: "Allyn Bryan"
> Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 8:14 AM
> Subject: Re: a thought after reading all your blogs about me.
>
>> Aw shucks...I do miss you.

----- Original Message -----
From: "Allyn Bryan"

To: "Scott Bryan"

Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 8:15 AM

Subject: Re: a thought after reading all your blogs about me.

> That's sweet, and made me laugh...

Is it just me, or did that exchange evolve into what amounts to a "romantic" email? You wouldn't expect that when his opener evokes the image of a drowning cat. (I've got more questions about that analogy. It's as though if he did get hit by something like a "deep emotion," it would definitely need to be held underwater until it expired.)

I've been on the mainland for quite a stretch now, with infrequent and/or brief visits to the island...I think he noticed. No worries, soon I'll be a full-time islander.

Thoughtful Husband

2009-09-06T11:49:00.000-07:00

It means something a bit different when used in reference to my husband. This is an excerpt of an email Scott forwarded to me. It's in reply to a nice note from his mother about his blog.

Thanks Mom,

But I think a lot of these ideas are actually part of a perspective on life I deduced from you. I'm not sure our philosophies are different, I just have more experience trying to express it in writing most likely because I've spent so many years doing it in bulletin boards, email, and online discussion groups. And the only reason I really had the luxury of time to do that is because of you.

I even remember you telling me as a kid that you thought I ought not to worry about things like money because I had a sort of intuitive acumen that would do a better job of finding the right things for me to do. It gave me the freedom to ask myself what was important, what was most worthy of the energy I could direct at it.

Ironically, even the things you worry probably harmed me or left me more depressed, may have also left me more objectively separated from the stuff we're all trying to understand.

From my perspective, each of us is just a thought passing through the mind of the single life form that occupies planet earth as it struggles unwittingly to know and empower itself.

That last sentence...pure poetry. A simple sentence that eloquently sums up Scott's "spirituality."

My reply:

That is a truly beautiful note you've written...and the one your mother wrote to you is beautiful as well...as uncomfortable as you've been on this planet, you've managed to make the best of it, while leaving a lasting impression on those brave enough (because it's not for the faint of heart) to try to know, love and understand you...like me...xo

iAnxiety

2009-09-04T16:42:00.000-07:00

I keep the telephone of my mind open to peace, harmony, health, love and abundance. Then, whenever doubt, anxiety or fear try to call me, they keep getting a busy signal - and soon they'll forget my number. ~Edith Armstrong

If The Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me.
~Song title by Jimmy Buffet

I love my iPhone for so many reasons, but the fact that it's a telephone is my least favorite feature. When I tell people I have phone anxiety, I mean it sincerely. It's incomprehensible for most people though, and they just don't believe it. The photo above is a "screen shot" of my iPhone as of 3:21 pm today.

See that number in the red bubble at the edge of the Phone icon in the bottom row? That means I have twenty-five voicemail messages (also known as the point of critical mass) that I have yet to listen to. I had a degree of anxiety back when that number was just three, and I really considered listening to them, or at least viewing the list to see who might have called. I managed to overcome that fleeting thought easily, and did neither.

Soon, the number was eleven. Then eighteen, then twenty-one and now here we are at twenty-five. There's now zero chance I will review the list, even though I'm waiting for a call to tell me my glasses are ready at Costco, the touch-up painters want to put me on the schedule, and I don't know what else could be lurking there. Heaven forbid, maybe someone just wants to say hi. My strategy will be to call Costco, the painters and check my email for someone who says, "I tried to call, but..."

I downloaded a hypnosis tape for phone anxiety a few years ago (there are several to choose from, apparently I'm not alone). That night, I went to bed with the headphones on and listened to it ONE TIME as I fell asleep. The next morning my phone rang, and it was a telephone number I didn't recognize (of course I have Caller ID). In my imaginary rule book, that's listed under "Calls Which Should Never Be Answered Under Any Circumstances."

Guess what? I picked up!!! I don't remember who it was (probably because I was startled by the fact that I heard my own voice saying "Hello?"). I do remember that it was a telemarketer. I never listened to that tape again. Apparently phone anxiety is "curable."

I'm just not interested in being so openly available (in real time anyway) to complete strangers and solicitors, even at the expense of missing a call from loved ones (who all know enough to text or email me anyway).

Notice now, if you will, the Mail icon at the far right in that same row, which shows zero unread emails. I read and process them all...even though I often don't reply to them either. But, the information has been delivered, my eyes have scanned their contents and hopefully my brain processed and stored the data somewhere.

On a similar note, I've never activated the ability to leave "comments" on this blog and I've received a few emails from nice people wishing that they could post a comment after reading something here. So, no pressure, but it is now an option to leave a comment.

Talk to you soon.

P.S. Just got off the phone with Costco....my glasses are ready. "We left a message two days ago," he said.

Scott's Blog was Featured

2009-09-03T17:47:00.000-07:00

Very nice mention of Scott's blog on the Horiwood.com site.

A great article about his mother, "Miss Elliette", is also at their site.

Murphys Clampers

2009-09-02T18:20:00.000-07:00

(Click on the photo for an easy read.)

One side benefit of the trip to Murphys last weekend was perusing a curious wall on Main Street that paid tribute to a group known as "Clampers." The wall itself was called the "E.C.V. Wall of Comparative Ovations." That alone had me feeling that further investigation was necessary.

This one plaque alone was worth my time, just based on the fact that Sir Francis Drake "was a Clamper, but not in good standing because of his propensity to be piratical." (I'm going to mention someone's "Piratical Propensity" real soon.) The Great Hi Ho, on the other hand, who exhibited exemplary Clamper-like tendencies while living, had to wait 300 years after he was dead to achieve recognition. Isn't history great?

Sir Francis Drake and Hi Ho with his fishy offering.

Google helped me find this nice article about the history of the Clampers, written in 2004 by Francis P. Garland. To sum it up, "The plaques pay homage to an eclectic band of men and women who've left their mark on California. Even the saber-tooth tiger is honored."

My second favorite had to be Elmer "Tusch" Tuschhoff. They just don't make 'em like him anymore...

Tusch graced Clamper gatherings for more than 40 years...I like that. I'll bet that even though his tuba was loud, he'd make up for it somehow with the lilting tones of his tin whistle...I'm guessing that Elmer was hard to miss.

There's another great article about this group that appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle. I like this quote at the end, about an infamous Clamper, Joshua Norton, who dubbed himself the nation's first Emperor and got away with it:

"He marched to his own drummer," Sweeney said, "and everybody else pretended they could hear the music, just because they wanted to be part of the band."

That tune seems oddly familiar...

My Man(tis)...

2009-08-31T16:44:00.000-07:00

...is a girl. I took delivery today of a remarkable piece of metal sculpture by my frien (the d is missing, because there is no "end" in friend) and favorite artist, Dion Wright. I love bugs. (Bug imagery, that is, not real bugs). The praying mantis is my favorite, though dragonflies are a close second.

Once I bought the "pod of mantis hatchlings" (called an ootheca) at the hardware store that hatches as many as 200 babies for garden pest control purposes. Seconds after they emerge, not only do they resemble the full grown adult in a miniature size, they are fearlessly curious, and wildly animated. They stare you down, first seeming to size you up for friendship, then trying to appear as menacing, capable and self-sufficient as possible. They are amazing!

Though I love every piece of Dion's art (which now totals six pieces, including Zot!) that I have in my home, I must admit that when I walked up on this piece, it was love at first sight. I'm honored to have her. For me, Dion is a legendary artist, author and intellect, and above all, a friend.

This afternoon I met Dion at his booth at the Sawdust Festival (a show he founded and has done for 50 years and where, as an exhibiting artist, I first met him in 1993). Here he is with his Mantis, which he created in 1973. She comes with history and a previous owner. For one reason or another, Dion regained custody and I was thrilled to hear it!

Dion Wright - Laguna Beach - August 31, 2009

This piece validates my opinion that you can't really own art. You can only choose to share space with it while you're here and/or choose to let someone else enjoy it before (or after) you're gone. You've got an expiration date, and generally art does not (excluding ice and/or cheese sculptures).

Except in the case of art for investment's sake, any money that's changed hands in the transfer of art (that makes you think you own it) is really just rent, unless you intend to be buried with it. How long you live and how happy it makes you determines how good a deal it was. Dion's art is always a very good deal. If I keeled over today, my spirit and surroundings have been enriched by his work far beyond any amount of cash that was traded for the privilege of having it.

"My" Dragonfly - by Dion Wright 2004
(Anatomically accurate wing pattern...incredible!)

Good art manages to make an impact on others, while layering on a life and history of its own as it passes from the hands of its creator to its admirers (and sometimes back again). Though I didn't know the previous owner of "my" Mantis, the piece links us, and I respect that connection.

So, welcome home! We may name her Mantilda (my daughter's suggestion). I like it. I know the mantis won't mind.

Weekend Away

2009-08-30T22:52:00.000-07:00

I drove to Murphys in the California foothills this weekend (a total of 1,000 miles after all was said and done). Met up with my dear friend Stacey to see a Jason Mraz concert at the Ironstone Winery. Her friend Don (who was absolutely great and an easy traveler) joined us. We enjoyed a pre-show dinner on the Ironstone property prior to the show. It was a beautiful setting and an excellent performance.

We had pretty good seats! I loved being outdoors.

We stayed in a darling cottage in a woodsy setting on a creek:

Took a short walk and saw this:

Had a delicious meal right across the street from our cottage at a tapas restaurant called 498:

Went wine tasting at Twisted Oak winery and another semi-underground wine-tasting room that included this mildly disturbing scene:

Played Scrabble:

Felt completely unplugged and rejuvenated. Put our feet in an icy babbling creek lined with wild raspberry bushes:

Left Murphys Saturday morning. On the way to Monterey we saw a scary car fire on Pacheco Pass, which ignited the surroundings. Firefighters were working hard to keep it contained.

Stayed at Stacey's cute new house and provided computer tech services for WiFi access!

Observed the most precious community gathering in Pacific Grove. A weekly dance class and subsequent "open floor" for all ages and skills. This was the scene through giant barn doors:

Hopped in the car Sunday morning and drove home, happy music blasting the whole way. Exterior temperature over the Grapevine - 104 degrees. Inside the car - 67 degrees. Took around 7 hours.

Missed my doggie, but received some unique photos via email from my daughter of Olive Monroe:

And Pepper Hayworth:

Exhausted, but played my bass for a few minutes...I missed that thing too...the notes seem lower, richer and more beautiful than I remember...I think I'm in love...

Called everyone to say I got home safe.....and Goodnight.

22 Things A Woman Must Know

2009-08-23T10:12:00.000-07:00

When we discovered that my husband Scott likely has Aspergers' Syndrome, I went to Amazon to see what resources were available to learn more. I bought several books dealing specifically with relationships and read them all, from the overly clinical scientific descriptions to the emotionally-based children's books. Eight books later, I was convinced that we could actually put a name to Scott's quirky behaviors and unique perspective on life and relationships. That in itself has been tremendously helpful.

Once Amazon knows what your interests are (based on your purchases), they suggest new items on the same or similar topics. I got an email recently suggesting this book and logged in to read the reviews. One woman wrote a review with a phrase in it that so described my experience with Scott that I was moved to respond, both to her and to the other people making comments on her review.

The phrase that grabbed me was inside of this sentence: "Most of these women will end up with major depression and one or more autoimmune diseases from never having their own light reflected back at them as time goes on living with someone who is almost completely unreciprocal but who is supposed to be your life partner."

The words "never having their own light reflected back at them" articulated so well a feeling that I haven't been able to put into words. It was validating for me and defined one of my experiences in our relationship. Though Scott expresses his love for me in unique ways, which are meaningful and appreciated, the nature of Aspergers' doesn't really allow for a contented connection as advertised and experienced in "normal" couple's lives when you love someone deeply. Aspies never attain that level of peaceful comfort within themselves, let alone learn how to share, enjoy or appreciate that kind of connection as part of a couple.

I've told Scott before that he gets to see himself through my eyes, but I have to see myself through his, and that he gets the better deal. I project my ideal image of who he can be and what he means to me onto him as though he's already attained it perfectly. His view of me requires only his logical brain and observation of stark reality. His perception doesn't come with frills or emotionally tinged filters that allow me to believe he sees me any differently than anyone else would. My flaws stick out. I don't get to feel funnier, thinner, younger or more attractive than I really am (or am not) just because he "loves" me. Even my own coping mechanisms that make me feel "special" are challenged when his blunt honesty defines me so succinctly.

With Scott, no one gets a better deal. I'm lumped into the general category of all other humanity, with no special concessions for sharing a life with him and knowing what life's like behind closed doors. I'm a flawed mortal with characteristics (tolerance and self-entertaining self-sufficiency are the most important ones) he finds appealing enough to want to be around more than most, but that's it. So, I miss out on the relationship "games" people play that reinforce their "specialness" to each other.

So, of course I bought the book, which winds up being written by a woman with Aspergers' (If I remember correctly, one in four Aspies are women). The book is very sympathetically written, and includes a section called "His Words" after each chapter, which is the Aspie's perspective on the topic discussed.

This book should certainly not be the only resource for an NT (which stands for Neuro Typical, the term used for the non-Asperger partner). It's a very validating checklist, however, as an introduction to Aspergers. If you're wondering if your mate has it, I'd get it.

Even Scott gave the book validity. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and could tell Scott had picked up the book on the bed that I was reading. I think it was the maniacal outburst that tipped me off. I can tell by his laughter he is now reading some passages. "What's funny?", I call out from the bathroom.

"I'm childlike?", he asks incredulously, "I'm effeminate?" "Oh my God, I say the same things these men say in this book!", he says.

Welcome to my world.

I don't feel quite as susceptible to the depression and autoimmune diseases mentioned in the review. My response to the review explains why.

It turns out 2009 is a banner year for illuminating Aspergers' Syndrome. Two movies were released recently.

This one, Mary and Max, by my favorite clay animation filmmaker, Adam Elliott.

There's a scene in the trailer where Max is opening his mail. His startle reflex is triggered by the telephone ringing, causing the letter in his hands to fly across the room, make a perfect landing in the toaster and subsequently get incinerated. That sequence is the perfect metaphor for (or literal demonstration of) how Scott experiences daily life. Meanwhile, I'm beside him opening and reading the mail without incident.

And this one, Adam. (Scott has actually spoken the dialog in this trailer, years before the movie was released.)

Recent Tweet Activity

2009-08-20T21:08:00.001-07:00

Today I realized I created a label called "Tweets of Note" for this blog and made only one entry back in April. Since that entry, I've been "Followed" by over 100 people (for who knows what reason, Chad here said he liked my Avatar - the same one I use under Brief Blurb on this page) and if they seem remotely sincere, I return the favor.

I finally went to see what some of these people are Tweeting, and here are a few representative examples:

So, I'm beginning to understand that Twitter just allows you to put yourself out there and see if there are any other members of your tribe interested in what you're tweeting.

I've got to admit I haven't yet followed Mia (even though I laughed when I read that Tweet) because I keep thinking that she's a "bait and switch" Tweeter. Most women who post a similar photo eventually want you to click on their "sexy photos." If that day comes, I'll "Block" her...we'll see how Mia pans out as time goes on...

Here's an example of a business use for Twitter:

I follow them because my daughter has been waiting for these lamps to become available for years now! I feel certain they will Tweet that news, and I'll be among the first to know!

New Webcam Self-Portrait

2009-08-19T21:30:00.000-07:00

I think it speaks for itself:

Olive Dog Sleepover

2009-08-18T14:48:00.001-07:00

I've had painters at the mainland house all of last week and they're still finishing up. The house is also getting ready for new floors (the old ones yanked out), so it's a minefield of exposed nails, staples and the like, not very dog friendly.

Case in Point - This is a nail UNDERNEATH the step and it still grabbed a tuft of Schnauzer hair:

Olive has been staying with my daughter and son-in-law at their new home in Oceanside. There's a big backyard filled with a large expanse of green grass there, which is rare both on the island and in Laguna.

I sure do miss her, so Jillian emailed me these photos today, showing how much my doggie enjoys the novelty of green grass...

As you might imagine, there's a happy "Wookie" sound that goes along with all that enthusiasm.

Here she is flipped back over, fluffed up from the exuberance!

It's difficult to get a good shot of a black dog...but apparently easier when they're encrusted with grassy bits. I love my happy Giant Schnauzer...and my kids.

One Woman's Bass is Another Man's Banjo

2009-08-14T15:25:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to make time to recapture my "creative self" for a while now. Friends and family all agree that I got off track somewhere and haven't been the same person since the days when making art was included in my daily activities (a lifestyle for me, really).

I take full responsibility for shoving the pursuit of creative outlets so far down on my list of priorities. If you don't pay close attention (I didn't), the pesky real world has a way of moving life's checklist around without your permission. Complacency and resignation strengthen its position and years can go by.

Meeting Scott and sharing a life together these past few years has also kept me too busy to pay much attention to letting my right-brain run loose again. Besides all of the "projects" he's invited into our lives (and then there was recreating life after our house burned down), I've been commuting back and forth from the mainland to the island for the last five years. It would be impractical to enjoy my previous artistic pursuit (I claimed I was a sculptural cartoonist), which required dedicated space, plasticine clay, mold-making goo, running water, 100 lb sacks of plaster, production molds, paints, brushes, dental grinders and other dental tools.

My "Previous Life" Fridge Magnet Business

In the hopes of finding a simpler creative outlet, I tried my hand at painting dogs (okay, one cat and two and a half dogs) a few years ago, thinking that it would be less of a production logistically, but then again you still need a place for blank canvas, space for your easel, paint, brushes, etc. Though I enjoyed the process, for some reason it didn't grab hold of me like I thought it might. It could be that the resulting work seemed to reflect the disturbing efforts of a self-taught artist who's got a lousy teacher.

For example:

My Very First Painting:

One hour Earl Scheib Dog Portrait of Olive

(limited by 60 minutes and three available colors)

Painting #2: My sister's cat "Elso"

Painting #3: Anne's "Shotsey"

(you'll notice I beefed up the selection of available colors)

Unfinished Painting #4: Lambert's "Jake"

Hmmm, okay. Not really an inspired or prolific painter. Fast forward to now. Reconnecting with a friend who's an excellent guitarist got me thinking that I might be able to learn an instrument. Plus, I have fond memories of playing standing bass in junior high (sixth grade) orchestra. I enjoyed the simplicity of its four beefy strings and those lovely, low resonating notes. I loved playing a bass duet called "Camel Walk" with Larry Giannecchini (gotta love Google), a boy who was taller than I was (that was rare). I even walked the giant thing home from school with a special wheeled attachment (the bass, not Larry) occasionally to practice with it over the weekend.

A standing bass makes a formidable statement. Once I hit puberty and all of its associated social self-consciousness, the allure of the instrument diminished somewhat. Further, I suffered retroactive angst to imagine that I happily walked it home in full view of my peers. (I've since developed a more carefree approach to what others may think.)

A bass guitar is a conveniently smaller version of a standing bass. You only need to go to YouTube to see how many people play their bass guitars at home in their jammies in the privacy of a tiny bedroom, to realize that the logistics seem favorable. Also, often the bass guitar's contribution to a musical piece is a percussive "lather, rinse, repeat" affair that supports the other musicians working on melodies. I'm thinking that I could probably play a simple tune with my son-in-law (who has excellent guitar skills) fairly quickly.

I started out by downloading bass lessons I found on the Internet for $49. Then I downloaded a virtual guitar app to my iPhone so I could work out the fingering before I ever purchased an instrument. This actually worked out well. If you have five minutes and your phone on you, you've got all you need to educate yourself about the fretboard and chords, even placing your fingers on a smaller version of the frets and playing notes that sound remarkably accurate. You even get good feedback when your fingers aren't in the right spot on the frets. I found that I really enjoyed it!

After three weeks with the virtual "pocket" guitar (someone else's YouTube example here), I realized that my strumming hand was getting no experience whatsoever and I wasn't sure my brain would know how to connect the two once I had a real instrument in my hands. On July 12th, I took the next step and bought a beginner's bass guitar package online at Amazon. It was a Silvertone (I've been told that's the brand of instrument originally sold through Sears) setup, complete with amp, guitar strap, DVD lessons, electronic tuner, gig bag and amp cord. All of that for $199 and free shipping. It arrived two days later!

Oh. Em. Gee. I love this thing!!!

The bass and I have been best friends ever since its arrival. I'm slowly working through the lessons, can play a few tunes and have already had hilarious "jam sessions" (pay no attention to the lung that was expelled as I laughed so hard) with my son-in-law while we work out songs together.

I don't watch TV anymore. I spend every spare moment in the evening with the bass in my lap trying to figure out how to make it sound the way I imagine it could and should. I've extended my waking hours into 1 a.m. territory without even realizing it. I listen to music that I love and watch YouTube videos for guidance on how to play bass lines that I like.

I'm not any good yet, but it's so good for me on so many levels that obsessive passion moved in right away and is firmly in place. It fills a creative need so completely that I can't understand why it took me so long to consider a portable musical instrument as a convenient escape. Plus, once you have the instrument, it's pretty much all you need. No more supplies. Just you, your instrument and of course, your jammies.

Scott's surprise is evident when he calls me in the evening and can hear the sounds of string resonance as I move the bass around on my lap while we chat. I think he's a little confused by the fascination I have for the thing.

I recently emailed him a sound file of my progress and he seemed to enjoy it. I found out yesterday though, that he has some preconceived notions about bass-playing women. When I asked if he's told any of our island friends that I'm learning to play the bass guitar, he said, "Well, I'm a little embarrassed. I've always thought bass-playing women seem trashy..."

Scott mentioned the Robert Palmer music video "Addicted to Love", which seems to be the responsible culprit.

I think it's interesting to hear what makes Scott feel embarrassed, when his Aspergers' has provided us (okay, me) many embarrassing moments that have escaped him completely. My new activity is a change that's outside of his control. I'm sure he finds that uncomfortable since any change to his world or routine is always initially stressful.

As a woman on the cusp of a senior discount, wearing reading glasses (2.0!), I'm fairly certain no one's going to put me in the "trashy wannabe rocker" category (especially when the first song I learned to play was Jack Johnson's Banana Pancakes...my version is here). It's almost flattering that Scott imagines I have "trashy potential" at this stage of my life.

I respond to his comment without judgement or hurt feelings. "Oh," I say, simply assuming that he's kept my new hobby to himself...

Then he adds, "...yeah, so I tell them you're learning to play the banjo."

Oh yes, much better...less trash, more hay...

My Film Debut:

(I will not be insulted if you don't stick around for the whole thing...I'd just like to document my progress)

Date Night

2009-06-08T20:09:00.000-07:00

During our nightly walk past the Casino building (which doubles as the most unique movie theater you could imagine), Scott noticed the movie poster for Will Ferrell in Land of the Lost. He said we should try going to the movies the next evening, which was Sunday. I stared at him for a moment, to rule out an attempt at humor, aneurysm or stroke.

In the ten years we've been together we haven't been to a single movie or live performance of any kind. He goes into a myriad of reasons why he will absolutely refuse to go, can't understand how anyone can suffer through the volume, the crowds, the uncomfortable seats, the boredom, or the hostage situation of getting trapped in a theatre anywhere for a specified amount of time. So, don't ask! Okay, I get it. No movies.

Still, I think it's sweet when he romanticizes concepts like couples going to the movies, and wants to give it a try. I always support the notion, even though I'm fairly certain something predictable will occur.

Sunday came and after dinner, off we went. We walked out to the Casino in time to make the 7pm showing. I documented the occasion before we went in, in case we left in a hurry:

You can sense the apprehension...

Scott bought a soda at the snack bar, and we chose our seats. It truly is gorgeous inside the theater. Plus, on weekends movie-goers are treated to an enjoyable live performance of a few tunes on the vintage pipe organ as you wait for the movie to start. It was a light crowd too. So far, so good!

I took the Bose noise-canceling headphones with me just in case he needed to put them on to mute the sound. "I may not need them," he said. About three minutes into the movie, on went the Princess Leia earmuffs. I heard someone a few rows behind us whisper, "It's Scott," when the headphones went on, which made me smile. His quirky behavior is not just accepted, but expected by our island neighbors.

He wouldn't have been able to make it without those headphones. Though the acoustics are amazing inside, it was just too loud for him. He started out okay, but fell asleep about twenty minutes in, then drifted in and out a few times (food processing going on, I think).

I looked over at my snoozing husband, slumped over and settled into his seat, his earmuffed head bobbing up and down as he slumbered. There did seem to be something romantic about it after all, and it was that he tried. He actually made it through the entire film (as long as intermittent sleeping counts), and for his first movie theater experience in ten years, I think he did pretty well.

He says he wants to try it again sometime...I'm sure we will...

Wally & the Beaver

2009-06-07T19:28:00.000-07:00

Excerpt of an email I sent, in response to the use of the word "jeepers" in an email I received:

...Jeepers reminds me...that's what our mother called our private parts, as in, "don't get soap in your..." (You couldn't know that, or could you?) Then, I have a friend who always thought his private part was called a "pubicarious" because his mom said, "don't forget to wash your pubic areas," and he heard it as one word. I hope that's not too off-color. Golly gee..it's an innocent story about childhood...Needless to say, I was always confused about the 50s song "Jeepers, Creepers, Where'd You Get Those Peepers"...

Smiling due to "Mild Formula"

After I sent that email I realized that most parents in the 1950s probably didn't have to reference anyone's jeeper or pubicarious until the kids were old enough to bathe themselves. Assigning a name to such things seems like an opportunity to set things straight, but since those were the days when Desi and Lucy slept in twin beds, I guess parents did the best they could while maintaining their childrens' naive innocence.

These days, modern advertising robs kids of their innocence as it reminds them they will someday have limp weiners, itchy vaginas, arthritis, allergies and depression. The "good news" is that there are drugs to correct all of that, but they'll give you a host of other side effects and an expensive dependency. Enjoy your childhood, kids.

All I knew was that Mom was right. Don't get soap in your jeeper, at least not harsh 1950s soap. It was painful...

Birthday Boy

2009-06-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

Scott's Hermetically-Sealed Birthday Mini-Cake

Scott's birthday used to be a source of discomfort for both of us (and I suspect for anyone else who cares about him). I want to do something nice for him on that day, and he doesn't want to be acknowledged. While I liked what he had to say last year, he would prefer it if he never received a card, a gift, personal acknowledgement, a phone call or email if it concerns birthday wishes directed at him. He says it "always makes him feel sad."

Any form of singling him out for the festive celebration of his emergence (into a world that he's frequently found so painful to occupy) just doesn't make any sense to him. Plus, he considers your true birthday a combination of various moments. When the science happened, in the womb, in a timeline and elsewhere.

In case you were unaware, your birthday has nothing to do with when you traveled down the birth canal and out into the waiting world. It's not about the "act" mind you, or the moment that the egg met the sperm, though those events do count. For Scott, pinpointing your true birthday is a complicated scenario involving many separate events and dates back to when your mother was born, and that's not the end of it.

From there, it takes twists and turns, with various limitations dependent on which sex you are. To his disappointment, no one seems to really care about the accuracy of calculating your true birthday. Why even bother, if you don't take the time to make the chronology of someone's true birthday meaningfully accurate? (I'd like to see what that line of birthday greeting cards would look like!)

For a four-minute audio discussion we had concerning his theory, click here. I wanted to make sure I got it right.

After about three birthdays together, I finally understood that it caused more harm than good to offer him a birthday card and/or wrapped gift. I'd explain that I couldn't just "do nothing" because it made me feel sad. I'd explain that to commemorate his arrival on the planet gave me joy. I got away with saying that, but it didn't seem to diminish his dislike or discomfort for the ritual, so it didn't actually give me joy after all.

I finally accepted that it was selfish of me to want to force a "Happy Birthday" on him. The best birthday gifts for him, regardless of the day they occur, have been events. For example, he exhibited pure joy and his shiny, hope-filled raccoon-eyes lit up when the Large Hadron Collider went live, when the Wolfram Alpha site went live and when Ronald Reagan ceased to be alive, which actually happened on Scott's birthday in 2004. (My apologies to the Reagan family, but while Scott enjoyed the actor, he was not a big fan of the politician.)

Of course, I made plans to spend his birthday with him on the island, since I've been on the mainland so much recently. I made a boat reservation, baked a plain white mini-cake with plain white whipped-cream frosting and no decorations (this is Scott, remember). I carefully loaded it into a little white cooler, determined that it would be no more than a few hours old when he tasted it...

Waiting to Board

Ten minutes from the Island. What a beautiful day!

The little cake survived the trip intact and Scott was appreciative when he saw it. So far so good! For me however, the birthday fun happened after my daughter called to see how it went. I took a photo of Scott and sent it to her so she could see him enjoying his little cake.

An hour later she sent me the altered photos below. The iPhone has added some new "Apps" which she downloaded recently. I can certainly see their allure. These shots were created using the "Mulletizer", "Stache-tastic" and "80s Hair".

Ahem...After enjoying the mullet, please notice the fly on the cake.

I'm speechless (because I'm laughing too hard).

This redefines "Disco" (and Afro)

I'm not sure if this one makes him look younger, or like the lost Osmond...

When I showed these shots to Scott, he smiled and said, "It's silly, but I would have played with that App for a solid week when I was 13." Me too, and then some.

It seems we managed to have just a teeny bit of fun in celebration of his "special day" after all. It's really just the equivalent of him wearing a festive party hat...but without the overhead of actually putting one on...

Raccoon Scramble

2009-05-18T13:01:00.000-07:00

This is Bernice. Don't be fooled...

Our mainland cat Bernice is an exemplary feline and a voracious predator/murderer. I don't say this lightly. Perched calmly in the photo above, framed by greenery, orchids and art, doesn't accurately portray her usual nature. She's definitely shown me why keeping a cat indoors is a favor both to the cat and the neighborhood critters. I've had many kitties in my lifetime, but she is the most prolific hunter I've ever known.

I've mentioned elsewhere how I like to keep air flowing through the house (the "flow-through teabag" effect). I seldom, if ever, close the doors completely whether I'm home or not. There are consequences of doing that, of course, and I've come to accept most of them. Because the house is never completely closed up, Bernice has proudly presented her bounty of lizards, frogs, birds, hummingbirds, rats, mice and pygmy mice; most heartbreakingly, a baby bunny and most horrifyingly, a baby rattlesnake, all for my approval and admiration. We even have a generic name for the carnage, regardless of the critter involved. It's "birdy mayhem."

The "open door'" policy also seems to invite other critters inside as well. I've come home to a neighbor's sweet orange kitty, Miss Scarlet, happily asleep on my bed, like it was meant to be. (Bernice must have been out hunting.)

Last night around midnight I heard some noise coming from the utility porch, where I keep the pet food and water bowls. Ordinarily, our dog Olive keeps critters out of the house before they get very far, but she was spending the night at my daughter's house down the block for a sleepover with my grand-dog Pepper.

I got up to investigate, and found a giant raccoon happily polishing off Bernice's food, rattling the bowls to get the last crumbs. When we locked eyes, he made a run for it. I went and got my little video camera and followed him to see where he'd go. This is what happened next:

He ran through the house to the bedroom, jumped into the atrium window and into Bernice's bed, where he realized that there was no way out. When Bernice saw him, she stretched herself up as big as she could and challenged him as though she thought she was twice his size, when the opposite was true. At this point I was really only worried that the raccoon would hurt her somehow (half-asleep, I call Bernice "Olive", but she didn't notice). Hissing and swiping at him, she did her best to flush him out. His response? It seems he urinated in her poofy bed (you can hear it!) before making a dash back down the hall, into the upstairs "Rapunzel" room, out the open window and across the roof.

I love how Bernice ran after him with such conviction. That cracked me up. After the excitement was over, I shoved Bernice's poof into the washer, started it up and went back to bed (knowing full well that a raccoon had just sprinted across the sheets). Bernice kept vigil all night by my side, her neck stretched out like a meercat on security detail. There were no further incidents...